#southern's casting calls

[southernfriedsims-blog]

Unfortunately, creating sims is not exactly my forte. I am trying to connect with them but it's hard to do so when I'm not inspired and create the same kind of sim over and over and over.... I am back on my decades play cycle and I am in search of some interesting sims and was hoping, just maybe, if you have any extra simmies hanging around you'd want to, I don't know, send them to me I'd sure appreciate it!

Basics: Any age, any background, any appearance, any orientation - but, no occults please. I love them, I really do, it's just this is a semi-realistic save so I'll be doing a Pleasantville meets A Star is Born meets TCM kinda thing so unless I recreate Creature from the Black Lagoon I won't need them.

I'm looking for backstory! The richer/weirder/ dramatic the better. Make them broken or perfect, just remember they will be in the living in the timeline between 1920s - 1950s.

CC: Not required but my saves are swimming in cc. JS.

How: You can message me on here or tag me with a link. If you want me to tag you in screenshots, let me know. If you don't give a hoot, let me know that too!

[ilovemushystuff]

For the Nonnatuns who wanna go...

[finelinevogue]

something in the orange

summary - you are harry’s ex and you happen to rekindle at his sisters wedding

word count - ~2k

pairing - ex-boyfriend!harry x reader

🌞✨🌟🌞✨🌟🌞✨🌟🌞✨🌟🌞✨🌟🌞

It wasn’t a complete surprise that your ex-boyfriend was at his sisters wedding, but nonetheless you were still shocked to see him.

You had been friends with Gemma, your exes sister, way before you were dating her brother, Harry, which is probably the main and only reason you had been invited to her wedding.

Gemma and her family were still very nice towards you, even though you broke their Harry’s heart.

Well for the most part.

You had been sat on a table at the back of the reception room for the evening meal, with a couple of distant friends of the groom. You had been trying to make small talk as best you could, but your little introverted heart could only try so hard.

“Are you staying in Italy after the wedding?” You asked a man called Gordon who was sat next to you, with his girlfriend.

“No.”

He then went back to talking to his girlfriend.

You took a sip of your mocktail, glancing around the room to enjoy the happiness of others.

Gemma was happily chatting with Michal, her now husband, whilst Anne, Gemma’s mum, was arguing with one of the chefs that the cake had to be ready in ten minutes. It was quite funny to watch Anne get angry, considering she’s the loveliest person on the planet.

You noticed Harry, of course you did.

He hadn’t looked your way once, or if he had he’d been so discreet about it that he was making you feel invisible.

You didn’t blame him for keeping his distance, after all you had broken his heart. It was a surprise you had even been invited, but friends first and all that.

He looked good.

He looked better than good, he looked ridiculously pretty.

Harry was dressed in a black tuxedo with a bow tie that had now been untucked and was loosely hanging around his neck. He looked tanned and well. He looked happy, you thought.

You turned to a girl next to you and tried to start conversation with her.

“How are you enjoying the Amalfi Coast?” You smiled.

“It’s nice.” She smiled back before turning to speak to whoever was next you.

It wasn’t particularly nice having the people on your table kind of ignore you, but then again they didn’t know you and had no reason to get to know you.

You ate your meal in silence as you simple people watched.

It was nice seeing familiar faces, even if yours was one they’d rather not see.

Once you had finished, people had started to get up to go and dance on the little dance floor on the terrace. It was laden with fairy lights strung high above, along with an abundance of citronella candles that casted a warm orange glow over the area.

You watched as some couples slow danced. A little girl had a dance competition with her dad. Gemma and Michal busted whatever shapes they were doing.

“Have you finished, ma’am?” A waiter asked you, breaking you away from watching the evening continue without you.

“Oh yes. Thank you, it was really lovely.”

“Our pleasure.” They smiled at you, before cleaning up.

You fiddled with your fingers as you watched more and more people get up on the dance floor to enjoy their evening.

You pushed your chair back then, deciding to go to the toilet before you made the decision whether or not to join people out on the terrace.

The wedding location was gorgeous.

A beautiful historical hotel, overrun with flowers cascading down the stone walls, that was built into the cliffside along the Amalfi Coast.

It was no surprise that the wedding was here, considering Gemma and Harry called Southern Italy their second home. Harry had taken you to his house in Maiori multiple times when you had been together and you completely understood why he loved this area.

You missed going to that house. The crazy adventures you’d get up to.

You missed Harry.

You locked yourself in a cubicle before you could make yourself upset over it.

You’d just finished up when you heard some people walk in.

“Did you see Y/Ns here?” They said, but you couldn’t work out who they were - at least it wasn’t someone you recognised.

“Yeah. Wonder why.” You didn’t recognise the second persons voice either.

“Fucking ballsy if you ask me.” They both laughed. “If I’d cheated on my best-friends brother and still been invited to her wedding, I wouldn’t go.”

“Did Y/N cheat on Harry? I heard that she had a mental breakdown when he stopped buying stuff for her and stopped taking her on expensive holidays.”

You sat down on the toilet lid, not finding the courage to go out there and speak up for yourself.

“No. Pretty sure she cheated. Doesn’t surprise me though, she always was a little bit… different.”

“You mean, not model worthy?!” They both laughed again.

You carefully and silently ripped off some toilet paper before using it to dab the tears that were falling from your eyes and down your cheeks.

It was tough, trying to not take things to heart but you were a sensitive person. This didn’t make you a bad person, in fact it just meant that you carried extra love around with you.

It hurt when other people couldn’t see that when you tried to live with your heart on your sleeve as much as you could.

“God… Wonder why she came?”

“Probably to prove that she’s not the bitch everyone thinks she is.”

“Yeah.”

“Harry hasn’t even spoken to her.”

“Weren’t they together for like five years.”

6 years and 3 months, you thought to yourself.

Best 6 years and 3 months of your life.

“Something like that.”

“Poor Harry.”

“Yeah. Must’ve been rough for him.”

“Means he is single though.”

“Wonder whether he’s ready to mingle.” They both laughed again, before leaving the toilets discussing their plan to make Harry see them.

You finished dabbing your eyes free of tears, breathing out a heavy breath before standing up and heading to the sinks to freshen up.

You patted your cheeks with water to cool you down and looked at yourself in the mirror with a smile.

You are okay. You thought to yourself. You know what they said isn’t true. You are a good person.

Once you’d collected yourself, you left the bathroom.

If you headed right you would find yourself back in the main room heading towards the terrace, but it you went left it would lead you to some stone steps carved into the cliff wall that lead down to a private beach.

Of course you headed left.

The night sky was burning a deep orange from where the sun was setting. You couldn’t wait for the stars. Stargazing had always been yours and Harry’s favourite pastime - it grounded you whilst simultaneously reminding you how grateful that you’d found each other in all of this.

The stairs were easy to walk down, even in wedge sandals.

It took you a good fifteen minutes to climb down, but the second your toes felt the cooling sand you knew it had been worth it. Would it be worth the climb back up? Hmm…

You crossed the beach, smiling when you realised you were the only one down here in this small alcove of a beach.

The waves moved in slowly, making that euphoric crashing sound as they folded over and onto the sand.

The water was turning a darker blue under the setting sun, but you knew in the daytime it would be a crystal clear blue - perfect for swimming or snorkelling.

You sat on the beach, toeing off your sandals and resting them beside you.

You pulled your knees up to your chin, hugging your arms around your legs as you sat and watched the waves crash again and again. There was something so therapeutic about it.

As you watched on you couldn’t help but think back to the conversation those girls were having in the toilet.

You didn’t realise what people thought about you being your back. It stung to think people were thinking such horrible things.

The moment your eyes started watering again you knew that what they’d been saying about you hadn’t really registered until now - in the quiet on your own. It hadn’t fully clicked that everyone now perceived you as this horrible, bitch of a woman that broke the heart of a man who is loved by millions.

You sniffled, looking up at the sky to hold back the onrush of any more tears.

“Here.”

“Holy fucking….” You scrambled from where you were sitting and jumped up to find Harry standing beside you, “Harry… My…”

You put your hand over your heart, having been scared shitless from him unintentionally creeping up on you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

You then realised he was still holding out his handkerchief for you - the one you thought had been pretend from his suit pocket.

“It’s okay, thank you.” You took this handkerchief and wiped under your eyes with it, dabbing your nose too. “I didn’t realise you were down here, sorry. I’ll leave.”

You bent down to pick up your shoes, but were stopped when Harry gently bent his wrist around yours.

“Please don’t.”

You felt like you had stopped breathing.

Harry’s soft touch against your skin nearly made your heart cave inside your chest. You felt like time had stopped, but you wouldn’t care if you only ever got to see Harry in this moment, in this frame, for ever and ever.

The way the setting sun casted a golden hew against his skin made him prettier than anyone Michelangelo could sculpt. His eyes were just as green and perfect as always, if only with a little extra sadness spreading at the corners.

And those lips.

Well you only wished they were still yours to kiss.

“I don’t…” You started, not moving your hand away from his. “You don’t want me here.” You whispered, tucking your head down.

You missed the way he shook his head softly, furrowing his eyebrows with frustration.

Harry stepped closer to you, making you apprehensively look up again. He was so pretty.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop thinking I don’t want you around. Stop thinking that I never want to see you again. Stop believing that you have done something wrong. Stop thinking that you aren’t still the most important person in my life.” Harry’s eyes were now tearing up.

You shook your head, pulling your hand from his carefully.

“I.. I can’t.. sorry.”

“Y/N…”

You were about to run across the beach, away from Harry when his call stopped you.

“Y/N, no.”

Your feet froze and you turned around slowly to see him standing in place, ever so slightly shaking his head.

“Just no.” He said.

“I… I don’t understand.” You said.

“The last time you ran away, I let you.” Harry said, as you tried to refrain from thinking back to the last time it had been like this.

“I know.”

“Well, I’m not about to make that mistake again.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at that, bottom lip pouting which Harry always used to tease you about.

You stood still, your breath catching when he started moving towards you. You couldn’t move. You were frozen to the spot, like some force of nature wasn’t allowing you to move.

“The last time I let you walk out of my life was the biggest mistake I ever made. I should’ve tried harder - I should’ve begged you to stay, God knows I wanted you to.”

“Harry, please don’t say things you don’t mean…”

“What don’t you get, Y/N/N?” Harry stopped short of you, confused about how you couldn’t quite grasp what he was trying to tell you.

“You don’t want me to stay.”

“What—.”

“You don’t need me to stay.”

“Y/N…”

“No, H, listen to me.” You confidently took a step forwards towards him, still leaving a good enough space between you. “I can’t put you through another breakup like that again.. I… I don’t even think either of us have properly gotten over the last one. I meant what I said and did last time and I still mean it now.”

“Well fuck that. You don’t get to say things like that.”

“Harry…”

“No. Fuck!” Harry shouted, combing a hand through his hair like he did when he was stressed. “Do you understand how much you hurt me?”

You weren’t expecting him to ask you that, so you took a tiny step back in shock. You bravely answered, “Yes.”

“And do you know why?” His eyes were watering now.

“Yes.”

“So tell me.”

“Har—.”

“Just.. humour me and tell me.”

“You were hurt because I broke up with you. You were hurt because I gave up on over six years. You were hurt because I was cruel.”

Your voice was shaky but you stood strong, not wanting to guilt trip Harry into feeling sorry for you.

“No.” He replied. “No. I was hurt because the woman I love, the woman I was only weeks away from getting down on one knee for, broke up with me because she decided she wasn’t worth me loving. Not that she didn’t love me anymore, no, but because she felt unworthy of my love.”

Your eyes started free flowing with tears then as you stood and listened to him speak. Everything he was saying was true but it didn’t make it any more comfortable to hear back.

“I was hurt because I thought we could talk about things like that before the progressed into something we could never come back from. I was hurt because you chose to listen to all the sick and twisted voiced in your head, rather than the one voice that actually mattered; mine. I was hurt because you didn’t communicate. I had to find out from my sister that you were being abused online by, not only my fans, but close girl friends of mine over their jealousy. And I had to find out from my mum that yours had passed away a few weeks before you broke up with me.”

You let out a sob then, everything crashing around in your mind. Too many thoughts and too little left of you to put them all back together.

“Y/N, love, I was hurt because I was there for you when you didn’t believe I could be.”

“I’m sorry.” You sobbed out before your knees gave way and you dropped onto the beach beneath you, crying your what was left of your heart out.

Everything from your breakup, to the hate and losing your mum, the grief had all been collecting inside of your head and it was only now that you felt safe enough to let it all go.

You caved in on yourself, cupping your hands over your face.

It only took a couple of seconds for Harry to collapse onto the floor beside you, scooping your body up in his arms so he could pull you close into his chest. Your chest heaved as you cried, and you could only just hear Harry calming you down with a few ‘sshh’ and the occasional kiss to your forehead.

You kept repeating ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again, not really knowing who you were apologising to.

Harry? Your mum? Yourself?

“Sshh. You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Harry kept repeating in between your apologies.

You let Harry hold you for what felt like hours, but was actually only five minutes, before you had calmed yourself down and you could breathe again.

You emerged from Harry’s hold and gave him a weak smile.

“Probably look like a right state after crying.” You laughed at yourself.

Harry cupped your cheek with his hand and softly ran his thumb there. “Still as pretty as the day I met you.”

“H, you met me when we were less than a year old. You don’t remember that.” You stifled a laugh.

“I don’t remember much, but I remember you.”

You dipped your head with a blush as he said that, his words still having that charming effect on you.

Harry dropped his hand from your cheek, but you were quick to hold it again with yours. You threaded your fingers through his and gave a tight squeeze. He squeezed back.

“I am really sorry, Harry.”

“I know.”

“I have a lot to be sorry for and I’ll find the strength to write you a list of them all one day.” You promised.

“Maybe we can write them together? Perhaps in a couples therapy?”

Your head shot up to meet his at the hearing of the word ‘couples’.

“You want…”

“I want you to be mine again. I may be selfish but screw it, I’m taking this chance to ask you whether, with the right help maybe, we could become us again?”

“Are you sure?” You moved closer to him, knees touching knees.

Here on this little beach, tucked away from the crowds of the party and the rest of the world you felt everything was right again. Almost like a haze had been lifted and you could see clearer now more than even what you wanted - who you wanted.

“Trust me.”

“I do. I promise, I do.”

“Maybe it’ll take some time, but I promise to be there for you, always, and take care of you like I promised your mum all those years ago.”

“You’ve always taken care of me, H. My mum would be proud of you.”

“Like she’s proud of you, too.”

“Don’t make me cry again.” You whispered, eyes locked on his so you could focus on something else other than the tears that wanted to spill.

“So was that a yes? Do you want to try again?”

“Ask me properly.” You leaned closer.

“Y/N L/N.” He said with a smirk.

“Yes.”

“Will you be my girlfriend… again?”

You burst out laughing over that, dropping your head onto his shoulder to hide your blushing face from his.

You smiled to yourself before answering.

“Yes,” You kissed his neck before sitting back up again, “Yes, yes, yes.”

And with the smile on Harry’s face as you gave him your answer you knew that you would be alright this time.

There was just something in the orange of that burning Italian sunset that told you, you and Harry were far from done. In fact, you’d only just started.

[allfortheslay25]

I’m back???

All for the act (actor au)

I’ve been dying to draw things for this au but since I’ve posted too many AUs at once, I already got enough on my plate

In this au, AFTG is a TV series and the characters are all actors

Some facts 👇

Andrew and Neil are dating before the series (they get engaged by the end of the first book)

Neil has a British accent, Andrew has a southern accent and calls Neil a buttload of things like Honey, Darling, and Sugar

Neil has heterochromia (one eye is brown and the other is blue) so he wears contacts throughout the entire series

Neil is trans (I believe in trans Neil supremacy)

Andrew has tattoos he hides with makeup and the armbands (Aaron has some too so most of his wardrobe is high collars)

Aaron and Andrew tend to fill in for the other when one of them is sick

Kevin has had a crush on all of the foxes/flirted with them

Wymack is actually Dan and Kevin’s dad and Abby is his wife (Dan and Kevin are half siblings)

Dan and Matt are not dating but they are interested in each other

Seth is not best friends with the main cast (the foxes) because he is too old but he is friendly with them and thinks they are all great

Allison and Renee are dating which is why their characters have so much chemistry

Betsy is the Twinyards mom and they got her the role as Bee for the show

Riko is friends with the Foxes and is genuinely a cool person. He is best friends with Jean before the show

Jean started dating Jeremy before he was introduced in the show

Nathan is a really sweet person off set but absolutely terrifying when the camera is rolling, the cast loves him

Lola and Mary are sisters and they improvise lots of their insults for each other

[sweetangelgirl7]

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝜗𝜚 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 chris has been your escape from the burden of suffocating expectations you've known your whole life, but you can't ignore the emotional distance that's driving a wedge between the two of you anymore.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: DOM!chris x sub!fem reader au, plot, angst, SMUT, fwb, daddy issues, little use of religious imagery, taboo themes, slight degradation kink, bondange, unprotected, adult language, creampie, hair pulling!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first request! this is inspired by southern gothic aesthetics and ethel cain’s album “preacher’s daughter.” whoever requested this, just know i’m obsessed. i wanna remind y’all the title & visuals are purely for the AESTHETIC! this is 99.9% about daddy issues more than anything, with like one or two lines of ex-religious themes. PLEASE keep scrolling if you want to but i promise the smut is worth it lmao. anyway, enjoy!

you knew christopher sturniolo was trouble, that’s all you’ve been told your entire life. every boy was trouble, for that matter. although, deep down, you also knew that he was no good for you. the feeling of being with him was like the tender familiarity of a sore blistering red on your gums, it hurt but for some reason you just couldn’t stop messing with it.

in a town full of secrets, he was somehow the hardest puzzle to solve. recently it had become more and more evident that you didn’t really understand chris or what went through his mind, leaving you feeling like you were merely scratching at his surface after all this time. however, you constantly had to remind yourself that it didn’t matter what he thought of you or what he thought of anything quite frankly, as it was just sex, after all. although, those days of climbing in through your bedroom window and sneaking around into the late nights were long gone by now.

for weeks, you had desperately tried anything to keep your mind from flashing the memories of your screams and his break lights casting a red glow on your face as he left you in the night. you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that you were so stupidly caught up over him, as he clearly didn’t give a fuck about you or your feelings. not only that but who’s to say he doesn’t touch every single girl in town the same way he touches you. it wasn’t your business anyway, as his deafening silence made that very clear.

pulling into the dusty driveway, you sat in the driver’s seat as your music loudly filled the car. you gripped the steering wheel between both hands while letting out a long, tired sigh before turning the keys in the ignition as the headlights faded out to leave you sitting in the dark. slamming the door behind you, your car was the only one parked out front as your father practically lived down at the house of the lord, by now.

walking up the creaky wooden porch, you fiddled with the keys to get inside and out of the insufferably humid air.

making your way to your room, the ticking wall clock comforted the silence along with the sound of you dropping your items on the bed side table. this was the rest of your night, as it had been for some time. staying in bed and turning through a book that you had already read a handful of times before or watching videos for hours, as the figures on the screen aided what felt like your eternal loneliness. you refused to attend services, trying desperately to escape from the toxic manifestation of “faith” you’d been controlled with your whole life. as the preacher’s daughter’s apparent absence and so-called promiscuity were already the talk of the congregation. around this time, chris would be laying in bed with you but the house remained vacantly still.

pressing your pajamas on the bathroom sink, you tugged your stiff work clothes off and stood in the steam, waiting for the water to run hot.

standing beneath the showerhead, you let the nearly boiling water wash over your face and body to rid yourself of the grime and sweat attained from stepping outside in the sticky summer. quickly washing your hair, you didn’t want to spend too long under the water, as the solitude only led your mind to wander further than you cared for at the moment.

towel drying off, you slipped the thin two piece cotton set over your still warm body before walking back to your bedroom.

rubbing lotion over your arms, the sound of a car pulling up onto the unpaved road across the street echoed outside.

paying no mind to it, as it was assumingly your father, you continued with your nightly routine before a pounding on the door brought you back soon after. walking down the hallway, the wood flooring cooled your feet as you made your way to the front door. working down the locks, you pulled the deadbolt back, opening the door halfway to see who was on the other side.

there stood chris under the dim light of the porch, looking down at you behind the screen door separating the two of you. looking at his face for a moment, you slammed the door shut as you stood behind it, your hand still against the wood.

you stood in silence as he waited on the other side, both of you knowing that you lacked the willpower to actually turn him away. as chris waited for a few seconds, the sound of the locks turning spilled from inside of the house before you finally opened the door, all the way. he opened the screen door and let himself in.

walking past you down the dark hallway and into your bedroom, you followed a few feet behind him. closing the door, you rested your back against it as chris sat on the edge of your bed, scanning the walls with frames and crucifixes that served as a reminder of the life you painfully tried to forget.

“are we gonna talk about this?” he broke the silence, adjusting the messy brown waves beneath his hat as he now pulled it on backwards over his hair. the squeaky overhead fan saturated the room as he waited for you to speak.

your chest rose as you breathed in heavily, exhaling through your nose slowly to find any ounce of self control left in your system. you looked at him in disbelief, your arms now crossed beneath your chest. “are we gonna talk about this?“ you asked as you bit your tongue to hold back the loathsome thoughts racing in your mind.

“all i do is talk. i can’t say the same for you, though ” you scoffed as your back was still pressed up against the wooden door. you watched his jaw clench at your words in the shadow of your lamp, as he leaned his elbows forward on his spread knees. “and what does that mean?” he shook his head before laughing bitterly to himself, looking up at you.

“you know exactly what i mean, christopher” you also let a laugh roll off your lips to disguise the grief in your tone. aimlessly looking for anything around your room to focus your attention on.

“it’s been nearly a month.” you mumbled, shaking your head as you watched chris in your peripheral vision. “god knows what you’ve been doing this whole time.” you muttered beneath your breath as he kept his eyes glued on you.

“what was that?” he asked, sneeringly placing his pointer finger behind his ear as he pretended to not catch that, although he heard every word.

“i said, god knows what you’ve been doing this whole time.” you forcefully raised your voice, now looking at him.

“and what is it that you think i’ve been doing exactly?” he laughed to himself again, now crossing his own arms over his chest.

“oh c’mon christopher, let’s not act dense” you rolled your eyes.

“no really, i’d just love to hear what you think i’ve been getting into these past few weeks” he nodded before pursing his lips as he leaned back in his seat.

“more like who you’ve been getting into” you scoffed quietly as he raised his eyebrows in shock. laughing at your words, he leaned forward again as he shook his head once more, wiping his hands off over his jeans.

“yeah exactly, you can’t even answer that.” you scorned. in reality you didn’t even know if that statement was true, but with him, you didn’t know what to believe as no matter how big of a crowbar you used, he refused to open up to you. you so badly wanted to chalk his communication issues up to emotional unavailability but it was almost impossible to look past that when he constantly discarded your attempts at wanting more.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” he continued to laugh through the disbelief, as if the same mistrust didn’t have you screaming in each other’s faces just weeks ago. “what’s wrong with you?” he continued, letting the frustration get the best of him as your eyebrows knit together in hurt.

“what’s wrong with me?” you questioned, pushing yourself off the door as you stepped closer to him, holding your hands up to your chest to gesture to yourself.

“what the fuck is wrong with you, christopher?” you began, finally letting yourself shout as you tried not to cry behind your words. “you come around here whenever you want, we fuck, for months at that, and after all this time you still can’t just let me all the way in.” you argued as your voice softly cracked, feeling tears starting to well up in the corner of your eyes.

“i don’t even know what’s going on in here half of the goddamn time.” you stepped closer, firmly tapping two fingers against his head beneath the black fitted hat that covered his hair.

he reached his hand up to grab your wrist before he could stand up in front of you, looking down at you as he held onto your skin tightly between his fingers.

“my god, enough. you don’t think i’m fucking trying? i want you, i don’t want anyone else but you. these past few weeks i’ve been thinking about you non-fucking stop” he asserted, thumping his free hand against his chest “but you wouldn’t know that because where were you?“ he questioned, as he leaned down closer towards you while he spoke. “right.” he whispered egotistically in your face.

while that was the most transparent he’d ever been, you couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief as he seemingly proved your point “no! i wouldn’t know that christopher! how could i possibly have known that, when you don’t tell me anything?” you shouted, your face level with his as you flickered your eyes back and forth between his.

“it only took weeks for you to reach out, probably ran through all of your other options by now.” you words were driven by anger, breaking free from his grasp as you turned your back to open the door for him to find his way out.

twisting the door knob between your fingers, he stood up and walked behind you to slam the door closed before you could even pull it all the way open. you squeezed your eyes shut as the heat of the resentment continued to pulse through your head. you felt his chest pressed against your back as the smell of cologne on his clothes filled your senses. god, you missed that scent but you didn’t miss the seething jealousy that came with it, knowing it was probably lingering in some other girl’s nose too.

“look at me” he commanded as you didn’t budge, your back still to him.

“i said look at me” he repeated himself, taking your hips between his hands as you felt yourself begin to melt at his touch. you didn’t want to give in but you fell short as you could never find the strength to ignore him.

you slowly turned to face him, as a stray tear trailed down your flustered cheek. your jaw clenched at the feeling of crying in front him, fighting from letting another tear stream down your face. you kept your eyes forward, glued to the white fabric of his shirt.

lifting his hand, he grabbed your chin between his fingers and pulled your gaze from his chest to his eyes. you two stared at each other, your eyes scanning one another’s features. you sat in silence for a moment before you could break the tension. “what?” you spat, looking at him through your eyelashes.

“you really think i just wanna fuck anything that moves, huh?” he questioned, his hand wrapped tightly around your jaw as you stared up at him before shifting your attention to avoid eye contact.

“look at me” he said sternly, gripping your jaw tighter, forcing your lips to push out between the space of his thumb and pointer finger. you obeyed, looking up at him as he followed your eyes, watching your every move beneath him.

“where’s your proof?” he muttered angrily, leaning closer in the heat of the moment. “besides the shit you stir up inside that pretty little head of yours” using his free hand to tap his fingers against the side of your head, mocking your motions from earlier, as he pressed your back against the door.

the silence became palpable while you stared at him as you visibly had nothing to say to back up your argument. “huh?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows as he waited for you to argue back as you had doing been all night.

you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at your exuding insecurities, as the signs burned red at your cheeks. you didn’t want to ruin things between you two but you couldn’t stay silent and continue to feel hopelessly shut out by him anymore. however, in this case, your mistrust and miscommunication took control of your emotions. you so badly wanted to look away in humiliation but you were trapped in his stare.

“get on the bed” he broke your train of thought as he finally released your face from his hold, your features painting a confused expression.

“go” he stood back and motioned to the bed, forgivingly slapping your ass as he let you walk past him.

sitting on the edge of the twin sized bed, you pulled yourself to the middle of the white sheets as you looked up at him standing in front of you.

“get on your knees and say a prayer, daddy’s girl” chris uttered, nodding at the wooden cross on the wall above your bed. you nodded timidly before turning to face your headboard, sitting back on the balls of your feet.

although you couldn’t focus on anything but the sound of him shuffling behind you. moving to the end of your bed, he reached forward to slip your tank top over your head as you lifted your arms up for him. the lukewarm breeze that the overhead fan was pushing around caused your nipples to stiffen. you rested your hands on your thighs while you waited for his touch, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

chris trailed his fingers up the flat of your exposed back, pushing your hair to the side as he made his way up your body. he reached forward to unclasp the gold crucifix that had been around your neck since birth, letting it fall down your chest as you leaned over to place it on your bed side table. he pulled his white t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the carpeted floor before moving behind you on the bed.

you sat on your knees while he stood on his, behind you, as your eyes were glued up at the wall. he wrapped his hand around your neck to gently bring your back to his exposed chest, kissing down the crook of your neck as you tilted your head to the side with eyes shut. “dirty girl, thinking about my dick inside someone else” he uttered against your skin hungrily as you leaned into his lips.

he pulled back to rest his hand against your back, pressing your chest down into the bed as your cheek flattened against the white duvet. your ass lifted from the heels of your feet as you arched your back into the bed, feeling the sting of his hand slapping your ass over your shorts. your hands remained at your sides before trying to push yourself up on all fours as chris quickly flattened your upper half into the bed again.

“nuh uh” he muttered, standing to his knees as he fiddled with the belt around his waist, the sound of the clanging metal buckle filled your ears as you couldn’t see anything but a face full of sheets and the haunting willow trees breezing outside of the window. “put your wrists behind your back” chris ordered as you did exactly that, resting your hands behind you as you leaned into the mattress.

you managed to turn your head the other way, looking for the standing mirror in the corner of your room as you watched chris wrap his belt tightly around your wrists. he slapped your ass again as you attempted to adjust yourself farther upwards. chris wrapped his hands tightly around your hips as he pulled you upwards, arching your back down farther.

“we gotta do something about these” he muttered to himself, sliding his hands past your hips with the material of your shorts rolling down beneath them. he pulled the fabric down the rest of the way, dropping them to your legs as he slipped them from beneath your knees.

“already so fucking wet for me” chris laughed to himself as he trailed the pad of his thumb over the damp patch of your panties. you shuddered at his touch, feeling your nerves twitching beneath the fabric.

he continued to tease you over your underwear for a moment before hooking his fingers around the waistband to pull them off. they dropped around your knees as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, trailing his fingers over your pussy. he teased over your clit, watching your muscles jerk at the feeling as you whined quietly. he took the pad of his thumb between his lips, brushing the taste over his bottom lip.

“you think i’d want any other taste, besides yours, on my lips?” he chuckled at the idea, straightening himself up as he worked on unbuttoning his jeans. dropping them over his knees, he adjusted himself beneath his boxers before tugging them down as his hard cock sprung upward immediately past the waistband.

taking his dick between one hand, chris slapped your ass in the other as he rubbed out the red imprint beginning to spread beneath his fingers. you vulnerably flinched at the feeling, letting a low moan out as you squeezed your eyes shut. he pumped himself a few times before smacking his straining cock between your ass, trailing himself downwards over your folds. rubbing his sensitive tip against your pussy, he hissed through his teeth at the feeling before lining himself up with your entrance. holding your hips in his hands, he gripped his fingers on your skin as he pushed himself inside of you between your folds, equally pulling your hips back on his cock. your warmth instantly wrapping around him as your lips parted at the feeling, letting a moan out into the bed.

“fuuck, there we go” he groaned to himself as he slowly pulled out to thrust into you again, even harder this time as he completely bottomed out causing the side of your cheek to shove into the bed. you whimpered as your body took the blow by suprise, your stomach instantly tightening.

he continued with this pace, allowing you to get accustomed to the feeling as you harshly tugged at your bottom lip to suppress the moans fighting their way out of your mouth.

chris smoothed his fingers up your back to twist the ends of your hair around his hand before pulling your head back as he leaned over your body. your chin forcefully dug into the mattress before slightly lifting off the bed, looking up at the wood paneled walls as he held tightly onto the hair between his fist, pounding into you harder.

“why so quiet? you weren’t this quiet when you were running that pretty little mouth earlier” he breathily groaned into the skin of your neck while he deliberately thrusted into you harder. your lips parted open at the shock as a high moan escaped with the force. “you think i’d wanna bury my cock into anyone else?” he muttered, continuing with the same rhythm, only harder now as his hips repetitively hit your ass.

your body rocked forward as he pounded in and out of you, your lips still agape as he fucked the jealousy right out of your system. “fuck, i’m so sorry chris” you whined, as you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

he laughed at the sound of your whimpers, gripping your hair harder as he pulled your head farther back, moving closer to the side of your face. “if only daddy could hear you beg for mercy now” chris teasingly groaned in your ear while he continued to hammer his cock into your cervix, letting go of his hold on your hair as your chin instantly dug back into the bed.

taking your hips between his hands once more, he continued to exert his cock into you as your moans muffled into the sheets. the sound of his hips slapping against your perspiring skin echoed throughout the house. his grip tightened around your body as you turned your head to press into the bed, watching him through watery eyes in the mirror as he pounded into you from behind.

“chris, i’m gonna cum” you inaudibly choked out as your back arched farther into the bed while he picked up his pace, your face repeatedly smushing into the duvet. the focus furrowing between his eyebrows dissolved as his lips quirked up into a smirk. “louder, baby, i can’t hear you over all that fucking dick you’re taking” he chuckled under his breath as he slapped his hand against your ass, slightly rolling his head back, also nearing his climax.

“i’m gonna c-cum” you moaned loudly, barely being able to form the words as your eyes rolled back, the pressure building in your stomach. chris painfully clutched onto your hips as he buried himself inside of you, deep and hard.

“oh my god” you whined before your walls clenched around him tightly, finally releasing as you felt a warm sensation of euphoria rush through your body. your muscles felt weak as chris continued to thrust his cock inside of you through your orgasm.

“fuck i’m right there” he moaned out before digging his fingers into your skin, pushing himself farther into your hips as he released his warm load deep inside of you with a hiss through his teeth. the sudden warmth causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

he rolled through the high as his cock twitched inside your walls, lazily thrusting before smacking your ass one more time. “god damn” he shouted as his head rolled back, slowly pulling himself out of you.

your eyes remained closed as you tried to catch your breath while chris flopped down on the bed next to you. bucking his hips up, he pulled his jeans back up over his legs before laying down once again. adjusting beneath your weight you finally stretched your legs out and laid down on your stomach. turning your neck, you rested your face in the opposite direction to look chris over as he lay down next to you, your wrists still resting against your back.

“was that enough talking for you?” he mumbled, turning on his side to face you with a smirk. you laughed sheepishly as you shook your head before he could press his lips against yours.

“i’m sorry, baby” he mumbled quietly against your mouth. “i’m trying, believe me. it’s just hard.” he confessed as you nodded, wanting nothing more than to caress his face between your hands. “i’m sorry too.” you apologized quietly, softly connecting your lips once more.

he trailed his hand up your body and over your back as he began to adjust the belt around your wrists before the sound of a car pulling up the driveway broke the kiss as you both turned to look at the door.

chris laughed as he reached over to grab his shirt from the floor, quickly pulling it on over his head as he crept towards the edge of your bed under the window.

“wait, chris!” you called quietly, squirming as you tried to fiddle with the restraints behind your back. leaning forward to plant a kiss against your lips one more time, he swiftly slid the window open before stepping one leg out onto the damp grass. “sorry sweetheart, i’ll come back for you tomorrow.” he winked down at you before completely stepping out into the night, shutting the window behind himself.

WHEWWW hope y’all r up horny on a wednesday night 😮‍💨 i’m a slut for sub!chris but this one had a lil kick to it. i couldn’t help but slip a little soft chris in there at the end SORRY. anyway, i hope whoever requested this enjoyed it as much as i did!

i’m actually working on a taglist, so let me know if you’d wanna be added to that! 💋

[unfriedough]

Hey sorry if your request aren’t open but I had a thought about Zuko x water tribe/bender reader!Like three years after the war he wants to propose to reader and So he ask Katara and Sokka about marriage traditions within the tribe and he carves a betrothal necklace for her?? And the readers reaction!! Thank you

An: HEY. Sorry this took like, so long I think you requested last summer, however I’ve kinda lost most of my determination to write and this account became more of a chore than what I had initially wanted. Either way, maybe somehow I’ll be able to be more consistent soon but I also don’t wanna make myself hate writing so :(

Thank you for requesting, I really do appreciate it, hope you enjoy :)

Zuko’s nose twitched as the cold nipped away at his extremities, huddled up in a few too many jackets. There’s a striking difference between cold and cold and right now he wished he was on fire.

Your gloved hand was intertwined with his as you lead him off of the fire nation ship and onto the white snow of the southern water tribe. This trip was planned as a way to visit Sokka and Katara, but Zuko had another plan in mind.

Finally, after three years of struggling to settle down, the fire people finally relaxed and he was able to make more time. In that time, he realized he’d wanted to marry you more than anything. So here he was, in a nation far too cold for someone like him, with a goal in mind.

He had exactly 5 days (and a half if you’re counting from now) to get ready a betrothal necklace. Why a necklace? Well, Zuko had watched you for days on end in the castle library, a book bigger than your head on the table being analysed by your eyes. You’d smile brightly when you locked eyes, and call him over. He’d sit next to you, shoulder to shoulder, attempting to read with you. The books were always about old water tribe traditions, tales, legends, history, everything of the sort. You’d wanted to stay connected to your culture and upbringing - it made you who you were today.

And so that brings you to today, here, the water tribe.

“Katara!” You squealed, running forward and pulling her into a hug. You two squeezed each other tightly, excited noises being expressed.

Zuko and Sokka nodded to each other, trying to be kinda nonchalant but Sokka couldn’t hold it much longer, he sprinted at Zuko and tackled him to the ground into an oh-so-warm hug. You laughed at the site, Katara too. Zuko felt a twinge of pink on his cheek, from the cold or embarrassment he couldn’t really tell, but he still wrapped his shaking arm around his buddy. After a few more ‘I missed you!’s and giggles, Zuko and Sokka got back up. Katara grabbed your hand and pulled you deeper into the village, you laughed the entire way, giddy from being back home here with your family. You threw a glance backwards at the fire lord, there was something very slightly off about the way he was smiling, you brushed it off as just the cold getting to him.

It was most definitely the cold getting to him.

Sokka led him to the ice on the outskirts of the village and brought some chairs along. They were gonna go fishing while they talked. As they both sat, another shiver ran up the poor fire bender’s back.

“How do you guys survive the cold?” He groaned.

Sokka chuckled, handing him a rod, pushing the bucket of bait closer to him, “You get used to it… I could ask you the same thing about the heat,”

“I’m a fire bender it’s in my blood,”

“Yeah well you learn a thing or two when your lovely sister starts learning how to bend and suddenly you’re always wet,” he cast the line, leaning back, putting one leg over the other.

“I guess,” he laughed.

They sat in a suffocating silence for a minute, Zuko just awkwardly holding the pole and Sokka staring into the sky.

“Are we going to address the camelephant in the room?”

Zuko looked to him from his peripheral, “I’m kinda nervous I guess, I don’t know what to do,”

Sokka sat up a little straighter, getting up to help Zuko with his fishing issues. He stood behind him and helped his arm into the correct place, slowly to be sure he understood.

“Just like fishing, you have to be precise and confident to get what you want, and if you cast your line just right, you’ll catch the fish,” he winked once the bob hit the water, stepping back to admire his own work.

“Not sure that’s the best metaphor,”

“Say you love it, he's been working on it ever since you wrote to him,” Katara rolled her eyes, holding your hand as you both struggled to not slip on the ice.

“KATARA.”

Zuko couldn't help but laugh, then he was met with the puzzled look on your face.

“I thought this was a surprise trip, when’d you write to them,” you tilted your head, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“…needed to make sure they were free,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“That totally checks out,” you rolled your eyes, getting a serious case of FOMO.

Sokka coughed to try to clear the awkwardness, “So fishing…”

“What’re you trying to catch anyways?”

“Does it matter, it’s about the process YN get with the times,”

“Since when did you fish for fun?”

“Since now.”

“I thought you hated fishing,” you were all standing up by this point, including Sokka and Zuko.

“Only because Miss Katara always splashed me,”

“And I won’t hesitate to do it again!” She bent a small stream into his face, giggling when he stumbled back.

“Oh it’s on Katara,” he paused, “As soon as I get snow,” he waddled away to get to the snow on shore.

You laughed when the waterbender used more ice to cause him to slip.

“I’ll go help him up,” you laughed, moving towards him as he laid helplessly on the ice, not even bothering to get up anymore.

Zuko watched your figure, missing the way Katara turned to look at him.

“I think you should do it here,”

“What?”

“The proposal,”

“That’s not enough time, it’s barely enough for me to learn how to carve the necklace,”

“Lucky for you, Sokka’s pretty efficient with plans, he’s been plotting since you told him,”

The fire bender smiled, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jacket. “Okay, maybe, but how can I get started when she’s with us all the time?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle her,” she smirked.

-

“Are you sure this is safe?” You shivered, standing in your bathing suit on top of a huge rock, below it freezing water.

“No!” Katara, “But let’s do it anyways,”

“I don’t know, what if I freeze?”

“Good thing we have a fire bender with us,” she pointed to Zuko, who was in the distance learning about what tools to carve and what stones to use, he’d settled on one that reminded him of your eyes, and the band matching the deep royal blue usually used. He wanted to alter the pattern as a way of commemorating both elements. Currently, he and Sokka were doodling designs on the snow with sticks.

“Look at those dorks, I wonder what they’re doing,”

“You know Sokka, they’re probably drawing,” she laughed nervously.

“Hmm, that kind of looks like a-“ you were cut off as she pushed you off of the rock. You shrieked as you first dropped, then as you got more air time you changed into a more streamlined position with your head downwards. Instant regret when you hit the water though.

You resurfaced, drenched and in pain from the cold. Your fingers felt like they were gonna fall off any second now. Before you got to dwell on it, Katara joined you, also screaming in fun-agony.

“WHY’D YOU PUSH ME?” You splashed her.

“You were talking for too long…” she giggled, going under and pulling you down.

You inhaled a large amount of air before going under, making sure to keep her under with you as well. After a few seconds of freezing cold, you resurfaced, feeling pain in all your joints from the water.

“Why did I ever think this was a good idea?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” she shrugged, waterbending herself back up to the ledge so she could jump again, “But it sure is fun,”

Sokka and Zuko heard a splash in the distance.

“I think Katara is torturing your wife,”

“What?” he mumbled, looking at where you were very clearly lecturing her about something, “What’re they doing?”

“Ice bath, Katara tricked me into doing it once… I never fully recovered,”

Zuko chuckled, using his stick to doodle another design. Which he then stared at for a while.

“This is it.”

“Oh?” Sokka glanced at it, “It’s perfect.”

The men stared at each other proudly, as if they’ve just completed a super hard mission.

Immediately, Sokka took him inside a tent, quickly teaching him methods of carving with different tools. A few more splashes could be heard and you and Katara had fun.

“I wonder what he’s doing to Zuko,”

“Boy stuff,”

You furrowed your brows, “what does that even mean?”

After a lot of time (and a few cuts) Zuko finally had a necklace ready. Sure, it needed to be refined, but his hands were tired and shaky. Sokka patted him on the back, watching the fire bender weave the blue band into the loops.

What they failed to notice was you approaching, now covered in a warm coat.

“What’re y'all up to?” You breathed out, still cold but beginning to gain your senses.

Zuko panicked, hiding it under his leg. You looked at him weird.

By this time, Katara had joined the group, and behind her the sun fell into a pink and purple type hue. Zuko didn’t miss the way your breaths were so laboured, and he took it upon himself to lead you back to where Sokka said you two were staying. You changed into some clothes while he surveyed the room, moving around nervously.

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” you pulled a sweater over the thermal shirt, reaching over to grab an undercoat.

He walked up to you, fingers working shakily to button up the buttons. “Just cold,”

“No, the cold doesn’t make you avoid me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,”

“Really? It feels like Katara and Sokka are trying to keep us apart.” He grabbed another, heavier coat and draped it over your shoulder, you inserted your arms in the holes.

“I didn’t notice,”

“You’re lying,” you stepped back, putting your boots back on and tucking your pants into them.

He frowned, reaching out to you, but you stepped back.

“It’s weird, the letter thing as well- why didn’t you tell me you sent it to them? I thought it was last minute?”

“It was!”

“You’re lying again,” you frowned, folding your arms.

“I promise it’ll all make sense soon,”

“How soon? What’re you hiding?”

“I-“

“Actually. Don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know.” You huffed, storming out of the room, leaving a different kind of cold lingering.

Zuko sat down on the large bed, dropping his head into his hands. He sighed deeply, reaching over multiple layers of clothing to his pocket to pull out the carved stone. Truly, it was mediocre at best. And after this misunderstanding, the sinking feeling of impending rejection poisoned his thoughts. He couldn’t help but trace his finger over the patterns, wondering what could’ve been- he was half sure he was single now.

“I forgot-“ you gasped as you walked back in the room, catching a glimpse of the rock in his hand.

“Yn!” He quickly shoved it behind him.

“Zuko… what was that?”

“What was what?” He said, looking so suspicious it was stupid.

You took a few steps closer, inching towards him slowly, “In your hand,”

“My hand’s empty…”

“Liar…” you dragged on, standing right infront of him now.

“Zuko,”

“Yn,”

You tried pulling at his arms, but he wasn’t budging.

“Cut it out! What’s behind you?”

“Nothing!”

You sighed, walking away in defeat, just as he let his guard down, you pounced, having to grab it and rolling onto the bed. He barely had time to process it when your face immediately changed.

You sat up, moving on your knees towards him on the bed, patting his bicep, “Zuko light,”

The fire lord frowned, embarrassed that he was about to get rejected, although that’s no foreign feeling. A small, dancing red flame illuminated the carved necklace.

“It’s…” you covered your mouth with one hand, tears welling in your eyes.

“Tacky- I know, I just thought- you don’t have to do a-“

“Beautiful…” he glanced sideways at you, “Zuko…”

“This isn’t at all how I wanted this to go…” he sighed, dropping his head.

“No… probably not,” you sniffled, “but it was perfect,” you laughed, he chuckled as well.

He got up, lighting an oil lamp for better lighting. Zuko circled the bed and stood next to you, still nervous and fidgety.

“Yn,” he breathed out, shakily.

You nodded, glossy eyes meeting his.

“The years you’ve spent by my side, against me, with me- those have been the best years of my life. When I’m with you, I feel like I’m truly myself. I’ve never,” he swallowed harshly, “I’ve never felt more at home,” he paused again, looking up at the ceiling, “then when I’m with you.”

You let out a small noise of excitement, bouncing your legs.

“I’ve made so- so many mistakes in my life, every single day of it, but I think… I think letting you go would be my biggest mistake, Yn-“

“YES!!” You pounced on him, hugging him so tight as your heartbeats both skyrocketed.

You giggled as he looped the necklace around your neck, it was simple, and dainty, but most of all it was so Zuko. The more someone could stare at the imperfections in the craftsmanship, the more they’d love it. A man carved it with love and intention.

You held each other for a while, just swaying in the dimly lit room. You leaned back, cupping his face in your hands.

“Is this why we're here? You wanted to carve the necklace?”

“Yeah, pretty much, you ruined my plans though,”

“I did, didn't I?” You giggled.

“I had a lot planned for us, with the help of Sokka of course,”

“Ohh now that makes sense,”

“What makes sense,”

“Literally everything, you were being so weird,”

“I’m not great at keeping secrets,”

“Good, never keep one again,” you kissed his cheek.

“I suppose we should tell Katara and Sokka,”

“Yeah, I suppose we should.”

And so, hand in hand, you walked out to the bonfire, where the siblings sat.

Sokka was so mad his plan foiled.

[formulawolff]

x. bringing the heat in miami - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 3.6k

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, mentions of masturbation, lewd humor, age gap relationship, ANGST, naughty text messages, banter, light flirting, toto being down astronomically bad (like actually in the trenches) yadayadayada

prev. | next.

party in the city where the heat is on 

all night, on the beach till the break of dawn

“welcome to miami”

“bienvenidos a miami"

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will smith’s infamous track fills your ears as you stroll in through the main gate of the track, fans clustered in thick waves. your name is called more times than you can count. posters, caps, shirts, you name it, wave about, begging to be signed. 

the sun shines overhead, casting bright, fiery light all around. although it was only around eight in the morning, humidity clung to the air, creating a sticky, dewy sensation on your exposed skin. fluffy clouds drift along, carried by a breeze as it rolls through. 

god, the weather was perfect.

hopefully it would be like this on race day.

“welcome to miamiiii,” alex bobs his head, singing along to the music, “are you excited? it is your home turf, after all.”

“if we were in phoenix, i think i would feel a little closer to home,” you suppress a giggle, “but yes, i am really fucking excited. everyone loves a race in their home country.”

“we’ll be in austin soon enough in october,,” alex shrugs, “when we’re in austin, i need you to show me how to ride a bull and teach me how to perfect that smooth texas drawl. i want to be like one of those little aunties who always say, ‘y’all come back now!’ like dolly parton! ” 

“you’re ridiculous,” the giggles blossom into a full-on laugh, “you don’t just start speaking with a southern accent. that’s not how that works.”

“sure it is,” alex nods, “hey, your parents are coming out for the race, right?”

“yes sir! they will finally get to see their baby girl in action!”

“they didn’t come out for a single grand prix last year?” alex raises a brow.

“i wasn’t winning races last year,” you counter, “i told them not to worry about spending that money during my rookie year. not everyone’s parents are loaded, you know.”

which, was a true statement. 

your parents had invested their time, hard-earned cash, weekends off, and a portion of their lives to get you here. you didn’t expect them to fly out for every single grand prix, make every event, or pay another dime towards your expenses. 

unlike many of the drivers, you were not born into an extremely lavish lifestyle. your parents were modest people, who happened to have a child later in life. ever since you were born, they lived in the same house, drove the same vehicles, and got by adequately. since they both worked full-time, getting you into the racing world was no simple feat. 

yet, they were determined to make your dreams become a reality. after years of careful coordination to the karting tracks, weekends devoted to races, and thousands upon thousands of dollars spent, you were offered a contract with williams racing. of course, you accepted that offer graciously. 

now, you were steadily paying your parents back for their dedication. once you signed your contract and those zeroes hit your bank account, you went out to the nearest dealership, purchasing a suburu wrx. with the premium package, at that. 

you would never forget your dad’s face the moment you pulled into the driveway, beaming as you placed the keys in his hand. 

that was one of the only moments you had ever watched him cry, wrapping you up in a tight, loving embrace.

“you didn’t have to do this. being your father is a gift in itself.”

“but you deserve it. you’ve sacrificed so much so that i could be in this position.”

“and you deserve nothing but the best, baby girl. you are going to be one of the greatest drivers formula one has ever seen. you make us so proud. keep making us proud. keep defying those odds. keep making history, baby girl.”

keep making history, baby girl.

as you stroll into the paddock, greeting the engineers, pit crew, and other team members, you can’t shake that feeling brewing deep within. 

it’s is a fiery desire, setting you ablaze with determination. 

you were going to keep making history. 

you were going to be the first american to win the miami grand prix. 

you were going to be the first woman to win two consecutive grand prixes. 

you were going to be the first woman to earn that title of world champion. 

you were going to chase that high. by any means possible. 

and nothing was going to stop you now. 

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“look at him,” lewis hamilton shakes his head, “he looks absolutely pitiful.”

“you think his little relationship is on the rocks?” 

“quite the contrary mate,” lewis remarks, folding his arms across his chest, “i think it’s more like the poor man is depraved. obviously the euphoria has worn off. he’s come down from that high. the man is craving more. plain and simple. a hand can only do–”

“i don’t need the mental image of my team principal wanking off,” george russell scoffs, rubbing his temple, “fuck, that is disgusting, lewis.”

toto wolff stood a few meters away from the drivers, engaged in deep conversation with bono and members of the crew. now that lewis knew the truth, he couldn’t help but notice how much power that american girl held over the team principal. it was almost as if he were deep in a trance, under some sort of spell. 

it was pitiful, really. just the sight of her was enough to send the team principal spiraling, intoxicated off her alluring aura. not like lewis could blame toto, though. there was no denying that the woman was extremely breathtaking. 

with her stunning features, witty mouth, unapologetic personality, and angelic presence, she was practically miss america.

well, not practically. 

she was miss america.  

everyone adored her. lewis could barely go throughout his morning without hearing her name being mentioned. whether it was fans, journalists, social media, even members of the mercedes crew, she was the hot topic of formula one, taking the world by storm.

toto was a lucky man. an extremely lucky man. 

if only she was into men her age. 

“my apologies mate,” lewis nudges george with his elbow playfully, “did we have anything going on today? any obligations?”

george’s brow furrow, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, “if we’re being honest, i can’t really remember. i think something to do with monster energy, maybe.”

“perfect,” lewis licks his lower lip, fishing his phone out of his pocket. 

time to text that little assistant. 

in all seriousness, he felt horrible for taking advantage of that young girl. she was only nineteen for fuck’s sakes, a fresh face to mercedes at the start of the 2024 season. that made her the perfect target to do his bidding. 

well, it wasn’t really bidding. 

more like investigative journalism. 

at least, that’s what lewis told himself to feel a little less guilty for what he was about to do. 

hey, do you by chance know toto’s schedule today?

seconds later, little text bubbles appear. 

he was meeting with you guys this morning, then he has an interview with the press around two-thirty p.m. it’s nothing super serious, just a brief session entailing his thoughts for the weekend. at four, he has a zoom call with a few of the mercedes execs. after that, he told me he was going to be out for the remainder of the evening. why? 

hmmm. how convenient. 

i was just curious. thanks for letting me know! i appreciate you, natila. 

of course, mr. hamilton! let me know if you need anything else! :))) 

it was now or never. go time.

after the meeting with the mercedes executives, lewis hamilton was going to knock on toto wolff’s door. he was going to stroll into that office, settling into one of those plush leather chairs. and before toto had the opportunity to speak, lewis was going to confront him about that american girl. 

how he was going to start that conversation, he had no idea. that would come to him in time as he went about his day, meeting with sponsors, flashing that lovely lewis smile, flirting with the reporters just a little. not too much so that it was obvious, but enough to make them blush a tad, giggling as they scrambled to stick to their script. 

but for now, it was time to focus on the matters at hand. 

across the track, a dutch driver strolls through the crowds, a jersey in one hand, phone in the other. glancing down at his screen, he curses under his breath at the throng of people. why were there so many people? where did they all come from? 

pausing for a moment, he taps his screen, thumb gliding through his contacts. 

“hey, where are you again?”

“we’re in the williams paddock!” her voice is an octave higher than usual, more than likely from anticipation, “we’ll see you soon!”

“sounds good,” max verstappen stifles a chuckle as he hears a voice on the other end, the words firm, demanding almost.  

“honey, who are you talking to? who’s coming over here?” 

“mom, please, just let me be on the phone for two seconds,” she exhales, “okay, i have to go. i’ll see you soon!” 

the walk to the williams paddock was excruciating, as max had to bob and weave through the masses to avoid reporters, potential sponsors, and any individual who called his name. it’s not like he didn’t like the fame that came with his success, it’s just that he didn’t like the constant cameras in his face. the prying questions. the intrusive comments. 

sometimes he wished he could just blend in, be like any other face in the crowd. yet, how could he when he was max verstappen? 

yet, as he steps into the paddock, he makes out the williams driver, her parents hovering around her as she introduces them to various members of the crew. at the sight, max can’t help but feel the corners of his lips curl into a smile as he notices the sheer and utter pride plastered across their faces. 

and they had every right to be proud of you. 

you earned it. 

“goedemorgen,” max clears his throat, raising his hand for a small wave, “i just came to stop by.”

the instant your mom realizes who is standing before her in the paddock, her eyes widen, lips parting, “oh my gosh – honey. look who it is!” 

“good morning max,” your laughter rings like bells as you cross over to the dutch driver, “how are you?”

“pretty good,” he nods, sticking out his right hand, “hallo, i’m max.”

your dad shakes his hand, squeezing it firmly, “nice to meet ya, max. i’m tony. this is my wife, heather.”

“pleased to meet you,” max beams, turning to your mom, “i brought something for you today. your daughter mentioned that you were a big fan of mine. so, i brought this jersey for you. she let me know your shirt size, so it should fit perfectly. my signature is on there somewhere, but i just can’t quite remember where.”

graciously, heather accepts the jersey, her eyes glossy, shifting to you as she wipes a tear, “oh, honey, you planned this?”

“of course i did,” wrapping an arm around her shoulders, you pull her in for a hug, “i couldn’t bear the thought of you guys attending the race without meeting any of my friends. besides, you deserve an all-inclusive experience at your first grand prix.”

“besides,” max shoots you a wink, “i wanted to meet the woman who crafted such a talented driver.”

at max’s compliment, your mom’s face flushes, “oh please! i can barely make it on the freeway without having a nervous breakdown. i don’t know how she can drive these things. it amazes me how confident she is and–.”

“i could show you,” max offers, “i have some free time tomorrow. i’m sure we could all meet up somewhere and i could take you for a spin, show you the ropes. how does that sound?”

“oh max,” your mom waves a hand, “you do not–”

“but i want to. it’s no issue. no issue at all.” 

“then it’s a plan,” you can’t help but grin as your moms’ eyes light up, “what time works for you, max? since it’s only thursday, we’ll have some time in the morning before the practice laps. or, we could go after. whatever works for you.”

“let’s go in the morning,” max suggests, checking his phone, “i think i can make a few calls. have someone bring in a car. we’ll take it out on the track.”

“is that allowed?” your mom arches a brow, “i just don’t want you two to get in any sort of trouble. 

“oh mom,” you roll your eyes playfully, gesturing to max, “that is max verstappen. whatever max verstappen wants, max verstappen gets.”

“she’s not wrong.”

“okay fine,” your mom nods, and you feel a giggle forming at her overprotective nature. 

“just don’t give me a heart attack out there, max. i have a very important race to watch on sunday.”

as your parents talk to max, alex making his way into the conversation, you feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket. carefully, you fish it out, ensuring to shield your screen from your mom’s wandering gaze. 

this is unbearable. i need to see you tonight. are you going to have any free time? i vaguely recall you mentioning that your parents were going to be here. i will take no offense if you would like to spend time with them. i know you do not get to see them often. 

i need to be inside you, schatzi. i can’t think straight right now because the only thing i can think about is fucking that perfect pussy of yours. 

i miss my golden girl. more than anything. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“lewis? this is a pleasant surprise.”

“how’s it going mate?” lewis hamilton bears a quaint smile as he settles into a chair, face-to-face with the team principal, “things going well?”

“eh,” toto shrugs, his head bowed as he types away on his phone, “same old shit, you know.” 

“things going well with the horseback rider?”

oh, so he wasn’t going to drop it. silently, toto curses the attentive nature of his british driver, “they’re fine.”

“so,” lewis leans back, folding his arms across his chest, “when were you going to fess up and admit that your little girlfriend doesn’t ride horses?”

“i don’t understand what you–”

lewis scoffs, clicking his tongue, “i know exactly who your little girlfriend is because she’s a few spaces ahead of me on the grid.”

shit.

the expression painting lewis’ features is brimmed with satisfaction, his gaze piercing right through the team principal as he shifts uneasily in his desk chair, running a hand through his hair. 

toto was well aware that lewis had completely blindsided him, pinning him in a corner. it was quite literally perfect timing, as the team principal was merely minutes away from organizing his things, shutting down his computer, and heading out the door, well on his way to his golden girl. 

well played, lewis. well played. 

yet, he had to maintain his composure. he had to maintain that poker face as lewis cocks his head, prompting him to formulate some sort of witty retort. 

“i’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“bullshit,” lewis shakes his head, “you’re not a very good liar, toto. you of all people should know that i can read you like a bloody book. how long has this been going on?”

well, he had to fess up now. lewis would continue to call him out on his shit if he kept up with the lies. letting out a shaky breath, the team principal hangs his head in defeat, his heart thumping against his rib-cage, wiping his damp palms on his slacks.

no going back now. time to come clean. 

“since she won in jeddah. but if we’re being technical, it started in bahrain.”

“wait,” lewis sticks his hands up, squeezing his eyes shut, “pause. this has been going on since the start of the season? for weeks you’ve been sneaking around, meeting up with her in secret or something? was she the one who came to brackley between melbourne and suzuka?”

with all of the questions pouring from lewis’ mouth, toto’s mind reeled, a swirling torrent of anxiety, fear, and disappointment. his cheeks burn with shame, tinged pink. 

“yes, she was.”

tilting his head, lewis’ lips purse, “you like her?”

“well isn’t that blatantly fucking obvious,” propping his elbows on the desk, he massages his temples with his fingers, “how did you find out?”

“it wasn’t hard,” lewis shrugs, “i mean, i see the way you look at her.” 

toto’s eyes narrow at lewis’ vague response, “how. did. you. find. out?”

“natila texted me about it,” lewis coughs, averting the team principal’s beady stare, “she may have heard a conversation or two.” 

“regarding?” toto presses, satisfaction pumping in his veins as lewis starts to crack, shifting in the chair, “come on, lewis. you can’t just march in here and demand answers from me without sharing your sources. what did natila hear?”

“she heard the entire conversation you had with the drive to survive crew while we were in suzuka. they mentioned that they had footage of you walking over to her motorhome. that’s all natila heard. don’t fire the poor girl,” the words were rushed, breathy, “it was my fault. i asked her what she heard. i told her i would pay her if she told me what she knew.”

“well,” toto blinks, swallowing thickly, “did you end up paying her?”

“only like five thousand.”

“that’s quite a large sum over something you could have just asked me about personally,” clasping his hands together, toto raises a brow, “why didn’t you just come to me instead?”

“because you got so fucking defensive the first time i asked about it!” 

lewis did have a point. 

a good point, at that.

it was not like the team principal would have withheld information regarding his developing relationship with the williams driver. it was more like he feared what would ensue if he did share what had transpired. he trusted lewis, he really did. additionally, it wasn’t like this was just some average woman. his career, her future, and so much more were at stake. the benefits of keeping it all under wraps greatly outweighed the risk of discovery. 

more importantly, he was protective of his golden girl. 

she was his little escape from it all. a breath of fresh air after excruciatingly long nights in the paddock or disappointing days on the track. she was his sun, shining her vivid, warm, golden rays into his dreary and dull life. 

sure, toto was a billionaire. but money was not everything. 

nearly every day, toto’s mind wandered to their time spent together in brackley. the way she felt against his skin. the way her shy smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. the way her fingers felt intertwined with his. the way her lashes fluttered as she slept, lips parted ever so slightly. the way his hands roamed her curves, relishing the softness of her. 

that memory alone was worth far more than the number of zeroes in his bank account. 

“you’re falling in love, aren’t you?”

lewis’ voice is low, dangerously quiet. yet, there’s a curious glint in his eyes, the bitterness and anger no longer present. his body language is more relaxed, legs crossed, the driver fiddling with his thumbs. 

“i –” toto stutters, scrambling to find the right words, “yes, i am.”

“does she know?” 

“no,” he inhales sharply, “she doesn’t.”

“you want to tell her though, don’t you?”

“it would just feel rushed,” the team principal dismisses lewis’ inquiry, his voice hardening, “i have to be realistic here. no one falls in love that quickly. that’s just petulant.”

“well look at it this way,” lewis offers, “if you’ve had your eye on her for some time, then it’s really not that rushed. clearly, if you’re feeling those emotions so deeply, then it’s accumulated over time. i don’t want to pry, but how long have you been attracted to her?”

“you don’t want to know,” a chuckle rumbles in the team principal’s chest, “it’s embarrassing, really.”

“no, no, no,” lewis tuts, “tell me, toto. how long?”

“december 2022, when she signed her contract with williams. when i saw that photo of her, i knew i had to have her. last summer, in monaco, i may have slipped up and approached her at the afterparty. i flirted with her, but she dismissed me. so, i kept my distance. however, it was just growing harder and harder to stay away. it was impulsive, that night in bahrain. but i wanted to make a move before anyone else got to her.”

as toto finishes, he can’t help but notice lewis’ smirk, “holy shit, toto. you’ve been wrapped around her finger for quite some time then, yeah?”

“i wouldn’t say that–” toto begins, clicking his tongue, yet, he’s swiftly cut off as a new figure cracks open the door. 

george russell leans against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. his lips are pressed together, forming a tightly wound frown. 

“way to include me in the gossip session, guys. what did i miss? clearly, quite a lot. if you don’t mind, i would like to join the conversation. toto, would you start from the top? even though i’ve already heard most of it, when were you going to bring it to my attention that you were fucking that bloody williams driver?”

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taglist: @younxii @toldyouitwasamelodrama @kravitzwhore @persona1lies @pucksandpower @k3ira13 @prettiest-at-the-party @martwll @annewithaneofthegreengable @zoeyjadetice2010  @sinners-98-world @laura-naruto-fan1998 @nebarious @joalslibrary @swifth0lic

as always, if i forgot to include you, please let me know! thank you all for the continuous support! i love y'all sm!! <33

[strang3lov3]

Lavender

You receive a pleasurable massage from Ezra. (4.1k)

Tags - smut, massages, unethical!ezra, softest of soft!dom, wax play, hands in places hands shouldn't be, teasing, fingering, oral (f! receiving) masturbation, ezra creams his pants #creamernation, slight dom vibes from ezra, chamomille tea, ezra is a silvertongued menace, light foot action - assume reader has clean tootsies. Fic help - @endlessthxxghts and @beefrobeefcal thank you both for holding my hand through this!!! and for hyping me up, and for being the best part of my day!!! LOVE YOU!!! A/N - hey hey motherfuckers 😛 I hope you enjoy! First time writing Ezra and it’s for my beautiful @noxturnalpascal’s birthday that was a couple weeks ago 🩷 patti i'm not sorry for what i've done. also i love you.

After a sixteen hour drive back home from visiting your family, you’re in nothing but pain. There’s an awful, pinching feeling at your lower back, your hips and knees ache, and your neck is sore. Even laying down in your bed hurts. 

You try a couple of different solutions to remedy yourself. Ice pack, heating pad - you never know when you’re supposed to use one or the other. You try stretching, yoga, and increasing your water intake. But after four days of agony, you’ve had it. 

There’s a light-purple colored piece of cardstock that’s been hung up on your fridge by a magnet for the last few months. It’s a gift certificate to a spa called Lavender, you won it in a raffle at a charity drag show. 

Call (212) 929-5804 to schedule a 90 minute massage of your choice, and please bring this voucher with you to your appointment. 

I look forward to pleasuring you. 

-Ezra

You feel a flutter in your gut as you read those words: pleasuring you. Fuck, you’re so touch starved, and you begin to imagine what this Ezra could look like. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Before you get lost in your dirty thoughts about a massage therapist you’ve never even met before, you need to book an appointment. When you flip the card over, you see a list of services offered by Ezra. Massages of all kinds - chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue. You’re not really sure what you’re looking for, but you schedule your appointment anyway. 

-

Friday at 6:40pm, you leave your apartment and begin walking to Lavender. It’s only about a fifteen minute walk away, which you don’t mind because the weather is cooling down and the leaves are beginning to change color. You enjoy the scenery. At 6:57, you walk into the small office for your appointment, a bell jingling as you push open the door. The shades are drawn over the windows, blocking out what little light is cast by the setting sun in the overcast sky. It smells smokey, like incense. Gentle music plays as you wait at the front desk for someone to help you. 

After a moment, a man comes out through a door behind the desk. He’s taller, his face is handsome under the low light. His hair is dark apart from a very prominent streak of white in his hairline, his beard and mustache are neatly trimmed and graying. And as he makes his way closer to you, you make out a peculiar curved scar on his cheek, right next to a sharp, aquiline nose. The man smiles warmly at you and you silently pray to any god that’ll listen that he’s your massage therapist, and not just the person working the front desk. 

“I believe you must be my 7 o’clock, yes?”

Hallelujah. 

“Yes, that’s my appointment.”

“Your name, my dove?” 

You’re going weak in the knees. He speaks in a low voice, a syrupy thick southern accent pouring from his pouty lips. You tell him your name, tripping over your syllables. The man chuckles,  “I’m Ezra. Pleased to meet you,” he says, taking your hand in his before pressing a gentle kiss to your trembling knuckles. “I sense anxiety, my dove. Would I be correct in that assumption?”

You nod. “A little, yeah. Sorry. It’s my first massage.” Ezra’s warm, chocolatey eyes roam your body and you feel flustered, “I uh - I have this…” you dig out the gift certificate from your purse, slightly crumpled now. “From the raffle at that drag show.” 

“Ah, yes,” Ezra smiles, taking the certificate from you. “Thank you,” he says, smoothing out the crinkles in the paper. He notices you tapping your fingers rhythmically on his desk, and covers your hand with his own. “There’s no need for anxiety, darlin’. You’re in good hands with me. Perhaps a cup of tea to soothe those nerves of yours before I get started with you?” 

“That’d be great, yeah,” you reply. 

Ezra opens a nearby cabinet. “What are you in the mood for this evening?”

“Not really sure,” you answer, humming as you think. “Do you have suggestions?”

“That I do,” he says. “I’d suggest somethin’ herbal, no need for caffeine so late. I’ve got peach, I’ve got chamomile vanilla…” Ezra trails off, moving various boxes in the cabinet. “Hot chocolate too, f’ya want.” 

“The vanilla one. Please.” 

“The vanilla one it shall be, then.” 

Ezra makes you a small cup of tea, sweetening it with a bit of honey per your request. He sits you down in a comfortable chair and carefully places the warm mug on an end table next to you, then hands you a clipboard. 

“Just some routine paperwork I’d appreciate if you’d fill out for me as I get your room situated. Hope that’s not an issue.” 

“Not at all.” 

Ezra thanks you and exits the room, leaving you to fill out the paperwork. It’s all the usual questions: Name, date of birth, email, phone number, emergency contact. After that it asks of any allergies, medical conditions, or major surgeries to be aware of. You answer each question accordingly, and then the last section is made up of questions about your massage preferences.

Massage type? (Chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue) - Unsure. 

Any areas of the body that need to be focused on or avoided? - Unsure. 

Preferred pressure? (light, medium, hard) - Unsure. 

Any other preferences or details you’d like to add? - Unsure.

You click the pen and lay it on the completed paperwork, then sip your steaming tea. You wiggle your foot as you anxiously await Ezra’s return.

“I’m ready for you, sweet dove.” 

Ezra’s waiting by the door behind the front desk. You drink the last of your tea and follow Ezra into the room, where he takes his clipboard back from you. The room is dark, darker than the waiting area. It’s lit by a couple of plain candles, warm light flickering against the walls as soft piano music plays from a speaker. “Your purse,” Ezra motions for you to remove your bag, then hangs it over a hook on the door. “And your jacket, if I may,” he murmurs from behind you, hooking his fingers between the collar of your jacket and your body, waiting for you to unzip it before he pulls it off of your shoulders and hangs it up. Your skin tingles as his fingers brush over you, just a taste of what’s to come. 

“Undress for me as I go over your paperwork outside. I’ll knock on the door and wait for your word before re-entering.”  

“How much? How…” you trail off, bashful as you try to complete the sentence. Ezra knows what you’re trying to ask, though. “To your leisure, darlin’, though my suggestion would be to the nude, jewelry and all. The choice is yours. And once you’re done, lie on the table for me. You may protect your modesty with the towel I’ve provided for you right here.” Ezra pats a white towel that sits folded on the counter, next to a little crystal jewelry dish. 

Ezra leaves, gently shutting the door behind himself. He examines your paperwork behind the closed door as he hears rustling on the other side, the sound of you undressing. You leave your clothes in a pile on a chair, then cover your body with the towel. You lay on the massage table, pleasantly surprised that Ezra’s been warming it for you. You’re still a little nervous, so you focus on breathing deeply and calming yourself down as you wait to hear Ezra’s knock. You listen to the gentle piano playing, trying to place where you’ve heard this song before. 

Knock knock.

“Come in,” you call out, and Ezra opens the door. He closes it again softly and stands by the counter, readying some supplies. “What’s this song?”

“S’a piano cover of The Cure,” Ezra answers. “Last Day of Summer.” 

“Mmm. I never really liked them,” you admit. 

Ezra chuckles softly. “To each their own, I ‘spose. But I must inform you that you’re missin’ out, my dove.” 

You’re grateful Ezra can’t see your smile or your bashful expression at the pet name as you rest your face in the cradle of the table. “I do like this,” you tell him. “The piano cover.” 

“I do too. Relaxing, ain’t it?” 

“Yeah, it is. Very.” 

“Indeed. Now, I’d like to go over a couple of items on your paperwork before we commence. I believe you had stated that you’ve never received a massage before, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And you’re unsure of your preferences or areas of your body I should pay special attention to or avoid.”

 “That’s right, yeah.” Ezra hums in response, then goes quiet. “...I hope that’s not a problem?” 

“Worry not, dove, s’not a problem at all. Jus’ means I’ll be takin’ a more…experimental approach to massagin’ your body, s’all.”

 “Oh. Uh…experimental how?”

 “Your massage will entail the utilization of a variety of techniques, to thoroughly explore all parts of your body. By my listenin’ to both your verbal and nonverbal cues, and by checkin’ in, askin’ you questions about how you’re feelin’,” Ezra explains, “I’ll get to know your body and how best to please you. It’ll make things run nice an’ creamy for us both.” 

“O-okay. That sounds good.” 

You’re in trouble. Each of Ezra’s words, spoken through a honey-sweet tone, goes straight to your core. You wonder how slick you are between your thighs, if Ezra’ll notice. 

“I believe we’re ready to begin, then, dove.” 

Ezra lights some dragon’s blood scented incense, then washes his hands with hot water. Best not to startle you with cold hands. He approaches you on the massage table, you can smell him even through the smokey scent of the incense. He’s clean and citrusy, you wonder what cologne he wears. He places something on a rolling table and then reaches for your towel, gently tugging the tucked in ends from beneath your body. “Lift up a little for me, my dove. I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

You hoist yourself up, lifting your torso into the air so Ezra can pull the ends of the towel from under you. Cool air hits the skin of your exposed breasts, though your nipples are already hardened by your arousal. Once you lie back down, Ezra folds the towel down your torso so that only your ass and legs remain covered. “And I’ll be talkin’ you through my process, so nothin’ comes as a surprise.”

“Mm.”

“Gonna begin by drizzling some oil over your back, to keep your skin nice and properly lubricated as I massage you. Ready?”

“Ready,” you mumble. 

“But first…It seems you’ve forgotten to remove your jewelry,” he whispers, unclasping the necklace you wear. You lift slightly so that he can carefully remove the chain and pendant, then sets it down. Ezra takes the item he set on the rolling table, a massage candle that’s been burning for a while, the oil completely liquified. He holds it a couple inches above your back and then tilts it, hot oil dripping down your skin and surprising you. “My apologies, dove. I didn’t intend to startle you. You’ll get used to the warmth, I promise.” 

Ezra drips a bit more oil on your body, then sets it back down on the rolling table. “Gonna touch you, now,” he whispers. You sigh as you feel his hands finally touch your skin, calloused palms rubbing the oil from your shoulders down to your lower back. He begins by massaging your neck, thumbs sliding down your skin, over and over and over before traveling lower, massaging your traps and shoulders, the backs of your arms a little bit. His hands travel back up your shoulders where the skin meets your neck and massages with a firm pressure, causing you to wince. “Ohh, I know, I know. You’re quite tender, there, my dove. If you’d so kindly allow me to work out this tightness, I think it’d benefit you tremendously.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

Ezra massages you by pressing firmly into your skin, thumbs moving in circles, back and forth. “Relax,” he whispers. “Soften yourself. I’ve got you. Breathe in…” 

You draw in a deep breath, Ezra’s movements momentarily pausing. 

“...And out.” 

On your exhale, he massages the tense part of your neck, satisfied at how you’ve relaxed your body for him. He works out the tension, “Good, attagirl,” he praises, hands sliding down the rest of your back. He uses long strokes to massage up and down your spine, then your sides. You let out soft noises, noises indicating pleasure, not pain. Ezra notices how you quiet yourself, voiceless exhales instead of moans. “You don’t have to quiet yourself on my account, dove. I encourage any vocal or physical manifestation of your pleasure.”

Ezra’s hands feel like magic as they travel up and down your back, squeezing and sliding over your oiled skin. He walks his hands down your arms, down your palms, pausing when he reaches your fingers, “I believe you’ve forgotten to remove some more jewelry, darlin’. May I take these rings off of your fingers?”

“Yeah, please.” 

Ezra wiggles your rings off of the fingers of your right hand, then the left. They make soft, metallic noises as they clink against each other in Ezra’s palm. “Beautiful rings, my dear,” he murmurs before setting them down on the rolling cart, next to the necklace he’d taken off for you. Ezra massages your forearms, your wrists, your palms and fingers, first one hand and then the other. When he’s done, you hear the soft shuffle of fabric as he moves to the end of the massage table, rolling his cart with him. “I’d like to ask for consent before massaging your feet, my dove, as I’ve been kicked before by some rather ticklish clients.” 

“I’m a little ticklish, too” you admit shyly. “I can never get pedicures because of it. Have to do my toes at home.”

Ezra chuckles. “I find that firm pressure is most effective in preventing that sensation. May I try?” 

“Yes, go ahead.” 

Ezra pours a bit of oil in his hands and rubs them together before reaching for one of your feet, your toes wiggling and curling at his touch. “Shh, jus’ relax,” he coos softly, smirking at your sensitivity. With a steady, hard pressure, Ezra massages your foot. “Focus on your breathin’. It’s ‘sposed to feel good, I ain’t tryin’ to play a dirty trick on you.”

The tickling sensation is there, but with steady, deep breaths, you’re able to control it and allow yourself the pleasure of having your feet massaged. You stretch out the way a cat does when it relaxes, and Ezra smiles in satisfaction. “There it is. Feel good?”

“S’good,” you sigh. 

Ezra massages from your feet to your ankles, then folds the towel up and over your ass to expose your legs fully. He massages from your ankles up your calves, and oh - it feels incredible. You moan freely, feeling more confident to do so after his kind encouragement. You melt under his touch, arching into it as he works up your thighs, drizzling more oil before rubbing your skin. His hands are kneading the plump flesh of your ass now, one hand on each cheek, his thumbs close to your pussy. He admires that pretty diamond shape of your ass and thighs framing your bare pussy, and he notices how you drip for him. “Ezra,” his name slips from your lips in a whimper as he spreads your cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over the coarse hair that surrounds your cunt. 

“You seem quite enthused, little dove,” Ezra smirks. 

“Yeah…feel - feels good. So good, s-so…” 

“I’m pleased to hear it, my darlin’.” 

“Ezra,” you whine in betrayal when you feel Ezra’s hands leave your body, the pressure of his touch lingering on your skin. 

“My, such an ardent complaint,” Ezra remarks. “I hate to disappoint, but I implore you to trust my process. I won’t leave you dissatisfied, sweetheart.” Ezra unfolds the towel back over your body, then lifts it slightly, “Now, on your back for me.”  

You flip yourself onto your back, and once settled, Ezra folds the towel down to cover your lower half, leaving your breasts exposed. He keeps the temperature of the air in the room warm, but your nipples are hardened anyway, hardened by your arousal. Your heart pounds as you watch him, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths. You turn your head to watch him reach for his massage oil candle, your breath hitching when you see his pants visibly tented by his erection. He doesn’t bother hiding it. 

Ezra watches you with dark, sparkling eyes as he drips the oil on your body, the candlelight flickering, illuminating his handsome features with a warm glow. He massages your shoulders and your chest, hands gliding over your breasts and abdomen, then back up again. You gasp when his thumb catches your nipple, and Ezra raises an eyebrow. He circles your areola with his thumb, pinching and twisting your other nipple gently, teasing you. “Fuck,” you cry out, raising your hand to hold Ezra’s strong, muscular, veiny forearm. 

“You’re doin’ so good,” he whispers, then places your hand down at your side. He pulls the towel down your body some more as he massages down your sides and your hips, lifting one of your legs so he can massage both sides of your thigh. Your legs are spread for him, pussy on display and glistening with your arousal. “Oh, little dove. Such a mess you’re makin’ of my table.” 

You bite your lip and whine as Ezra’s fingers just barely touch your lips, achingly close to where you need his touch the most. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“I don’t wanna hear you apologizin’, sweetheart. I won’t stand for it,” Ezra lays your bent leg back down, then rounds the table and lifts your other leg. “‘Sides,” he says, “S’only natural, how your body reacts to my touch. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 

You smile shyly as Ezra massages up and down your thigh, teasing you just how he did before. You tilt yourself into his touch, moaning as he approaches your wet cunt, waiting to feel his fingers between your folds. But you never do. 

“We’re comin’ up on the end of our appointment,” Ezra warns. “If there’s an area of your body that you feel needs special attention before we conclude, let me know.”

“Ezra–” You reach for his wrist and urge him to touch you between your thighs. 

“Something that still needs tending to, my dove?”

You nod frantically. “Please–”

“Use your words,” he interrupts, his voice low. “You have to ask me for what you want. I’m unable to alleviate your discomfort if you don’t tell me what you need, sweetheart.” Ezra’s fingers hover over your core, feeling the heat radiating from you. You stutter out something incoherent, and Ezra dips his fingers lower, ever so gently touching you. He traces your folds, waiting for your answer. “Ask me.” 

“I want you to make me come, Ezra,” you beg, “Please.” 

“I can do that in many ways. Tell me how, little dove. Tell me where you need me to touch you.” 

Ezra wears a crooked smile. This, this is his loophole. He knows that technically, as a professional, this is a line he shouldn’t cross. But he can’t help himself, you moan so sweetly for him even without his fingers buried in your cunt. Sensation is subjective, so you can’t say his teasing is intentional, deliberate. It’s your own reaction, and not Ezra’s fault if you feel aroused during massage - after all, it’s a completely natural response to physical stimulation. By making you ask - beg - for what he’s coaxed you to want from him, Ezra evades responsibility. This is on you. 

“I want your fingers in my pussy,” you breathe, pressing his thick fingers against your slick center. “Please.” 

Ezra inserts his middle and ring fingers into your dripping hole, feeling your muscles tense around his digits as he gathers your arousal. He pulls his fingers back out and then traces up and down your pussy, loving the way his fingers slip and slide through your slick folds. He circles your clit once, twice, then explores the feeling of your lips again. “Check in with me, darlin’, how are you feeling?”

You answer Ezra’s question with a mess of breathy moans, and he chuckles at that. He paints steady circles around your clit and glides his other hand over your oiled body, fingers catching your pebbled nipples. Ezra leans over and keeps his face close to yours, grinning proudly when you gasp as he pushes those two fingers of his back inside you. Your legs clamp shut around his arm as he curls his fingers rhythmically, stroking that spongy, sweet spot inside of you that makes you squirm. “Ezra, Ezra,” you cry. 

“Shhhh,” he hushes you, “Open up for me.” Ezra traces your face with his sharp nose, his hot, minty breath fanning over your skin. As you spread your legs, he bites your earlobe gently. “Stay like this now, little dove. Let me please you.” 

Ezra stands up straight again, his warm, masculine hand sliding down your sternum and your stomach, fingers reaching for that tight bundle of nerves between your thighs. As he works his fingers inside you, he circles your clit, using both hands to pleasure you. You’re close, and it’s taken no time at all. Arching your back, you tilt your head and close your eyes as you lean into his touch, focusing on your impending release. “Look at me when you come,” he commands. “Eyes on me.” 

“Fuck, Ezra–” 

“I know, little dove, I know,” he coos.

He replaces his fingers with his tongue, knees cracking as he kneels before you. By pressing a button beneath the table he lowers it, bringing you to a comfortable height for himself. You don’t notice him dipping his fingers into the candle, then shoving his hand beneath the waistband of his linen pants. He toys with his hard cock, stiff member aching, leaking just for you.

All you can focus on is the pleasure building deep in your gut. You watch Ezra, he’s gazing upon you with hooded eyes. He seems entranced by it all, the sensation of your pulsing cunt, the slick noises his fingers make while inside you. He hums at your taste, that sweet, musky flavor of your pussy. You tug his dark hair as he circles your clit with his tongue, “Fuck, right there,” you gasp. “Right there, Ezra, please.” 

As Ezra’s tongue slides over your clit, fingers steadily curling inside you, he pumps himself. His big hand slides up and down his shaft, he can feel each of his swollen, prominent veins under his palm. He grips himself tightly, fucking his fist with fervor. 

“I’m there, I’m there,” you cry. You come on his tongue with loud, frantic moans, maintaining eye contact, just like he told you to do. He works you through it, your pussy soaking his fingers, his nose, arousal dripping all the way down into his palm. Moans of pleasure shifting to noises of overstimulation, Ezra continuing to fuck you on his fingers as he fucks his fist. He groans against your cunt as he comes, painting his own hand with hot, milky ropes of his come. He drags his release out, teasing both himself and you as he comes down. 

Gently, Ezra pulls his fingers from your core, then pulls his own hand out of his pants. He turns to wash his hands at the sink but you stop him, reaching for his wrist. “N-need to taste you,” you breathe. “Let me taste you, Ezra.” 

Ezra smiles warmly. “I’m flattered by your enthusiasm to reciprocate the pleasure, little dove, but I must confess I’ve taken care of my arousal already. This is your time to relax and to immerse yourself in pleasure, not mine.”

You pout. 

“But if you desire to taste me…”

Ezra holds his hand in front of your face, fingers glistening with silky ribbons of his come. You bring his palm to your lips, then lick and suck his fingers clean of his spend, humming at the salty, heady taste. 

When done, Ezra helps you sit up. “I’ll wait out front for you to get dressed, and then we can schedule a follow-up appointment,” he says, a mischievous look in his eye. “Don’t forget your jewelry on my cart, little dove.”

Comments, reblogs, and asks are so very appreciated!! I love to hear your kind words about my work, they keep me motivated to write for you all <3

[awkward-walking-potato]

request for jealous remy 👀 maybe some guy is flirting with reader at a bar and how he would react? maybe pietro has been flirting with reader a little to serious for the cajuns liking? definitely maybe some nsfw reaction 👀

The neon lights of the bar flickered in a hypnotic rhythm, casting a soft, colorful glow over the dimly lit room. It was a lively night—laughter, clinking glasses, and the steady beat of music filled the air, creating an atmosphere of easygoing revelry. I leaned against the counter, nursing my drink as I chatted with Pietro, who had been playfully flirting with me all evening.

Pietro was charming, in that quick-witted, cocky way of his. He’d been dropping compliments and teasing remarks, his silver hair catching the light every time he leaned in closer. Normally, I would’ve brushed off his flirtations as just his way of having fun, but tonight, something about it felt a bit…different. His words had a sharper edge, his gaze lingering a little too long.

I didn’t think much of it, though, until I felt a familiar presence at my side.

“Y’know, cher,” a deep, smooth voice drawled from behind me, dripping with a mix of Southern charm and something darker, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think Pietro here was tryin’ to steal somethin’ that don’t belong to him.”

I turned my head, heart skipping a beat as I met Remy LeBeau’s red-on-black gaze. He was leaning against the bar, casual as ever, but there was a tension in his stance, something simmering just beneath the surface. His smirk was there, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Pietro grinned, not missing a beat. “Hey, Remy. Just having a little fun, no harm done, right?” He flashed me a wink, clearly enjoying the situation more than he should.

But Remy didn’t seem to share the sentiment. He stepped closer, his presence commanding the space between us. “Fun’s fun, Pietro, but you might be pushin’ your luck tonight.”

The playful tone in his voice couldn’t quite hide the edge of possessiveness, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. This was different. This wasn’t just Remy being his usual laid-back self—this was him staking a claim, making it clear that I was his, whether anyone else liked it or not.

Pietro’s smile faltered slightly as he glanced between us, clearly sensing the shift in the atmosphere. “Alright, alright, no need to get all territorial, LeBeau,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

With one last mischievous grin in my direction, Pietro zipped off, leaving me alone with Remy, who was now standing close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest. “Remy, you didn’t have to—”

He cut me off, his hand reaching out to gently cup my chin, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to look into those burning red eyes. “Didn’t have to what, cher? Watch some speedster make eyes at my girl?”

His voice was low, dangerously smooth, and it sent a thrill through me. Remy was always so effortlessly charming, but this side of him—the side that was possessive, almost predatory—was something else entirely. It made my pulse race, a mix of anticipation and desire curling in my stomach.

“He was just being friendly,” I managed to say, though the words felt flimsy even to me.

Remy’s thumb brushed over my bottom lip, his gaze darkening. “Friendly, huh? That what you call it?” His voice dropped even lower, barely more than a whisper now. “Ain’t no one who gets to be ‘friendly’ with you like that. Not while I’m around.”

My breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “You’re mine, cher,” he murmured, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. “Ain’t gonna let anyone forget that. Especially not you.”

Before I could respond, his mouth was on mine, claiming me with a fierce, possessive kiss that left no room for argument. His hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head back as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine with a hunger that made my knees weak.

I melted into him, my hands clutching at his jacket as I kissed him back just as fiercely, the rest of the bar fading away until there was nothing but the two of us. His other hand gripped my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I could feel the hard lines of his body pressing against mine, the heat between us building with every passing second.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard, our foreheads pressed together. His eyes bore into mine, his voice a rough whisper. “Ain’t no one who’s ever gonna make you feel the way I do, cher. Don’t forget that.”

I didn’t think I could forget it if I tried. The intensity in his gaze, the way his body felt against mine—it was all-consuming, a fire that threatened to burn me alive, but one I had no desire to escape from.

“Remy…” I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of everything I felt for him.

But before I could say anything more, he was kissing me again, slower this time, but no less intense. His hands roamed over my body, claiming every inch of me as his own, and I couldn’t help but gasp as his lips trailed down my neck, leaving a searing path in their wake.

He pulled back just enough to whisper in my ear, his voice thick with desire. “Let’s get outta here, cher. I got plans for you tonight, and none of ’em involve sharing you with anyone else.”

A shiver of anticipation ran through me at his words, and I nodded, unable to form any coherent response. Remy’s lips curved into a wicked smile as he took my hand, leading me out of the bar and into the night, where the promise of what was to come hung heavy in the air between us.

As we left, I couldn’t help but glance back, catching sight of Pietro at the far end of the bar. He raised his glass in a silent toast, a knowing smirk on his face. But the moment passed, and then it was just Remy and me, the cool night air wrapping around us as we walked away.

The second we were outside, Remy pulled me close again, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was all-consuming. He didn’t stop, not even as he led me toward his motorcycle, the kiss only breaking when we reached it. He climbed on first, then pulled me on behind him, my arms wrapping around his waist as the engine roared to life.

As we sped off into the night, the wind whipping through my hair, I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. Remy’s possessiveness, his jealousy—it had only made me want him more, and the way he had reacted to Pietro’s flirting left no doubt in my mind about how much he wanted me.

And tonight, I was more than ready to show him just how much I wanted him too.

[oskea93]

Kansas Anymore (2)

Tyler Owens x OC

Summary: In which Riley Owens, the ex-wife of the infamous Tornado Wrangler, has 36 hours to come to terms if moving to a whole new country with their small daughter is something she truly wants to do.

Warnings: Cursing, angst, suggested smut, fluff. ✶ Chapter One ✶

■ Italics = Flashback ■ A/N: You guys are amazing! I just want to say thank you so much for loving this story and follwing the tale of Riley and Tyler ❤️ ■ Taglist is available - just drop a comment! Would love to hear your thoughts, questions, or maybe just drop by to say hello! Can't wait to hear from y'all

TL:  @ellesmythe @18lkpeters @hookslove1592, @djs8891, @smoothdogsgirl @queenslandlover-93 @imjustamehbleh @love2write2626 @lt-jakeseresin @starcrossedtrek

“You know when you said that we were going to a show, I didn’t expect it to involve horses and mud.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, my heels sinking into the soggy ground with each step. I had been in Arkansas for less than a month – choosing to attend the college that my father spoke so highly of growing up. As each day passed, it was getting harder and harder to fight the urge to pack all my things and head back home.

My roommate Sarah, who had grown up in the area, laughed as she turned to face me. "Welcome to the South! This is what we call a rodeo. Trust me, you'll have fun."

I glanced around at the bustling fairground. Families gathered around food stalls, the smell of popcorn and barbecue hanging in the air. Children ran past us, their boots splashing in puddles, their laughter ringing out above the distant sounds of country music. Cowboys in worn jeans and hats moved with purpose, leading majestic horses by the reins.

"Fun, huh?" I muttered, trying to pull my heel out of yet another patch of mud. "It looks like a real blast.” Sarah grinned and tugged at my arm, leading me toward the main arena. "Oh, come on! You haven't even seen the best parts yet. The bull riding, barrel racing, and don't forget the rodeo clowns. They’re hilarious!"

As we walked, I noticed the vibrant colors of the stands selling cowboy hats, boots, and all sorts of Western memorabilia. There was an infectious energy in the air. People greeted each other with wide smiles and friendly nods, embodying the warmth of Southern hospitality that Sarah had talked about.

We passed a group of teenagers gathered around a mechanical bull. They cheered each other on, daring one another to take a ride. Sarah nudged me, "Think you could last eight seconds on that thing?"

I shook my head, laughing. "No way! I'd be thrown off in a heartbeat."

A mischievous smirk broke across her face. “Never know till you try.” I rolled my eyes and started to walk away, but her grip on my arm stopped me. “Just once.” Her eyes widened with a playful challenge. “Have a little fun, Riley.”

My eyes glanced between her and the machinery behind her, taking in the sight as a teenage boy was thrown from the contraption, his friends commending his effort with hoots and hollers. The boy, though dusting himself off, wore a wide grin as he rejoined his group, their camaraderie infectious.

I sighed, feeling a mix of reluctance and curiosity. “I’m not wearing the right clothes for that thing,” I said, the excuse as flimsy as it sounded. “Plus, I could break a bone or som—”

“You riding or not, darlin’?” came a loud voice from behind me.

Sarah’s eyes shifted to the voice, and I turned to meet the face of the commenter. He was a tall fucker – had to be over six foot with an overinflated ego. His boots were dusty, and his hat cast a shadow over his eyes, but I could still see the arrogance etched in his smirk. “Excuse me?” I replied, my tone a bit harsher than intended.

“You heard me,” he said, leaning casually against the gate. “You gonna give it a go or just stand there making excuses?” His cocky smile shone bright, and I could practically taste the mockery in his voice. “Too scared you're gonna break a nail?”

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, not out of embarrassment but anger. I clenched my fists and took a step forward, feeling the rough texture of the ground beneath my boots. “Listen, cowboy,” I said, my voice steady despite the irritation bubbling inside. “I’m not here to play games or prove anything to you.”

Sarah shifted uncomfortably beside me, her eyes darting between us. I could sense her unease, but I wasn’t about to back down. The man’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the tension he was stoking.

“Prove something to me?” he chuckled, pushing off the gate and taking a step closer. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to prove anything to me.” His eyes slowly moved up my body, lingering in a way that made my skin flush. “Just to yourself.”

The guy raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk centered on his chiseled face. Clearly, he thought he had me all figured out.

I turned back to Sarah, her eyes showing concern as I handed off my purse and coat. “You really don’t have to do this, Riley.” Her tone shadowed her eyes. “Tyler’s just being an asshole. He’s like that with all the girls in town—” She paused shortly. “You’re just the only one who’s ever talked to him like that.”

“Let’s see what you got, city girl!” The Tyler guy hooped, causing those close enough to center their attention on the situation.

Rolling my eyes, I hastily removed my purse, pushing the bag into Sarah’s arms. “You really don’t have to do this, Riley,” Sarah's voice now hesitant as she looked at me with concern. “We can just go somewhere else and have fun, forget about that guy.”

I shook my head in protest, my resolve hardening as I cast one last glance at the idiot across the room. His smirk fueled my determination. “No way. I’m not gonna give that jerkoff the satisfaction of watching me wuss out,” I declared, my voice tinged with defiance.

As I pushed up the sleeves of my designer shirt, a small act of rebellion that would have my mother clutching her inherited pearls in horror, I felt a surge of adrenaline. This was my moment to show that I was not someone to be pushed around, not someone to be intimidated by an urban cowboy fool at a fucking rodeo.

I confidently approached the bull, climbing onto the steel, gripping the handle with white-knuckled determination.

"Hold on tight, darlin," the elderly operator smiled warmly, his weathered face lined with experience and mischief. With a practiced hand, he flipped the switch, setting the mechanical bull into motion.

As the bull lurched forward, the world around me seemed to blur into a whirlwind of colors and sounds. The contraption bucked and spun with unpredictable ferocity, testing every ounce of my balance and resolve. I clenched the reins tightly, my muscles straining as I fought to stay atop the bucking beast. Sarah’s cheers blended with the roar of the crowd, a chorus of encouragement that spurred me on.

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes, my focus narrowing to the rhythmic movements of the mechanical beast. Just as I started to think I might actually last the full eight seconds, the bull gave a particularly violent twist, sending me flying into the padded arena.

I let out a groan of both relief and exhaustion, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb away as I managed to flip myself onto my back. As I lay there, breathing heavily, the cool night sky spread out above me like a vast, dark canvas adorned with twinkling stars.

Sarah's figure quickly loomed over me, her expression a mix of concern and relief etched across her features. With a swift movement, she crouched down beside me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe as if checking for any signs of injury.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine worry and care as she assessed my well-being.

I slowly nodded my head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I think so," I replied, my sentence trailing off momentarily as I gathered my thoughts. "Was that okay?" I inquired, seeking reassurance after the whirlwind of the mechanical bull ride.

Sarah's expression shifted from slight confusion at my question to a mischievous smile that lit up her face. "Are you kidding me, Riley?" she exclaimed, her voice filled with pride and excitement. "That was more than okay. You had Tyler Owens, the reigning rodeo champion, dropping his jaw so far to the ground that he's gonna need some help putting it back in place."

We shared a laugh as she helped me off the mat, my black slacks now dotted with dust and dirt.

"You did good, little girl," the older man remarked with a warm smile as we exited the gates of the rodeo arena. I shyly thanked him, feeling a surge of pride at his encouraging words, but my smile quickly faded as a tall stranger approached us, his hands casually tucked into his denim pockets.

"Wasn't expecting you to last a second, city girl," he remarked with a smirk that seemed to gleam in the dim light of the night. "Gotta hand it to you though, you make riding a bull look easy."

I met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and amusement, my own smirk playing at the corners of my lips. "Yeah, well," I retorted, taking a step closer to him, the adrenaline of the ride still coursing through my veins. "It's all in the hips, really."

My words hung in the air between us, a playful challenge laced with a hint of confidence. “Is that right?” His voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver down my spine. “Gonna have to teach me your ways then.”

A flicker of a smile danced across my lips, “Me teach you-“ I took a step back. “From what I hear you’re a world-renowned bull rider, probably the best in the county, maybe even the state.” My words boosting his overstrung ego. “I’m sure a bull made of steel is no match for-“ I paused, tilting my head. “What’s your name again?”

“You know my name, darlin.” His words igniting a burn in my stomach.

He arched an eyebrow as I drew near, clearly taken aback by my sudden boldness. His cronies and Sarah exchanged glances, unsure of what was unfolding before them. I could almost taste the tension in the air, thick and crackling with anticipation.

Without a word, I stood before him, my gaze unwavering. The hint of a smirk played on his lips, a challenge in his eyes. But I held my ground, a silent defiance radiating from every fiber of my being. My hand slowly trailing up his flannel covered front, his breath hitching with each touch.

In one swift motion, I reached out and plucked the Stetson hat from his head, the symbol of his false bravado. Placing the hat atop my head, my smile smug as I looked up at him, almost daring him to take it back.

“You shouldn’t let strangers get too close to you, Tyler Owens,” I remarked coolly, the gravel crunching under my heels as I took a step back. “That’s a lesson us city girls learn at a young age.”

10:54am (2.21 hrs since arrival)

“I can’t believe it's been over a year since we’ve seen you and the little bean,” Lilly smiled warmly over her coffee cup, her eyes reflecting a mix of nostalgia and longing. “I mean, we get to talk to her on video chat, but it’s just not the same.”

I nodded in agreement, a tinge of guilt flickering in my chest. “Yeah, work has been so hectic, and I never know where you guys are gonna be, especially during the season. Tyler’s like a butterfly – floating wherever the wind blows.”

Lilly chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of understanding. “I know he misses her a lot –” Her sentence paused, a moment of hesitation flitting across her features. “Misses you a lot too.” Her gaze met mine, her eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and unspoken truths. “He still has that picture of the two of you nestled in his visor.”

The photograph that Lilly had taken two weeks after I found out I was pregnant with Caroline. The storm clouds black as night loomed behind us, a stark contrast to the brightness of our smiles that shone as radiant as the sun in the sky.

Tyler had insisted on capturing the moment, his easy laugh filling the air as he playfully teased about becoming parents. Despite the uncertainty and fear that lingered in the depths of my heart, his unwavering support and infectious optimism had been a beacon of light in the midst of the looming storm.

The diner's door suddenly swung open, and in walked Boone, a towering figure with my four-year-old daughter, Caroline, perched high on his shoulders. "Here she comes, Ms. America!" Boone's southern twang echoed through the small space, causing a few of the older folks to turn their heads in mild disapproval. Caroline's infectious giggle, so reminiscent of her father's, rang out as she played along with the theatrics, her smile radiant as ever.

I watched as the two of them made their way through the diner, drawing smiles and curious glances from the other patrons. Caroline's tiny hand waved enthusiastically at the strangers, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Boone, ever the playful uncle, hammed it up for her, making exaggerated gestures and funny faces that elicited peals of laughter from the little girl perched on his shoulders.

As Boone approached our table, I made space for him in the booth, eagerly awaiting Caroline's arrival. Her tiny hands reached out for me as I gently lifted her off his shoulders, her eyes alight with excitement. "Mommy, Daddy said I could go with him and Uncle Booney when the 'nado comes," she announced proudly. "Daddy said there's gonna be one real soon."

My eyes immediately darted to where Boone still stood, his gaze evading mine as he focused intently on the intricate pattern of the floor tiles. "No," I said firmly, my hand instinctively reaching out to gently grasp Caroline's pigtailed braid. "Sweetheart, it's far too dangerous to go with Daddy and Uncle Boone. You need to stay here with me where it's safe."

Caroline's face began to crumple into a disappointed pout, her lower lip trembling slightly. Her eyes, usually bright with curiosity and mischief, now filled with a mixture of defiance and longing. "No, Mommy," she protested, her voice rising in a blend of frustration and determination. "I want to go with Daddy!"

Her attitude shifted suddenly, like a fault line in an earthquake, her small arms crossing over her chest in a display of stubborn defiance. The tension in the room seemed to thicken as her words hung in the air, charged with the raw energy of a child's unwavering will.

I let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me. My eyes flicked over to Lilly, her expression a mixture of concern and understanding.

"Caroline, I'm not having this argument with you," I said firmly, my voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. The tears that had been threatening to spill over now glistened in Caroline's wide green eyes, her lower lip quivering with unshed emotion.

"You're not going, and that's final," I stated, my tone leaving no room for further negotiation. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of my words, the tension between us palpable.

Caroline's shoulders slumped in defeat, her small form trembling with suppressed emotion. A single tear escaped her eye, trailing down her cheek in a silent testament to her disappointment.

Lilly sat forward, her presence a comforting anchor. "Caroline, honey, Mommy is just trying to keep you safe. Sometimes we have to trust that the grown-ups know what's best for us, even when it's hard to understand."

“But you go with daddy to the nados.” Caroline's matter-of-fact statement catching Lilly off guard, her surprise evident in the way her brow furrowed slightly.

"Well," Lilly began, her voice gentle yet tinged with a sense of hesitation. "It's my job to go with your dad and help with the tornadoes. But if my mom told me not to, then I would listen to her and stay behind." Lilly and I shared a knowing glance, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.

We both knew her words were a facade, a carefully constructed lie meant to shield Caroline from the harsh realities of the world. Lilly's mother's disapproval of her association with Tyler and the gang was no secret, a source of tension that simmered beneath the surface of their relationship.

The chimes above the door sounded again as Tyler stepped across the threshold. His smile on display as he greeted those in the restaurant, sparking a conversation with the random patrons. “Daddy!” Caroline quickly stood on the booth’s seat, her arms waving in the air to get Tyler’s attention.

Tyler waved goodbye to his admirers, his smile growing even wider as he approached our booth. As he drew closer, I could already anticipate the first thing that would escape Caroline's lips—the reminder of how I had told her she couldn't go with him on a chase, a trait she had undoubtedly inherited from me.

"Hey there, sweet pea," Tyler greeted Caroline, his voice brimming with affection as he stepped behind the booth. Caroline's arms instinctively wrapped around his neck as he lifted her out of the seat with practiced ease. "Have you gotten something to eat yet?"

Caroline nestled her head against Tyler's shoulder, her small frame shaking with soft sniffles. Concern etched across his face, Tyler gently pressed, "What's wrong, baby?" He reached up to wipe away a stray tear that was making its way down her cheek.

"Mommy won't let me go with you and Uncle Booney for the nado chase," Caroline whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of disappointment and longing.

 Tyler's gaze, the same shade of green as Caroline, locked onto mine with a mix of curiosity and concern. "What's the deal, Riley?" he inquired, his voice gentle but probing.

My face betrayed my emotions before I could even formulate a response. A wave of unease and protectiveness washed over me as I struggled to find the right words to convey my concerns.

"The deal, Tyler, is that she's just a baby," I began, my voice tinged with a blend of firmness and vulnerability. "She doesn't need to be out in the truck, spinning around in a tornado. It's not safe for you and the guys, and it's definitely not safe for a 4-year-old child."

"I'm not a baby, mommy!" Caroline quipped, her voice filled with a mix of defiance and determination, catching me off guard.

My eyebrows raised in surprise at her unexpected retort. "Well, you're my baby, little girl, and like I said, it’s too dangerous to be out there with daddy. Maybe when you're a little older – say twenty –“

“Twenty!” Tyler exclaimed. “You can’t have her living in a bubble all her life, Riley.”

The atmosphere in the room grew tense as my jaw slacked in immediate anger, my eyes narrowing as Tyler stared back at me. "Excuse me?" I retorted; my voice edged with frustration. "Like you have any control of that, since I'm the primary parent here and you're just someone who comes and goes like the fucking wind you chase!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed as Boone and Lilly stepped forward, "Hey, little bean—" Lilly approached Tyler and Caroline, who was actually crying at this point. My frustration with Tyler causing me to forget that she was right in front of me in his arms.

"Why don’t you come with us and help us sell some t-shirts?" Lilly suggested, her warm smile aimed at Caroline, who sniffled and wiped away her tears.

Boone stepped lightly behind me, his easygoing demeanor a calming presence. "Yeah, who's gonna turn down an adorable kid?" he added with a playful grin, trying to lighten the mood.

I hastily ran a hand through my hair as Caroline climbed into Lilly's arms, her giggles filling the room and momentarily easing the tension. Tyler's face remained stoic as he sent glares my way, the unspoken emotions between us hanging heavy in the air.

Feeling the weight of his gaze, I met his eyes with a mix of defiance and weariness. The complexities of our relationship, the unresolved issues simmering beneath the surface, were laid bare in that moment of silent confrontation.

Tyler's voice was low and filled with hurt as he spoke, "That was a really shitty thing to do, Riley. To bring that up in front of Caroline – make me look like a bad dad. Real nice."

I lowered my head in frustration as Tyler stormed past me, his steps purposeful and heavy. The hushed whispers of those around us mingled with the clinking of cutlery, casting a spotlight on our tense exchange. With a heavy sigh, I gathered my composure, steeling myself against the onslaught of prying eyes and whispered conversations. The weight of their scrutiny bore down on me, a reminder of the fragility of our private struggles in a very public setting.

[chatsukimi]

eternal: ten cursed fingers, born from the flame

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: sukuna x fem!reader, fluff, some angst, heianera!sukuna. pt 2.

When Sukuna enters the workshop, he is fifteen and mortal, and you are tending flames by the furnace.

Afternoon sun casts through the straw ceiling. You blink twice as you stare at the doorway. Heaving against it, a boy. Sunspots dance in your eyes.

'Please. Please, I'm dying. Help me!' he begs, and his wrists come up to strangle either side of your face, blood filling your tunic in buckets.

Brutal.

He is a curse user, you sense, his energy pouring out like his soul. You could feel it, flooding the plain room, his impending death.

You are young and what the elders say about helping strangers don't faze you. 'Put your hands in the fire.'

'No!'

His eyes are rolling back. He doesn't have much time left.

You grab his arm, dragging his doll-limp figure to the fire. You shove it into the coal.

Observing the healing, your grandfathers' words echo vaguely at the back of your head. They would come asking for it over and over again. They would chase you like immortality. But maybe, you think, maybe he would save dozens with those hands.

What preoccupies you more, though, squatting beside the boy, is the wonder alit in this stranger's face as his hands glisten back to life by the flames until what touches her is not slime and blood, but tender flesh. Bare fingers.

When he leaves, he does not tell you his name, nor ask for his whereabouts, nor thank you. He does not smile, and he gives no compensation. With the rags on his body, though, you do not think he has enough.

He does not do a lot of things, but the last thing you remember of your first meeting with this boy is that he did not say goodbye.

...

He, indeed, returns. He wears a stone carved lion mask.

'I do not think it's fair that I give you weapons for free,' you say, holding up a sceptre for the -now- man.

He chuckles. Sukuna shows you his innate technique: slash. Examining his technique for hours on end, you welded weapons with similar precision.

Through the years, he arrives later and later at the footsteps of your house during the night. He stops calling out for you from the door. Instead, appears frankly at the furnace where you sleep.

'Fuga,' he whispers, like an inside joke, against your ear- open. At first, you startled awake and nearly bashed him in the face. But you know now that despite his stoicism he is smiling under the mask, appearing on the opposite side of the room in an instant.

A little part of you rejoices at knowing this was an important man you have saved, though your fingers never touched.

You can tell from how he stands with solidifying confidence, toys with the necklace around your neck with the symbol of the Sun, Moon and Stars Squadron without ever grazing your skin, and the cursed energy blistering the summer air now greater than any sorcerer you'd met, he was great. All of the Fujiwara Clan combined does not compare.

Electricity trills under your pulse.

Ten years, he comes and goes.

You do not ask for his name. He does not ask for yours. Sometimes you catch him glancing at you in the corner of your eye, as you're tending the flames.

Years pass.

You forget his face.

You wonder, in his aftermath, if he will forget yours. One day he will get tired of the same old swords in the same old countryside home, you're sure of it. But he drives on back each time like an old man seeking immortality.

When he leaves, you stare at the designs of weapons you gave him. What great things would he achieve with those at his side? Your grandfather never tells you about any jujutsu affairs. Leave the girl to sword-making is his motto.

...

A rumour passes from ear to ear from the Southern Clans to the North. A sorcerer is tearing up villages in a one-person massacre to consume their flesh.

Every villager now inks black prayers on their carriages. Prayers to the living god.

You think, it doesn't hurt.

You, too, stick up rice paper on your windows to shield against the monster you know does not care, roaming through the woods in carnage.

...

The next time he comes, the man is wearing a demon mask.

Half his body, gone.

You push him to a chair. You kneel between his legs. Your hand hovers over his abdomen, where the flimsy stitches had failed to ease the bowels from overflowing. You frown. A flame blossoms from your palm, piecing his body back together. He clenches his teeth and watches you.

Cursed Flame: burns anything back to its prior state.

'What Special Grade curse could do something like this?'

He does not answer.

His sheer height has you sinking into your ankles in respect.

As you back away from the fire, you stumble into his chest. Your feet catch in the mat. In the times before, he had never attempted to touch you. Now his hand is tilting your head up, holding your chin, to look at his face, whom you had never seen before in full view.

You flinch.

Your exhale escapes as a gasp.

‘Are you scared?’

Now you realise what is so frightening about the demon who brutalises whole villages, consumes their flesh- living god. So, this is what thousands died seeing. You swallow, because he is beautiful, this four-eyed demon.

Before you utter a word, he leaves the room.

You whip your head around to inspect the windows. Nothing but wind howls against the house. No shadows but your own etches onto the tatami mat by the fire.

Rippling from all four directions, a voice booms: ‘bow.’

Your knees hit the ground. When he enters the room again, he stops before you. You dare not look at his feet.

The Fujiwara Clan teach their daughters well.

‘Stand.’

Is this a trick? With your head still bowed, you press onto one knee. ‘I do not feel enough to equal your presence, Ryomen Sukuna.’

He laughs.

Oh, how he laughs. So his name truly has spread like wildfire through the Clans, big and small. But something nicks at him, that he cannot see your eyes flickering with your flame, or your mouth working the irregular candy you chew, sometimes, on the job, when you feel comfortable around him. In those moments, he would get the urge to reach out and touch your shoulder, just for your reaction. Would you drop the sword to wrap those flaming hands around him so that he could feel some warmth?

'No. I tell you to rise so you rise.' You stand up. 'What's my name?'

'Ryomen Sukuna.'

'No.' He cups your face with his palm as he'd often dreamt of, when he was a teenager. As he'd often planned, when he grew older into the adult he is now. 'For you, I am Ryo.'

...

Ryo.

He likes it when you look at his face. He tells you sometimes, 'this is what you saved.' The four eyes blinking back at you.

He likes the smell of ash by your neck and often pushes his nose against your skin. An animal, you think to yourself, smiling.

Ryo, he takes what he wants, as the powerful do, so when the day comes, he says, 'come with me.' Out of nowhere.

He leads you out, facing the fields of darling grass and daffodils.

He hasn’t thought this through but he doesn't need to. He opens his mouth, ready to ask the question.

‘I can’t…’ He turns around to watch you speak. ‘... can’t bear child.’

For once, although you have denied his request, his face remains void of anger. Void of anything at all.

At twenty five years old, that’s all Sukuna knows what to want. If he cannot have the girl, then steal something else- after all, what are you worth?

‘Then give me something else.’

‘Have my flame.’ His eyes widen. You press on, ‘but you will protect me, in case my family decides to kill me. The flame is a sacred technique passed down from the family. But when I die, it will be yours.’

Without her cursed technique, she would be ostracised.

Everyone comes to the negotiation table with some line they would not cross. And Sukuna swore to never become a protector.

His mouth pronounces, ‘no.’

'Then what do you want, Ryo?'

He stares at you. He's never denied himself any pleasure in his life, but the way his heart skips a beat- it's what's made his enemies weak to be culled, what brings down great empires (love).

Surely, you would be his downfall.

He could not have you.

'Never mind. I want your Technique.'

He would live 1000 years wondering why those flames in his palms would perform in silence. He’d move them with grace to murder. He’d stare at the sparkling embers in a lake, waiting for it to shift and shape into some form without his control. He would realise, ages and eons in, that he had forgot to specify the fusion of their souls.

‘Deal.’

You were always an abnormally weak sorcerer in body. Never trained to exorcise a curse. Perhaps that’s another reason he suggested it, his one mistake. You were his to protect -no matter how he’d protest- but never were you with him again.

...

The next day, Sukuna wipes out the Fujiwara Clan in its entirety. Destroys them so badly no one recognises the corpses.

Mangled. Twisted. Broken.

He destroys the only thing that would've destroyed you.

It is that night at the beach, rain and seawater tangling your hair, you swear to kill him, the boy you saved so many years ago, even if you would be his for eternity.

Your hands tremble. You almost set fire to the sea.

...

'Ryo.' You're brushing his hair as he tips his head back to look at you, unfazed. 'Why do you do what you do?'

He hums, tangling his fingers through yours. 'Why does it matter my purpose?'

'I was just wondering.' You rub at his hands gently, the living things you saved.

Apparently disliking the silence, Sukuna speaks again. 'I do whatever I want, however I want. I have no purpose.'

When you kill him, he almost grins, as though proud. Had he always acted like this? The strange and feral monster.

'Are you ready to die now?' you ask. Some part of you still recalls the child wailing at the prospect of death.

Sukuna cackles, but before he even flinches as the sword digs through his skin and bones, he props his head before yours, kissing your lips as though playing a trick on you.

His scarlet eyes forever haunt your memory, reflecting the silver of your sword and the red of your flames.

'I'm always ready for you... ... and anyways death is not eternal.'

When the flames extinguish, you realise you had left none of him behind, but the hands. Ten cursed fingers, born and killed from the flame.

pt 2.

[functionofjules]

At Last

Pairing: Five Hargreeves X (She/her) Synopsis: (Taking place at the start of Season 2) Y/n finds herself alone in the sixties. Just as she begins to give up hope of ever getting home to her husband, Five, she’s pleasantly surprised. A/N: Reader has healing powers which lead to enhanced abilities like endurance and strength. Aged up Five in my interpretation. Feeling nostalgic after the series finale.

I slam to the ground with a force that could rival an elephant cracking my spine. Luckily enough, I have a tendency to avoid the repercussions from a fall of such heights. I can practically feel my cells regenerating already.

My tattered Umbrella Academy uniform that I borrowed from Allison’s closet upon Five and I’s arrival is reeking of the events of the last week. I’m not particularly fond of it and due to my lack of personal hygiene lately, I think I may be due for an outfit change.

I observe my surroundings. It seems I’m far away from home. By that I mean directly next to a dumpster.

I cautiously make my way into the street and take note of the vintage style of clothing. This indicates I’ve been dropped somewhere between the 50s-60s. This is confirmed when I steal a glance at a newspaper dated March 5th, 1960. At this point I feel myself begin to hyperventilate. Not necessarily because of the date but because I can’t seem to find a single Hargreeves sibling, most importantly my husband, Number Five.

I stagger backward until my back hits a wall that I slide down. Just as the tears begin to pour, a figure casts a shadow over my hunched position. I look up in hopes of a familiar face but am only met with a stranger. She has soft blonde hair framing her face which honestly reminds me of that actress, Florence Pugh, from the only film Five and I had time to see.

In pitying tone accompanied by her southern drawl she asks “You okay, Pumpkin? What’s the matter? You look like you ain’t doing too hot.”

I let a shaky breath escape and contemplate how much information I should give this woman. There’s no way in hell I’m explaining how my husband and I just attempted to stop the end of the world only the end up being separated from him and the rest of his family. So I settle for the next best thing.

“I’m a little lost,” I admit “My family and I got separated and I have nowhere to go.”

“Aw you poor thing!” She exclaims, bending down to my level and taking my hand “You want to come with me? I can getcha something to eat and figure things out from there.”

I nod, standing to my feet.

“That sounds nice. Thank you…” I falter realizing we hadn’t properly introduced ourselves.

She takes both my hands in hers and says “Charlotte, but you can call me Lottie.”

“I’m Y/n,” I say, offering my first smile since getting thrown out of that portal “Y/n Hargeeves.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s been three years since I was dropped in Dallas and a lot has changed.

Lottie and I live together I her two bedroom loft apartment and work together everyday at the local diner. It was quite different from my work at the Commission but not to brag, I’ve developed a very impressive coffee pouring time.

I haven’t heard anything from Five. At first I figured he’d come along right after me but he never did. A part of me holds out hope he got dropped somewhere further ahead in the timeline then me or got caught up with someone putting out a hit on him but I’m losing that hope. But I’m okay here with Lottie. I’ve built myself a nice life in Dallas.

I had just expected it to be another normal day at the diner. I tied my apron in a tight knot around my waist, told Lottie to hurry up, and we began to rush down the street together.

I had told Lottie a little about Five. How we were in love and we always protected each other. She knows better than anyone how much I miss him.

We rush into the diner with the ring of the bell behind us and ran to the back to put away our bags. Just as we’re about to head through the door my manager calls, “Y/n! I need you to give one of the chefs a hand with the pantry inventory.”

I shrug “Okay boss!”

A shoot Lottie a wave and run back to help our chef, Dave, count various condiments.

I was still in there after about fifteen minutes when Lottie ran back with a strange look in her eye. She slammed the door with such force I almost slipped off the stool I was balanced on.

“Sorry!” She apologizes, but I can tell she can’t contain herself for long “There’s a guy asking for you.”

I raise a brow “Asking for me? Is it that Harry guy again? Because he gives me the creeps, I’m really not in the mood to-“

She shushes me

“No it’s not Charlie! I really think you ought to get out there. I’ll finish up back here for ya!” She cuts me off, practically shoving me out the door.

“Okay, okay!” I say, chuckling at her intensity “I’ll go! Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

I think nothing of what could be on the other side of that door cause I know it’ll be the same thing everyday. I snatch my notepad out of my apron and the pen from behind my ear.

“Welcome in! What can I do for you today?” I say. I was about to list off the specials until I look up and see Luther Hargreeves sat next to…”Five?”

He blinks behind the counter saying “Hello Darling-“

I don’t let him get to far before a tackle him with kisses. Every inch of his face is smeared in my burgundy lipstick and it takes everything in me to stop there. I let him stand to his feet as tears spring to my eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re here! I can’t believe-“ And then the anger sets in “I can’t believe you!”

His brown furrows as I begin to land strikes to his chest.

“You left me! You abandoned me for three years! I was terrified I was never going to see you again! How could you do something so reckless!” I tell. There’s a large part of me that knows it isn’t actually his fault but I choose to neglect that right now. My hits become harder and it’s only then he gently grasps my wrists and lays his forehead against mine.

Throughout my whole fit, he is shushing me and whispering “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry my love. I didn’t want to. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

I finally cease my attacks and begin to breathe easily again. Once I’m calm I turn back towards my brother in law.

“Hi Luther.”

“Oh,” he says with an awkward attempt at a smile “Hello!”

Just then, Lottie reveals herself from behind the kitchen doors and walks over. She scans the scene and smirks at me, saying “Hey pumpkin! Care to introduce your friends?”

I chuckle introducing everyone “Lottie, this is my husband, Five Hargreeves. And this is my brother in law, Luther.”

“Alright!” She replies with a smile “Who wants coffee?”

[warningsine]

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/09/02/world/europe/france-husband-rape-drug-trial-mazan.html

For years, she had been losing hair and weight. She had started forgetting whole days, and sometimes appeared to be in dreamlike trances. Her children and friends worried she had Alzheimer’s.

But in late 2020, after she was summoned to a police station in southern France, she learned a far more shattering story.

Her husband of 50 years, Dominique Pelicot, had been crushing sleeping pills into her food and drink to put her into a deep sleep, the police said, and then raping her. He had ushered dozens of men into her home to film them raping her, too, they said, in abuse that lasted nearly a decade.

Using the man’s photographs, videos and online messages, the police spent the next two years identifying and charging those other suspects.

On Monday, 51 men, including Mr. Pelicot, went on trial in Avignon, in a case that has shocked France and cast a spotlight on the use of drugs to commit sexual abuse and the broader culture in which such crimes could occur.

The accused men represent a kaleidoscope of working-class and middle-class French society: truck drivers, soldiers, carpenters and trade workers, a prison guard, a nurse, an I.T. expert working for a bank, a local journalist. They range in age from 26 to 74. Many have children and are in relationships.

Most are charged with raping the woman once. A handful are accused of returning as many as six times to rape her.

The victim, Gisèle, who has divorced her husband and changed her surname since his arrest, is now in her 70s.

Since his arrest, Mr. Pelicot, 71, has “always declared himself guilty,” said Béatrice Zavarro, his lawyer. “He is not at all contesting his role.”

Other defendants have denied the rape charges, with some arguing that they had the husband’s permission and thought that was sufficient, while others claimed they believed the victim had agreed to be drugged.

When the police showed Gisèle some of the photographs they say her husband had carefully classified and stored, she expressed deep shock. She and her husband had been together since they were 18. She had described him to the police as caring and considerate.

She had no memory of being raped, by him or the other men, only one of whom she recognized, she told the police, as a neighbor in town.

The first time she will consciously witness the rapes, her lawyer Antoine Camus says, will be in the courtroom when the video recordings are played as evidence.

The trial comes at a moment of heightened scrutiny of the handling of sexual crimes in the country. Rape is defined in French law as an “act of sexual penetration” committed “by violence, coercion, threat or surprise.” A number of feminist lawmakers want to amend that wording to say explicitly that sex without consent is rape, that consent can be withdrawn at any time, and that consent cannot exist if sexual assault is committed “by abusing a state impairing the judgment of another.”

“There is a kind of naïveté on the topic of predators in France, a kind of denial,” said Sandrine Josso, a lawmaker who led a parliamentary commission into what is known in France as “chemical submission” — drugging someone with malicious intent. She started the commission after she says she became the victim of a drugging last year. A senator is being investigated on accusations that he slipped Ecstasy into her Champagne.

Ms. Josso hopes that the Avignon trial will draw attention to the use of drugs to prey on women, and also shed light on the wide profile of predators. “They could be your neighbors, without falling into paranoia,” she said.

Mr. Pelicot seemed like a classic man next door. He was a trained electrician, an entrepreneur and an avid cyclist. His middle child and only daughter, Caroline Darian, her pen name, described him as a warm and present father in a book published in 2022 about the case, “And I Stopped Calling You Papa.” She tried to turn her family trauma into action, forming a nonprofit association, “Don’t Put Me to Sleep,” to publicize the dangers of drug-facilitated crimes.

Her father, she wrote, was the one who drove her to school, picked her up late from parties, encouraged her and consoled her. Her mother was the stable breadwinner, working as a manager in a Paris-area company for 20 years.

When Gisèle retired, they moved to a house with a big garden and pool in Mazan, a small town northeast of Avignon. The couple regularly hosted their three children and grandchildren for summer vacations peppered with late dinners on the terrace, where the family debated, held dance competitions and played Trivial Pursuit.

“I think of us as happy,” his daughter wrote. “I thought my parents were.”

None of them harbored any suspicions. Then, in 2020, three women reported Mr. Pelicot to the police for trying to use his camera to film up their skirts in a grocery store, and he was arrested.

The police seized his two cellphones, two cameras and his electronic devices, including his laptop, before releasing him on bail.

On the devices, the police say they found 300 photographs and a video of an unconscious woman being sexually assaulted by many people. They said they also found Skype messages in which the man boasted of drugging his wife and invited men to join him in having sex with her while she was unconscious.

Over the course of their investigation, the police found more than 20,000 videos and photographs, many of them dated and labeled, in an electronic folder titled “abuse.” The timeline they built began in 2011. The list of suspects grew to 83.

Two months after his initial arrest, Mr. Pelicot was arrested again and charged with aggravated rape, drugging and a list of sexual abuse charges. He is also accused of violating the privacy of his wife, daughter and two daughters-in-law on suspicion of illegally recording, and at times distributing, intimate photos of them.

If he is found guilty, he faces up to 20 years in prison.

During interviews with the police, the details of which were included in an overview of the case by the investigative judge, Mr. Pelicot said he began drugging his wife so he could do things to her, and dress her in things, that she normally refused. Then he started inviting others to participate. He said he never asked for or accepted money.

He met most of the men, the investigating judge’s report stated, in a chat room on a notorious, unmoderated French website implicated in more than 23,000 police cases in France alone from 2021 to 2024. It was finally shut down, and its owner arrested, in June after an 18-month investigation stretching across Europe.

The chat room where most of the men met Mr. Pelicot was called “a son insu,” which means “without their knowledge.”

Over the years, Mr. Pelicot told the police, he developed rules for the visitors to ensure that his wife did not wake: no smoking or cologne; undress in the kitchen; warm hands under hot water or on a radiator, so their cold touch would not jolt her. At the end of each night, according to the investigating judge’s report, he cleaned his wife’s body.

Of the 83 suspects, the police identified and charged 50.

Only one of the men is not charged with rape, assault or attempted rape of Mr. Pelicot’s wife. Instead, that man is accused of following the same model, and drugging his own wife to rape her. Mr. Pelicot is also charged with raping the man’s wife while she was drugged.

Five of the men also face charges for possessing child sexual abuse imagery.

Mr. Pelicot is also being investigated in the rape and murder of a 23-year-old woman in 1991 and the attempted rape of a 19-year-old in 1999. He admitted to the attempted rape, according to Florence Rault, the lawyer representing the victims in both cases, but denies any involvement in the 1991 homicide.

The story has prompted some soul-searching among doctors, since Gisèle had visited gynecologists and neurologists over a series of mystifying symptoms, but had received no diagnosis, according to her daughter.

“What I found disturbing for us doctors was that no doctor considered this hypothesis,” said Dr. Ghada Hatem-Gantzer, a well known obstetrician-gynecologist and expert in violence against women. She and a pharmacist, Leila Chaouachi, have now developed training for doctors and nurses on the symptoms that victims of drug-facilitated assault can experience.

Contrary to popular belief, most cases occur at home, not at bars, said Ms. Chaouachi, who runs annual surveys on such offenses in France. Most victims are women, the surveys show, and around half of the victims do not remember the attack, because of blackouts, she said.

In the case going to court in Avignon, some of the accused admitted guilt to the police. According to the investigating judge’s report, many claimed that they were tricked into having sex with a drugged woman — lured by a husband for a three-way encounter and told she was pretending to sleep, because she was shy.

Several said they believed that she had consented to being drugged and raped as part of a sex fantasy. Some said they did not believe it was rape, because her husband was there and they believed he could consent for both of them.

“It sends shivers down the spine regarding the state of affairs in French society,” said Mr. Camus, who is also representing Ms. Darian and many other members of the family. “If that’s the conception of consent in sexual matters in 2024, then we have a lot, a lot, a lot of work to do.”

[natalievoncatte]

The storm was blinding. A white torrent fell from the sky in a raging tempest, the likes of which Lena had not seen since she left Metropolis for National City. This was no mere blizzard, but a genuine thundersnow- lighting flashed eerily in the strange pink-white night as thunder buffeted the windows. The Tower’s balcony door was sealed shut against the driving storm.

They were all out there and Lena was here. There was no supervillain this time, at least, not directly- the freak blizzards rolling through Southern California and wreaking havoc on the unprepared people and infrastructure were caused by some asshole calling himself the Weather Wizard, screwing around with the Flash three states away. Lena had seen him on TV; he was a few clicks above a Condiment King-tier villain. One of the joke guys that some cape would take care of on their way to a real fight.

Or he had been, until he got his hands on some tech he wasn’t supposed to have and started punching above his weight class. Lena didn’t care about that. She was thinking about only one thing right now: Kara.

They were all out there. Kara and the others. The city was a mess; people needed heated shelters, the power was out across two thirds of the city, and Kara had already prevent hundreds of deaths on a bridge that was about to collapse from the unexpected weight of snow and the intense cold. The blizzard had come on so fast that the rush our traffic was almost literally frozen right in place.

The city needed its heroes and Lena… Lena was stuck in the Tower. Literally; there was no way to get her home in this mess and she wasn’t going to leave, and she’d sworn off the idea of putting on silly clothes and picking a made up name to go cast spells and deploy gadgets with the others.

She had a feeling… more of a quiet understanding, really, that Kara was against that, even if she never quite said it.

Finally, she saw a shape in the whirling snow as a caped figure walked up to the balcony doors. As Kara stepped inside, a blast of arctic air followed her, chilling Lena to the bone.

Kara was *shivering*.

“Kara?” said Lena. “What’s wrong? I’ve never seen you get cold before.”

“J-just exerting myself,” said Kara. “Alex wants me in the sunbed for a few minutes to charge back up.”

She clearly needed it. Her cape was stiff and crusted with frost and there was snow everywhere, clinging to her hair and brows. She paused for a moment, as she descended the stairs, and looked at Lena. Really looked at her- despite the chill and the frost clinging to her, her eyes were warm, the warm blue of the sky on a summer day.

“Kara?”

“Nothing, sorry,” she said.

Lena watched her pass, feeling a bit off kilter, then rushed to the kitchen. She whipped up some of Kara’s favorite hot chocolate and didn’t spare the whipped cream or a cherry on top, and piled up some donuts and cinnamon rolls beside.

Kara looked haggard, groaning as she laid down under the lamps. Her face lit up brighter than the false suns when she saw the tray Lena carried.

“Oh Rao, I could kiss you for that.”

Lena almost missed a step, smoothly recovering from her stumble instead of dumping it all on Supergirl’s crest. Kara looked at her intently, an unreadable but wide-eyed look on her face.

“I know you’re hungry. Come on, eat.”

“Can’t stay long,” Kara said, between eating entire donuts in two bites, “they need me.”

“I know,” said Lena. “They always do.”

Kara sat quietly for a while, eating, and it made Lena feel more at ease to see some color coming back into her cheeks, even if the snowmelt wetted her hair. Absently, Lena brushed a damp lock out of Kara’s eyes.

“Are you going back out?”

Kara nodded. “I have to. They need me in five places at once. The city is completely unprepared for something like this.”

“I wish I could help.”

“You are helping.”

Lena sighed. “I could do more, you know. I’m starting to master the magic, and now that the Foundation is going strong, I can whip up tech pretty fast.”

Kara sighed and sat up. “I know, but I need you here. I can’t be distracted by worrying about your safety all the time.”

“You wouldn’t say that to Alex. Or J’onn. Or Nia.”

Kara let out an exasperated sound, but her voice was very soft. “It’s different when it’s you.”

Lena tried to swallow but her throat clenched, and she fought down the sensation of her heart doing a backflip. Kara rose from the bed and stood to her full height, and Lena was once again taken aback by how dashing and heroic she looked in her suit, like a modern day knight. It made her feel strangely small in a way that she didn’t dislike.

Kara carefully took Lena’s hands in her own, tenderly rubbing the pads of her thumbs over Lena’s knuckles, sending chilling shocks up her arms.

“Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

Kara nodded and departed, rushing out of the Tower and back into the storm.

She was gone for hours again. Everyone checked in with Lena periodically, and eventually, Lena found a couch to lay on and curled up under a cardigan as a blanket. J’onn made this place much more comfy than the DEO, she gave him that.

Kara breezed back in sometime after dawn, trudging back inside, ice-caked and frost-encrusted, pale and worn down. She headed right for the kitchen.

Lena padded after her in her stocking feet.

Kara sighed. “Alex, Nia, and Brainy at helping with the shelters. J’onn is out there… there’s roof collapses and accordion wrecks and fires and people trapped. It’s going to be days of this, cleaning it up. How does a blizzard start fires.”

Planting a hand on the fridge, Kara leaned on it and sighed.

“How much time do you have?”

“Now that the sun is up, I don’t need the bed. I can just pop up above the cloud cover if I need it. I just wanted to get warm for a minute.”

“Sit,” said Lena.

Kara sat. Lena made more hot chocolate. The donuts had run out, so Lena tore open more of the little powdered cocoa packets and kept on making more until Kara waved her off.

“Are you getting warmed up?” said Lena.

The way Kara looked at her spoke volumes, but Lena couldn’t read them.

“Yes. I have to go.”

“Okay, but after this is over, you owe me some alone time.”

Kara smiled. “It’s a date.”

They both froze. It was a common phrase, an ordinary idiom, but it felt like something had just… unveiled itself, like fog rolling back from an unknown, verdant country. Kara was blushing scarlet.

“I’ll be back.”

“Wait,” said Lena.

She had to do this before she lost the nerve. She rushed around the kitchen island and rushed to Kara’s side, pressing a hand on her shoulder, and rose up on her tippy toes to press a kiss to Kara’s cheek- or rather, the side of her mouth, just this side of a real kiss. Kara went stock still and Lena thought for a moment that she’d done something terrible, misread the moment, but she could roll it back, play it off as a friendly gesture.

A hand, soft as silk and warm as honey, cupped Lena’s cheek and tilted her chin up, so her gaze met the boundless depths of Kara’s eyes, so full of welling emotion that Lena could drown in them.

“Wait for me.”

“I will.”

Then she was gone, giving herself back to the tempest outside.

Lena waited for her. It was hours again. The snow finally slowed, the sky beginning to lighten as the artificial snow weather patterns shifted back to normal and nature reasserted itself. The city would be in for a shock- it was going to be in the seventies by the next day.

Kara looked utterly worn out when she came back, finally, trudging down from the balcony with her shoulders slumped and her hair hanging in ragged wet clumps from her head as her cape drooped with moisture.

“You waited,” she said.

“I did. Let’s get you dry, huh?”

Lena worked a towel over Kara’s head, more than a little jealous as the effortless way her golden hair formed those beautiful lose curls as the water was wrung out of them, giving her a salon perfect finish with absolutely no work.

One that was done, Kara merely had to remove her suit to shed the rest of the water in a puddle at her feet, leaving her standing there in sweats and a cute fluffy kitten shirt that she had first ironically gifted to Lena and then stolen back, but only after Lena had worn it a few times.

“I’m so tired,” said Kara.

“I know, darling,” said Lena. “Plenty of places to get some rest here. J’onn made his superhero hideout cosy.”

“I don’t want to rest,” said Kara.

Lena’s heart began to pound. She knew deep down that she wanted this, but it seemed so distant and remote that she’d nearly given up even fantasizing about it. Now that Kara had revealed her identity, she no longer changed her posture or body language around Lena and stood tall, shoulders reared back and her lithe, impressive physique on full display even in cheesy loungewear.

Kara took the first step, drawing up into Lena’s space and crossing an invisible boundary, once first laid out over a brunch that was both tense and pleasant, and had been pushed and stretched and nearly broken so many times it could hardly be said to exist at all, and yet the moment she did, it was clear what was happening.

Kara was not putting her arms around Lena’s waist in a platonic gesture. The embrace she pulled her into was not what friends are for. The natural way they slotted together and Kara brushed her lips against Lena’s to ask permission was in no way friendly.

Lena rose a little on the balls of her feet and turned whatever this was into a real kiss, and Kara kissed her back. Kara’s hands roamed down over Lena’s backside before she realized what she was doing and the shot back up to a chaste spot on Lena’s back, prompting her to giggle into Kara’s mouth.

“Miss Danvers,” said Lena, “did you just grab my ass?”

“I… umm…”

Lena grinned. “Yes. Just say yes.”

“I actually wanted to ask you out on a real date first.”

Lena snorted. “Kara, we’ve been on a date for five years. Now, pick me up and carry me somewhere private already.”

Grinning, Kara picked her right up off her feet.

[trivanvanile]

The absolute vile behaviour of Bobby Dawn, televangelist of Sol. To show up, promising impartiality to the students and immediately punishing students of different faiths.

To take away the accommodations of a student in a specific circumstance, and then punish them for not being the embodiment of his version of success. Cassandra is alive. Kristen knows this. Others know this. She’s just not *here*. Kristen’s powers have returned and she is able to cast and perform miracles in Cassandra’s name. Her god is not dead.

And if he truly cared or desired to understand her situation, he would use any number of high level cleric spells to aid in confirming the survival of Cassandra. Instead, he belittles and shames Kristen for walking away from Helio, calling her arrogant for refusing a path laid out before her.

What’s worse is that I love his southern drawl, and the utter contempt that drips from his voice. Bleem has successfully made a character voice that is usually used in a comedic sense and made a manipulative, scheming Zealot who can destroy a person while sounding as charming as possible.

[justpoliteconversations]

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 5)

You spend more money. And Link becomes a local legend.

I was intending on working on a different piece tonight, but the continuous notifications for Apple Merchant keeps reminding me of how much I want to write on it. And then the self-indulgent whispers start seeping into my brain and here we are. Enjoy your ill-gotten gains, Lurkers.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

Lurelin village. A beautiful little coastal town southwest of Hateno with just the right amount of sun and water to make any would-be visitor green with envy. Except no one ever mentioned the humidity (enough to drown someone in their sleep, you swear by it), the lizalfos infestation (something the game got right in concept, but wrong in scale) and the sand. The Goddess forsaken sand. The damned (neverending, grit in your teeth, tears in your eyes, gravel in your lungs) sand that got into everything.

So, no, Lurelin was beautiful and you'd thought once that maybe you'd get a house there (or maybe just plan a vacation). But you'd quickly been rid of the notion the moment you'd stepped foot onto the warm, picturesque beachfront property. Taken a deep, appreciative breath of the fresh, salty air. And then was promptly tackled out of the way of an oncoming spear by Skims (bless that man) as Adino put a pair of arrows into a lizalfos' hissing, gaping maul.

The face full of sand you'd gotten after being pile-driven into the ground just added to the experience. In the worst way possible. It had taken days for your mouth to feel clean of the unpleasant grit of sand grains and your eyes to stop tearing and burning in irritation. If not for Skim's constant care and Adino forcibly holding your hands away from your face when the pain became too much, you could have walked away with far worse than bad memories and a new distaste for sand.

That was the day you decided Lurelin would not be a place you'd be spending any significant amount of time in. No matter how friendly the locals or tasty the food or beautiful the ocean views. It just wasn't worth it. Not to you, at least. Maybe in another lifetime, it would have been a dream to strive towards. But not here. Not now.

You still had moments of unease when you think of what could have happened had Skim's not been so close (as he's always been, and as you'll hopefully always have him). And those moments were more potent when you were in the small village. Keeping you ever on edge and always within sight of your trusted guards.

So, one might ask why you'd chosen to go to that very village when you could go anywhere in southern Hyrule. In fact, (in those whispering moments of weakness) you'd ask yourself that very same question. Especially as you trudged miserably through the thick, muggy afternoon heat with Adino at your back and Skims on point (who knows where Red went. but it wasn't your business and so you dismissed the thought entirely).

The answer? Shock arrows. An unholy amount of shock arrows. Enough to break the purse of the average merchant three times over. And possibly put their children in debt too. And possibly their horse.

It's a good thing you weren't a common merchant.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Mubs." You called in friendly greeting as you set foot onto the dock, casting away your (unease) irritation and slipping into your business persona effortlessly. "Fair weather on the seas I hope?"

Pleasantries were exchanged, the latest information traded (Adino was feigning irritation as he eavesdropped, but you could see the way his eyes and ears flickered with amusement and surprise at the appropriate times. Skims was window shopping, eyeing some of the more exotic fish with open curiosity) and you ended up selling several thousand rupees worth of product to the woman. Fresh produce mostly, but also quite a few ores. Such things were always in high demand in Lurelin. Ores especially, as most coastal deposits were notoriously difficult to mine with the lizalfos infestation so prominent.

More workers died mining along the beach than to storms out at sea. And that's a very unsettling thought, given the ratio of miners to sailors in a seafaring village (of all places). Crunch the numbers, and becoming a miner in Lurelin was equivalent to a death sentence. And the general population knew that.

(It explained why crime rates were so low in Lurelin, when mining was the manual labor criminals were made to do.)

Passing off the last of Mubs' purchase to her, you waited patiently for the woman to finish storing away her newly acquired goods before speaking. "I have a large order request." You said, letting a small, costumer service smile slip onto your lips. And maybe that kind of smile was something that transcended worlds, or maybe Mubs just knew you, but she immediately looked wary (by the way she narrowed her eyes, it was probably the former. maybe).

She gestured for you to continue, and you did with cool (pained) confidence. "I need as many shock arrows as you can afford to part with." She started to gesture towards her arrow display, but you shook your head and she paused. "I need below deck inventory. Everything you've got."

Her brows shot to her hairline, incredulous as she cautioned. "Quite the order. Surely not even The Apple Merchant would part with so much rupee." You kept your smile (even and blank and you were quietly screaming inside), and she sighed. "'Course you would." She sighed again, harder, wiping the sweat from her brow before gesturing for you to follow. "Come on then. Lets see if we can't break yer infamous smile a bit, ya?"

You kept that smile. All through the walk across the rickety old docks, the bustling harbor and straight down into the musty bowels of a weathered looking ship. One guarded by no less than five full grown men. All through the talks with the big boss you kept your lips steadily pleasant and upturned. Right on through the exchange of rupees (even Mubs looked ill at the quoted amount, casting you a questioning, pitying glance as she clicked her teeth), and all the way back to shore.

Right up until the moment you collapsed into your (extra, super soft, not for you Adino you prickly jerk) inn bed, rolled over so your back was to Adino and Skims (who looked expectant and amused and far too smug for your liking) and stared at the wall with that same smiling, blank expression.

And then, slowly. You put your face into the sinfully soft pillow. And screamed.

"Damnit Link! Why do you cost me so much money when you're not even here?"

Skims laughed with his entire belly at your outburst, and Adino smirked, hiding his face to the side as a few rouge chuckles escaped him.

A wordless, muffled bellow was all they got back in exchange.

---

Link stared at the truly mind-boggling number of shock arrows that'd appeared in his inventory. 6800, to be exact. Which to some may not seem like an especially outrageous number, but to Link (who usually found items in the single digits) it was a truly unfathomable number to comprehend, let alone contend with. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to take full advantage of his (thoughtful, kind, wond-) generous AM's meticulous foresight to destroy the local monster population. With feeling (so much intense, pent up feeling).

He'd take every ounce of his frustration (his blood boiling, fist clenching, teeth grinding anger) and pour it all into destroying his enemies. His worry at AM's absence from his side. His displeasure at Ms. Blue's condescending and secretive (and kind too, for all she was withholding information from him. information he'd bleed for) smiles.

And especially his rage at those Goddess forsaken, Ganon worshipping, traitorous Yiga who ruined his chance to thank AM properly for their presence in his life (because he doesn't know where he'd be if not for them. and honestly, he never wants to find out).

He'd take all those emotions and channel it into something productive. Something beneficially destructive.

So, destroy the monster population he did. And how generous of the Goddesses, to have brought him to a land of eternal rain to begin his crash course in violence-fueled stress relief. With shock arrows.

It is said amongst the general Zora population (the more outspoken poetic ones at least) that when the Returned Hero of Hyrule made his ascendance through the Domain, night became day and the land was cleansed of all things foul that would stand before him. A miracle in the flesh. He who brings the light and sun to the land of rain.

And really, they weren't wrong. For the most part.

But for those who saw this supposed miracle for themselves. They all had but one thought.

'Thank the Goddesses it's not me he's pissed at.'

---

Back to the shadows to rest.