#some of their profiles have few stories in them! if youre interested in reading them in context!!

[sweetiecutie]

Warnings: none, König is afraid of women lol, pure fluff, König being all over you <3

Loser!Metalhead!König whom you met through a shared friend at the small party. It’s not even a party as such - about ten young people gathered with food and drinks, light music playing softly on the background as everyone chatted and laughed. Your eyes fell upon tall dark figure in the corner - a giant of a man was sitting silently, listening to a conversation his other two friends were having, adding to it time to time.

Loser!Metalhead!König who is silent, aloof and even intimidating, with his long hair and black band t-shirts with skulls and chains and scary looking letters. You think he doesn’t like you first time you approach him, just nodding curtly at whatever you have to say, occasionally giving the shortest, driest responses. But, strangely, you don’t feel any hostility coming from him, his presence open and welcoming, even despite his detached and even awkward demeanour.

Loser!Metalhead!König who actually freaks the fuck out when a pretty little thing like yourself comes up to talk to him. He’s struck, not knowing what to do or what to say, his fear of women, especially as gorgeous and beautiful as you, showing up on its fullest. Being more of a listener naturally he just lets you ramble his ear off, taking in your every word even if it looks like he doesn’t care much about what you have to say.

Loser!Metalhead!König who is drastically different from you. You, with your pretty pink crop top and baby blue jeans, white ribbons adorning your hair and glossed plump lips curving so gorgeously in a smile, are a complete opposite to König - huge burly body clad in all black and heavy chains, thick forearms and bulging biceps, thick eyebrows knitted together, a frown that seems to be permanent is tainting his sharp features.

Loser!Metalhead!König who can’t get you out of his head, memories of you flooding his brain for the next few weeks. You just struck him like lightning - your syrupy voice, gentle eyes gazing up at him as you told him some silly story from your childhood - in the dead of night König’s mind unmistakably wandered back to them, getting lost in your orbs all over again, broad chest filling with warm buzz.

Loser!Metalhead!König whom you meet weeks later in a city centre, accidentally running into him on your way back home from running errands. Your eyes light up upon recognising your new acquaintance, lips stretching in a wide smile and König feels as if all the air is being punched out of his chest. You greet him heartily, asking how he’s been and what he’s up to currently. And König, shocking himself even, grasps the opportunity, asking if you’d like to go grab some coffee because he’s dying for one right now (read as: I’m so painfully into you I’ll use any excuse to be around you). And you happily agree, leading him to that one coffee shop you love, which serves the most delicious chocolate cake he’ll ever have.

Loser!Metalhead!König who spends the rest of the day with you, first in the coffee shop and then going for a walk around the centre of Vienna, just talking about everything. Your bubbly and easygoing personality eases him out of his shell, making him talk more freely about his interests and hobbies, his chest tightening proudly upon seeing your amazed expression as he told you of his passion for playing guitars and drums, promising to teach you how to play a few chords in a future.

Loser!Metalhead!König who happily exchanges instas with you (his pictureless profile with 4 followers and name like kng69 lmao) scrolling in awe through all the photos you have there, littering your phone with repeated notifications of new like on your post. He’s sad when he notices the time, you telling him that you have to go home now, his ears perking up at your upset tone, meaning that you don’t want this day to end just as much as König does. He waits for your taxi to arrive, making sure you get in the right car, wishing you a safe ride home.

Loser!Metalhead!König who texts you on ig an hour later, asking if you got home safe. That message makes you smile stupidly at your phone as you reassure him that you’re all safe and sound at your place, adding that you enjoyed today and would like to meet up with König again someday. Now he’s the one grinning at his phone, pale blush dusting his high cheekbones as he lays sleepless in his bed, head full of buzzing thoughts and every single one of them is painfully full of you<3

A/n: might write part 2 of that, lmk if you’d like it🤭

[buckets-and-trees]

Obsidian Stain and Sin

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 8.1k Summary: You've thought of getting your first tattoo for quite a while. When you walk into Obsidian Stain Studio, you experience services beyond anything you bargained for.

Content/Warnings: tattooing/needles, DUBIOUS CONSENT, explicit smut, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, kissing, anal play/rimming (female receiving), eating it from behind, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink, manhandling, fade to black/abrupt ending

Author Notes: I've had this idea all summer. I've been eager to write it, but literally the muse only kept teasing me with it until literally about six hours ago when she said, WE'RE DOING THIS, AND WE'RE DOING THIS NOW, so it's almost late/maybe it's still you're birthday week for a hot minute in some time zone, but I'm slipping this to you @stargazingfangirl18 for your Birthday Bonenanza! Literally, when I tell you that when you originally tagged me in the announcement, and I read over the myriad of prompts, I thought, "Oh, wow, this is so tattoo Curtis and Ari coded, it HAS TO happen for Siri's birthday..." that's really how my brain thought it was finally going to get the jump on working on this. But then no. Then that other Steve story happened, and I was stoked about that. Then the new chapter for Nomad Steve, and I thought, ah well, still fun stuff, maybe someday this, and then AT THE LAST MOMENT, Muse pulled a plot twist. So here's some ruinous hoe shit. Multiple dialogue prompts from the challenge are used here, and you'll find them in bold.

A/N 2: Shout out to @vonalyn for a few convos hashing out some of this concept!

You are surprised by the tinkling of a classic bell hanging over the door that rings pleasantly as you enter the tattoo parlor.

A man behind the reception desk immediately looks up to greet you. He doesn’t shoot you a phony, business-y smile, but his demeanor is still warm and approachable. “Welcome,” he greets you. “Walk-in or appointment?” he asks.

“Um, walk-in,” you manage. In a black t-shirt with shoulders that are nearly bursting through the fabric, lush hair and beard, and striking blue eyes, he’s more than an impressive specimen. “If you’ve got an opening?” you quickly add.

“Sure, we can take you,” he says. His gaze flicks to a scheduling book in front of him on the counter. “A couple of the boys are on break or about to finish up with other clients. Your first time here, yes?”

You nod. “First tattoo ever.”

“Oh,” he says, and his eyes brighten. “Even better. Let’s get you booked in.”

He takes your name, email, and phone number to set up a profile for you in their system. There are some electronic consent forms that he takes you through and has you agree to and sign on an iPad, and then he takes asks a few questions about what you’re interested in.

“Based off what you have in mind, Curtis might be the best artist, but he won’t be finished for maybe an hour.”

“Ah,” you look at your watch. It was a bit of an impromptu idea for you to drop in to get the tattoo this afternoon, and you had time, but you had probably been foolish thinking a walk-in was any sort of good idea.

“But,” he interjects, “I’ve got two other guys who are excellent, and either one of them should be ready to take you pretty soon. Take a seat just over there, and I’ll go check in with them and get a call on time for you. I’ll also grab you a drink. Pick your poison - we’ve got water or Coke products.”

You give him your preference, and he nods and smiles.

“Right then, sit tight, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He disappears around the corner, and you do as you’ve been told and take a seat on one of the black leather couches in the lobby.

Now you have time to really take in your surroundings. The walls are black with white moldings at the floor and ceiling, and the hardwood floors are a warm walnut. Everything is dark but clean. Classic but clearly in line with current trends. On the wall behind the desk, there’s a gorgeous, white-lettered feature with shop name - Obsidian Stain Studio - that’s sleek and impressive. On the wall next to you, there are ten framed pieces of art on the wall in a mix of sizes, some of them hand-drawn artwork, and the rest photos of finished tattoos on skin.

You’re nervous but determined not to be, so you cross your legs and try to keep your anxious energy limited to just running your fingers back and forth over the edge of your phone. Looking at the different designs on the wall does serve to capture your attention, though, and quell your nerves slightly.

The man working reception returns and hands you the drink. “We should have you back there in a chair in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Great,” you respond, and the nerves kick up a notch, but it’s with a surge of excitement.

This is happening.

You take a sip of your drink, grateful for something to occupy your hands. The cool liquid helps soothe your nerves a bit. As you wait, you observe a few other clients entering and leaving the shop checking in or paying as they leave. Some sport fresh bandages, while others are clearly here for consultations, clutching sketches or reference photos.

The buzzing of tattoo machines creates a constant backdrop of sound, occasionally punctuated by muffled laughter or conversation from the back rooms. The atmosphere is more relaxed than you expected, nineties music underscoring it all.

As you wait, a couple emerges from behind the partition separating the lobby from the work area. They're both grinning, the woman cradling her forearm gently. Her companion is animatedly discussing something with her, gesturing excitedly. You catch a glimpse of fresh ink on her skin as they pass – a vibrant butterfly with intricate, colorful wings.

The sight makes your heart race a little faster. Soon, that'll be you walking out with fresh art on your body. The thought is both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

But you won’t be walking out with a friend or partner.

Your gaze wanders back to the artwork on the walls. One piece in particular catches your eye – an intricate mandala design with flowing lines and delicate detail. You find yourself drawn to its symmetry and complexity.

"Which one’s got your attention?" a voice asks, startling you from your reverie. You look up to see someone you can only describe as a lion of a man standing before you. All of his attention is focused on you like you’re his next prey. He towers over you with a mane of golden brown hair that’s grown out to tuck nicely behind his ears and curls out at his neck. He’s got a broad chest and shoulders covered in a denim shirt with a few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. You can see peeks of ink mingled with some chest hair as well as intricate designs over his forearms. His dark blue eyes are zeroed in on you in a way that both unsettles and steadies you at the same time.

You point at the mandala, and the man smiles. “That’s one of Steve’s. He says you’re here for your first tattoo.”

“He… wait, is that Steve?” You nod and glance over at the man at the front desk who’s now consulting with an older man and showing him a few designs.

“Yep, he owns the place and loves to work the front almost as much as the back with the rest of us. I’m Ari, by the way.” He puts his hand out, inviting you to shake hands.

You push up from the couch, stand, and offer your hand for the shake. It’s engulfed easily by his big, warm, calloused hand.

“I’m the one who’s going to make your first time special.”

Your heart stutters and your face flushes. He didn’t just… your mind races. Did he?

He chuckles and drops your hand quickly. “Follow me,” he says and turns and begins striding into the back.

You fall into step behind Ari, your eyes inevitably drawn to his broad shoulders and the confident swagger in his step. The back area is an open space divided into several stations with partial walls, each with its own tattoo chair and equipment, creating semi-private booths. Ari leads you to one in the back corner.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair.

You perch on the edge, your nerves returning full force. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and ink.

He pulls up a rolling stool and sits, leaning in close. "So, tell me about this tattoo you want."

You explain your idea - a simple constellation of stars for your zodiac sign - watching as his blue eyes light up with interest. He nods along, occasionally asking questions or offering suggestions. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Alright, I think I know what you're after," Ari says, reaching for a sketchpad. "Let me rough out a design for you."

You watch, mesmerized, as Ari's hand moves swiftly across the paper. His brow furrows in concentration, and you find yourself studying the angles of his face, the way his beard accentuates his strong jaw. Within minutes, he presents you with a design that takes your breath away.

"What do you think?" he asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

The constellation is there, just as you imagined, but Ari has added subtle details that elevate it beyond your expectations. Delicate lines connect the stars, and a hint of shadowing gives the piece depth and movement.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the sketch.

Ari grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Great. Now, let's talk placement."

You indicate the spot you've chosen - your inner wrist. Ari nods approvingly. "Good choice. Nice and visible, but easy to cover if needed. Mind if I take a look?"

You extend your arm, and Ari gently takes your wrist in his large hands. His touch is surprisingly soft as he examines the area, his fingers tracing the spot where your tattoo will soon be. You can't help but notice the contrast between his rough, inked skin and your own unmarked flesh.

"Nice canvas," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Skin's good here. This'll work well." He looks up, catching your eye. "Ready to get started?"

You nod, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“You’re a sweet, innocent thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth but shut it again, unsure how to respond, and he brushes his thumb over the pulse on your inner wrist, and you think you see his eyes darken.

He releases your wrist and turns to prepare his equipment. You’re frozen in place, but luckily that’s fine as it’s not necessary for you to move. You watch as he efficiently sets up his station, laying out ink caps, adjusting his machine, and pulling on a fresh pair of black latex gloves. The buzz of the tattoo machine as he tests it sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you.

"Alright, I'm going to clean the area now," he says, swabbing your wrist.

His touch is clinical now, professional, as he prepares your skin. The cool antiseptic makes you shiver slightly.

"Cold?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"A little," you admit.

"Don't worry, I’ll have you warm soon enough," he says with a wink that makes your cheeks flush.

Ari places the stencil on your wrist, pressing it gently to transfer the design. When he peels it away, you see the outline of your constellation on your skin for the first time. It sends a thrill through you - this is really happening.

"Make sure you’re happy with the placement before we start," he instructs. "This is your last chance to change your mind."

You focus to examine the design on your skin more closely, heart racing. It looks even better than you imagined.

"It's perfect," you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

Ari grins. "Alright then, let's make it permanent. You ready?"

You nod, settling back into the chair and extending your arm.

Ari takes your arm gently, positioning it just so on the armrest. "Now, I need you to stay as still as possible," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's going to hurt a bit, especially at first. But I promise, I'll be as gentle as I can."

The buzz of the machine fills your ears as Ari brings the needle to your skin. You hold your breath, bracing for the pain.

The first touch of the needle is a sharp, burning sensation that makes you wince. Ari pauses, his eyes flicking to your face. "You okay?"

You nod, determined. "I'm fine. Keep going."

“Move an inch, and you’ll be sorry.”

You open your mouth wordlessly again, and he laughs.

“Only joking. I know you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and nod, something fluttering in your stomach, mixing wickedly with your nerves and the uncertainty around this man who skirts between being casual, soothing your nerves, concentration on his craft, and making these comments that insinuate and evoke wholly inappropriate thoughts.

He smiles, then concentrates back on your wrist and resumes his work. Gradually, the initial shock of pain fades into a more manageable discomfort. You find yourself relaxing, mesmerized by the steady movement of Ari's hand and the way the muscles in his biceps move and flex.

As Ari continues, your eyes shift to his face. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his blue eyes focused intently on your skin. There's something mesmerizing about watching him work, seeing the care and precision he puts into every line. The buzz of the machine becomes almost soothing, a constant backdrop to the occasional murmur of voices from other stations.

"So," Ari says after a while, breaking the silence without looking up from his work, "what made you decide to get your first tattoo today?"

You hesitate, unsure how much to share. "It's… kind of a long story."

Ari glances up, a small smile playing on his lips. "We've got time. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

You take a deep breath, wincing slightly as the needle hits a sensitive spot. "I've been thinking about it for a while. But today… today felt like it was finally the day to take the leap."

"Spontaneous decision, huh? Those can be the best kind."

You nod, feeling the heat creep up your neck. "I guess I just wanted to do something for myself. Something permanent.”

Ari nods thoughtfully, his eyes still focused on your wrist. "Sometimes we need a physical reminder of the changes we're making inside," he says softly. "Something to look at and think, 'Yeah, I did that. I made that choice.'"

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself relaxing further. The pain has faded to a dull, almost pleasant sensation.

"So, what's your story?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "How did you get into tattooing?"

Ari chuckles, pausing to wipe away excess ink. "Now that's definitely a long story. But the short version? I was a troubled kid, got into some bad stuff. Tattooing saved me, gave me a purpose."

He glances up, meeting your eyes. "There's something powerful about creating permanent art on someone's body.”

The words send another thrill through your body and you nod, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at his intense gaze. "I can see that," you manage to say.

Ari returns his attention to your wrist, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's intimate, you know? Creating something that becomes a part of someone forever."

The word 'intimate' hangs in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension. You're acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on your skin, the gentle pressure as he works.

“You’re the one Steve says I nearly got to mark for the first time,” a new voice startles you, and you jump slightly in your chair.

Ari tsks, but his left hand had been holding your arm down firmly.

The other man chuckles. “Sorry, sugar.”

He steps closer, coming into Ari’s booth. He looks to be slightly taller than Ari, and a shade leaner, but he’s still built with more muscles than the common man. His hair is dark, shorn close to his head, and a dark beard covers his angular jaw. Ice blue eyes pierce into you, and you fight hard to suppress an actual shiver running down your spine.

"Curtis," Ari says without looking up, his tone a mix of amusement and mild irritation. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Curtis leans against the partition, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement draws your attention to the intricate tattoos covering his forearms. He’s got more ink than Ari.

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Steve said we had a noteworthy first-timer."

You feel your face flush, unsure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. Curtis's gaze is intense, almost predatory, as he looks you over.

"Well, now you've seen," Ari says, his voice tight. "Don't you have your own client to attend to?"

Curtis huffs. "Just finished up. Thought I'd come say hello." He turns his attention back to you. "How're you holding up, sweetheart? Ari treating you right?"

You nod, finding your voice. "He's been great," you manage to say, your voice a bit shaky. "It doesn't hurt as much as I expected."

Curtis grins, a glint in his eye. "Oh, Ari knows how to make it feel good, doesn't he?"

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks at the innuendo. Ari's hand tightens slightly on your wrist, and you see his jaw clench.

"Curtis," Ari says, his tone a clear warning.

Curtis holds up his hands. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint." He fixes his gaze once again on your face. "Maybe next time you'll let me be the one to mark you up. Lot more skin still to explore."

With that, he stalks away, leaving a charged atmosphere in his wake. You can feel the tension radiating off Ari as he resumes his work on your tattoo, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry about that,” Ari says after a moment, his voice low. "Curtis can be… intense."

You nod, still feeling flustered from the encounter. "It's okay," you manage to say, trying to calm your racing heart.

Ari looks up at you, his blue eyes searching your face. "You alright? Need a break?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. Let's keep going."

He nods, returning his attention to your wrist. The buzz of the machine fills the silence between you once more. You try to focus on the sensation, the slight sting as the needle moves across your skin, rather than the lingering tension in the air.

After a few minutes, Ari speaks again. "You know, you don't have to let anyone pressure you into anything you're not comfortable with. Not here, not anywhere."

His words surprise you, and you meet his gaze. There's a protective glint in his eye, but he quickly returns his attention to your wrist. Ari's movements become more deliberate, almost possessive, as he continues working on your tattoo. The tension in the air is palpable, and you find yourself hyper-aware of every point of contact between your skin and his.

"Almost done," he murmurs after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. "Just a few more touches."

You watch as he adds the final details, marveling at how the constellation seems to come to life on your skin. When he finally sits back, setting down the machine, you can't help but gasp.

"It's beautiful," you breathe.

Ari's eyes meet yours, a mixture of pride and something deeper in his gaze. “It suits you perfectly."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words. Ari gently wipes away the last traces of excess ink, revealing the full beauty of your new tattoo. The stars seem to shimmer on your skin, the delicate lines connecting them creating a sense of movement and depth.

"Now, let's get this wrapped up and I'll go over the aftercare instructions with you," Ari says, reaching for a roll of clear film.

As he carefully covers your new tattoo, his fingers brush against your skin, sending little sparks of electricity through you. You can't help but notice how his large hands handle your wrist with such care and precision.

"There," he says, smoothing down the edges of the wrap. "All protected."

Ari walks you to the front, and your heart races when you see Steve and Curtis speaking quietly with their heads together. Ari clears his throat, and at the sight of you, Curtis nods, rakes his gaze over you once more. “Come back soon, sugar.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at Curtis's words, but Ari's steady presence beside you helps ground you. Steve steps forward, a warm smile on his face.

"How did it go?" he asks, his eyes flickering to your wrapped wrist.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. "Ari did an incredible job." You extend your wrist, showing off your new tattoo.

Steve nods approvingly. "Beautiful work. Ari’s one of our best. Let's get you checked out."

As Steve begins to ring up your work, Ari leans against the counter beside you. His arm brushes against yours, and you're acutely aware of his proximity.

"Remember," he says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear, "take care of it. It's a part of you now."

You nod, shyly meeting his intense gaze, looking up at him through your lashes. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ari's eyes soften, and he reaches out, his fingers ghosting over the edge of the wrap on your wrist. "Good girl," he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

Steve clears his throat, breaking the moment. "All set," he says, handing you a receipt. "We hope to see you again soon."

You nod, suddenly feeling flustered. "Thank you," you manage to say, gathering your things.

As you turn to leave, Ari's hand catches your elbow gently. "Wait," he says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small business card and presses it into your hand. "In case you have any questions about the aftercare. Or anything else."

Your fingers brush as you take the card, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. You look down at the card, noting the personal cell phone number scrawled on it. "Thank you."

Ari's blue eyes lock with yours, intense and filled with unspoken promise.

You barely seem to turn away, but somehow manage to break off from the eye contact, and quickly rush out of Obsidian Stain Studio.

You keep Ari’s business card, but as the weeks go by, you don’t use it.

After a couple of months, you move the card from the spot next to where you keep your keys where you see it every day, into the top drawer of your desk. Out of frequent sight, but not out of mind completely.

It’s a solid six months before you return to Obsidian Stain again, but ultimately you do. The bell jingles above your head as you step inside.

The tattoo on your wrist had healed beautifully, and you loved seeing it on your skin. You had decided fairly soon afterwards that you wanted another tattoo, but even after saving up for your next one, it had taken you longer to decide whether to return Obsidian or not, the experience with Ari and encounters with Curtis leaving you torn between terrified and desperately curious to go back.

Ultimately the allure was too strong to deny.

But, more logically, although finally going in to get your first tattoo had been on a whim, you had been very thorough in narrowing down and exploring your options for months before. You knew they were one of the best in your area, especially for the style you wanted, and the price point you knew you could afford while still ensuring quality.

Unwilling to make an appointment, though, you were going to gamble on a walk-in again.

No one was immediately at the front desk, but at the sound of the bell, Steve quickly appears. “Welcome back,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Walk-in?” you ask, and remind him of your name.

“Oh, I remember you.” Steve beckons you forward. “Let me see that wrist,” he says.

You offer your arm with pride, and he smiles warmly.

“Looks good. You hit us on a slow day, perfect for a walk in. I’ll get you booked in, and then I’ll take you right back.”

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as Steve leads you to the back. The familiar scent of antiseptic and ink fills your nostrils, bringing back memories of your last visit. Your eyes scan the room, half hoping and half dreading to see a certain tattooist.

"Curtis is free right now," Steve says, guiding you to a station. "He'll take good care of you."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Curtis's name. You remember his intense gaze, his bold words from your last visit. Part of you is disappointed it's not Ari, but another part is intrigued.

Curtis looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well, well. Look who's back," he says, his ice blue eyes locking onto yours.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed under his gaze. "Hi," you manage evenly.

Curtis's eyes rake over you. "I was hoping you'd come back to us," he says, his voice low and smooth. "What can I do for you today, sugar?"

You begin to explain the design you have in mind - a delicate, line art floral piece. As you talk, Curtis listens intently, occasionally nodding or asking questions. His focus is entirely on you, making you feel both nervous and oddly thrilled.

“And where do you want it?” he finally asks.

You trace an area of your other arm - opposite of the one with your inked-up wrist — moving your above, over, and below the crook of your elbow.

“Hmm,” he hums. “You sure?”

Your eyes shoot to his. “Yes?” an edge of hesitation now in your voice at his query.

He narrows his eyes slightly, then shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No. A piece like this could work well there, but that’s not where you want me to put this.”

“It… isn’t?”

“No, it should go here,” he says, and he reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly over your ribs instead, causing you to shiver.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the chair. As you settle in, Curtis rolls his stool closer, leaning in. "Now, this is going to be a bit more intense than your wrist. You sure you're ready for it?"

You nod, trying to project confidence despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "I'm ready."

Curtis grins, a predatory glint in his eye. "That's what I want to hear from that pretty mouth. Now just sit tight and wait for me while I draw something up.”

Your heart races as you lean back in the chair, Curtis's words echoing in your mind, causing heat to pool in your core. You watch, mesmerized by the intensity of his focus. After a few minutes, he turns back to you, holding up the sketch.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat. The design is beautiful - delicate flowers and vines intertwining in a way that would perfectly follow the curve of your ribs.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the design.

Curtis smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Alright then, let's get started. I'm going to need you to lift your shirt for me."

Your cheeks flush as you slowly raise the hem of your shirt, exposing your ribs. Curtis's eyes darken as they roam over your skin.

"Beautiful canvas," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You feel exposed, knowing your own soft belly and imperfections, but he looks at you in a way that has your head spinning, it’s a hunger that’s almost reverent.

“Better if you take your shirt off for me, sugar,” he says, his tone firm.

Head swirling, you don’t think to refuse, just do as you’re told. With trembling hands, you pull your shirt over your head, feeling incredibly vulnerable as you sit there in just your bra. Curtis's eyes roam over your exposed skin, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"That's better," he says, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's get you positioned just right."

His hands, surprisingly gentle, guide you to lie back and slightly to the side. You shiver as his fingers trail along your ribs, mapping out where the tattoo will go.

"Nervous?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

He already knows the answer, but you nod, not trusting your voice.

Curtis leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Don't worry, sugar. I'll take good care of you."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

Curtis begins to clean and prepare your skin, his touch clinical yet somehow still intimate. You try to steady your breathing, hyperaware of every point of contact between his hands and your body.

"Now, this is going to hurt more than your wrist did," Curtis warns, his voice low. "But I know you can take it. You're tougher than you look, aren't you, sugar?"

You nod, steeling yourself for the pain. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the air, and then you feel the first bite of the needle against your skin. You gasp, your body tensing.

"Breathe," Curtis instructs, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, grounding you. "That's it, nice and steady."

As he works, Curtis surprisingly stokes and then keeps up a steady stream of conversation. Mostly it’s inquiry after inquiry, forcing you to focus on finding words, but his deep voice also helps to distract you from the pain. He asks about your life, your interests. You find yourself opening up, sharing more than you intended about your life, your dreams, your fears. His voice continues to provide the counterpoint to the buzz of the tattoo machine.

"You're doing so well," Curtis murmurs, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work. "Such a good girl for me."

The praise sends a shiver through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a small moan. Curtis notices, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" he says, his voice low. "I like that."

Your cheeks flush, but you can't deny the thrill his words send through you. The pain of the tattoo blends into the sensations he’s evoking as his hands move with practiced precision across your skin.

"So, sugar, what made you come back for more ink?" he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work.

You take a shaky breath before answering. "I loved how the first one turned out. And… I guess I wanted to experience it again."

Curtis chuckles, darkly. "Addictive, isn't it? The pain, the permanence... the intimacy of it all."

His words make your heart race, and you're acutely aware of how close he is, how vulnerable you are beneath his hands.

"Speaking of your first time," Curtis continues, the steadying hand that had been at your waist ghosting just a little lower, "Ari seemed quite taken with you. Did you ever give him a call?"

The question catches you off guard, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. "No, I… I didn't," you admit softly.

Curtis's hand stills for a moment, and he looks up at you, his ice blue eyes intense. "No? Now that's interesting. Why not, sugar?"

You swallow hard, unsure how to answer, yet unable to stop the words from flowing. "I... I guess I was nervous," you finally say.

A slow smile spreads across Curtis's face. "Nervous? Of Ari? Or of what you felt?”

Your cheeks flush at his perceptiveness. "Both, maybe," you whisper.

“Or maybe you were waiting for something else?" His hand resumes its work, but the touch his anchor hand seems more deliberate now, each movement charged with unspoken intent.

"I don't know what you mean.”

Curtis chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. "I think you do, sugar. I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you came back here today."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with tension. You can't bring yourself to deny it, can't even find your voice to respond. Curtis seems to take your silence as confirmation.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the silence as Curtis returns his focus to your ribs. You try to steady your breathing, acutely aware of every point of contact between his skin and yours. The pain of the tattoo blends with the heat pooling in your core, creating a heady mix of sensations.

"Tattoo nearly done," Curtis says after what feels like hours.

You let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over you. The intense experience is coming to an end, but part you that scares you doesn't want it to.

"Just a few more touches," Curtis murmurs, his eyes focused intently on your skin, and the buzz of the machine continues for a few more minutes.

"There we go," Curtis murmurs. He wipes away the excess ink, then sits back to admire his work. His eyes roam over your exposed skin, a mixture of professional pride and something darker in his gaze. "Want to take a look?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Curtis helps you sit up, steadying you with a hand on your lower back as you move to face the mirror. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the intricate design now adorning your ribs. The delicate flowers and vines seem to bloom across your skin, following the curves of your body perfectly.

"It's perfect," you whisper, unable to take your eyes off the mirror.

Curtis's smile widens, and his eyes darken. "Of course it is. I knew exactly what you needed."

His words send another shiver through you, but then suddenly you feel the heat of him too close, and he’s pressed right up against your back, planting his large hands on your hips and caging you in.

"You're trembling," Curtis murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady against him. "Are you scared, sugar?"

You can't find your voice to answer, your heart pounding in your chest. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - his broad chest against your back, his strong hands on your hips, the heat of him seeping through your skin.

"Or maybe," he continues, his voice low and dark, "you're excited."

One of his hands slides up your side, carefully avoiding the fresh tattoo, until it comes to rest just below your breast. Your breath hitches, and you see your pupils dilate in the mirror's reflection.

"That's what I thought," Curtis says, satisfaction clear in his tone. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Since the moment you walked in.”

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of ink and something uniquely him. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you.

"Tell me, sugar," Curtis murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Did you come back here hoping to see Ari? Or were you hoping it would be me?"

You swallow hard, your mind spinning. "I… I don't know," you manage to whisper.

Curtis chuckles, the sound low and dark. "I think you do know. I think you've been thinking about this for months." His hands slide up and down your sides, careful to avoid the fresh tattoo. "Thinking about what it would be like if you came back. If you let yourself give in."

Your breath hitches. “No.”

“No?” he challenges. His right hand, still gloved, audaciously slips past your waistband and down the front of your panties to cup your pussy. He laughs softly, discovering a growing wetness there. “Yes.”

You gasp as Curtis's hand begins to stroke your most intimate area, your body betraying you with its response. Your mind races, torn between the thrill of his touch and the shock at how quickly things have escalated.

"Wait," you manage to breathe out, your voice shaky. "We shouldn't…"

Curtis pauses, his hand stilling but not withdrawing. "Why not?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your body is telling me a different story, sugar."

You're acutely aware of how exposed you are, standing there in just your bra with Curtis pressed against your back, his hand between your legs. The mirror reflects your flushed face and wide eyes, Curtis's intense gaze locked on you.

"Someone could walk in," you whisper, a weak protest even to your own ears.

Curtis chuckles darkly. "They could.”

Your mind is spinning, caught between the intense sensations and the voice in your head screaming that this is wrong, that you shouldn't be doing this here, now, with him. But your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch.

"Curtis," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky, and tears springing up in your eyes. "We can’t—"

"Shh," he soothes, his free hand coming up to gently grip your throat. Not choking, just holding. "Don't overthink it, sugar. Just feel."

His fingers continue their exploration, finding your clit and circling it slowly. You bite back a moan, plant your hands on the mirror, and your hips rock back against him.

“Fuck, knew you wanted this,” he speaks directly into your ear.

You whimper and shake your head, but then his hand moves up to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep more quiet than that unless you want someone else to join us, sugar.”

Your eyes desperately seek his in the mirror, fear flashing in them, and the tears begin to spill over. There’s a predatory glint in his icy blue gaze.

His fingers continue their skilled ministrations, drawing forth sensations you've never experienced before. Your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch despite your mind's protests. You're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions - fear, excitement, shame, and an overwhelming, undeniable pleasure.

"Look at yourself," Curtis commands softly, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "See how beautiful you are like this."

You force yourself to look, to really see yourself - flushed cheeks, wide eyes, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Curtis behind you, his large frame dwarfing yours, his hand between your legs, the other still gently but firmly covering your mouth.

Curtis's eyes meet yours in the mirror, his gaze intense and predatory. The fear in your eyes seems to excite him further, his grip on you tightening slightly.

"Don't worry, sugar," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew all those pretty tears were just for show, you want this just as badly as I do, andI've got you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through you. You're acutely aware of how vulnerable you are, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to. And yet, there's a part of you that thrills at the danger, at the forbidden nature of what's happening.

Curtis's fingers continue their skilled exploration, drawing involuntary gasps and moans from you that are muffled by his hand. Each deliberate movement sends waves of sensation coursing through your body, igniting a fire that you never expected to feel. Your body continues to betray you, responding to his touch despite your mind's protests, creating a tumultuous conflict within you. The thrill of the moment is undeniable, yet a flicker of apprehension lingers in the background, whispering the dangers of being caught in such an intimate entanglement, making it impossible to pull away.

"Damn, that’s a pretty sight,” a familiar voice jolts you nearly out of your skin, and you whip your head around to see Ari looming in the entry.

Curtis stops only for a moment and looks over his shoulder at the other man. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Ari shrugs, all nonchalance, and palms the large bulge pressing at the front of his jeans.

Your heart races, caught between exhilaration and apprehension. The sight of Ari standing there, a blend of curiosity, mischief, and lust in his eyes, adds an element of unpredictability that excites and terrifies you.

Curtis grunts, then says, “I’m not stopping, but I’ll share.”

Your jaw would have dropped to the floor in that moment had Curtis’s hand not been holding it in place, securing your response and anchoring you to the present. The idea of a threesome, tantalizing yet fraught with risk, swirls in your mind. How did this escalate so quickly? The thought of being discovered sends a shiver down your spine, but the allure of the forbidden is intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the moment.

You sob, overwhelmed and afraid, but it’s muffled as Curtis turns your body around with him, his grip firm yet reassuring His fingers are still moving, relentless and sure, and you can hardly focus on anything else. Your mind races through the possibilities, the dangerous thrill of being discovered adding an exhilarating layer to the encounter. Would Ari join in, or would he simply stand by and watch, adding to the intensity of the moment? The idea of indulging in such a forbidden experience fills you with a mix of dread and excitement, as if you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to leap into the unknown.

Ari pulls a privacy curtain you had failed to notice across the opening to the booth before taking the few short steps to close the distance between you. This sudden shield from prying eyes heightens the anticipation, transforming the atmosphere into one charged with desire and unspoken possibilities. Ari traces the back of his forefinger down the column of your throat, down your sternum, between your breasts, and then circles around the expanse of your new tattoo, eyes roaming over the beautiful design.

Not to be forgotten, Curtis tweaks your clit, cracking the pleasure that had been mounting like a whip, demanding an orgasm from your body, and you tremble in his arms as you cling to him. Each flick of his fingers sends shivers through you, igniting a fiery response that leaves you gasping for more.

“Knew you were such a good girl,” Ari praises, and your chest surges from his praise, his low, sultry voice invading your mind. Then, he unzips his jeans, the sound echoing in the booth like a promise yet to be fulfilled. He goes to sit on the black leather chair, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles, revealing the enticing sight of his big, throbbing cock.

Curtis lifts you with ease and places you in Ari's lap. The transition is seamless, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of Ari's embrace. His hands instinctively find their way to your hips, grounding you as you settle in. With Curtis standing close, the dynamic continues to shift and evolve. You can feel the heat radiating from both men, each one eager to exact pleasure, and you hope the fire doesn’t consume you completely.

“Take off your bra,” Ari directs you.

Your eyes widen over his immediate demands, but, nervous as you still are, you don’t hesitate to do as he says. His hands on your hips hold you steady while you reach around to unclasp, and then you let it drop and fall away, biting your lip. Ari groans appreciatively, and grinds your core against his cock. You let out a shuddering breath at the friction, but it’s a singular sensation for only a moment, because then Ari dips his head and takes one of your breasts into his hot, wet mouth, and you gasp. Your fingers tangle immediately into his hair, looking for some kind of anchor.

Vaguely you hear the rustle of fabric from Curtis close behind you, and then you feel the heat of his now naked chest press against your back. He nips lightly at your neck, but then pulls back slightly. He rucks your loose skirt up over your hips, but then he rips the fabric of your panties right off, and you yelp in surprise.

Ari’s quick to muffle your sound by shifting his lips from your breast to your mouth, but his lips and tongue are no less eager, and the kiss is delicious and demanding, and you’re easily almost completely lost in him again. But Curtis has also discarded his gloves, and now his warm, calloused hands move slowly up your thighs before squeezing your hips, then start to knead the flesh of your round ass.

Curtis places a hand between your shoulders and pushes you forward, coaxing you against Ari’s chest. Ari takes the hint and leans back in the reclined chair, pulling you with him. This exposes your most intimate parts to Curtis, and he spreads you open, then presses his tongue flat against your cunt, eliciting a moan that, luckily, is swallowed up by Ari, who’s still eagerly kissing you, and now kneading your breasts in his large hands. Curtis continues to lick and lap at your cunt, but then his tongue begins to move up, and then suddenly he’s tonguing the tight rosebud of your ass, and you whimper and freeze.

Ari stops when you stop, pulling away to look at your face and assess the situation.

Curtis teases you with his tongue for another moment before pausing to pull away as well.

“Not a virgin,” he guesses, “but never had anyone play with your ass, have you, sugar?”

You close your eyes and try to take a steadying breath, your, “no,” soft and barely audible.

“Do you want him to stop?” Ari asks, and you can feel him studying your face.

Your mind is racing, but you remain frozen, unsure of what to say.

Ari brings one hand up to stroke your cheek. You lean into his touch and open your eyes again, but still don’t speak.

“Keep going,” he says to Curtis, and Curtis does.

While Curtis works your tightest hole with his tongue, still splaying your cheeks open, Ari reaches down to slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, and you eagerly rock your hips for more. Ari smiles, then brings you down with his other hand to kiss you again.

When you’re positively humping his hand, Ari pulls back from kissing you again with a darker laugh than you expected, but you’re so far gone between them, you think of stopping or slowing at all now.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

But it doesn’t register.

He withdraws your fingers and slaps your pussy, making you gasp and groan, and your eyes whip open.

His dark blue irises are barely visible, pupils blown wide with lust, and it just cause another surge of electricity to run through you to your core.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

And then it’s his cock nudging at your entrance.

“Ari,” you groan.

“Since that first fucking minute I saw you in the lobby,” he says. He taps his cock aggressively against your swollen clit, and you keen for him. “Knew you were an innocent little thing, and I wanted to absolutely ruin you.”

You bite your lip, unable to look away from him, and think of that day, too.

“We both wanted to ruin you,” Curtis adds. And his finger takes over where his tongue had been, working gently but insistently into your ass.

You moan softly, but the two men hear it and exchange a glance over your shoulder. Ari looks pleased.

“I didn’t touch you that day, only teased you, enticed you. I knew you’d be back,” he growls. “Shame I didn’t have you on my chair again, but that wasn’t going to stop me.”

He pushes your lips back to his for another devouring kiss, but it’s brief.

“You’re desperate to be filled up, aren’t you?” he asks.

Closing your eyes again, you whimper and drop your forehead to his, but your answer is undeniable. “Yes.”

“You didn’t have to wait this long, but we won’t punish you for that. We’re patient men.”

“It only gave us more time to think of all the ways we’ll take you apart, sugar,” Curtis murmurs against your shoulder, then presses open-mouthed kisses against your hot skin there.

And then Ari is slipping his cock inside of your cunt, slow, insistent, and doesn’t stop until he’s into the hilt, pushing all the air out of your lungs. He’s so big it feels like he’s everywhere, and it takes you concentrating on making your lungs work again to suck in deep breaths, impossibly full of him.

But as full as you feel, it wasn’t everything. Because while Ari was slipping his cock inside you, Curtis had removed his fingers, and now his thick cock was splitting you open and finding room in a hole that had never been filled before, and it was unfamiliar pain, but already pressing into impossible pleasure, and really, you had to press your palms to the leather on either side of Ari’s head and focus on breathing and only breathing if you were going to survive this.

And then they both began to move.

In and out and in and out and inandout.

And you were sure you were going to black out or bliss out from how full you were and all the sensations surging through your body and –

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I make no apologies for this. Send me your medical bills as needed.

[magicfootballstuff]

Dirty Little Secret - part 6 (leila ouahabi x reader)

Summary: A love story about secrets, flirty messages, football rivalries, and useless lesbians who don’t know how to communicate. And it all starts with one badly timed challenge in the Champions League.

Leila Ouahabi x Arsenal!reader

Part 6/?

Read other parts here.

———

You’re a European Champion.

You don’t really know what to do with that information.

To be honest, after the first twenty four hours that pass in a hungover blur, you end up on a bit of a downer. You should be delighted, riding the high of being the first England team to win a major trophy in fifty-six years, but after two glorious months in camp with a group of girls you’re now bonded with for life, returning to your hometown for a couple of weeks before pre-season is a dose of reality that’s just a little bit too big to swallow.

You’re happy to see your family, of course. You’ve spent most of the summer away from them with only limited visits while you were in camp. But after the best summer of your life with a football at your feet, it takes all of about three days for you to be itching to get back on the football pitch again.

A few days into your two weeks off, a few of the girls get together for what is part post-Euro reunion and part farewell dinner for Georgia, who departs for Munich the next day. It’s a mixed group - a few Lionesses and some of the girls from Manchester City - but it’s the familiar dark hair at the end of the table that catches your eye, deep in conversation with somebody else you don’t know.

You’re surprised to see Leila who, apart from having her own Euro hopes dashed by Georgia’s extra time winner, has no reason to know Georgia.

You take a seat next to Lauren, who notices you looking at the two girls at the far end of the table.

“Oh, that’s Laia and Leila,” she explains. “I invited them. They’re still settling into the team and there’s so many City girls here, I thought it would be nice for them to get to know people a bit better.”

Leila must feel your eyes on her because it’s at that exact moment that she looks up and her dark gaze meets yours. There’s no change to her expression, no giveaway to anybody else that you know each other except for the fact that her eyes linger on you for longer than they would if you were just strangers who happened to make eye contact, until she finally turns back to her conversation with Laia.

You feel a rush of giddiness go straight to your head, blocking out all the sounds around you as you continue to look at Leila, admiring the sharp angles of her side profile. It almost feels like the Arnold Clark Cup all over again, having this secret that nobody else around you knows. You enjoyed your time in Barcelona with Leila and getting to be all coupley with her in front of her old teammates, but you’d forgotten how much of a turn-on the thrill of secrecy could be.

———

As the evening goes on, you don’t forget about Leila - how could you, when she is right there and looks so damn good - but you get a little distracted by everything else. There are enough Lionesses present that means you spend a lot of time talking about the Euros, reminiscing over the best summer of your life, then because tonight is about Georgia leaving, you end up talking about old times at City. It’s been years since you played for them, a scrawny teenager playing alongside Keira and Georgia, all three of you with big dreams and no idea that you would one day become European Champions together. But even as you reminisce, there’s always a part of you that’s aware of Leila’s presence at the other end of the table and you can’t help but glancing at her throughout the night.

“All us OG City girls are gradually leaving the nest,” Georgia says, smiling fondly at you and Keira. “I wonder who’ll be next.”

You notice that Keira is suspiciously quiet and has suddenly taken a deep interest in the ice cubes at the bottom of her empty glass. With the performances she’s just put on at the Euros, you wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got interest from other clubs too.

“City’s got some new blood now though,” you say, your eyes wandering to Leila once more. “Not that it’ll matter, Arsenal will still beat City this season.”

Predictably in a room full of mostly City players, your comment causes outrage. Arsenal and City are due to play each other soon for the first fixture of the new season and you always enjoy the rivalry against your old club. And with Leila on the other team, you’ve got extra incentive to go out there and put on a show this time.

You let them banter with you for a moment. Even Georgia, technically no longer a City player, takes great joy in slandering Arsenal. 

When the conversation finally moves on, your eyes wander back to Leila, and you tune out the voices around you as you stare, mentally trying to figure out if there’s a way you can subtly change seats to be closer to her without alerting the entire group to your motives.

There isn’t, and Leila chooses that exact moment to meet your gaze while her lips are still wrapped around the straw in her drink. She lets the straw slip out of her mouth but you still get a glimpse of the pink tip of her tongue and there’s no way in hell you can pay attention to whatever conversation is going on around you now.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom, anything to give yourself a chance to get away and recompose yourself, and thankfully they’re all too busy laughing at something Georgia is saying to pay any attention to the flush of your cheeks, nor the way that Leila’s gaze follows you as you go.

You hear somebody else enter the bathroom as you flush the toilet and when you exit the cubicle Leila is standing at the sinks checking her appearance in the mirror. Her dark eyes find yours in the reflection, and her mouth twitches in a smirk of recognition.

“Hi,” she says.

You glance around the bathroom, checking that all three stalls are empty, before you approach the sink to wash your hands and reply, “Hi yourself. How are you finding Manchester?”

“I like it. It’s a nice city.”

“At least the weather’s been nice since you got here. Just wait until it rains every day.”

You walk over to the paper towel dispenser to dry your hands and Leila turns around, leaning back against the sink to look at you.

“Everything is always about the weather to you English people,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Too hot, too cold.”

“What can I say - we like to complain.”

“Are you going to complain right now?” Leila asks.

The air in the bathroom suddenly feels a lot thicker, the way that Leila is watching you as you dispose of the balled up paper towel, coupled with the teasing lilt to her tone, reminding you of just how attracted you are to her.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Actually, there is one thing I want to complain about,” you say, taking a couple of steps closer to Leila.

“What‘s that?” Leila asks, her eyebrows crinkling together in a frown.

“I want to complain about the fact that we’re alone in this completely deserted bathroom and you haven’t kissed me yet.”

“You haven’t kissed me either,” Leila points out.

“Is that an invitation?” you challenge her.

Your words have the desired effect of provoking a reaction from Leila, because her eyes flash in defiance and she retaliates, “I want to complain about how annoying-”

You don’t give Leila the chance to finish her complaint, because you grab her by the lapels of her jacket and pull her in for a kiss. She lets out a surprised little grunt when your lips collide with hers, but melts into the kiss quickly, her hands finding your hips as her lips settle into a familiar movement against your own.

You only realise now that you’re here, kissing Leila in a secluded bathroom like your life depends on it, that it’s actually been months since you last did this. In all your focus for the Euros, the hard work and the euphoria, you’d sort of forgotten that you hadn’t actually kissed Leila since you bid your goodbyes to each other in the departure lounge of the Barcelona airport after your brief visit at the end of last season. Not even after your game against each other during the tournament did you kiss.

And with the way Leila kisses you, stealing the air from your mouth with such hunger, you vow never to go another three months without kissing her again.

“I’ve missed you,” you mumble against her mouth, when you have to draw back for breath, to save yourself from passing out from sheer lack of oxygen caused by Leila’s kiss. “I’ve missed this.”

Leila’s hand finds the back of your head and she uses it to pull you closer, not for another kiss, but to rest your head against her shoulder as she wraps her other arm around your back. You snake your own arms around her waist, burying your face into her neck and savouring the feeling of her arms around you, not wanting this moment to end.

“I’ve missed this too,” Leila murmurs, her fingers stroking through your hair.

She’s right, it’s this that you’ve been craving. Not the kissing or the sex, though you’ve spent more time thinking about that in the nearly three months since you last slept together than you’d care to admit, but everything else too. The intimacy of being held, of having somebody to share the little moments with, the ability to go from teasing each other about the weather to making out against a sink to cuddling like this, with each of those things feeling just as natural as the last.

And maybe, just maybe, all of that will be easier to facilitate than it was when you lived in different countries.

“Stay with me tonight?” Leila asks, feeling her voice rumble beneath your cheek as much as you hear the words.

You’d been planning on getting a taxi back to your parents’ house on the outskirts of Manchester, or maybe crashing with Lauren or Keira if it ends up being a late one tonight, but that was before you knew that you’d see Leila tonight. Now that this offer is on the table, there’s nowhere else you want to spend the night.

“Of course.”

———

Waking up the next morning, there are two things that you feel. The first is comfort, Leila’s warm body wrapped around your own with your hips nestled back against her own, feeling happy and well-rested after a night of good sleep in her arms.

The second is the desperate urge to pee.

You try to extract yourself from Leila’s embrace without disturbing her, but Leila only tightens her arms around you to stop you from leaving and mumbles words that you don’t understand in sleepy Spanish.

“Leila,” you murmur, trying to wriggle free. “Leila, I need to pee. Where’s your bathroom?”

Leila reluctantly lets you leave her arms and mutters in Spanish again, before she says in English, “Left.”

You slip out of bed and leave Leila’s bedroom, following her directions by finding the bathroom through the next door to the left.

When you’ve been to the toilet and freshened up a little with some cold water to your face and running your fingers through your mussed hair, you exit the bathroom and immediately stop in your tracks when you see somebody sitting at the dining table eating breakfast and drinking coffee. You think you recognise her as one of Leila’s new City teammates, though her name slips your mind, but you wonder if you really walked right past her without noticing her on your way to the bathroom.

“Hi,” she greets you, an amused smile gracing her lips. “I’m Deyna.”

You glance at Leila’s bedroom door, which stands slightly ajar as you left it, then introduce yourself to Deyna.

“Arsenal, right?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. “And you’re at City with Leila?”

“Teammates. Roommates.” Deyna pauses, then adds, “Just regular mates.”

“Cool,” you say, unsure whether you’re supposed to continue to make smalltalk with Deyna out of politeness, or if it’s acceptable to make your excuses and return to Leila’s room.

Luckily you’re saved at that exact moment by Leila herself, who emerges from her bedroom with sleep-tousled hair to investigate what’s going on.

“Oh,” she says, when she sees Deyna. From the expression on her face, she’s as surprised to see Deyna as you are. She turns to you, then says, “This is Deyna.”

“She knows that already,” Deyna grins. “We were just getting to know each other.”

“Coffee?” Leila asks you, as she walks over to the kitchen units and grabs a couple of mugs out of a cupboard.

“Yes please,” you reply. At the table, Deyna’s attention is now on her phone as she eats, and you say to Leila, “You didn’t mention that you had a roommate.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a deep sleeper,” Deyna interjects, glancing up from the screen of her phone with a smirk gracing her lips.

Your cheeks burn red and Leila retaliates with what you can only assume is a string of Spanish expletives. 

Deyna apologises, mostly directing it at you, before she asks, “So how did you two meet?”

“Champions League,” Leila answers, busying herself over the coffee again.

“We played each other twice in the group stage last season,” you elaborate.

“I beat her twice,” Leila says, glancing across at you with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“Leila got a yellow card for trying to break my legs.”

“I didn’t … it was an accident,” Leila insists. “It was passion.”

“Strange way to flirt, but okay,” Deyna teases Leila.

“That’s what I said!” you exclaim in agreement.

Leila wanders over with two steaming mugs of coffee, one of which she offers out to you, and she leans in to press a quick kiss to your lips as she mumbles, “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

You thank her for the coffee, bringing it to your lips and taking the tiniest sip from the mug, letting out a satisfied hum.

The only other time Leila has made you coffee was when you went to visit her in Barcelona, but the coffee is perfect, like heaven touching your tongue.

“You remembered how I take my coffee?” you ask.

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Thank you, it’s perfect.”

The domesticity of it is nice, as if you’re existing in a bubble where only you and Leila matter.

Until Deyna interrupts your moment.

“Go and be cute in your room,” she tells Leila, dismissing you both with a wave and a roll of her eyes. “I’m trying to eat.”

Leila nudges you back towards her bedroom and you soon find yourself nestled against Leila’s side again, propped up against the headboard with steaming mugs of coffee cradled in your hands.

“You promised me a tour?” she says.

“Of Manchester?”

Leila nods eagerly.

“You’re gonna have to wait a bit longer,” you tell Leila apologetically. “I can’t hang out today.”

The disappointment that flashes across Leila’s face is almost enough to have you reaching for your phone to call your agent to cancel your plans for the day.

“I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be going back to my old junior club today. Helping out with some training, taking photos with the kids, letting them see my medal. Inspiring the next generation and all that crap.”

“It’s not crap,” Leila assures you. “Well, maybe for me if it means we can’t hang out.”

“Didn’t know you were so clingy,” you tease her.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet,” Leila replies flirtatiously.

You smile across at her.

“And I can’t wait to find out.”

———

You return to London a couple of days later, regretfully without having seen Leila again since that morning at her flat, but you start to message each other more often. Not quite every day, but a few times a week, little things like talking about your days. It’s more familiar than it’s ever been before, with most of your conversations prior to the Euros being laced with flirtatious pictures and suggestive messages. But this is different - you talk about mundane things like training, or what you’re having for dinner, or the latest English slang words that Leila has learned from her new City teammates. 

But that doesn’t mean your relationship has lost any of its spark. It’s still flirty, especially because Arsenal’s first fixture of the new season is away at City. It reminds you a little bit of those first couple of encounters in the Champions League last season, bantering about the upcoming contest in a way you hope leads to sparks on and off the pitch.

And then the game gets cancelled. 

All that build-up, the jokes about yellow cards, the promises that you’d let Leila do whatever she wants to you if she let you score past her, falls away into nothing the moment that the game is called off.

You feel empty. And not just because football is your life and you’d been looking forward to the league starting up again, but because once the season starts you don’t know when you and Leila will both get time off at the same time. It might be months before you get to see each other again.

———

Two things happen when the season finally begins and September morphs into October.

The first is that you pick up a hamstring injury. It shouldn’t surprise you too much, given that you pretty much went straight from last season into the Euros, straight into pre-season. You’re in your prime as an athlete, but you’re not invincible. You work hard on your recovery, even if you’re a little bummed to be spending so much time in the gym and staying on the sidelines as the Champions League group stage begins.

The second thing that happens is that fifteen Spanish players, including Leila, step back from their national team in protest of their working conditions. You don’t know the details but you remember Leila alluding to some problems during the Euros, when she pointed out that talent alone doesn’t win Championships.

You don’t really know what you can do to support Leila, especially from London. The story blows up in the football media world and you imagine it must be particularly hard for Leila, being so far from Spain and away from most of the other girls involved, but you don’t know if there’s anything you can do or say to make it easier.

You eventually settle on messaging her a few hours after the story hits the headlines.

You Proud of you for standing up for the right thing! Always here if you want to talk about it or if you want a distraction instead?

Leila likes your message after a few hours but doesn’t reply.

The red heart that taunts you from the screen of your phone is something you’ll come to realise is probably the beginning of the end.

[drdemonprince]

Hi Devon! I read your work published on substack on autism and asexuality (really great stuff!) and then found your Tumblr and came across your own experiences navigating sexuality and kink, and they made me wonder if you have any advice for a fellow asexual on the spectrum who struggles socially but is interested in experimenting with sex/kink for the first time? People usually find sexual partners on dating apps or at the club but that seems so daunting I've been entertaining this fantasy of finding a community of people with a virgin fetish just so I don't have download tinder

Abandon your fantasy that anything fulfilling will occur without a massive amount of work. Running one's own sexual life requires a high caliber of communication, negotiation, and self-promotion skills, as well as a significant amount of time and experience. If this is worth it for you, venture forth! If not, maybe now is not the right time.

I will have a much more in depth guide on cruising written sometime soonish, but in the meantime I do have some tips.

Do not use fucking Tinder. That is an incredibly vanilla, heteronormative site. You might have a negative impression of your chances finding what you want because you've only had a glimpse of the most normie places and your friends' experiences with them. To find the kinky, experimental kind of sex you want, you'll instead have to educate yourself, and go looking for the freaks.

Fetlife is a good place to start. It will be overwhelming to navigate at first, but keep pressing. Fill out your profile with your interests, take a few sexy photos (whatever that means for you), and join local groups. Follow people who post things you find interesting, read lots of posts. Pick up some books on leather and kink history, and study up. Jack Rinella is a favorite of mine, but I am deliberately keeping my recommendation list lean so that you will dig for what you are interested in, yourself.

Look up local groups interested in rubber, leather, kink, etc, find local dungeons, attend local munch events (these are low-pressure social hangouts with no kinky play, but for kinksters to meet eachother), and find out where the gay bars are in your area that have backrooms in them, as well as cruising spots. Check out spaces where people do kinky or sexual stuff together and just watch.

After considerable information gathering and self-searching, put yourself out there and take agency over your own sexual life. Message people you find interesting, and I do mean just interesting. Learn from other bottoms if you're a bottom. Trade stories with other subs if you're a sub. Learn techniques from other Doms if you're a Dom, or some combination of all these things if you're verse or switchy. If someone shares some interests with you and seems compatible, make a specific suggestion for play, like: Want to meet up and practice our rope tying? or Would you like to practice your spanking technique on me? or I don't like having sex, but I'd love to use you as my personal footstool.

Remember that you get to set the terms for the engagement, and the other person does as well. If they reject you, that means consent has successfully happened, everybody gets a pat on the back, good job. The same goes for you. If all you want is to drag a human puppy around on a leash, don't settle for someone who keeps pressuring you for sex. Just end the interaction. There are a whole lot of freaks out there with a whole array of interests, and most people who are kinky eventually learn to be gracious and work with what a prospective partner is into, but we also all have our dealbreakers. That's fine. You don't want to play football with someone who insists on tackle when all you want is touch. It's the same thing. This is just silly pretend games. So find someone who wants to play a game you want to play.

And yeah, you can expect it to take about two years to really find your footing in this world and really know what you want and how to articulate it successfully, at least. That doesn't mean you won't have enjoyable (or at least interesting, informative) experiences along the way. But it is a lot of work. I find it is better to lead off with realistic expectations because many people rush out hoping that someone will just magically appear who will fulfill all their desires, and that's not how the world works. Every person that you speak to in a kinky context is a full human being with their own anxieties, sexual traumas, shame, areas where they lack experience, and desires that might strike them as impossible to realize.

In kink, you have to learn to navigate really complicated interactions with each one of them as its own independent thing. A lot of us make the mistake early on of thinking everyone else out there is a more seasoned, confident, sexually voracious being than we are, and that all we have to do is find the right person to give us a good time. But with our actions and negotiations WE make it a good time, us and our partner of the moment, together.

If you don't put the work in, you get nothing out. But the more you reveal of yourself and stay present in the interaction and honor it as the specific, unique thing that it is, the more benefits you reap -- not just sex or kinky play, but friendships, community ties, self-knowledge, and social skills.

Have fun out there! I hope you learn a lot.

[minniesmutt]

♱ ━━━━━━ 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋: 𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐀 

♱ ━━━ CONTENT: MENTION OF DRUGS, ALCOHOL, VIOLENCE, PRISON, THERAPY MENTIONS, MORE OF A FILLER CHAPTER, WET DREAM, COCKWARMING, GRINDING, PET NAMES, IMPLIED MORE ROUNDS ♱ ━━━ WC: 1K ♱ ━━━ PAIRING: FELIX X READER ♱ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog ♱ ━━━ a repost from my old blog

     Information was always easy for Felix to find. Everything was on the internet. Everything was put into databases. Police files, card info, medical information, everything. It was such easy access.

     From day one, Felix was already looking into Y/n, even before Minho asked him. He knew they didn’t find anything at her old apartment. So to the internet, he went. Checking her social media first. The fabricated life people selectively chose to put out. 

     Most photos were with friends. Trips, clubs, drinks, anything. Normal twenty-something-year-old behavior. Moving on to her friend’s profiles, it was the same story. Looking into them first.

     Seana was clean essentially. She had no issues with the law and worked a good job to keep herself afloat. Posted about her friends just like Y/n. Nothing was an issue with her. Karina had a bit of a record; driving under the influence, hit and runs, possession of illegal drugs. She had a job but more of a part-time thing. Nothing that really helped support the lifestyle she wanted to portray online.

     Looking into the family was next. From what he gathered and found out from reports, her dad hadn’t been in her life since she was young and was in jail on the other side of the country. There were no records of calls to anyone since his incarceration. Pretty content with rotting away in the system. Multiple times considering he had a bit of a history of being released and getting back in months later. 

     Her mom had passed away a few years ago. Coroners report stating a mix of drugs and alcohol. Grandparents having passed away or lived elsewhere in the country. Y/n essentially had no family from what Felix could tell. He felt a little bad for her, being on your own like that could hurt.

     Checking through medical records were next on the list. The first thing he noticed was notes from therapy sessions. Becoming very interested, he made his own copy of the notes and saved it onto his computer before he heard the elevator ding.

     “Felix?” He heard Y/n’s voice call.

     “Yeah?” He called back as he minimized the windows and pulled up some other things he had been looking into for Chan.

     Y/n walked into his little home office as he turned around in his chair. Sitting in his loungewear— a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt— as she made her way over to him.

     “What’s up, princess?” Felix asked as she made her way over to him.

     “Just a bit bored, figured I come bug you,” Y/n said as he pulled her onto his lap.

     “Keep me company while I work then, yeah?”

     “Can do,” Y/n smiled as he spun the chair around back to his screens.

     Y/n wrapped her arms around him and listened to his keyboard taps and mouse clicks. It was soothing to listen to honestly. Lulling her back into sleep on top of the blonde’s lap. 

     Felix noticed her asleep a few minutes later, gently rubbing her back before pulling her medical files out again. Reading through it, a few things jumped out at him. Trust issues, compulsively lying, unwilling to work through trauma.

     Felix emailed the notes he thought were most important to Chan but kept reading. 

     “Client has mentioned early life with mother but not much. Briefly mentioned biological mother being under the influence often and redirecting anger onto the client.”

     “Client laughs when explaining a core event in her life.”

     “Clients says alcohol intake has gone down; was previously using to cope.”

     Felix kept reading. He could make guesses now why she chose to stay with them. Given her family history, maybe some lack of attention growing up caused her to seek it from anywhere in her adult life. Now, she had eight men ready to do that at any time of the day. 

     Being a liar could be useful to them. But it made him wonder; only one friend had been caught by law enforcement and charged. The other one was clean from head to toe. Y/n seemingly had a history of issues— using to cope could mean getting into some trouble. But nothing. 

     But she seemed so unphased by the eight being gangsters. Maybe she’d never been caught? Maybe she was clean? It was a little difficult to tell. 

     Felix reclined back into his chair and wrapped his arms around Y/n. He gently rubbed her back as he took in the information. He knew Chan had a plan from the beginning of this arrangement, but he also had a feeling this information was going to give him a bit more of an idea to use her.

     Felix chuckled a bit to himself as he went back to some other tasks. “Lix,” Y/n mumbled

     “Yes, princess?” He asked looking down at her. Her eyes still closed but little moans came out of her as she subtly grinded on him.

     “Silly girl,” Felix said as he moved his hands down to her ass and pulled her closer, kissing the side of her head, “Y/n.” He said

     “Mhm?” She asked, moving her head to hide in his chest.

     “Having a fun little dream?” Felix teased

     “Yes.”

     “Want some help?”

     “Please.”

     Y/n was happy she was just wearing panties and one of the boy’s t-shirts. Made it easier for him to move his sweatpants and boxers down and push her panties to the side. Lining his tip up with her entrance and slowly sank her down onto him. Y/n moaned as her walls stretched for him till he was fully inside of her.

     “Feel so good,” Y/n muttered into his chest.

     “Yeah? Think you just like having a cock in you princess,” Felix got back to work. Y/n held onto him tightly as she slowly started to grind herself against him.

     “Gonna use me to make yourself cum?” Felix asked, his baritone voice going straight to her core.

     “Please lix,” Y/n whined

     “Go ahead, princess. Just know I get to use you to cum later.”

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© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[sehodreams]

Could I request ways Riize members are toxic and possive and how utterly turns into sex

I hope I understood the request, toxic!riize is so interesting, maybe I lost myself a little bit, and sadly I couldn't imagine everyone. Also, Sungchan one is based on a few headcanons I've read before in the platform, I kind of almost wrote a full fic there and with Eunseok hahahaha

TW and tags: toxic!riize, dark!riize, manipulation, lying, a touch of verbal abuse, sexual content.

Eunseok, like I've said before, is really controlling. He wants to know where you are, who you are with and why you are even out, being capable of flooding your phone with texts demanding your location and, if you don't answer, going straight for your friends. This is pretty much based on how possessive he's with you, even before he starts courting you, he sees you as a potential partner only if he sees you're willing to obey him, for example, watching you for some time and how you talk to your parents, "yes dad, I'm here at school, I'll call you when I get back home", "dad but I want to stay, please... 'kay, I'll be waiting for you outside", and finding that you're a good girl easy to manage, he'll go for it. So, throughout the whole relationship, he won't have a hard time telling you to come back home, sometimes he did with nice words and little bribes like gifts and desserts, and in worst cases, lies about him not feeling well and hurting. The last one, of course, he only used it when you made things difficult for him, and it's not hard to convince you to come back, but it's hard to make you stay when you're so angry you can't stop crying while you say how preoccupied you were, you're honest, you say that only because you really were like that, so to stop you from leaving him, he'll apologize with that sweet voice he has, pushing you until he has you under him, and after that he would treat you as good as never before to make you forget why you were even mad, whispering exactly what you want to hear, all the praises you wished you had heard before, "such a good girl, listening to me so well'', and filling you with love remarks to make you remember that there's no one who loves you more than him, ''my pretty baby, crying for me because you were preoccupied, there's no one as good as you for me out there, my perfect girl.''

Sungchan is a really jealous boy, he loves his smart girl, he loves that whenever he says the name of your university everyone's impressed with the catch you are. Pretty, smart, kind, you're just perfect, which sounds amazing when he shows you off, but always makes him paranoid when he's not with you. He doesn't study with you, he's pretty, but he's not smart, so he lives in the gym and does his best to live as a trainer, and he knows he shouldn't bother you when you're so busy, but he can't stop himself. He calls you ten times a day and needs to meet every one of your friends, to feel calm and check that none of them put his position as your boyfriend in danger. He goes for you when you finish class to walk you home, and if you have a party, he's going with you. He's so fucking afraid of losing you that he can't even sleep well, and he's usually nice in bed, but if he sees you talking to a man or about a man too much, he gets lost when he touches you, leaving his nice side and pretty smile aside, he touches you until you can't talk anymore, a mess after so many orgasms, "so smart and pretty at the same time, I'm the only one who can make you this dumb, right?", because he believes that, if you can't even walk out of his apartment, of course you'll never leave him behind.

Sohee is extremely insecure, he wants to trust you, but he just can't. He tries to be good and contain himself, but before he notices it, he's already doing everything he knows he shouldn't, like checking your phone when you go to the bathroom, creating a fake profile to watch your social media and your friends, and watching all your and their stories to see if you told him the truth or not. He has tried numerous times to stop, he knows he shouldn't do it, that if he wants to have a healthy relationship with you he should trust you, but he can't, so when he sees you start suspecting he checks your phone and you take it to the bathroom with you, he decides he needs to do anything to see what you're hiding. So he fucks you even better than normal, the fire inside him pushing him to continue and continue thrusting inside you, "I'm sorry baby, I'll change, just feel how much I love you, you trust me right?", the insecurity giving him the strength to make you cum until you pass out, and once you're just like he wanted, deep asleep after everything he has done to you, he finds himself finally relaxing when he sees your phone as much as he wants, because that's a cycle that has no end.

Wonbin feels he has the right to control you and your decisions, what you eat, where you go, and especially, what you wear, so he's always judging how you look, sometimes even choosing your outfits himself because you really can't do anything well, and he can't let himself be seeing beside you if you're not looking your best. Like he says, he has a reputation to maintain. And doing all that, of course he decides when to fuck and where too. If you're in public and he feels the need to have you, you don't really have an option, whether you're on a reunion, a public place, even if you're extremely busy, if he wants to slip his hand under the skirt he chose, make you lie down and push to the side your pretty shorts or order you to go to your knees and suck him good, you'll do it, after all, he chose your outfits with the aim of getting what he wants fast and easy, and if you're good, he'll talk to you with a hint of affection and pride "shit baby, you'll have to redo your makeup, just look how you're crying all your eyeliner, but you look so good like that too", but if you don't leave him satisfied, he'll talk to you without an ounce of care, almost hurting you, ''Don't you dare come out looking like that, I don't need my girlfriend to look like a slut.''

[dailydoseoflhs]

04: Media.

══════════════════════════════

Lucille receives a notification from Instagram. Her eyes reads along the line of THE Charles Leclerc liking her story and her post.

The first instinct she does was to call Julia and fangirl with her.

The two girls was screaming at the top of their lungs as if they have won a lottery. Her profile getting followed and her post getting more engagement due to Charles' engagement to it.

Her phone pings, Julia sending her articles of "their" supposed relationship. When in fact, her and him are completely strangers to one another.

Some fans goes far as calling her homewrecker saying that she ruined Alexandra's ans Charles' perfect relationship.

Lucille hangs the call, closing her phone to detox.

"Anak? Okay ka lang ba?" (Lucille? Are you okay?) Her mother questions as she enters the room with Lucille's favorite snack.

"Okay lang po ako, ma." (I'm fine, mom) Lucille answers with an assuring smile on her lips.

The girl takes the snack and place it on her nightstand. Her mother was not chronically online, so she remains oblivious to what is happening.

The media is now calling her the new love interest. The scary part is, they are trying to get more information on her.

Good thing, she doesn't input her information in any of her social media accounts. Only birthday and nickname.

"She's 9 years younger"

"That's an age gap trope😍"

Some approves due and some remains not so happy with it.

══════════════════════════════

withlove_lucille posted a story 1min ago●

══════════════════════════════

Notification 🔔

@charles_leclerc liked your story

@charles_leclerc has started following you back

══════════════════════════════

Lucille saw the notification and decided to ignore it.

Charles is definitely just being a nice gentleman and appreciating his fans support for him. She knows that the man is still undergoing a heartbreak recovery.

Probably, sooner Charles will undo everything and realizes he is being hazy.

But Lucille despite her self-assurance could not shake it off. Why her? Why did he chose her to interact with? Was there any reasons?

Something in her mind is telling her something.

The invisible red string glowing gold as two soulmates has found their way to one another.

Entangled with hardship but by the looks of the string, it was a string that is strong and cannot be cut off.

══════════════════════════════

Meanwhile.

Charles accidentally liked his fan's post and story. Her congratulating him and posting him on his story, he felt big joy seeing it.

He knows his fans are ones who never gives up on him and so, he will not give up on them either.

Charles couldn't undo the like thinking that the user might think he didn't like their post and story, so he let it be.

But the next few hours, he didn't expect that it will blow up and a theory about his relationship. He couldn't understand, why he couldn't appreciate his fans at peace without a rumor being created?

He returns to the user's profile and liked the newly posted story about the situation, them clearing things up.

Charles accidentally clicked the follow as if his finger has its own mind. He panics making him close the phone and pace around the room.

He couldn't unfollow the user now especially his eagle-eyed fans that saw him following the account.

He is so doom. He is so done.

The media will have a field day with this. All because his fingers always slips up with this particular account.

Indeed, the medias has released articles about it already. Not even an hour passed and there are articles already.

He starts to feel bad for the person he dragged into this. The innocent person behind the account will be entangled in this mess.

Despite his panic, there is a certain feeling of familiarity. A sense of knowing towards the account as if he have know the person behind it for a long time.

The red string of fate do really have its own way. The accidents that he experience were not accidents but a glimpse of the future.

MASTERLIST || PREVIOUS || NEXT

Author's note

Update for you all! I survived my midterms, I'm kinda free from uni works...but I can't say I'll update regularly.

Regarding the taglist, it is open for everyone. I still have to fix it as I can't tag some accounts.

🏁🆑️🏎❤️

[yukidragon]

Sunshine in Hell Height Headcanons

It's June 15, which as many of you know from this official profile, that it's Sunny Day Jack's birthday today!

You might also know that it's [Redacted]'s birthday thanks to this ominous picture Sauce shared last year on this day. Funny how these two totally distinct characters share a birthday isn't it? 🤔

Anyway, I was hoping to have written something for this year to celebrate, but like last year my spoons are way too few and far between. I was also hoping to do something self-indulgent for my own birthday, but same lack of spoons halted me there too.

So, until I can stock up on more metaphorical utensils to help me do the stuff I feel like doing, I'm going to celebrate by rambling a little bit about some headcanon details.

Sunshine in Hell differs from the game demos in a number of ways, and one of them is Jack's height. As you might've seen from the profile link, Jack is canonically 6'2", but in my personal headcanon continuity, I decided to make the gentle giant quite a bit taller than that. Because it amuses me, and I struggle with imagining Jack as shorter than Cove Holden.

When deciding how tall to make Jack in my stories, I also decided to do a height chart for him and a few other characters as well. It helps to better imagine characters interacting when you can see how tall they are compared to others.

Yes, I threw in a few extra love interests to the mix, as well as a couple other MCs. I was curious to see how tall Alice would be compared to her sisters, and I had to throw in their love interests as well.

As an aside, it tickles me that even after I made Jack significantly taller, he's shorter than Bo's horny "Feed Me" form.

For those of you that need the conversion from centimeters to feet and inches, or have trouble reading the image, I'll write them down for easy reference.

Alice: 162 cm / 5'4"

Jack: 198 cm / 6'6"

Shaun: 178 cm / 5'10"

Nick: 173 cm / 5'8"

Ian: 170 cm / 5'7"

Bo: 180 cm / 5'11"

Barbie: 184 cm / 6'0"

Bo "Feed Me" form: 216 cm / 7'1"

Elias: 185 cm / 6'1"

Coraline: 172 cm / 5'8"

As you can see, Shaun, Nick, and Ian stuck with the canon heights in their profiles. It's just Jack who got a height increase because it's what I imagined his height to be from the start, and Sunshine in Hell is basically my headcanons that diverge from the game's canon, so I do what I want. It's also fun to imagine scary yandere Jack towering over every single one of the love interests. It adds to the intimidation factor too despite his gentle giant persona.

Bo and Elias don't have canon heights like the SDJ love interests, so I mostly just did whatever felt right to me for them. Bo's regular height was influenced by the mafia AU picture Sauce drew. It served as a very good height comparison chart all on its own. As you can see, Bo is just tall enough to reach Jack's smile if you don't count the ears and poofy hair.

All credit to the awesome Sauce for their lovely art of course and for feeding my headcanons. As always, I want to link to the SnaccPop Patreon as gratitude for being cool with me using their art in my posts. If you're a a free or paying member, consider checking out an important survey that went up to help guide the team in their future endeavors.

Bo looks so short compared to Jack, doesn't he? In my headcanon land, it's just a matter of perspective, and next to other people Bo is pretty darn tall. Though he's just one teeny tiny inch shorter than his puppy.

You bet your sweet bippy Barbie takes smug satisfaction in that one inch height superiority. Bo talks so big as a big bad alpha dog, but the puppy he's trying to dominate is just a bit bigger and badder than he ever expected.

Of course, Bo gets to turn it right back around on Barbie with his monster sized "Feed Me" form. Like werewolves that become huge compared to their human selves, when Bo's inner beast comes out to play, he adds on quite a lot of height and muscle. He towers over even Jack! Still, even when super sized, he's no match for Barbie.

As you can see, despite being the eldest child, Alice is shorter than her two younger sisters, especially Barbie! They got more of their dad's height genes, while Alice took more after their mom in that department. Barbie and Coraline are quite a bit taller than average, a fact that Barbie revels in, and Coraline can find a little awkward sometimes, especially during moments of weakness. It can be hard to help someone stand back up and walk when they're much taller than you are after all. It leads to some embarrassing moments for poor Coraline.

On that same note of surprisingly tall people with chronic illnesses, I thought it would be interesting if Elias would have been a very tall man if not for his illness. There's no canon height for him and he's floating with Jack and Bo in the Christmas picture, so it's hard to go with a comparative height. So, I went with what felt narratively interesting to me. With his legs being twisted, and him being hunched over with a cane, he probably appeared shorter than he actually was. It's hard to see his exact height with his lower half ghostly and indistinct as well. It's only when he actually bothers to give himself legs and stand with both feet planted firmly on the ground that he can show off just how tall he really is.

While I'm on the topic of height, I wonder if one of Ian's insecurities was his height. Some men have issues if they're shorter than their peers, and Ian is the shortest of the love interests. I can imagine it certainly didn't help if he was bullied for being short along with his general "nerdy" appearance back in school.

Still, Ian has nothing to complain about at the height he's at as a fully grown adult. Even if the other love interests are taller than he is, Ian is still above average for men in the US. He's just got the misfortune of being the shortest guy in a group of very tall people. At least he doesn't have to worry about taking the bottom spot in the height chart like Alice.

Yes, Alice is a bit self-conscious about being so short compared to her peers, even if technically she's also above average height for a woman in the US. She feels especially tiny when standing next to Jack.

Though, admittedly, Alice does find it very nice to feel tiny and delicate when Jack sweeps her up into his arms. It makes her feel less self-conscious about how chubby she is when her big strong giant of a boyfriend can carry her around so easily. Once she gets over the initial fear that he might drop her, she'll soon look forward to being whisked away by her silly clown.

Oh, and if you're wondering about Mary's height... I'm still debating if I want her to be around Alice's height or a little taller. She had the same eye color in both lives due to the eyes being windows to the soul, but there were other physical differences due to different parents introducing different genetics. I need to ruminate on that fine of detail more and see what feels more interesting to me narratively.

Though even if Mary was as tall as Barbie, she'll still be short enough for Joseph to sweep into her arms since he's just as much of a giant now as he was then. Not that it would stop him from trying even if his sunshine was bigger than him. Nothing will stop Joseph/Jack from showing his love for his sunshine!

I think I'll wrap things up on that fluffy note. I hope y'all enjoyed me going off on a headcanon ramble after such a long time. With any luck, I'll be able to get to answering some asks soon. Thanks for reading!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

[seijorhi]

Just wanted to let you know that that oikawa soulmate drabble you just posted is such a banger. I can just imagine the look on oikawa’s face as he’s reading the caption on his soulmate’s socials . . . Does he decide then and say, f waiting gotta go find her and remind her of their agreement? Does he blast her name out after winning his next game, saying it’s because of her that he’s been able to accomplish so much and then conveniently shares a reel of that victory speech to one of your friends who likes volleyball and happens to be friends with his fake profile?

There are so many ways this scenario could go and it’s always so interesting and thrilling the way you leave your drabbles open-ended✨✨

Thank you for sharing!

well first of all there's the epic tantrum he throws. tears, snot, a shattered phone. basically wrecks his bedroom, tears at his hair and screams into his pillows. a very measured, healthy response.

ONCE he calms down (which he will, eventually) that's when he gets plotting. oikawa's not a man who takes losing well, he's also not the type of guy to hit back with only one

up until that point, he'd managed to talk himself out of physical stalking. the online stuff was fine, because you'd made it public, you'd posted it and put it out into the world, but actually following you home, finding out your day-to-day routine – when he can afford to, those rare, precious days off – that would've been creepy. or... crossing a line, at least. a step too far. but now he knows there's some asshole trying to weasel into his girl's life, take his place–

six months, six months, six months, six months, six months, six months

–he doesn't feel all that torn up about it. and while he spends his time between volleyball and you, he's sure he can spare some cash to throw at a pi to look into your boyfriend too. surely the asshole's got a few secrets he can use against him. no one's perfect, and everyone's exploitable. he could probably pay one of the girls at that asshole's office to get him in a compromising position, take a few photos and send them your way. he could probably pay someone to drag him into an alley on his way home and beat the fuck out of him too, but that one's a little dicier. more of a 'plan b' situation, he thinks.

he's always been pretty tight lipped about his soulmate status. his teammates have undoubtedly caught a glimpse or two, but they know he doesn't talk about it, and it's too personal a thing to just casually drop into conversation. publicly, he's never said a word.

until now.

he'll make it sound like a cinderella moment. one of those missed connections stories people go nuts over. he'll say that he saw you through the crowds after one of his games, just a glimpse before you were swallowed up. never got your name, never even had a chance to speak to you, but your eyes met for a split second, a heartbeat, and he knew you were his soulmate. now he's desperately trying to find you again, enlisting his fans and followers' help to do so.

he'll sprinkle in enough vague-ish details for the people in your life to pick up on and recognise. maybe start nudging you towards him.

he'll admit, with a soft, self-deprecating chuckle that you were there with another guy – a date, probably. it's why he held off trying to find you at first, but he... he just can't anymore. he doesn't care if you're with someone else.

he's totally swept up in you, it's all he can think about. he's already completely in love with you, and he doesn't even know your name.

it sounds crazy, he knows that, but he can't help it. he just needs to see you again. to learn your name. for you to give him a chance.

you're soulmates, and this is just the beginning of your love story.

[nanowrimo]

Angst: How to Hurt Your Characters and Make It Count

As a writer, you’re probably familiar with putting your characters through painful situations. But how can we make all that suffering worth it? NaNo Participant Liz Generally has some advice on how to write effective angst! Arabella K Federico said, “Write pain so effectively, your readers will be begging for it to end.”

When you find yourself emotionally invested in your characters, hurting them can feel outright wrong. But sometimes, for the sake of your story, you just have to push them off the cliff (metaphorically or physically!)

Make it hurt. Dig deep, and reach into the darkest pits of emotional and physical pain. Give your readers a reason to break for your character. There are a few methods you can use to do this.

1. Physical Pain

Pain is a powerful motivator. It can cause people to act out of character, lash out, create out-of-character emotional outbursts or realizations, or show previously unknown care. This can also make your character more relatable to your readers. Pain doesn’t just affect the person experiencing it!

2. Mental or Emotional Pain

What is your character’s worst fear? The nightmare that keeps them up at night? Are they afraid of losing someone close to them? Are they terrified of leaving someone behind? Use that to heighten the consequences of a scene. Characters who experience intense emotional or mental pain become more real to your readers, especially if they have experienced similar mental or emotional pain.

3. Spiritual Pain

Although spiritual pain generally results from either physical, mental, or emotional pain, it can be a very effective method to hurt your character and create angst. How can you make your reader question their faith or lack thereof? If they are very spiritual, can you make them believe their god or deity doesn’t exist? If they don’t believe in a deity, can you make them believe in one? Spiritual pain can be the most excruciating to read when done well.

So how do you amplify the pain? What can you use to make the pain more graphic, intense, and palpable?

1. Dig deep into your own personal experiences.

Using your own pain as inspiration will help you ensure that what you’re writing is authentic and raw. Chances are, at least some of your readers have experienced something similar.

2. Use words that evoke not only emotion but physical sensation.

If you are struggling to write a specific scene, outline it. Write a list of each of the five senses and a list of all of the thoughts that your character might feasibly think. You should write at least one or two from each sense, and a few thoughts (if your chosen point of view allows for it) into the scene to create a full sensory profile.

3. How does your setting affect the pain you’re writing into the scene?

If your character is in love with someone, and the angst happens at a wedding, what is happening around them to increase the pain they feel? Is their love interest marrying someone else? What are they feeling or seeing that could make that pain worse? Is the song playing a song they imagined dancing with them to at their own wedding? Does the wedding look like the one they always imagined having with them? Are they standing beside them trying to pretend they don’t wish with every fiber of their being that they were the ones getting married?

Angst doesn’t have to be physical. It does have to connect with your reader. When you use multiple types of pain, utilize your own experiences, use all of your senses, and your setting to its full potential, there are unlimited ways to create angst that will have your readers begging you to put your characters out of their misery. Have fun hurting your characters!

Liz Generally is a romance author, wife, and mother to two girls and two dogs living in Oklahoma City. Liz is passionate about helping people and raising awareness for congenital heart disease. When she isn’t writing, she can be found spending time with her family and friends, volunteering, crafting, or cheering on her favorite hockey team. Liz is the author of Never Gonna Let You Fall, Alpha Mine, Blood Dreams, and Through The Flames all available on Kindle Vella. Photo by Abigail on Unsplash

[aurelim]

Hey do you know any other mermaid/siren whatever of the water merfolk sort IF's? because there aren't a lot

I also loved as the ocean lures, hope to see more of it in the future

thank you so much! I hope to write more of it in the future 😂

As for mermaid/siren/anything water-like creatures, I’ve got a few. Most of them are just intro posts and ones with demos that are pretty short, so I’ll split it up into two categories along with their tumblr blogs. There are some finished ones as well but you’re going to have to pay for the entire game so I don’t know if you’re going to want to pay in order to read the whole thing. I won’t put it but I can add some if you’d like!

I don’t really follow VNs so you’re just going to get text-based games. Sorry about that 😅

There was another demo for a game called Kalopsia but it seems to have been deleted. And there’s another game where you’re found and then saved by a captain. Both were on itch.io but I can’t find either one.

Demos

Abysm’s Veil [thread] by Jacic (inspiration for ATOL, about the rusalki)

The Sea Maiden [thread] by Jacic (they have some other games but they’re short if you really want to check them out!)

Beyond the Waves by @allthatwrites (inspiration for ATOL, related to The Little Mermaid)

Voiceless: A Siren’s Song [thread] by Fare (MC is not a mermaid but they can help one!)

Disenchanted by @disenchantedif (you can choose to be a siren)

Drown With Me by @barbwritesstuff

Siren Call by @darkpetal16 (it’s based on Undertale and while MC is not a siren Sans definitely is)

Intro Posts

…And I Am Undone by @fakeyellow (short story based on Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid)

When Silence Speaks by @whensilencespeaks (seems to be on hiatus but the idea is really interesting!)

In Deeper Tides by @indeepertidesif (Disenchanted spin-off)

Through the Waves by @throughthewaves-if (this just came out recently and honestly I wouldn’t have known about it if I didn’t look at Zee’s reblog of it!)

I know there’s more, but I just don’t remember them or have yet to see them. If there is, please let me know!

There are some other IFs that are water related like @riptide-if (which is surfer related) but they’re not about mermaids or sirens.

Also, here’s interact-if’s list of mermaid IFs or water-related stuff if you’d like to take a gander. You can also just look up forums and Reddit for any mermaid recs. I’ve seen a few posts for them and people have given some. But I think I’ll cap it off here.

I’m so sorry to all the people I’ve tagged, but it makes it easier for people to just go to your profile and look at the amazing things that are cooking right now. Also because I’ve been making this list for about an hour and a half nonstop and I’d like to give my hands a rest 😅

(although I will tag @elegantunknownphantom as Zee probably has some IFs too that I didn’t list)

[gallavichthings]

It's time!

How would you all like 21 22 fics on the 21st 22nd of December?

The Gallavich Masquerade Ball 2023 is now open! Grab a glass of champagne or anything else you'd prefer, some hors d'oeuvres, and choose your (first) dance partner for the night!

You can check all the fics in our AO3 collection or on this post, after the cut. A list of all authors with links to their profiles is also included. This post is pinned so you can check it whenever you want.

And here's the link for the form where you can put your guesses. It's only one form for all the fics, so please wait to submit your guesses only after you've read them all.

Here's the updated point system:

Points for readers: Correct guess on first choice: 5 points. Correct guess on second choice: 2 points. Incorrect guess: lose 1 point. (Please note that you only lose 1 point per story, even if you guess incorrectly on both choices.)

Points for writers: If someone correctly guesses your fic (regardless of in the first or second choice): 1 point. If someone wrongfully guesses your fic: 3 points.

Leaving kudos and comments is allowed and appreciated! Writers are also allowed to answer, but it's up to them whether to already do it or wait until everyone's identity is revealed so as not to give anything away accidentally. Oh, and if you want to post something about the fics here on Tumblr but can't tag them, I can serve as buffer for now lol.

Oh, and the surprise? The winners will get some great fanart, courtesy of the talented @doshiart! Isn't that awesome?! 🥂

Cheers!

Keep reading to get a list of all the fics with their summaries and word count, as well as a list of all the authors, with links to their AO3 profiles.

FICS:

AITA?  (2,072)

AITA? My new clients (29M and 31M) threatened me and I want to fire them. I know that’s not official therapist speak. TLDR; I want to encourage them to have healthier boundaries and find a new therapist, but until then, what do I do?

Attitude adjustment (4,483)

Post-canon Ian and Mickey figure out some relationship issues. That includes insults, (play-)fighting, more insults, and orgasms. Or: Mickey is having an attitude. Thank god Ian knows exactly what to do.

Black Charcoal meets Fiery Red (1,838)

Ian poses in a life drawing class. A straight forward job, if not for the guy with the blue eyes who can't stop staring at him.

Carnival (3,136)

Ian and Mickey spend the evening at a carnival... "Ian locked the car’s door, and put his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, as they walked towards the carnival. He had brought the leaflet home a few days ago, wiggling the colorful sketch of a carousel and the outdated font under Mickey’s nose with some hopeful glee. Mickey had protested for habit sake, but had caved in pretty easily..."

Five Dates with Brad f*cking Pitt (4,269)

Sometimes things may not be what they seem. Especially when there are assholes around who add fuel to the fire just for the sake of a fucking joke.

Groceries (2,260)

A routine trip to the store turns into a trip down memory lane.

The Guardians (4,879)

3,000 years ago, they had to join forces to defeat an evil sorcerer. Now, the sorcerer was back, and more powerful than ever. Could they defeat him for good?

i'll find a new place to be from (5,947)

They stand in silence for a couple beats, unspoken words lingering above their heads. The cig in his hand has long burned out and Ian resists the temptation to light up another, and another. He feels his mouth open, and close, then open again–but nothing comes out. Time’s up. "See you inside, Red," Mickey finally says before pushing the door open, and Ian remembers how to breathe.

Infused Attraction (3,434)

Mickey has to receive Iron infusions. Ian is a student nurse who is assisting the other nurses with the infusion. Mickey is interested in the redhead. Ian is seemingly interested in him too. Let's see how it goes!

Italy (I Trust And Love You) (3,183)

"Ian closed his eyes and ran a hand through his damp hair. He sighed and straightened his shoulders. Took a deep breath, as if to steal himself for some monumental task, and walked off down the sidewalk. The rain made quick work of drenching him. Ian didn’t seem to notice. In the dirt beneath the tree, drawn in crude blocky letters made with the toe of his boot: I + M." OR A story mostly told through Debbie's eyes during world war two, as she worries for all her brothers, but particularly the one sent home much before the rest.

Jump To Recipe (5,977)

Hiring Mickey Milkovich - Freelance Photographer to shoot the photos for his food blog was the best move Ian’s ever made. Mickey’s a fantastic shot, plus he’s committed to the success of Ian’s blog. (He’s fucking hot, too. But that’s just an added bonus.) And the best thing about him, is that in all the ways he’s professional behind the camera, he’s refreshingly unprofessional to Ian’s face. Which means when he comes around, Ian always knows he’s in for a good laugh, intriguing conversation, and an ego boost - Mickey never shy about how much he loves Ian’s food when they dig in after the shoot. Ian’s made chocolate lava cake today. But when extra time leads to their at-home appointment going way off script - Mickey wanting to update Ian’s headshots, but with a twist - who will the spicier photos leave wanting more, the “housewife army” from his blog’s comment section, or Ian and Mickey?

A Lot (4,245)

What could have happened if Ian had told Mickey that he was worried about going to Mexico with him?

The man in the van (2,141)

“Suppose I should thank you for the compliment then,” Ian teases, smirking a little. The guy snorts. “Don’t mention it, Red. I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.” He proceeds to shamelessly check Ian out again, licking the corner of his mouth as he does. or Ian Gallagher wouldn't mind some excitement in his life. Enter one Mickey Milkovich, ready to oblige.

ole red (5,596)

Mickey is out of prison and walking the straight and narrow with help of his cheering section, P.O. Larry . It’s hard being tough in a pastel polo and dad shorts. Old Army is just a paycheck until he meets the assistant manager, Ian. Finally he figures out Ian was Mandy’s Ian from their teen years. Mickey is attracted to the redhead but is still closeted. Ian responds to Mickey lashing out by revealing he knows Mickey’s secret. Mickey decides to be brave and the reward , huge 😈

The Reason to Exist (4,851)

lieutenantcolonel [18:22]: can you stop stealing my loot lieutenantcolonel [18:22]: this team only needs 1 sharpshooter anyway 😐 mm1234567890 [18:23]: shut up u f** lieutenantcolonel [18:23]: WHAT

Red Hot (4,364)

Ian's workday has been shitty... but his afternoon might just be very different. Thanks to his favorite nephew and a certain mouthy and opinionated stall owner at the winter farmer's market.

A Salute Before We Sink (4,601)

The world will end tomorrow. Ian's only chance at survival is to earn a spot in an underground bunker. One man stands in his way.

Snowballs and Sneaking Out (2,441)

Mickey shows up to the Gallagher House in the middle of the night with a surprise for Ian.

So drunk on you (3,878)

"Then Mickey launches himself into quite a detailed account of the previous evening and there goes Ian’s sanity. He’s learned over the months to hone his selective hearing. That is, he’s not tuning Mickey out completely but he’s trained his brain to gloss over the facts that fall under the TMI category and focus on the highlights. Again, for the sake of his sanity. Because the thing is, he’s so gone on Mickey it’s actually embarrassing. And he’s been gone pretty much from the very beginning." Just another friends-to-lovers story.

Span the Distance, Bridge the Border (4,988)

Ian and Mickey are happy, living on the West Side and adjusting to life as husbands in their new apartment. Things are going well, really well, until one day Mickey’s brothers show up. And God only knows what they could possibly want.

weight of the world (3,360)

Mickey thought he was fucked for life and that he’d never see his mom again. Turns out he was wrong about both of those things.

Wonderful- a Gallavich Christmas Mini-fic (5,030)

In which Mickey learns the reason for the season or How the Mick gained Christmas.

AUTHORS:

Blodeuwedd

Calli_Writes

Captain_Jowl

energie_vie

Gallabitch73

gallawitch

Gembu

GrandSelfMythology

IanGalagher

JuliaKay

lingy910y

MissSnowwhitepink

mmmichyyy

My_Brain_Melted

NotHereNJ

Rayrayor

sam_writes_fics

Suzy_Queue

sweet_perversion

Sweetbee78

whatthebodygraspsnot

whatyouandihave

[the-golden-comet]

🌈✨Hello, lovelies~✨🌈

I’m The Golden Comet, or goldencomet69 as some of you may know me as. 💫

If you’ve followed me before, and wondering why I’m at this account now, you can check out the PSA blog @goldencometpsa .

I am a positive-posting, LGBTQIA+ friendly, 18+ blog , queer writing GOBLIN with many different hobbies and special interests. These include, but not limited to…

🌈✨Writing LGBTQIA+ Romantasy Novels✨🌈

I have an Archive Of Our Own account, where all of my novels will be published for free. However, I am also a self published author on Amazon Kindle eBooks, if you wish to support me further (no pressure, though!)

Peter Hart— Available on Amazon Kindle eBooks and Archive Of Our Own

✨🎨Digital Art🎨✨

I love to illustrate for my novels. You’ve probably seen my works before, but I’ll post a few examples here:

Peter and Benjamin, the dynamic duo protagonists of my novel Peter Hart:

The College-Life Graduate students Ali and Noah from my WIP Your Wish is My Command:

And, from my fanfiction The Wingman on AO3, Ganon and Link from The Legend of Zelda:

I also draw NSFW, but I keep those pictures strictly to my 🌶️ Twitter (X) Account 🌶️

🎶 Composition🎶

I write music, especially for my novels. I have a soundtrack for Peter Hart available on AO3. However, I’ll share two compositions here:

“Into the Ashes”

“Hart’s Lament”

I’ve always been a “Jack of All Trades” type, and I love sharing my creativity and culture with the world and making our lives a little more bright ✨

🎮 Video Games🎮

Yes, I am a gamer. My current obsessions are Legend of Zelda (BOTW/TOTK), Stardew Valley, Spyro the Dragon, Sly Cooper, and Genshin Impact.

I also know about a variety of other video games from my husband, including but not limited to: Dark Souls, Bloodborne, Elden Ring, Ghosts of Tsushima, Remnant (I and II), Armored Core 6, EDF, Helldivers (I and II), and all the ones I mentioned previously as well 💍 ✨

📖 Philosophy📖

My philosophy is as such: It doesn’t take a whole lot of effort to be kind. That means, you may see me positive-posting a lot. The world needs a little more light, and a lot more motivated minds✨

If you are ever troubled, want a friend to chat with, share ideas and stories, and are 18 or older, my ask box and DMs are always open. Just know it may take a little longer to get back to you due to the aforementioned things I’m doing. 🫠

Oh, my kingdom for a cup of joe ☕️

If you made it this far, thank you for reading! Feel free to reblog, share my profile, art and stories….as long as you give me credit for them 💫

[waywardsummoner46]

Our Beautiful Girl

Pairing: Yandere!BAU x Reader, Yandere!Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: “Do you understand, (Y/N)? You need only understand and you won’t ever have to think again! Wouldn’t that be nice? A life without ever needing to worry about a thing? No responsibilities, no problems, nothing to trouble you ever again.”

  Years of successful cases struck you as suspicious... so you began researching. You never thought your research would come to this. You never thought your life would come to this. If you managed to survive this... who would believe you?

Word Count: 2538

Warnings: obsessive behaaviour, coercion, slight infantilism, drugging, non-consensual kisses, non-consensual touching, manipulation, the BAU and their ideology in this is fucked up

IMPORTANT A/N: My mind is fucked up. Oh well. This isn’t my darkest fic but be warned it’s a bit disturbing. I will be more than willing to do a drabble series for this if people are interested or even more parts. I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think!

DIvider by @firefly-graphics​

Everyone had heard of the legendary BAU team. They were an extremely popular department of the FBI, being called consistently to multiple parts of America and the rest of the world on occasion. They never got a break and consequently never stopped helping people. 

  Every case they had they “found the bad guy” or “arrested the unsub” and all they ever got was praise and blind acceptance. 

  Surely you couldn’t have been the only one to think that their endless streak of success wasn’t perfectly innocent. Despite only being an agent in training at the time their popularity peaked, you shared your opinions only with your closest friends and that’s where they stayed. 

  As soon as you’d left high school, you knew that being a profiler for the FBI was exactly what you wanted to do, hearing of the legendary stories of how the BAU had yet again caught a psychotic serial killer or rapist or whatever the fuck humanity had spewed up. It was intriguing to say the least. 

  You’d seen pictures of the team in pictures and read about them individually in interviews. They acted as your inspiration for the job during your early years; whenever you found something to be extensively difficult you merely reminded yourself that struggle is only a step closer to becoming as amazing as them. This became a regular technique for you, often thinking and dreaming about when you’d finally qualify and be able to explore the world and help people in your own unique way alongside the current greats of the BAU. 

  The friends you’d made shared your opinions and ultimately boosted that attitude, mirroring it actually. 

  Everything was going great! Until it wasn’t… 

  The first seed of doubt was planted in your head when you decided to do a little personal research. You looked through the archives of past cases (even though you weren’t supposed to and miraculously had access to it) and counted how many they’d solved in total. After an hour of counting and three hundred successful cases in a row, your restless hands finally slumped against the many case files piled around you on the floor and you regarded them with a raised brow and slightly pursed lips. 

  Surely there must’ve been at least one case they’d failed? Or at the very least, not caught the bad guy or charged the wrong guy? 

  Apparently not if the information from the daunting files in front of you had anything to do with it. 

  The logical thing to do was to accept it and resume your life as it had been and continue to aspire to be like this clearly flawless team yet there was something nagging you in the back of your mind just to delve a little deeper. Search a little more. 

  …no one’s gonna notice three hundred files missing right? No, surely not. Alright they would but ten or twenty at a time wouldn’t hurt and they were just begging to have some action. 

   So that day you neatly reorganised the files and put them back where they belonged but remembering to come back for a few at the end of the day. 

  After a long day of training, it finally got to home time and as you waved your friend goodbye, under the pretence that you desperately had to go to the toilet, you made your way back to the archives only to stop short at the neat pile resting on top of one of the cabinets. Did you forget to put the ones you were going tonight to take away? Surely you didn’t. 

  Then again you were tired and a bit forgetful the past few days so the situation was more plausible than not.  Deciding to reluctantly shrug it off, you reached for the files after looking around to see nobody was watching you and stuffing them into your satchel bag, crammed alongside all of your other things. 

   Letting out a shaky breath of relief, you left the room and made your way quickly out of the building, walking quickly, quickly, quickly-

  Into someone else’s body. You glanced up with an apology on your tongue only to stop short at the sight of Doctor Reid. Instead of the smooth apology flying out of your mouth, you stood their gaping like a fish struggling to form a sentence. 

  He brushed off his shirt and straightened his tie before looking up at you, eyes widening slightly when they met yours. 

  “I am so sorry, Doctor Reid! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and didn’t see you! I am so, so sorry, I-“ you rambled and we’re cut off by him raising a kind hand to dismiss you. 

  “Actually the collision was both of our faults. Statistics show we’re more likely to bump into another person or thing when feeling rushed or anxious than when not.” He said it with such fluidity and confidence that you had to close your eyes and swallow to compose yourself. “On the bright side, at least neither one of us are hurt.” 

  You looked back up at him and smiled shyly under his easygoing gaze. Out of habit, your hands came up to the strap of your satchel and began fidgeting with it, “I’m sorry again, Doctor. Are you alright?” 

   “I’m alright, thank you. Are you alright, Miss (Y/L/N)?” He knew your name? 

  You nodded in confirmation, missing how he glanced at your bag, noticing the bulge and allowing his lips to quirk momentarily, as you silently pondered over how he knew your name. 

  When your eyes met again you realised that you’d been standing there in silence for a while. “Unfortunately I should really leave now. It was nice speaking to you and again, I’m sorry for bumping into you,” you stated as you began turning to the exit. 

  “It’s no problem, we actually evaded the high chance of one of us getting hurt during the collision so I’d say that it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Take care, Miss (Y/L\N),” he said and waved goodbye, leaving out a separate door. 

  You walked over to your car, opened it and plopped down onto the seat, sighing heavily and looking uneasily at the bag on the passenger seat, wondering what exactly you were about to do. Was it really a good idea? You’d just met Doctor Reid formally for the first time and he seemed like a genuinely good person, your developing profiling skills contributing to your evaluations, so you felt mildly guilty second guessing his and his team’s sense of justice. 

  Biting your lip, you sat in silence for a good minute plotting the pros and cons of your idea. 

  No one would know you’d taken them, surely. No one has any need for them, they’re old files for god's sake! 

  Well, no one has any need for them, bar you of course. 

  With a determined nod, you put your keys in the ignition and drove home, knowing you had a long night of reading ahead of you. 

It had been two weeks since you’d taken those files home. And it was nearly the end of endless files you’d found in the archives, considering how you’ve had no luck since beginning then you were starting to think that this entire escapade had been a mistake. 

  Tireless efforts lasting overnight were slowly catching up on you, you were overwhelmed by the graphic images taken and the details in some of the cases were downright horrific. Child pornography, rape, homicide, torture… there was nothing not on that list. The amount of bile and vomit that had been flushed down your toilet was insane. You’d concluded that maybe you’re more cut out for the action aspect of the job and not the analysis of dead, mutilated bodies. 

  Despite that your mind couldn’t help but dwell on your encounter with Doctor Reid. He’d been extremely charming and you’d been itching to just speak to him again. You had no idea why but there was something about him that was just so interesting to you - something that needed a little prodding. 

  Wrenching yourself out of your thoughts, you once again tried and failed to focus on the piece of work in front of you. It was an exercise to teach and prepare you to conclude a case therefore summarising and going into detail about every aspect. Without the thrill of an actual case you found this activity to be a complete drag and elected to ignore the work until an hour before the deadline which was next week if memory serves correct. Which gave you enough time to finish the last ten files in your satchel.  

  You’d decided to stay at the BAU late that night, coming to the conclusion that the work place would increase your productivity and reduce your exhaustion. Apart from the odd agent, there was nothing that distracted you from your work.

  Each and every picture from each and every file seemed to be ingrained into your memory; the horrors not something you’d forget so easily. It made you wonder though, how exactly did the current BAU seem so… at ease with everything they’ve seen?

  Of course, they’re not not unscarred but there always seems to be some undertone of something whenever they discuss previous cases. After all, that very undertone was what encouraged you to be breaking practically every rule of your training because something was just not right.

  About an hour had passed and you were finally on the last case file. Nothing struck you immediately (apart from a disheartening disappointment), all sections and pictures just as bad as the others. Nothing was out of the ordinary… except just one thing. 

  Anyone who wasn’t studying it as vigorously as you would’ve missed it. There was a… note, of some sort, at the end of the medical examination section. 

    Do you understand now, (Y/N)?

 “Oh, (Y/N)! I didn’t expect to see you here. Is everything okay? You look a bit… sick,” the voice of Spencer Reid made you jump from your shaken stupor. Seeing your wide, teary eyes must’ve been concerning for him. He immediately rushed over to you and began soothing you, stroking the tears from your cheeks.

  “Hey now, what’s gotten you so upset?” 

  You couldn’t do anything between your tears and quivering lips so you only pointed to the case notes, not caring at all what you’d be admitting to. His lips pursed as he looked at it.

  An eyebrow raised, he said, “Yes, this does seem quite concerning. I do have one question though…” Even through your terror, you recognised that this was where all of your years of hard work would come to an end; you pushed through your crippling fear and pleaded for forgiveness one last time.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant to! I just couldn’t help myself. I’m so-”

  “No, no, no. Breathe with me, (Y/N), you’re alright. It’s not that, it’s not.” Oh, that was a relief. What was it then? “It’s simple enough, so I’ll cut to the chase: do you? Understand, that is. It’s very important to us.”

  What? 

  Slowly, you moved away from his hands and reached a trembling hand to the gun in your pocket. “What did you just say?” 

  A tight smile spread across his face at your actions. He huffed a sigh, “You can be so silly sometimes, (Y/N). My question was easy! I phrased it as comprehensively as I could! Just for you! Always, for you!”

  An obsessive, manic look took over his face, his entire body language. This was not the famous Doctor Spencer Reid. He looked too insane for that.

  “Doctor, I don’t understand what you’re saying…`’ Evidently, that was the wrong thing to say as he went from looking loopy to completely livid and then to a twisted sort of affectionate. Him settling on that sent shivers through you.

  He took a step forward and you took one back, another step forward, another step back. You carried on like this until your back regrettably hit a wall -  you were trapped. Drawing your gun, you warned him. “G-get back! Don’t come any closer, I will shoot!”

  Obediently, he paused and smiled warmly at you. “I suppose it was our fault. The likelihood of you understanding our motives was seventeen percent at best but we were hopeful. Admittedly, it was a risky gamble and what must happen now was entirely avoidable but oh well!” He was still unbearably charming even when he scared the living daylight out of you.

  Neither of you said anything for a while; him clearly enjoying watching you and you debating on whether or not to shoot him. The silence was unnerving to an extreme you were unfamiliar with.

  A lump in your throat had appeared and your grip on the gun was flimsy at best - you couldn’t help but feel that, despite how you were aiming a gun at him, he was the one with the power in the situation… if only you could figure out why. 

  “I can see your clever little brain working from over here. As adorable as it is, you need only understand and you won’t ever have to think again! Wouldn’t that be nice? A life without ever needing to worry about a thing? No responsibilities, no problems, nothing to trouble you ever again,” he was crazy, positively psychotic.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t understand, Doctor Reid! What are you saying?” Emotional exhaustion nearly overwhelmed you but you remained strong. All of your research and now his behaviour was making you even more aware that something was out of place but you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what.

  Too quick for you to realise, he’d strode towards you, grabbed your gun and forced your back to his chest - a hand calmly stroking your hair and one discarding the gun to the floor. You were screaming and sobbing like a feral beast and, answering your prayers, somebody heard you.

  Multiple somebodies as it seemed, the rest of Spencer’s team. Through your overwhelming distress, you didn’t notice the equally twisted fondness they looked at you with, only focusing on how other people were here to help. Reid’s next words made you realise the extent of the danger you were in:

  “We know, baby. That’s why we’re all here to help you!”

  We, he’d said. 

  All of the BAU were just as crazy as the others. Everything you’d ever suspected, ever hypothesised was true. This only reinforced it. 

  You felt a sharp prick on the side of your neck. Realising Spencer had injected you with some sort of sedative, you instantly began to struggle. His soothing words did anything but as you descended into an increasingly drowsy sense of panic. And as you finally succumbed to unconsciousness, you felt him place a kiss to your forehead, each of your eyelids and one lasting one to your lips

  “When you wake up, you’ll finally be home… and you won’t have to worry about anything ever again. Our beautiful little girl.”

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Kim Dokja headcanons with fem!reader who is a writer

These headcanons are dedicated to my friend @d10nsaint who recommended me this webtoon series to me when I had nothing else to read lol. Enjoy! :)

Prior to the apocalypse, Kim Dokja was neither a social butterfly nor a likable person on Minosoft’s Q and A team. Most people avoided him, and he liked to keep a low profile so he could read his webnovels in peace. 

It was a perfect, quiet routine for a contract worker like himself  until the arrival of a new junior shattered it all. [First Name] [Last Name], recently transferred from the company’s [Country] branch to HQ. And she was assigned to work under him. 

Not only was the junior a quick learner, but she was also very good-looking. Kim Dokja might be a reader at heart, he wasn’t a blind fool to not notice her. She was definitely on her way to becoming the next Yoo Sangah in the company: charming, kind, and willingly to stay late to help the team finish up any assignments for the next meeting. 

He definitely did not have a chance with someone like them. At least that was what he had thought until he looked over in her cubicle to go over some paperwork when he saw the artwork of a web novel on her computer but she wasn't there. 

SOMEONE ELSE BESIDES HIM READ WEBNOVELS?! The man was stunned to say the least. However, right now he could not afford to look like a weirdo with the CEO making random rounds to each department today. So, like the gentleman he is, he placed the documents on your desk and went right back to work. 

But he kept an eye on her…in a non-creepy way of course! It was just….hard  for him to make conversation with someone. It definitely took Kim Dokja a few times to ask [First Name] if they would be interested in going to get a bite to eat on the way home from a particularly tiring day in the office. 

To his surprise and delight, she accepted. It was nothing fancy, just a food stall. When he saw that her phone screen was opened up to the newest chapter of Three Ways of Survival he couldn’t help but blurt out that it was a mind-blowing twist to the story. 

[First Name]'s reaction to his words was stunned silence, followed by them asking him that he’s read the novel too with a starry look in her eyes. 

After that, Kim Dokja and [First Name] exchanged numbers. While at Minosoft,  the two of them worked together and remained professional. If one or the other were invited to drinks, they’d follow them. Nothing too odd to raise any alarms, just casual banter that even made a few of the other employees raise her eyebrows.

It was a whole different story when they were off the clock though. 

The two of them either went out somewhere, or just spent a good chunk of the evening texting each other web novel recommendations or their thoughts on the latest chapter of TWSA.

Kim Dokja thought he knew everything about his growing crush on [First Name] until she shyly dropped another startling revelation on him just a year after discovering that they loved reading as much as he did: [First Name] [Last Name] was a web novel writer.

Not only that, but her work was something he’d recently started to read when tls123 went on a brief hiatus due to health issues. 

Seriously, how could someone be so perfect in his eyes?!

Naturally, he read [First Name]’s work and gave her honest feedback on the plot’s progression, the characters, any and everything that would make her grin from ear to ear or hum in contemplation about where she could improve. 

He has the honor of reading her rough drafts before she published it online. Not going to lie, some of his ideas came from his favorite web novel. But [First Name] deeply appreciated his help and often thanked him for his support, especially when she was hit with writer’s block.

It took Kim Dokja another six months before he worked up the courage to ask [First Name] out on a date. He was terrified, fearing that he might lose his only friend…but seeing the bright red hue on  [First Name]’s face and hearing her stutter that she would be delighted to go out with him as more than a co-worker and a friend made his heart skip a beat.

She….she really…liked him too, huh? That’s…great. No, it was more than great. This is probably one of the happiest memories he still kept close to his heart: knowing that he loved someone, and she loved him back.

And now, no matter what happened in these scenarios, he would protect and provide for [First Name]. She was precious to him, and she gladly reciprocated that same devotion and love with no strings attached or scheming. 

It still warmed his heart to see her cuddle with Gil-Yeong and Shin Yu-Seong late at night or work with the rest of his party to ensure that everyone was prepared for what lay ahead next. 

He also took secret, sadistic delight in seeing his significant other win arguments against Han Sooyoung, especially about stories or writing. 

No matter what she said, a plagiarist is still a plagiarist even if people said that SSSSSS-Grade Infinite Regressor is superior to Three Ways of Survival in every way.

.

[rosanna-writer]

Karma Is My Boyfriend (2/?)

Summary: Elain Archeron saved countless lives by vanquishing Graysen Nolan, her literal demon of a fiancé. She's a hero, but it's just not fair that being a good witch destined to rid the world of evil has left her tragically, painfully single. Enter Lucien Vanserra, the best cupid in the business, who's been sent by the universe to balance the karmic scales and find Elain the perfect new partner…

Happy day two of @elucienweekofficial!!! The people I can't thank enough include both the wonderful event organizers and ALSO the friends who generously allowed me to mine their dating app horror stories for fic potential <3

The whole fic can be found Here on AO3, or you can start with chapter one here on tumblr and read the second chapter under the cut.

Lucien was waiting with his feet up on her desk in the back of Roots 'n Shoots the next day. After her conversation with Rhys, Elain had loosened the wards around the store, though she hadn't expected Lucien to just…winnow directly into her office before she arrived.

But he already had steaming cup of her favorite herbal blend ready, so Elain decided not to give him an earful, even though she disliked being relegated to the spare chair she kept for guests.

"Are we on some sort of deadline?" she said, dropping her bag on the floor. "It's still quite early."

Lucien gave another elegant shrug. "I hate burning daylight."

In the past year, the Archeron manor had been full of…well, night people. Elain appreciated that Lucien seemed not to be another one. "Likewise," she said, taking a sip of tea.

He'd stirred in the amount of sugar she preferred, and she decided not to ask whether that information was contained in her file as well. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Lucien produced a cell phone seemingly out of nowhere and held the screen up for her to see. "I've already gotten started on making you a Tinder."

If Elain had been any less of a lady, she would have spat her tea all over him. Lucien was supposed to be an expert at helping people find love—but apparently all he had too offer was a dating app she was perfectly capable of navigating herself.

"It's quite helpful of you to be so on top of it," she said, though the icy chill in her voice made it clear she wasn't grateful at all.

"We'll cover more ground using an app. And with a cupid helping you screen your matches, you're guaranteed not to meet up with any douches, dirtbags, or demons."

Elain hesitated, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. It was true that she'd sworn off dating since Greysen—no matter how much Nesta and Feyre reminded her that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else. With a busy shop to run and innocents to save, she'd insisted that she'd rather spend her precious few nights out catching up with friends.

Which was true, of course. But it wasn't the whole story, and the way Lucien's smirk melted into something softer told her he knew it. "You'll be safe with me," he said more gently. "I promise you're in good hands, Elain."

"Thank you," she said, taking the phone from him with a sigh.

Elain scrolled through the beginnings of the profile he'd set up for her. The photos of her seemed to be stolen from Feyre's private Instagram, but her artistic little sister had such a knack for finding good lighting that Elain decided not to question how Lucien had gotten them. His information was accurate, too: 5' 9", interested in both men and women, looking for something serious, plant mom, avid baker, all of it.

"I think this will do," she said.

"Is there anything else I should know before we get started?"

Elain took a moment to consider it—he'd covered everything. Well, almost. "No women named Elaine with two e's."

"Understandable. When I dated before becoming a cupid, I wouldn't touch a Lucian with an a. Moaning your own name in bed feels wrong."

"Exactly," Elain said with a laugh. It was a relief he understood, but at the same time, a bit irritating to find herself warming to him after what an ass he'd been the day before. But then, she thought again about what he said, and… "Cupids can't date?"

His mechanical eye clicked a few times, and she didn't know what to make of it. "It's not strictly forbidden, but that's…not something that's in the cards for me anymore."

There was a finality in his voice that Elain wasn't brave enough to question. Besides, Lucien's love life was hardly her concern, anyway. She handed the phone back to him and let him finish setting up the profile.

Something in Elain's chest went uncomfortably tight as they began looking through matches. Maybe this was a mistake. Surely it was better to stay single forever than to risk another disaster…

Not that she'd be going anywhere with the first man whose profile appeared. His face was hardly visible under the brim of an ill-fitting camo baseball cap, and he was holding up a fish.

She swiped left. And the next profile belonged to another man holding up a fish. And the next. And the next.

After five near-identical profiles of would-be fishermen in a row, Elain was beginning to wonder if there was anyone out there even worth messaging.

She let out a huff of frustration. "Do these people have any other hobbies besides fishing?"

"Clearly none of them are getting assistance from a cupid. Any of us would tell them there are better ways to give off the impression that they're well-endowed," Lucien said, picking at his nails.

"Is— Is that what they're doing?" Elain felt her cheeks go pink despite herself.

"Trying to, at least. And speaking from experience, it's really only impressive when that fish was caught with your bare hands."

Lucien was so….well-groomed that Elain struggled to picture it. He struck her as the sort of person who'd insist the Sidra was disgusting even though plenty of people happily swam in the clear blue river every summer. She couldn't imagine him just wading right into a lake or a stream. "Is it?"

"Those big fishing poles are a crutch for people who aren't skilled with their hands."

Elain couldn't help but glance at his hands. She hadn't quite noticed how big they were when he'd first come into her shop the day before, but now that he was closer, she found herself wondering how much they'd dwarf hers if she interlaced those long, elegant fingers with her own…

Not that it mattered. Lucien was there to help her find true love, not hold her hand.

"I see," she murmured, swiping to the next profile. This man, at least, wasn't holding a fish, which would have been a relief if it wasn't something a million times more mortifying.

Tamlin Springfield—Feyre's ex-fiancé.

He was staring into the camera, a violin tucked under his chin. Elain supposed the expression on his face was meant to be soulful, but truthfully…he just looked constipated.

"Please tell me you aren't insane enough to seriously consider your sister's ex," Lucien said, wrinkling his nose. "I'd rather not deal with the drama."

Elain stilled. "How do you know he's my sister's ex?" There was no way that file was extensive enough to list out her sisters' dating histories, too.

Oh gods, had she been too quick to trust him?

Annoyingly, Lucien just smirked despite the suspicion that had crept into her voice. "Most cupids stopped using arrows a long time ago, but we still learn to shoot because the elders grumble about tradition. Feyre's the most patient archery instructor to come along in centuries, so of course we all pitched in to help her out with Rhysand after that nasty business with Tamlin's curse."

Whatever the cupids did had worked. Last night, Nesta and Cassian were out teaching their weekly judo class, so it had just been Elain at home with Feyre and Rhys, who'd cuddled up on the couch, his wing wrapped around her shoulders while they made disgustingly cute heart eyes at each other. She'd retreated to the kitchen to bake and avoid them.

It still seemed too much to believe that with Lucien's help, she could find love like that, too.

"Well, I'm not matching with him, but hold on a second," Elain said, taking a screenshot and sending it to her sisters.

She quickly muted the chat before Nesta or Feyre had a chance to ask how things were going with Lucien. The last thing she needed was an interrogation.

The next profile after Tamlin's was a woman—and finally, someone who looked promising. In her picture, Briar was standing in a greenhouse, and her smattering of freckles, floppy straw sunhat, and fresh-faced beauty were exactly Elain's type.

There was some sort of audio player embedded on the page. Odd. Elain hadn't seen that before, but perhaps Briar was particularly conscious about making her profile accessible to the visually impaired.

She looked a question at Lucien, who just gave another one of those elegant shrugs she was beginning to suspect were his calling card.

Elain hit play. And the sound of Briar, greeting visitors to her page in a voice that sounded exactly like Kermit the Frog, filled the room. Elain clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. Her eyes slid to Lucien, silently asking him if he was hearing this, too.

He somehow managed to keep a straight face until Briar began to sing, and his shoulders shook with laughter as she painfully warbled her way through "One More Sleep 'til Christmas." Elain couldn't hit pause fast enough.

"I know the conventional wisdom is that you'll have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince, but…" Lucien said, trailing off as Elain's giggle grew in to out-and-out laughter.

The fist that seemed to always be clenched around her chest these days loosened just a bit. If Elain wasn't mistaken, she was having…fun. Since Greysen, she'd felt that way so rarely that she'd almost forgotten what it was like.

After a few more quick swipes left, Elain finally paused on the profile of a man who had the kindest blue eyes she'd ever seen. Tarquin Sommers was an oceanographer who spent his free time attending beach cleanups and teaching children to surf.

And it certainly helped that he had a gorgeous, muscular swimmer's body, too.

Elain's finger hovered over the screen, and Lucien noticed, his mechanical eye seeming to whirr with excitement. "Tarquin is a sea witch," he said gently, "so he'll be perfectly understanding of the whole slaying demons thing, if that's your concern."

"That's good to know," Elain said. "He's— He's very pretty."

"And not on the cupids' no-fly list, either. I recommend you start with him."

Elain told herself that the knots in her stomach were just excitement and swiped right.

A few days later, Elain found herself waiting outside a coffee shop—one of the cute local ones that advertised fair trade beans and used biodegradable cups. She was so out of practice that Feyre did her makeup, and her lavender romper had needed several rounds of Nesta's wrinkle-removal spell after being relegated to a heap at the back of her closet for so long.

But Elain made it. She was going to do this.

Lucien was already inside, sipping a dirty chai while pretending to read a book but really keeping an eye on her through the window. He'd offered to keep his distance and give them some privacy, but there was something about his presence that Elain found incredibly reassuring. She'd asked him to stay.

And honestly, he was probably the only reason she hadn't panicked and cancelled at the last minute.

Tarquin greeted her with an easy smile. He'd swapped out the board shorts in his picture for jeans that hugged his ass and a crisp white t-shirt that matched his hair and made his dark skin glow. Elain let him lead her inside.

They ordered their drinks, and somehow, the world didn't end as they made conversation. Elain had been good at this kind of thing, once. Before her life had been demonic crisis after crisis, she'd hosted parties and loved flirting and getting to know new people.

But now, she hardly spent any time with anyone who wasn't Feyre, Nesta, Rhys, or Cassian. She loved her family, but…she'd shut herself away.

It helped that Tarquin seemed like the sort of person who was easy to love. Barely a few minutes into their date, they'd already found common ground in a shared interest in aquatic plants.

In fact, Elain was so interested in coastal seagrass that she excitedly gestured with her cup. The lid went flying, and suddenly Tarquin's white shirt had a bright green matcha stain that extended all the way from his collar to his hem.

Elain wanted to disappear on the spot. She should have just accepted that she couldn't date without mucking everything up, and it was better to cut this short while the mess was still small enough that it could be taken care of with bleach instead of a vanquishing spell so complex it drained all of her power for weeks afterward. She'd been so monumentally stupid for—

Lucien caught her eye from across the café. "Elain," he said gently, but still loud enough that his voice carried to her. "It's quite alright."

Something inside her settled. She managed a weak smile in his direction. Lucien grinned back, snapped his fingers, and then Elain found herself in the same spot she'd been thirty seconds prior.

Their drinks weren't finished yet. Tarquin's shirt was still perfectly clean.

Lucien had turned back time to fix her date.

Elain repeated what she'd already said about seagrass meadows, and Tarquin didn't seem to notice anything was amiss. This time, she was careful not to spill her drink as they talked.

The whole thing was…nice. Tarquin's stories about swimming with dolphins back home in Adriata were charming, and he listened with intent, genuine interest as Elain explained how the ratio of white to brown sugar in a cookie recipe affected the texture of the final product. And he was even better-looking in person.

But still, a spark was missing. When it was time to leave, Elain turned her head at the last moment so that the goodbye kiss intended for her lips landed on her cheek instead.

Lucien was already in the living room of the Archeron manor when Elain winnowed home that evening—somehow, he'd secured a dinner invite from Nesta. He was lounging on their sofa, looking strangely at home as he fixed the fletching on one of Feyre's arrows. His auburn hair looked molten in the golden hour light streaming in from the windows.

"Well?" he said, looking up as she walked in.

"It was good," Elain said.

Lucien turned to face her fully, placing his feet flat on the floor and his hands on his knees. He tilted his head, and the glint of metal in his golden eye looked strangely predatory. "Just good?"

A pleasant shiver skittered its way down Elain's spine. "Yes."

"We should be doing a hell of a lot better than 'just good.'"

He stood, tapping the arrow on his palm as he approached her. His gaze traveled slowly down her body, and Elain's throat bobbed. Lucien came closer and closer, until she could feel heat radiating off of him.

A spark had been missing with Tarquin earlier, but Lucien was a gods-damned inferno of a cupid.

"Should we?" Elain breathed.

"I'm not giving up until you've been thoroughly swept off your feet. You deserve nothing less. But I think you're blocked, and it's time to try a different approach."

Before she could ask what that meant, Feyre called them into the kitchen for dinner.