#which is fine! but we have been there before

[rin-may-1103]

College Rivalry with the Genius Toddler in the First Row.

My take on this prompt Requested by @purplereaderfans

Danny looked up from his paper, a bright green crayon clutched in his small hand. Jazz patted his head with a quick smile, pushing her chair in so she could start making her way to the teacher, something about the wrong definition if Danny had heard what she'd been muttering correctly.

grumbling, Danny shook his head in an attempt to fix his hair. he hated how everyone was treating him like a child, he was sixteen, almost seventeen for Ancient's sake!

sure, he looked like he was three, but was this really necessary? head pats, baby talk, dumbed-down explanations; it's like they don't notice that he's still mentally a teenager. Like, seriously?

Mom and Dad had been the ones who created the damn device, they should know how to fix this, but did they? no, because; "Aww, Jack, look at him! Isn't our baby boy just the cutest!" and "Why yes, dear, we should get more pictures! It's not like every day a parent gets to witness their kid's toddler years again!"

danny hated it, even Vlad was treating him like a baby! Danny never wanted to hear the man try and speak to him like that again. it might actually be his new nightmare fuel, you know if he wasn't still using what happened with Dan and Pariah to fuel his consistent nightmares, that is.

Danny was ready to start blasting people's knees the next time someone so much as even hinted at dressing him up again. thankfully, for everyone's safety, Jazz noticed he was still mentally normal. She volunteered to take care of him while their parents worked on a way to reverse what their new ghost machine caused. (though he doubted it would be anytime soon, considering the GIW was acting up again.)

which, by the way, apparently wasn't supposed to have de-aged him, but in fact, just you know, 'barrow' his naturally made ectoplasm and knock him out for a few minutes. Ancients, his parents were insane.

he should have known they were going to do something stupid, but no; he had started slacking after revealing his phantom form and getting accepted by them. Because, again, why would he need to keep an eye on them and what they make when they promised to never try and hurt him and his normal rogues again?

they're adults, they should know how to handle themselves. but no.

oh, ho ho, was that such a big oversight on his part. they were Fenton's, of course, he should have kept an eye on them.

no longer making ecto weapons, his parents wanted to learn how to help peacefully capture raging ghosts and how to help heal the injured ones (mostly how to help Danny when he gets hurt). Noble, right?

right?

Wrong. somehow, they managed to create a de-aging device when they were trying to come up with a way to knock out an angry ghost without hurting them. How? Just how?? and what do they do without even testing to see if it would even work? use it on him. because, oh, danny's half ghost, and it's only supposed to make him tired right now, not knock him out. it should be fine.

and now he's a toddler.

a three-year-old toddler.

"psst!" someone hissed, dragging danny's attention away from his crumbled crayon. blinking, Danny dropped the crayon on the table and grumbled. this was the seventh crayon this morning, he really needed to get his strength under control before someone noticed.

"psst, hey kid!" they hissed again, making Danny sigh. turning his head, Danny glared at the weird dude who kept trying to talk to him. The dude usually talked to him like he was an adult, which Danny appreciated, if it wasn't for the fact the dude was hellbent on figuring out danny's secrets.

all because Danny scored more than him on a dumb test.

"What?" Danny grumbled, wiping the crayon crumbs off his hands and onto his pants. the dude, Danny thinks his name is Tam or something, frowned at Danny, watching him wipe the last of the obliterated crayon away.

"aliens," he hisses, leaning forward so he could stare more intently into Danny's eyes. "that has to be it, you and your sister are aliens. probably from some planet that's more advanced than ours."

danny blinked, studied the dude for a second, and blinked again.

"no," turning back, Danny grabbed another crayon and started filling out the worksheet in front of him, making sure to use as little of his super strength as possible.

the dude groaned and slammed his head onto his desk, the sound echoing out and around the silent room like a gunshot. Jazz snorted, pulling out her chair and sitting down. "that one has got to be one of the worst theories yet," she chuckled, turning her body to face the dude.

"you seriously can't believe my brother and I are aliens just because we got higher test scores, Tim." Jazz explained, casually leaning sideways in her seat so she could see him.

the dude, Tim, just groaned, slamming his head back into the desk, his voice muffled, "I wouldn't have a problem with it if it was just you," Tim lifted his head, glaring at him as Danny continued to carefully fill out his worksheet. "I can accept the fact that I'm not the smartest person in the room, I don't like it, but I can do it. I even respect it, having this much knowledge takes a lot of work and dedication, but him?"

"He's three, Jazz. he should be just starting to figure out the names of colors, and noticing differences between things. not astrophysics-level math questions from an April Fools gag test that our Psychology teacher jokingly gave us." Tim's eyes somehow got even narrower as he continued his rant. Danny valiantly tried to keep himself from laughing; Jazz said it was rude to laugh at people, especially if they weren't mentally all there, so he couldn't laugh.

but by the ancients was Tim making it hard.

with a fianl dash, danny smiled triumphantly. Setting the crayon down, he gave the paper a quick once over before deciding he was finally done filling it out.

now, for the moment he was waiting for; turning in his seat, Danny excitedly held up his paper, "Look jazz! I did it!" he had finally managed to complete the paper without ripping the page! and he'd only broken seven crayons! it was progress! there was hope! but Tim didn't need to know that, no, he needed to think Danny was excited about completing the paper.

Jazz, who was just as much of a gremlin as Danny, smiled as she patted his head, "Good job Danny! I'm so proud of you! why don't you go turn it in, I'm sure Mr. Kronmatil would love to see it."

smiling, Danny turned, climbed out of his seat, and started to make his way over to the teacher.

Tim grumbled in annoyance, his crazed theories and curses filling Danny's ears like the sweet sweet sound of music. if there was one good thing that came out of this whole fiasco, it was that Danny was able to work on his studies and cause as much chaos as possible while doing so.

being treated like a baby was all worth it when Danny turned and spotted the same confused and crazed look Tim had been giving him all week. yes, being de-aged wasn't fun, and he didn't appreciate being partially interrogated every time he entered the same room as Tim, but man it was so worth it when he knew he was driving one of the Gotham bat's nuts.

all because he scored higher than him on a test.

He couldn't wait to see Tim's face once the scores were announced tomorrow. He was so going to tell Lady Gotham all about it later.

[markscherz]

why are you skeptical of the current explaintion for Brachycephalus's landing issues? 👀

Basically, Brachycephalus are the only miniaturised frogs that seem to have these problems, and there are other frogs with equally small vestibular systems that work fine. I have seen tiny Stumpffia jump over a metre and then jump again moments later, which Brachycephalus are apparently incapable of.

Moreover, the behaviour we see in Brachycephalus is not just disorientation, which I think should be accompanied by wild flailing, but more closely resembles the spontaneous myotonic stiffening that occurs in fainting goats. Compare:

We also know that the entire otic capsule of Brachycephalus is, to use the scientific terminology, fucked, leading to the seemingly impossible but apparently confirmed consequence that they cannot hear their own calls. This is dramatically different from most if not all other miniaturised frogs.

So basically, I think Brachycephalus are a special case, and that the current explanation that supposes that the fluid of the semicircular canals cannot travel fast enough to allow orientation, is at best genus-specific and not miniaturisation-determined, and at worst simply wrong. Hence, I have a grant application seeking to test it in other miniaturised frogs. It has been rejected before, so I am not holding my breath, but it would be nice to be able to look into this.

[mattslolita]

make u cum - c. sturniolo

in which ... your boyfriend looked so hot on the game, you couldn't resist sucking him off while he played. ( bf!chris x black!fem!reader )

warnings ; oral ( male receiving ), cum eating, slight exhibitionism, soft!dom!chris

"𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏, 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒄𝒌, 𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒑 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒆."

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰

sitting on your boyfriend's bed while he streamed with his brothers wasn't for the weak — in truth, it was completely harmless. they'd been playing fortnite duos for quite some time, but you were beginning to become restless at the sight of chris.

his brown hair was tousled across his forehead, a small slick of sweat connecting it as his muscles flexed whilst he hit the controls on they keyboard — his tongue darted out to wet his lips before biting them furiously, and it was driving you mad.

but the worse part?

every time he'd get mad after losing, his hand would come crashing down on the table in front of him, the muscles in his arm prominent and you had to squeeze your thighs together because all you wanted was his arms wrapped around you while he fucked you.

but the thought of sucking him off while played was much more appetizing in the moment, and now you were determined to make it happen.

"fuck!" chris yells, banging a fist on the table, shaking his head as he looks at the screen with a death glare, "matt, c'mon man, pay attention!"

you crawled off the bed, biting your lip as you drop to your knees and crawl towards where chris sat in his gaming chair. thankfully because of issues with his camera, chris's camera remained off so the stream wouldn't be able to see what you were doing, either. you slowly made your way on the other side of the desk, crawling into the empty space and settling yourself right between chris's legs.

you bit your lip as you sat up, your legs perched under your knees as you hook your hands onto his legs and try to pry them apart.

"hold up," chris says, having felt you finally. he mutes his mic, before leaning back and looking down at you under the table, "baby, what're you doin' down there?"

"y'look so good, i jus' wan' a taste," you whine, pouting your bottom lip as you stare at him with sultry eyes.

his jaw ticks and he prods his tongue inside of his cheek as he shakes his head at you. "now y'know i'm streaming right now, 'kay? how bout' you wait and we can take care of this when i'm finished?"

"can't wait," you mumble, biting your lip as you look down at the now semi bulge forming in his pants. it causes a small smirk to tug at your lips as your eyes slowly move back up to him.

"fine," chris grunts, hurriedly shoving his pants down shaking his head and mumbling curses under his breath, "wan' suck my cock so bad? fine. better keep quiet down there, y'know what happens when you don' listen."

excitement courses through you as his boxers are slid down next, just below his ankles — your mouth waters at his now fully erect cock, licking with precum. you slide in between his thighs, gripping them as you let out a whimper.

"fuck are you waitin' for?" chris grunts under his breath at you, thrusting himself at you, causing you to giggle slightly.

you took his length in your hand, slowly pumping him up and down causing him to let out a groan — your mouth watered as you watched yourself stroke him slowly, smearing the precum all over the base of his cock.

"shit," chris half moans under his breath when he feels you lick a stripe up the underside of his cock.

"s'wrong with you, chris?" matt questions his brother from the other end, causing you to smirk against him.

"no-"

before chris could fully form a response another groan is ripped from his throat when you take his cock into your mouth, your lips hitting his pelvis as you deep throat him. his hand immediately goes down to grip your locs, head thrown back freely as you begin to slowly bob your head up and down.

"bro chris you're actin' weird as fuck," matt says again, small grunts leaving chris's lips as he struggles to focus on the game.

"s-shut the fuck up," chris groans back, gently thrusting his hips into you as you continue bobbing your head up and down on his cock.

matt scoffs on the other end, and you can feel chris's grip on your locs tighten as he thrusts up into your mouth harder — you gag around him, tears filling up your waterline as you keep your hands glued to his thighs. his cock hits the back of your throat with every thrust he sends your way, and you can already tell you're gonna be sore by the time he finishes. you hadn't even noticed chris completely mute his mic as he releases low moans whilst he forces your head down deeper, nose rubbing against his pelvic bone.

"fuck, fuck, s'good girl," chris moans, head thrown back as drool forms at the crease of your mouth.

you moaned around his cock, feeling your panties dampen as he continued his assault on your throat. "s'close mama. fuck, gonna cum..."

chris's legs spasmed around you and you felt his cock twitch inside of you, signaling how close he was — he was finally sent over the edge, hot spurts of cum shooting down your throat.

chris pulled your head back, his hand going down to stroke his cock as hot white ropes of his cum shot down your throat whilst you sat on your knees with your mouth wide open. his thrown back as his chest heaved up and down, milking himself completely dry.

"swallow," he demanded, eyes narrowed into slits. he watched intently as you swallowed every drop, licking your lips with a grin as you stared up at him. "thas' a good girl."

you crawled from under the desk, and stood in front of chris, dipping down to capture his lips in a kiss — he tastes himself on your mouth, and you slip your tongue into his mouth. you sucked on his tongue before pulling away, sucking on his bottom lip with a pop as a string of saliva connects you both.

"jus' wait till i get off this game."

( lilly's corner 💌 )

i know its not chris & bambi, but i fear this was supposed to come out back when chris & matt first started streaming😩😩 hope y'all enjoyed this, i love you all forever. 💌

@muwapsturniolo @thenickgirl @luverboychris @cottoncandyswisherz @chanelles-world

@sturnprime @middlepartmatt @chrissturniolossidehoe @sturniqloo @chaossturns

@fairyrcts @mbbsgf @sturnsxplr-25 @moonk1ss3d @oliviasturniolo21

@wh4re4chratt @cyberdre4ms @angvlarabella @pvssychicken @lovesturni0l0s

@delilahsturniolo @venusxsturnio @chrissystur @sweetangelgirl7 @wovenribbons

@chrispotatos @chrissystur @jetaimevous

[pitchsidestories]

fight like a girl II Ona Batlle x Reader

masterlist I moodboard I word count: 2202

pairings: Ona Batlle x Reader (romantic), Barcelona Femení x Reader (platonic)

warnings: disgusting men, mentioning of blood

“Look who has finally arrived.” Jana noticed you first when you stepped into the restaurant where the Barcelona women were having dinner. She was one of the closest friends of your girlfriend Ona in the team and you couldn’t help but to smile at her.

You might be small in height, but you always left quite an impression despite that. Even though your arm muscles were hidden underneath an oversized sweater you have stolen from your lover.  

“Hi everyone, sorry for being so late.”, you apologized, nervously redoing your ponytail.

“No worries, come here.”, Ona padded on the free chair next to her, her jaw looked tense. Something about the atmosphere was off.

You wondered why but the answer to the question in your head came promptly through a man and his male friend, you could hear the alcohol loosened their tongues in a way which made the women around the table deeply uncomfortable.   

“Oh, there’s another one.”, the taller man punched playfully into his mate's side.

“Not bad either if you know what I mean.”, the smaller but bulkier wiggled his eyebrows.

“Sorry, we asked them to leave several times now.”, Alexia sighed, she’s been clearly tired by their behaviour.  

“But they didn’t listen?”, you stood up abruptly from your seat next to her girlfriend.

“Y/n.”, Ona begun concerned, trying to stop you from doing something possible very stupid.  

“Let me deal with them.”, you asked her to, looking into her worried brown doe like eyes.

“Don’t.” she shook her head determined.

“But-.” you started.

“Just ignore them.”, your girlfriend begged gently.

“Come on you just finished training you need to drink and eat something y/n.”, Mapi changed the topic smoothly.

The older defender was right, in the box ring you forgot time and almost everything else. If you were honest with you were quite hungry at this point in the evening. Yet it was so hard to ignore the men close by.

 “Oh, she’s the baby of the group? What’s your name, beautiful?”, he cooed.

“Not your fucking business.”, you shot back grumpily.

“Oh, she’s a feisty one. You know how to make yourself interesting to men, huh?”, the smaller man grinned dirtily.

“Sorry to hurt your little ego guys but I’m not interested in men at all I’m a lesbian.”, you smiled smugly as you thanked the waitress for bringing you all the drinks before taking a big gulp of your beer waiting for their response.

It was like a dance in the boxing ring, attack, waiting for the response, defending and you wanted them to leave so you could have a nice peaceful evening with friends. But the other truth was you simply loved playing a dangerous game. Some might even say you were addicted to it.

“You just haven’t had the right one yet.“, one of the men replied with a laugh.

You almost rolled your eyes. Not even a creative insult. “How many times have I heard that sentence before? But I hate to break it to you, it’s a no.“

Instinctively you reached for Onas hand under the table.

The men remained unimpressed. The taller one flashed you a toothy grin and turned towards Jana: “Fine then. I’ll just take one of your friends.“

You wanted to laugh. None of the girls would even look at a sleazy guy like him. But you knew men like that. If women didn’t want him, he would get more aggressive until he got what he thought was his. You decided to keep your eyes fixed on him.

“No, you won’t.“, you said calmly.

He snorted: “What are you going to do about it?”

That was the moment you could feel your brain go into autopilot. Anger spread through your body like a wildfire, burning hot in your stomach and your chest. Your hands curled into fists, your nails digging into your skin as you slipped from your seat. There was nothing you hated more than being underestimated.

“You should be scared.“, you said plainly.

The tall man burst into laughter: “Of you? You’re tiny!”

His laugh was like gasoline to fire, only feeding your rage.

“And you’re tall with not a lot of brain to match your height apparently!”, you snapped at him.

He considered you for a moment before he ordered: “And you only have a big mouth so sit back down!”

With a frown, you took a step towards him: “I will. If you stop harassing my girlfriend and our friends!”

“Harassing?!”, he echoed and glared at you. “What are you on about? We’re just talking to them!”

“But they’re clearly not interested.“

You got angrier with every word out of his mouth but you also got this perverse sense of pleasure out of arguing with him.

“Amor, your food has arrived.“, Ona interrupted you. Her voice was gentle and cautious.

You waved her off: “I’m not hungry right now.“

“Please.“, she asked but your focus was back on the two men.

“I’m only asking you to leave on more time.“

The first man bent down to you like an adult would do with a young child. “Or what? You’re not scary at all, little one.“, he sneered.

That was all it needed. You swung at him and struck him right in the face. There was the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking and blood dripping on the floor. You heard the gasps from the football players behind you.

“Fuck! You fucking bitch!”, he cursed under his breath. You waited for him to lunge at you but he was too busy trying to stop the bleeding.

“I warned you.“, you said cooly and shot a warning look at his friend, signalling that you were ready to break a second nose that night.

“Time to leave, girls.”, Alexia announced in her captain voice.

“Please.”, Ona muttered.

“No, she’s got to pay for this!”, the man who you didn’t injure demanded hissing.

“What? You want your nose broken too?!”, you replied shaking your head in disbelief. Alarmed your girlfriend called your name but you couldn’t help to add. “That was no coincidence. I know how to do it.”

“Yes, but they aren’t worth it.”, she whispered into your ear.  

“Everyone harassing my friends is worth it.”, you told her fiercely while her teammates and you slowly made your way out.

“These men could’ve hurt you.”, Ona remarked. There was worry swinging through her words.

“No, they couldn’t. I’m a good boxer.”, you disagreed confidently as you wrapped protectively an arm around the brunette’s shoulder.

“I know you’re, what I’m trying to say is that you don’t need to protect us.”, she explained softly.

“He deserved that broken nose though.”, Mapi commented chuckling from behind.

“See?”, you grinned triumphantly at your lover.

“Just great, Maria.”, Ona groaned in frustration.

“Good night, girls.”, the older defender said with an innocent smile on her lips as she went for Ingrids hand to start the walk to their home.

“That’s our cue to leave too. Night.”, Jana declared.

“Goodbye, text me all when your home.”, the captain of the team hugged everyone before going her own way.

“Your captain can be such a mum, Oni.”, you smirked amused. The balmy night air felt nice against your skin, it made what happened in the bar appear like a faint memory.  

It didn’t have the same effect on your girlfriend for her the scene of you hitting that man was still replaying in her mind. Alone the thought of it made her heart sank.

“If she were more of a mum, she would’ve stopped you from doing that.”, Ona objected.

“Not that again.”, you grumbled.

Once you reached the safe walls of your home the adrenaline has worn off and your fingers started to hurt which didn’t get unnoticed by the defender even though you tried your best to hide your pain from her.

“Wait, I’ll get some ice.”, Ona noted.

“I’m fine.”, you assured her quickly. Although your sayings turned out to be useless, she was already up getting something to ease your hurt.

“No, you’re not I can tell that from the look on your face.”, the brunette sounded mad, but despite that there was a tenderness in the way she took care of you despite her furiousness.

“Ona…“, you whispered quietly, in hopes to calm her down but also because you weren’t sure what to say next. Of course, she had seen right to you even when you tried to ignore the throbbing pain in your hand. Your knuckles were still red and swollen.

“Yes?”, Ona asked. Her voice was tense as she took in the damage on your hand and gently applied some ice.

You watched her hold your injured hand in the dim light, her gaze directed downwards.

Only when she looked up with an inquiring expression on her face, you remembered to speak.

“I didn’t mean to… you know? I just never know what to do with my anger.“ You bit your lip. Nothing that came out of your mouth did your feelings justice. Nothing conveyed the message enough that you weren’t malicious, you were just an angry girl. Something that people didn’t want to see for some reason.

Onas eyes softened. She sighed quietly: “I know. And you don’t need to fight all the time. We could have handled that as a group together, not just you alone. Besides I get angry too, but only on the pitch.“

“That’s different.“ You blew out a short, hard breath of frustration. That was not even remotely comparable.

Ona nodded slowly: “Yes, you’re right… still.“

“Yes. Maybe. But I’m tired, Ona. Everyone sees my anger as something bad when it’s not!”

You regretted saying it as soon as Ona looked away again.

“You need to sleep…“, she said softly.

But you both knew it was not that kind of tiredness you were talking about.

You pulled your hand away from her: “No, you don’t get it. It helped me a lot in the past!”

“You never tell me anything about that so how am I supposed to know?”, Ona asked, frowning with her jaw set.

“I was telling you now!“, you retorted, rolling your eyes in annoyance.

Ona remained calm, unfazed by your rage: “Go on.“

To your surprise, her composure seemed to rub off on you.

“Doesn’t matter anymore. All you need to know is that I’m not ashamed of my anger.“

She shook her head determinedly, clearly not ready to let you sweep that topic under the rug: “No. I want to hear everything, the whole story. You don’t have to sugarcoat anything. Plus, I want you to teach me how to box.“

You blinked at her: “Wait. You do?”

“Yes, I do.“, she replied, leaving no room for doubt.

You studied her face. She looked so serious.

You could feel your heart beat faster thinking about Ona in a boxing, just because you loved the sport, just to get to know you better.

“How about I’ll take you boxing tomorrow?”, you suggested.

Ona finally smiled: “Sure.“

“And then we can talk.“

Ona and you went early to the gym the following day, mainly because it meant that you were completely alone. The morning light streamed through the large windows and highlighted the boxing ring which stood in the centre of the room. This was the place you felt most at ease and somewhere your anger wouldn’t be judged.

You recognized how your girlfriend struggled a bit with her boxing gloves, carefully you helped her to put them on.

Curiously she looked up to you. “When did you’ve to learn to fight for yourself?”

“When I was very young. People always made sure I knew that I was very different from them.”, you confessed alone the thought of it made you shudder.

“It must have been very painful for you especially when you were so young.”, Ona replied empathetically, the defender didn’t know she wasn’t standing right.

Gently you moved her into the right stance before continuing your story.

“Yes, and then people were surprised when I got angry for being treated differently.”

A cloud moved in front of the sun and darkened the whole room.

“And the boxing ring was a place to deal with your anger?”, the defender wanted to know genuinely interested.

“Well, when we had to flee from my home country, we were feeling so helpless and I never wanted to feel like this again. That’s a story for another time.”, you explained quickly.

With a cheeky smile on your lips, you advised her. “Hands up we want to protect your pretty face.”

While you showed her the essential boxing moves, Ona stopped your movement for a moment urging you to take her all in. “No, I want the full story.”

“Alright, but it’s going to be a long one.”, you warned the brunette.

You have circled around this topic for so long it was time to face it. And two things you were certain about, one your girlfriend was strong enough to handle what you’d tell her and second you were brave enough to speak about it.

Fight like a girl wasn’t an insult to both of you it was a compliment.

[pucksandpower]

Hall Pass

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Carlos Sainz x ex!Reader

Summary: Carlos’ desire to fantasize about other women leads you straight into his teammate’s arms (or in which your boyfriend chooses a famous actress as his hall pass while you decide on someone much closer to home)

The hotel suite is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the plush carpet. You sit on the edge of the king-sized bed, your fingers idly tracing the intricate patterns on the duvet cover. Across the room, Carlos leans against the ornate writing desk, his arms crossed over his chest and a pensive look on his face.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice low and measured. “We need to talk.”

You look up, meeting his gaze with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “What’s on your mind?”

He shifts his weight, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been thinking ... about us. About our relationship.”

Your heart skips a beat, a knot forming in your stomach. “Oh? And what have you been thinking?”

Carlos takes a deep breath, his eyes darting around the room before settling back on you. “I love you, Y/N. I do. But ... I can’t help feeling like we’re stuck in a rut.”

You furrow your brow, confusion and hurt mingling in your chest. “A rut? What do you mean?”

“It’s just ...” He pauses, searching for the right words. “We’ve been together for so long, and it’s been great. But don’t you ever wonder what else is out there?”

You stand up, taking a step towards him. “Carlos, are you saying you want to break up?”

He holds up his hands, shaking his head quickly. “No, no. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I just ... I had an idea.”

“An idea?” You repeat, your voice laced with skepticism.

Carlos nods, a hint of excitement creeping into his tone. “What if we each got a hall pass?”

You blink, taken aback. “A hall pass? Like ... permission to sleep with someone else?”

“Exactly,” he says, snapping his fingers. “But not just anyone. We each choose one person, and if we ever happen to meet them and the opportunity arises, we’re allowed to go for it. No hard feelings, no guilt.”

You stare at him, trying to process his words. “Let me get this straight. You want us to choose people we can cheat on each other with, guilt-free?”

Carlos winces at your phrasing. “It’s not cheating if we both agree to it. Think of it as ... spicing things up. Adding a little excitement to our relationship.”

You cross your arms, mirroring his earlier stance. “And you think this will solve our supposed ‘rut’?”

He shrugs, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “It could be fun. Just imagine the thrill of knowing we both have this secret possibility out there.”

You shake your head, disbelief coloring your voice. “I can’t believe you’re seriously suggesting this.”

“Come on, mi amor,” Carlos coaxes, taking a step towards you. “It’s not like anything will actually happen. We’ll probably never even meet the people we choose.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then what’s the point?”

“The point is the fantasy, the excitement,” he explains, his eyes lighting up. “It’s like ... buying a lottery ticket. You know you probably won’t win, but the possibility is thrilling.”

You chew on your lower lip, considering his words. Part of you wants to shut down this ridiculous idea immediately, but another part is intrigued by the challenge. “And you really think this will help our relationship?”

Carlos nods eagerly. “I do. It’ll add a spark, keep things interesting.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”

“So ... is that a yes?” Carlos asks, hope evident in his voice.

After a long moment, you nod slowly. “Fine. But we set some ground rules first.”

Carlos grins, clapping his hands together. “Of course! Whatever you want.”

You hold up a finger. “Rule number one: we tell each other who we choose. No secrets.”

“Agreed,” Carlos says quickly.

“Rule number two: if anything ever does happen, we tell each other immediately.”

Carlos nods. “Absolutely. Honesty is key.”

You take a deep breath. “Okay. So ... who’s your choice?”

Carlos’ grin widens. “Margot Robbie.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Seriously? Margot Robbie?”

He shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “What? She’s gorgeous, talented, and there’s practically zero chance I’ll ever meet her, let alone have the opportunity to sleep with her.”

You shake your head, amused despite yourself. “Well, at least you’re being realistic about your chances.”

Carlos chuckles. “Exactly. It’s the perfect choice. Exciting, but safe.” He leans forward, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “What about you? Who’s your hall pass going to be?”

You pause, pretending to consider your options carefully. In truth, you’ve already made your decision, a plan forming in your mind. “Well,” you say slowly, “I think I’ll choose ... Charles.”

Carlos’ brow furrows in confusion. “Charles? What Charles?”

You allow a small smirk to play across your lips. “Charles Leclerc.”

The color drains from Carlos’ face as realization dawns. “Charles ... Leclerc? My teammate, Charles Leclerc?”

You nod, feigning innocence. “That’s the one.”

Carlos sputters, his earlier confidence evaporating. “But-but you can’t choose him!”

“Why not?” You ask, your voice sweet. “He fits all the criteria. He’s attractive, talented, and exciting.”

“But he’s my teammate!” Carlos exclaims, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “You see him all the time!”

You shrug, echoing his earlier nonchalance. “So? You’re the one who wanted to add some excitement to our relationship.”

Carlos paces back and forth, his earlier enthusiasm replaced by panic. “This isn’t what I meant! I chose someone I’ll never meet. You chose someone you could literally bump into tomorrow!”

“Carlos,” you say, your voice taking on a patronizing tone, “are you saying you don’t trust me?”

He stops pacing, turning to face you with wide eyes. “Of course I trust you. It’s just ... it’s Charles!”

You take a step towards him, your expression hardening. “Let me ask you something. Did you really think this through when you suggested it? Or were you just hoping for a free pass to fantasize about other women without feeling guilty?”

Carlos opens and closes his mouth, struggling to find a response. “I ... that’s not ... I didn’t mean ...”

You cut him off, your voice sharp. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you thought you could have your cake and eat it too. You’d get to keep me while indulging in your little fantasies about Margot Robbie or whoever else catches your eye.”

“Mi amor, please,” Carlos pleads, reaching for your hand. “That’s not what this was about at all.”

You pull away from his grasp, shaking your head. “No? Then what was it about? Because it sure as hell wasn’t about improving our relationship.”

He runs his hands over his face, frustration evident in every line of his body. “I just ... I thought it would be fun. A little harmless fantasy to spice things up.”

“Well, congratulations,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve certainly spiced things up now.”

Carlos looks at you, desperation in his eyes. “Can we just ... can we forget this whole thing? Pretend I never suggested it?”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Oh no, Carlos. You don’t get to backtrack now. You wanted a hall pass? You’ve got one.”

“Please,” he begs, reaching for you again. “I was being stupid. I don’t want this.”

You step back, avoiding his touch. “Too late. What was it you said? No hard feelings, no guilt?”

Carlos’ face crumples. “I didn’t think ... I never imagined you’d choose someone like Charles.”

“Maybe you should have,” you snap. “Maybe you should have considered how I’d feel about you wanting permission to sleep with other women.”

He hangs his head, shame written across his features. “I’m sorry. I really am. Can we please just talk about this?”

You shake your head, moving towards the door of the suite. “I think we’ve talked enough for one night.”

Carlos’ head snaps up, panic flashing in his eyes. “Where are you going?”

You grab your purse from the nearby chair, slinging it over your shoulder. “Out. I need some air.”

“Y/N, wait!” Carlos calls, his voice rising in desperation. “You can’t ... you’re not going to ...”

You turn back to face him, your hand on the doorknob. “Going to what, Carlos? Use my hall pass? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He shakes his head vehemently. “No! I mean, yes, but not like this. Not with Charles!”

“Why not?” You challenge. “He’s attractive, available, and conveniently located just down the hall. Isn’t that exciting?”

Carlos’ face contorts with a mixture of anger and fear. “You wouldn’t. You’re just trying to teach me a lesson.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Am I? Are you willing to bet on that?”

He takes a step towards you, his voice pleading. “Mi amor, please. I’m begging you. Don’t do this.”

You open the door, pausing in the threshold. “You know, Carlos, you were right about one thing. This definitely isn’t boring anymore.”

As you step into the hallway, you hear Carlos’ voice rising behind you. “Y/N! Come back! We need to talk about this!”

You let the door swing shut behind you, cutting off his desperate pleas. As you walk down the corridor, your heels clicking against the polished floor, a small smile plays across your lips.

You have no intention of actually going to Charles’ room, of course. But Carlos doesn’t need to know that. Let him stew in his own jealousy and insecurity for a while. Maybe next time he’ll think twice before suggesting something so foolish.

As you reach the elevator, you can still hear Carlos’ muffled shouts echoing from your suite. You press the button for the lobby, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest. Part of you feels guilty for causing him such distress, but a larger part feels justified in your actions. He needed to understand the consequences of his thoughtless suggestion.

As the elevator doors slide closed, you let out a long breath. It’s going to be a long night, but perhaps this will be the wake-up call your relationship needed. Not in the way Carlos had intended, but in a way that forces you both to confront the real issues lurking beneath the surface.

The elevator begins its descent, carrying you away from the drama upstairs and towards an uncertain future. One thing’s for sure — your relationship will never be the same after tonight. Whether that’s for better or worse remains to be seen.

***

The hotel bar is a sanctuary of soft lighting and hushed conversations. You sit perched on a high stool, nursing a glass of red wine and trying to quiet the storm of emotions raging inside you. The bartender, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, keeps glancing your way, clearly sensing your distress but respectfully maintaining his distance.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice the figure approaching until he speaks.

“Y/N? Is everything alright?”

You look up, startled, to find Charles Leclerc standing beside you, concern etched across his handsome features. For a moment, you’re struck by the irony of the situation.

“Charles,” you manage, forcing a smile. “I’m fine, just ... needed some air.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your act. “At the bar? Must be some very alcoholic air.”

Despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “Caught me. Mind if I buy you a drink to keep my secret?”

Charles slides onto the stool next to you, a warm smile playing across his lips. “Only if you let me buy the next round and tell me what’s really going on.”

You hesitate, swirling the wine in your glass. “It’s ... complicated.”

“I’ve got time,” Charles says softly, signaling the bartender. “And I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”

As the bartender sets a Moscow Mule in front of Charles, you take a deep breath. “Carlos and I had a fight.”

Charles nods, his expression neutral. “I see. Do you want to talk about it?”

You laugh bitterly. “Oh, you’re going to love this. He suggested we each get a hall pass.”

Charles’ brow furrows in confusion. “A hall pass? Like in school?”

“No,” you explain, taking a sip of your wine. “A relationship hall pass. Permission to sleep with one chosen person if the opportunity ever arose.”

Charles’ eyes widen in surprise. “He suggested that? Really?”

You nod, feeling a fresh wave of anger wash over you. “He thought it would ‘spice things up’. Add some excitement to our relationship.”

“And how did you feel about that?” Charles asks carefully, studying your face.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Honestly? I felt ... hurt. Betrayed. Like I wasn’t enough for him anymore.”

Charles reaches out, hesitating for a moment before gently placing his hand over yours. “Y/N, you’re more than enough. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

You look up, meeting his intense gaze. “Thank you. That ... means a lot.”

He squeezes your hand before pulling away, taking a sip of his drink. “So, what happened next?”

You feel a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Well, I agreed.”

Charles nearly chokes on his drink. “You did?”

You nod, unable to suppress a small chuckle at his reaction. “I did. But not for the reasons Carlos wanted.”

“Oh?” Charles leans in, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Do tell.”

“Well,” you say, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “Carlos chose Margot Robbie as his hall pass.”

Charles snorts. “Of course he did.”

“Exactly,” you agree. “So when it was my turn to choose ... I picked you.”

For a moment, Charles is speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he manages to sputter, “Me? You chose me?”

You nod, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “I did. You should have seen Carlos’ face. He was furious.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, looking both flattered and bewildered. “I ... wow. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you assure him quickly. “I didn’t choose you because I actually intended to ... you know. I chose you to teach Carlos a lesson.”

Charles nods slowly, processing this information. “And did he learn his lesson?”

You shrug, finishing off your wine. “I don’t know. I left him screaming in our hotel room.”

“Y/N,” Charles says softly, his voice full of concern. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. You deserve better.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Do I? Sometimes I wonder ...”

Charles reaches out again, this time cupping your cheek gently. “Listen to me. You are an incredible woman. You’re smart, funny, beautiful ... any man would be lucky to have you. And if Carlos can’t see that, if he’s willing to risk losing you over some stupid fantasy, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

You lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that has nothing to do with the wine. “Charles ...”

He leans in closer, his voice low and intense. “If you were with me, I would treat you like the queen you deserve to be. I would never even think about another woman, let alone ask for permission to be with one.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest. “Charles, I ... we can’t ...”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “Why not? You have a hall pass, don’t you?”

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog of emotions clouding your judgment. “That’s not ... I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Charles sighs, dropping his hand from your face. “I know. And I would never want to be the reason you and Carlos break up. But Y/N, you have to know ... I’ve had feelings for you for a long time.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You have?”

He nods, a rueful smile on his face. “How could I not? You’re amazing. But you were with Carlos, and I respected that. I still do. But seeing you hurt like this ... it kills me.”

You feel tears spilling down your cheeks now, unable to hold them back any longer. “I don’t know what to do. I love Carlos, but after tonight ... I don’t know if I can trust him anymore.”

Charles pulls you into a gentle hug, his strong arms wrapping around you protectively. “It’s okay. You don’t have to decide anything right now.”

You bury your face in his chest, inhaling his comforting scent. “I just ... I feel so lost.”

He strokes your hair softly, his voice a soothing murmur. “I know. But you’re not alone. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

You pull back slightly, looking up into his eyes. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Always. But Y/N ... I want you to know that if you ever decide you want more than friendship, I’m here. I would never hurt you the way Carlos has.”

You feel a flutter in your stomach, a mix of excitement and fear. “Charles, I ...”

He shakes his head, placing a finger gently on your lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

You nod, suddenly very aware of how close you are, of the electricity crackling between you. “I should ... I should probably go.”

Charles nods, but makes no move to let you go. “Probably. But do you want to?”

You bite your lip, torn between desire and duty. “I ... I don’t know.”

He leans in, his lips barely brushing your ear as he whispers, “Come up to my room. We don’t have to do anything. We can just talk or watch a movie. But I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

You shiver at his closeness, your resolve weakening. “Charles, I ... what if someone sees us?”

He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. “Let them see. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re allowed to have friends, to seek comfort when you’re hurting.”

You take a deep breath, knowing that you’re standing on the edge of a precipice. One wrong move and everything could come crashing down. But looking into Charles’ eyes, feeling the warmth and safety of his presence, you find yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s go.”

Charles stands, offering you his hand. You take it, allowing him to lead you towards the elevators. As you walk, you can feel the eyes of other patrons on you, but Charles’ steady presence beside you helps you keep your head high.

In the elevator, you stand close together, the air thick with unspoken tension. Charles’ thumb traces small circles on the back of your hand, sending shivers up your arm.

“Charles,” you say softly as the elevator begins to ascend. “I need you to know ... I’m not using you to get back at Carlos. Whatever happens tonight, it’s because I want it to.”

He turns to face you, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek once more. “I know. And I want you to know that whatever happens or doesn’t happen, tonight doesn’t change anything. I’ll still be here for you tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that.”

You lean into his touch, feeling a sense of peace wash over you for the first time since your fight with Carlos. “Thank you.”

The elevator dings, signaling your arrival at Charles’ floor. He leads you down the hallway to his suite, fumbling slightly with the key card before pushing the door open.

As you step inside, you’re struck by how different it feels from the suite you share with Carlos. Where your room is cluttered with both of your belongings, evidence of your life together, Charles’ suite is neat and minimalist. It feels like a blank slate, a fresh start.

Charles closes the door behind you, leaning against it as he watches you take in the room. “So,” he says softly, “what now?”

You turn to face him, suddenly feeling nervous. “I ... I don’t know. This is all happening so fast.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes. “We can take it slow. Why don’t we sit down, maybe order some room service? We can talk, or not talk. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You feel a rush of affection for him, grateful for his patience and understanding. “That sounds nice.”

Charles moves to the phone, quickly ordering a selection of snacks and another bottle of wine. As he hangs up, he turns back to you with a shy smile. “I hope you don’t mind, I ordered your favorite.”

You blink in surprise. “You know my favorite wine?”

He shrugs, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “I pay attention.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words. How many times had you had to remind Carlos of your preferences?

As you settle onto the plush sofa, Charles takes a seat beside you, close but not touching. “Y/N,” he says softly, “I want you to know that you’re in control here. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

You nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and desire. “I know. And I appreciate that, Charles. But ...”

He raises an eyebrow. “But?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. “But I think I want to kiss you.”

Charles’ eyes widen, a look of surprise and joy spreading across his face. “Are you sure?”

Instead of answering, you lean forward, pressing your lips to his in a tentative kiss. For a moment, Charles is still, as if he can’t believe this is happening. Then, with a small groan, he responds, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair as he deepens the kiss.

As you lose yourself in the sensation of Charles’ lips on yours, his strong arms pulling you closer, you feel a sense of rightness settle over you. You know that there will be consequences to face tomorrow, difficult conversations to be had. But for now, in this moment, you allow yourself to forget about everything else and simply feel.

When you finally pull apart, both breathing heavily, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “Me too. I just didn’t realize it until now.”

He pulls back slightly, searching your eyes. “What happens now?”

You take a deep breath, considering your words carefully. “Now ... now we take things one step at a time. I can’t make any promises, Charles. I need to sort things out with Carlos, figure out what I really want.”

He nods, understanding and a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I know. And I’ll respect whatever decision you make. Just know that I’m here, Y/N. Whatever you need.”

You lean in, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. “Thank you. For everything.”

As you settle back into his arms, feeling safe and cared for in a way you haven’t in a long time, you know that whatever the future holds, this night has changed everything. And for the first time in a long time, you’re looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.

***

The soft morning light filters through the curtains, a sliver landing directly on the warming skin of your face. You stir slowly, awareness creeping in as you realize you’re not in your own bed. As your eyes flutter open, you find yourself nestled in Charles’ arms, his steady heartbeat a comforting rhythm against your cheek.

For a moment, panic flares in your chest as you try to piece together the events of the night before. But as memories flood back, you relax, remembering that while you and Charles shared kisses and conversation, nothing more intimate transpired.

Charles shifts beside you, his arms tightening slightly as he wakes. “Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

You tilt your head to look up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “Good morning.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle. “How are you feeling?”

You take a moment to assess, surprised by the sense of calm that settles over you. “Better than I expected, actually.”

Charles nods, relief evident in his eyes. “I’m glad. I was worried you might regret ... well, everything.”

You shake your head, sitting up slightly to meet his gaze. “I don’t regret anything. Last night ... it made a lot of things clear for me.”

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity and hope warring in his expression. “Oh? What kind of things?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the conversation ahead. “I think ... I think I want to be with you. Not just for a hall pass, not just for one night. I want to see where this could go between us.”

Charles’ face lights up, joy radiating from every feature. But then, just as quickly, concern clouds his expression. “Y/N, as much as I want that — and believe me, I do — what about Carlos?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I need to end things with him. Properly. What he did, suggesting that hall pass ... it was just a symptom of bigger problems in our relationship. I see that now.”

Charles nods slowly, sitting up beside you. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want you to make any rash decisions because of one fight.”

You turn to face him fully, taking his hands in yours. “I’m sure. Last night, talking with you, being with you ... it made me realize what I’ve been missing. The respect, the understanding, the way you actually listen to me. I want that. I want you.”

A smile spreads across Charles’ face, but there’s still a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that. But ... are you sure you want to do this now? Maybe you should take some time, think things through.”

You shake your head, determination setting in. “No, I need to do this now. If I wait, I’ll just be living a lie. Carlos deserves to know the truth, and I ... I want to start this — us — with a clean slate.”

Charles squeezes your hands gently. “Okay. If you’re sure. But I’m not letting you face Carlos alone.”

You blink in surprise. “What do you mean?”

He meets your gaze steadily. “I mean I’m coming with you when you break up with him. I know Carlos, and I know he’s not going to take this well. I want to be there to support you.”

“Charles,” you protest weakly, “I can’t ask you to do that. It’s going to be messy enough without you there.”

He shakes his head firmly. “You’re not asking, I’m offering. More than that, I’m insisting. We’re in this together now. Let me be there for you.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by his support. “Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Charles leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Always. Now, why don’t we get cleaned up and face this together?”

An hour later, freshly showered and steeled for the confrontation ahead, you stand outside the door to your suite with Charles by your side. Your hand trembles slightly as you raise it to knock.

“Hey,” Charles says softly, catching your hand in his. “It’s going to be okay. I’m right here with you.”

You nod, taking a deep breath before rapping your knuckles against the door. For a long moment, there’s silence. Then, just as you’re about to knock again, the door flies open.

Carlos stands there, his hair disheveled and dark circles under his eyes. His gaze flicks between you and Charles, confusion quickly morphing into anger.

“What the hell is this?” He demands, his voice rough.

You step forward, trying to keep your voice calm. “We need to talk.”

He laughs bitterly, throwing the door wider. “Oh, now you want to talk? After disappearing all night? Come on in, let’s have a nice chat.”

As you and Charles enter the suite, you can’t help but notice the state of disarray. Empty bottles litter the coffee table, and it’s clear Carlos hasn’t slept.

“Have a nice night?” Carlos spits, slamming the door behind you.

You flinch at the sound, but stand your ground. “I’m sorry for leaving like that. But we need to discuss what happened.”

He rounds on you, anger blazing in his eyes. “What’s there to discuss? You used your fucking hall pass, didn’t you? With him?” He jabs a finger at Charles, who remains calm but alert beside you.

“No, Carlos, I didn’t,” you say firmly. “Charles and I talked, that’s all.”

Carlos scoffs, pacing the room like a caged animal. “Oh, you expect me to believe that? You disappear all night, then show up with him in the morning, and I’m supposed to think nothing happened?”

Charles steps forward, his voice level. “She’s telling you the truth. Nothing happened between us last night.”

Carlos whirls on him, fury contorting his features. “Stay out of this, Leclerc. This is between me and my girlfriend.”

You feel anger bubbling up inside you at his possessive tone. “That’s just it. I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”

The room goes deathly silent as your words hang in the air. Carlos stares at you, shock replacing anger for a moment before his face hardens again.

“What did you just say?” He growls.

You stand tall, drawing strength from Charles’ presence beside you. “I said I’m not your girlfriend anymore. I’m breaking up with you.”

For a moment, Carlos looks like you’ve physically struck him. Then, with a roar of rage, he sweeps his arm across the nearest surface, sending glasses and bottles crashing to the floor.

“You fucking bitch!” He shouts, advancing on you. “You sleep with my teammate and then have the audacity to break up with me?”

Charles steps between you and Carlos, his voice low and dangerous. “Back off. Now.”

Carlos sneers at him. “Oh, defending your new whore, are you? How noble.”

You push past Charles, anger overriding your fear. “That’s enough! I told you, I didn’t sleep with Charles. But even if I had, it would have been my right. You’re the one who suggested this stupid hall pass in the first place!”

Carlos laughs bitterly. “Oh, so this is my fault now? I suggest a little harmless fantasy to spice things up, and you use it as an excuse to cheat on me?”

“It wasn’t harmless!” You shout back. “It was hurtful and disrespectful. Did you ever stop to think how it would make me feel, knowing you wanted permission to sleep with other women?”

Carlos runs his hands through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “It wasn’t about that! It was just a game, a fantasy!”

You shake your head, feeling a wave of sadness wash over you. “That’s the problem. Our relationship isn’t a game. It’s not something to be risked on a whim. And the fact that you don’t understand that ... it just proves we’re not right for each other anymore.”

Carlos’ anger seems to deflate, replaced by a desperate pleading. “Y/N, please. We can work this out. I’m sorry about the hall pass thing, okay? I was an idiot. But don’t throw away everything we have over one stupid mistake.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes, but you blink them back. “It’s not just about the hall pass. It’s about everything. The way you take me for granted, the way you never really listen to me. I deserve better than that. I deserve someone who respects me, who values me.”

Carlos’ gaze flicks to Charles, understanding dawning in his eyes. “And you think he’s that someone? My teammate? My friend?”

Charles steps forward, his voice soft but firm. “I’m sorry it happened this way. I never wanted to hurt you. But Y/N is right — she deserves better. And I want to be the one to give her that.”

For a moment, you think Carlos might lunge at Charles. But then, to your surprise, he crumples, sinking onto the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

“How long?” He asks, his voice muffled.

You move closer, but stop short of touching him. “How long what?”

He looks up, his eyes red-rimmed. “How long have you two been ... feeling this way about each other?”

You exchange a glance with Charles before answering. “Honestly? I didn’t realize how I felt about Charles until last night. When he was there for me, really listening and supporting me ... it made me see what I’ve been missing.”

Carlos nods slowly, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “And you, Charles? How long have you been in love with my girlfriend?”

Charles takes a deep breath, meeting Carlos’ gaze steadily. “A while. But Carlos, I swear to you, nothing ever happened between us until last night. And even then, we didn’t sleep together. I respect you too much for that.”

Carlos laughs humorlessly. “Respect me? You’re stealing my girlfriend and you talk about respect?”

You feel a flare of irritation at his words. “He’s not stealing me. I’m not a possession. I’m making my own choice.”

Carlos stands abruptly, moving to the window and staring out at the city below. For a long moment, silence reigns in the room. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, defeated.

“Get out. Both of you. I can’t ... I can’t look at either of you right now.”

You take a step towards him, your heart aching despite everything. “Carlos ...”

He whirls around, his eyes flashing. “I said get out! Take your things and go. I’ll have the rest sent to you.”

You nod slowly, knowing that pushing further will only make things worse. As you move around the room, gathering your essential belongings, you feel a profound sadness settling over you. This is the end of a significant chapter in your life, and despite your certainty that it’s the right decision, it still hurts.

Charles waits by the door, a silent, supportive presence. When you’ve finished packing a small bag, you join him, pausing at the threshold to look back at Carlos one last time.

“I’m sorry it ended this way,” you say softly. “I hope ... I hope someday you can forgive us.”

Carlos doesn’t respond, doesn’t even turn to look at you. With a heavy sigh, you step into the hallway, Charles close behind you.

As the door clicks shut, you lean against the wall, suddenly feeling drained. Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“Are you okay?” He asks gently.

You nod against his chest, taking comfort in his warmth. “I will be. It’s just ... it’s a lot.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I know. But you’re not alone. We’ll get through this together.”

You look up at him, managing a small smile despite the turmoil of emotions swirling inside you. “Together. I like the sound of that.”

***

The soft glow of the setting sun filters through the curtains of Charles’ hotel suite, casting a golden light across the room. You sit on the plush sofa, your legs tucked beneath you, a glass of Prosecco cradled in your hands. Across from you, Charles leans against the minibar, his own glass in hand, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches you.

“What?” You ask, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks under his intense gaze.

Charles shakes his head, his smile widening. “Nothing. I just ... I can’t believe you’re really here. With me.”

You take a sip of your Prosecco, savoring the crisp, bubbly taste. “I’m having a hard time believing it myself. But I’m glad I am.”

Charles moves to join you on the sofa, settling in close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. “How are you feeling? After everything that happened with Carlos ...”

You sigh, leaning back against the cushions. “Honestly? I feel ... lighter. Like a weight I didn’t even know I was carrying has been lifted.”

Charles nods, his expression thoughtful. “I’m glad. But I want you to know that I don’t expect anything from you. If you need time, space ...”

You cut him off by placing your hand gently on his arm. “I appreciate that. But I’ve had years of space with Carlos. What I want now is to be here, with you.”

His eyes light up at your words, and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. As he pulls back, you can’t help but smile at the joy radiating from him.

“You know,” you say, taking another sip of your Prosecco, “I have to admit, I was surprised when you ordered this.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “The Prosecco? Why?”

You shrug, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Carlos always insisted on ordering Spanish cava. He said it was better. I never had the heart to tell him I preferred Prosecco.”

Charles looks at you incredulously. “You’re kidding. He never noticed?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I mean, I drank it, of course. But ... I don’t know. It just never seemed important enough to make a fuss over.”

Charles sets his glass down on the coffee table, turning to face you fully. “Y/N, listen to me. Your preferences, your likes and dislikes — they’re important. They matter. You matter.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you. That ... that means a lot.”

He reaches out, gently wiping away a tear that has escaped. “It’s the truth. And for the record, I’ve known you preferred Prosecco since that team dinner in Monza two years ago.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You remember that?”

Charles nods, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Of course. You lit up when they brought out the Prosecco. Your whole face changed. I’ve never seen someone so happy over a glass of bubbly.”

You laugh, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “I can’t believe you noticed that.”

“I notice everything about you,” Charles says softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I always have.”

You lean into his touch, your heart racing. “Like what?”

Charles’ thumb traces gentle circles on your skin as he speaks. “Like how you always twist your hair around your finger when you’re deep in thought. Or how you bite your lip to hide your smile when you’re trying not to laugh at one of the guys’ bad jokes.”

You feel a blush creeping up your neck, touched by his attention to detail. “What else?”

He grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, I know you have a secret stash of gummy bears in your purse for long flights. And that you always hum Dancing Queen under your breath when you’re in a good mood.”

You gasp in mock horror. “Charles Leclerc, have you been spying on me?”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Not spying. Just ... paying attention. Is that okay?”

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat at the tenderness in his gaze. “It’s more than okay. It’s ... it’s wonderful.”

Charles leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re wonderful. And you deserve someone who sees that, who appreciates every little thing about you.”

You close the distance between you, capturing his lips in a soft, sweet kiss. When you pull back, you’re both a little breathless.

“Charles,” you murmur, “I think I’m falling for you.”

His face lights up with joy. “That’s good, because I’ve already fallen for you.”

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in years. “Oh really? When did that happen?”

Charles pretends to think for a moment. “Hmm, probably around the time you yelled at that journalist for asking me stupid questions after my DNF in Canada.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh god, I forgot about that. I was so embarrassed afterwards.”

He gently pries your hands away, his eyes shining with admiration. “Don’t be. It was amazing. No one’s ever defended me like that before.”

You shrug, feeling a bit sheepish. “He was being an ass. You didn’t deserve that after the race you had.”

Charles pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “See? That’s what I mean. You care. Deeply and fiercely. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

You snuggle into his side, reveling in the warmth and safety of his embrace. “You know, it’s funny. I always thought I was happy with Carlos. But being here with you ... it’s making me realize how much I was missing.”

Charles presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Like what?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Well, for one thing, this. Just sitting and talking, really talking. With Carlos, it always felt like we were just going through the motions, you know? Like we were playing the roles of the perfect couple without really connecting.”

Charles nods, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your arm. “I get that. It’s easy to fall into patterns, to stop really seeing each other.”

“Exactly,” you agree. “And it’s not just the big things. It’s the little stuff too. Like ...” You pause, a memory suddenly surfacing. “Oh! Like the flowers.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “Flowers?”

You sit up, turning to face him. “Yeah. Carlos always sent me these huge bouquets of red roses. Which, don’t get me wrong, were beautiful. But ...”

“But they’re not your favorite,” Charles finishes for you.

You blink in surprise. “How did you know that?”

He grins, looking a bit bashful. “Remember that charity gala in Milan last year? You spent at least ten minutes gushing over the centerpieces.”

You gasp, the memory flooding back. “The peonies! Oh my god, Charles, how do you remember these things?”

He shrugs, his eyes soft as he looks at you. “Like I said, I pay attention. Especially when it comes to you.”

You feel your heart swell with affection. “Well, Mr. Attentive, what else have you noticed about me?”

Charles pretends to think hard, tapping his chin dramatically. “Let’s see ... I know you prefer your coffee with just a splash of milk, no sugar. You always double-knot your shoelaces before a run. Oh, and you have a secret obsession with cheesy 80s power ballads.”

You laugh, playfully swatting his arm. “Okay, now I know you’re making things up. There’s no way you could know about my power ballad addiction.”

He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh really? So if I were to start singing Total Eclipse of the Heart, you wouldn’t immediately join in?”

Your jaw drops. “How ... how did you ...”

Charles grins triumphantly. “Team karaoke night in Singapore. You thought everyone was too drunk to remember, but I wasn’t as far gone as I let on.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh god, I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

He gently pries your hands away, his expression soft and sincere. “Hey, no hiding. I loved it. You were so free, so happy. It was beautiful to watch.”

You feel tears prickling at your eyes again, overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings. “Charles ...”

He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that have escaped. “Y/N, I want you to know that I see you. All of you. The good, the bad, the silly, the serious. And I love every part of it.”

You lean into his touch, your heart racing. “I’m starting to see you too, Charles. And I ... I think I might be falling in love with what I see.”

His face lights up with joy, and he pulls you in for a deep, passionate kiss. When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless and grinning.

“So,” Charles says, his voice low and husky, “what do you say we order some room service? I’m thinking ... chocolate lava cake for dessert?”

You gasp in delight. “How did you know that’s my favorite?”

He winks, reaching for the room service menu. “I told you, mon cœur. I pay attention.”

As Charles calls down to place the order, you lean back against the sofa, a contented smile playing on your lips. You can’t help but marvel at how different this feels from your relationship with Carlos. With Charles, you feel seen, heard, understood in a way you never have before.

When he hangs up the phone and rejoins you on the sofa, you curl into his side, feeling perfectly at home in his arms. As the night deepens around you, filled with laughter, deep conversations, and stolen kisses, you know that this is just the beginning of something beautiful. With Charles, you’re not just being loved — you’re being cherished, appreciated for every little thing that makes you who you are.

And as you drift off to sleep in his arms later that night, the taste of chocolate and Prosecco still lingering on your lips, you can’t help but feel that you’ve finally found where you truly belong.

***

Carlos stands at the edge of the pit lane, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before him. You and Charles are huddled together by the Ferrari garage, laughing and talking animatedly. The sight sends a sharp pang through Carlos’ chest, a mixture of anger, jealousy, and regret swirling in his gut.

He watches as Charles leans in, whispering something in your ear that makes you throw your head back in laughter. Carlos grits his teeth, remembering a time when he was the one to make you laugh like that.

“They look happy, don’t they?” A voice says beside him.

Carlos turns to see Lando standing there, a sympathetic look on his face. “What do you want?” Carlos growls, not in the mood for conversation.

Lando holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Just checking on you, mate. I know this can’t be easy to watch.”

Carlos scoffs, turning his attention back to you and Charles. “I’m fine. It’s not like I care what she does anymore.”

Even as he says the words, Carlos knows they’re a lie. He does care. He cares so much it feels like he’s being torn apart from the inside.

He watches as Charles pulls out a small package from his pocket, handing it to you with a flourish. Your eyes light up as you unwrap it, revealing what looks like a bag of candy.

“What’s that about?” Carlos mutters, more to himself than to Lando.

Lando squints, trying to get a better look. “Looks like ... gummy bears? Huh, I didn’t know Y/N liked those.”

Carlos feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “She doesn’t,” he says automatically. But even as the words leave his mouth, he sees the way you’re beaming at Charles, popping a gummy bear into your mouth with evident delight.

“You sure about that?” Lando asks, raising an eyebrow.

Carlos doesn’t respond, his mind racing. How had he never known you liked gummy bears? Had you ever mentioned it? Had he ever bothered to ask?

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the sound of your laughter again. Charles is holding out his phone, showing you something on the screen. As you lean in to look, Charles’ arm slips around your waist, pulling you close.

Carlos feels his hands clench into fists at his sides. He wants to look away, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes from the scene.

“You know,” Lando says carefully, “maybe you should talk to them. Clear the air.”

Carlos shakes his head vehemently. “There’s nothing to talk about. She made her choice.”

Lando sighs. “Look, mate, I know you’re hurting. But-”

“But nothing,” Carlos snaps. “Just drop it.”

Lando holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m here if you need to talk, though.”

As Lando walks away, Carlos continues to watch you and Charles. He sees the way Charles’ hand rests on the small of your back, the way you lean into him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Suddenly, Charles looks up, his eyes meeting Carlos’ across the paddock. For a moment, they just stare at each other, an unspoken tension crackling between them. Then, to Carlos’ surprise, Charles says something to you and starts making his way over.

Carlos straightens, steeling himself for the confrontation. As Charles approaches, he can see you watching anxiously from a distance.

“Carlos,” Charles says, his voice cautious. “Can we talk?”

Carlos crosses his arms, his jaw clenched. “What’s there to talk about?”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I know this situation is ... complicated. But I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you.”

Carlos laughs bitterly. “Hurt me? You stole my girlfriend. How did you think that was going to make me feel?”

Charles shakes his head. “I didn’t steal anyone. Y/N made her own choice.”

“Right,” Carlos spits. “And I’m sure you had nothing to do with that.”

Charles takes a deep breath, clearly trying to keep his composure. “I won’t deny that I had feelings for Y/N for a long time. But I never acted on them while you were together. Never.”

Carlos scoffs. “Oh, how noble of you.”

“Carlos, please,” Charles says, his voice softening. “I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But can’t you see how happy she is?”

Carlos’ eyes flick back to you, standing by the garage and watching them anxiously. He hates to admit it, but you do look happy. Happier than he can remember seeing you in a long time.

“She was happy with me,” Carlos insists, but the words sound hollow even to his own ears.

Charles gives him a sad smile. “Was she? Really? Because from what she’s told me, there were a lot of things you never noticed about her.”

Carlos feels a flare of anger. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Charles says carefully, “that sometimes we take the people we love for granted. We stop seeing them, really seeing them.”

Carlos wants to argue, to defend himself, but he finds the words sticking in his throat. Because deep down, he knows Charles is right.

“Did you know,” Charles continues, his voice gentle, “that her favorite flowers are pink peonies? Not red roses?”

Carlos blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

Charles nods. “Or that she prefers Prosecco to cava? Or that she has a secret addiction to 80s power ballads?”

With each revelation, Carlos feels like he’s being hit with a fresh wave of regret. How had he missed all of these things? How had he failed to notice what made you, you?

“I ...” Carlos starts, then stops, unsure of what to say.

Charles puts a hand on his shoulder, the gesture surprisingly kind given the circumstances. “I’m not telling you this to hurt you. I’m telling you because I want you to understand. Y/N deserves to be with someone who sees her, who appreciates every little thing about her.”

Carlos nods slowly, the fight draining out of him. “And that someone is you?”

Charles smiles softly. “I hope so. I’m certainly trying to be.”

They stand in silence for a moment, both looking over at you. You’re still watching them anxiously, clearly worried about what they might be saying to each other.

Finally, Carlos speaks, his voice rough with emotion. “Just ... just promise me you’ll treat her right. Better than I did.”

Charles nods solemnly. “I promise. With everything I have.”

As Charles turns to walk back to you, Carlos calls out, “Charles?”

Charles pauses, looking back over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Carlos says quietly. “For loving her the way she deserves.”

Charles gives him a small, understanding smile before continuing on his way. Carlos watches as he returns to you, sees the way your face lights up as Charles pulls you into a comforting embrace.

As he turns to walk away, Carlos feels a mix of emotions swirling inside him. There’s still pain, still regret, but there’s also a glimmer of something else. Something that feels a lot like acceptance.

He realizes now that he had taken you for granted, had failed to see the beautiful, complex person you truly were. And while it hurts to admit it, he knows that Charles sees all of that and more.

As he makes his way back to his own garage, Carlos makes a silent promise to himself. To pay more attention, to really see the people in his life. Because he never wants to make the same mistake again, never wants to lose someone else because he failed to appreciate them.

And as he glances back one last time, seeing you and Charles walking hand-in-hand, laughing and lost in your own world, Carlos feels a weight lift from his shoulders.

It’s not easy, and it still hurts, but he knows now that this is how it should be. You deserve to be with someone who knows you, truly knows you, inside and out.

And as much as it pains him to admit it, that someone isn’t him. It’s Charles.

With a deep breath, Carlos turns away, ready to face whatever comes next. He’s lost you, but in doing so, he’s gained a valuable lesson. One he won’t soon forget.

[1luvkarina]

sleepover

aespa

pairing - kim minjeong x fem!reader

genre - 18+, gxg, non-idol x non-idol, fluff, best friends with benefits

requested by: 🦋 anon

request: here

synopsis - in which, your sleepover with your best friend leads to something much more different than your usual activities during your sleepovers

warning - MEN & MINORS DNI, g!p minjeong, soft dom!minjeong, sub!reader, cunnilingus

a/n: gonna leave this here for you guys 😋

Kim Minjeong has been your best friend since you were in preschool, she was known for her masculine looks and her playboy behavior, always sleeping around with different girls and moving on to the next one the next day. Minjeong was very protective of you and always made sure that none of her friends tried to sleep with you because in her words, “You’re too good for them and I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”

The two of you were currently hanging out in your dorm room, since it was your weekend to host your annual monthly sleepover. Your roommates, Chaeryoung and Sumin had went out for the night with their friends leaving just you in the dorm and Minjeong didn’t want to have the sleepover at her dorm which she shared with Yunjin and Ryujin, who often teased her for having feelings for you which she would always deny.

You were comfortably laying on the bed on your back reading a book, while she had her head on your abdomen scrolling through TikTok with her arm around your waist. She rolled her eyes, turned off her phone and turned her head to press her nose into your abdomen.

“I’m bored.” she says, letting out a dramatic huff in the process as she stared at your concentrated expression.

You hummed softly in response, not bothering to look up from the book in your hands. “And you want me to help you exactly?”

Minjeong pouts and props her chin up on your abdomen, her brown eyes examining your face. “Well, we could…” she says, trailing off as a mischievous grin spreads across her face. “Makeout?”

You looked away from the book in your hands and raised an eyebrow at her words, “Didn’t you say that we are only best friends and that’s it?” you asked, requoting Minjeong’s words, that she’d tell everyone who would ask if you and her were dating or secretly messing around.

Minjeong shrugged nonchalantly, “Well, maybe I was lying…” she trailed off, her eyes never leaving yours, challenging you to call her bluff as she moved to hover herself over you. “Or maybe I just really want to know what it would be like to kiss you.”

You rolled your eyes, marking the page of your book and closed it before setting it aside onto the nightstand. “Fine, one makeout session and that’s it.” you whispered, though on the inside you were freaking out since you did secretly have feelings for your best friend.

Minjeong grinned triumphant, reaching out to gently tilt your chin towards her. “One makeout session it is then…” she whispered, leaning in as her lips brushed against yours softly before deepening the kiss.

You kissed back as your arms moved to wrap loosely around her neck, your heart was racing and butterflies were in your stomach as Minjeong’s hand had moved down from your chin to rest on your waist. The kiss became more passionate as Minjeong’s hands slowly wandered to your back, pulling you closer. She moaned softly against your lips, parting them slightly to deepen the kiss even further.

She was enjoying this much more than she thought she would, “Y/n…” she mumbled into the kiss.

Your hands were holding the back of her neck as your hands ran through her short blonde hair, “Hm?”

Minjeong broke the kiss moving her head down slightly to trail her lips down to your jaw, her breath fanning out against your skin. “Can we do more…?” she asked, hesitantly a bit afraid of what your response would be.

Your breath hitched in your throat from the question, biting your lip to hold back your moans. “Yeah, I don’t mind.” you whispered, a small whimper escaping from your lips.

Her eyes lit up with excitement at your consent, she kissed along your jawline before moving to your neck, her lips nipping and sucking gently on the sensitive skin. “Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long..” she mumbled against your neck, her hands tightening on your back.

You hummed softly, tilting your head slightly to give her more access to your neck as your eyes closed in pleasure. ”God…” she mumbled underneath your breath which was loud enough for you both to hear.

She chuckled darkly, her hands moving towards the hem of your shirt as she pulled it over your head and threw it somewhere in the room leaving you only in your pajama shorts, sliding her hands down your thighs and gently parted them before settling between them. She looked down at you through her thick lashes, checking for consent once more, wanting to make sure that you were perfectly okay with what she was about to do.

“Is this okay, Y/n?” she asked softly, her voice laced with desire.

“Yeah, it’s okay.” you replied in a hushed whisper, looking up at the older girl hovering over you.

Minjeong smiled mischievously at you before burying her face in the crook of your neck, her fingers slowly beginning to rub you over your shorts. She could feel your breath hitching and your body tensing beneath her touch. “You smell so good..” she mumbled softly into your neck.

You moaned softly into her ear, your arms wrapped loosely around her neck as your fingers toyed with her hair. “Jeongie..”

Minjeong’s name became a soft moan on your lips as her fingers kept up their rhythm, her own breath hitching in her throat. She buried her face further into the crook of your neck, her teeth gently nibbling on your skin.

“Say my name again.” she whispered against your neck causing you to become wet from the way she was rubbing your clothed cunt through your shorts.

“Jeongie, please.” you whispered softly, desperately wanting to feel her fingers buried deep inside your cunt.

Her heart raced at the pleading tone in your voice, she slowly pulled away from your neck, her hands still rubbing you through your shorts as she looked into your eyes.

“Please what, baby?” she asked, her voice was low and husky with desire. “Tell me what you need.”

A small whimper escaped from your lips, “Need you to touch me, please.” you whispered, pleadingly staring up into Minjeong’s eyes as they met your own.

Minjeong’s gaze locked onto yours as she gently grasped your chin, tilting your head up to hold your gaze.

“You want my fingers inside you, baby?” she asked, her thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “You want me to make you feel good?”

You nodded silently, a quiet moan escaping from your lips as you held eye contact with her. With a soft sigh, Minjeong reached out and gently tugged your shorts down, revealing your soaked panties.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet.” she murmured, before reaching down and pushed the damp fabric aside to reveal your pussy.

You gasped as the cold air coming from the ac hit your now bare cunt, “Wonder why?” you mumbled, watching as she moved down so that she was face to face with your cunt.

Minjeong smirked confidently, slowly lowering her head in between your thighs. “It’s because you want me, isn’t it, baby?” she whispered, her hot breath against your core making you buck your hips and let out a soft moan. “Shhh, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

You watched as she lowered herself in between your legs while biting your lip, “Fuck. Minjeong, I swear.” you whispered, glaring at the older girl.

She ignored the soft curse, instead focusing on the task at hand. She pressed her lips against your pussy, sucking gently on your clit before delving her tongue inside your soaked folds. Minjeong fucked you with her tongue, curling it against your g-spot as she ate you out relentlessly.

You moaned loudly as your hands gripped the sheets of your bed, you were glad that Chaeryoung and Sumin decided to go out for the night or else you weren’t going to hear the end of their teasing.

“Oh fuck!” you cursed out in between moans, moving your left hand to grab a hold of her blonde hair and pushed her head deeper into your cunt.

Feeling your legs shaking, Minjeong knew that you were close to cumming. She doubled her efforts, sucking on your clit while thrusting her tongue deep inside you as she hummed against your pussy, the vibrations causing you to scream in ecstasy.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna make you cum so hard.” she mumbled into your cunt, your moans filling the room.

“Gonna cum..” you whispered, panting slightly out of breath.

Just when you were about to cum, Minjeong pulled back, her face dripping with your juices. “Not yet, baby. I need you to hold it in for just a little longer.” she says softly, standing up from the bed, making her way over to her bag, grabbing a bottle of lube from the front pocket.

You whined when Minjeong pulled away before watching the older girl as she took off her sweatpants and boxers, rubbing a bit of the lube onto the tip of her dick. Your breath hitched as she climbed back onto the bed and aligned herself at your entrance. With a slow thrust, she entered your cunt, your tight walls stretching to accommodate your best friend’s size. You winced slightly in pain, grabbing a hold of her wrist as you tried to adjust to the size of her cock.

She moaned softly, her hands gripping your waist tightly. “You’re so tight, baby.” she whispered, slowly increasing her pace. “You can let go now.”

You loosen your grip on Minjeong’s arms, your walls clenching around your best friend’s member. “You’re so big.”

Minjeong leaned over and captured your lips in a deep and passionate kiss, “Mmm…you like that, baby?” she asked as she snapped her hips forward, burying herself deeper inside you.

She pulled back to watch as your face contorted in pleasure as you moaned in response, your arm wrapped loosely around her neck. You would have never thought that you’d be having sex with your best friend of all people

“Oh fuck.” you stuttered out in between moans, “Feels so good, Jeongie.”

Minjeong grinned wickedly at your words, loving the way your voice sounded when you were overwhelmed with pleasure. “That’s it, baby.” she hissed, through gritted teeth.

She sped up her pace, her hips snapping forward in a hard, fast rhythm as she thrusted her dick in and out of your cunt repeatedly. The sound of moans and skin hitting each other filled the room as Minjeong’s thrusts were becoming frantic and hard.

“Fuck, Y/n!” she growled, her eyes locked onto her best friend’s face. “You’re so fucking tight.” she reached between them and rubbed your clit in time with her thrusts.

Your moans grew louder with each thrust as your back arched off of the bed while Minjeong continued to pound your cunt relentlessly, throwing her head back and groaning in pleasure.

After a couple more thrusts, you soon cummed around her thick cock as she released her load inside of you before pulling out letting both fluids spill out of your cunt as you both panted out of breath and she fell down onto the bed beside you.

“That was…” you said, trailing off your words, looking up at the ceiling breathing heavily.

“Amazing.” Minjeong says, wrapping an arm around your waist while using her free hand to grab your chin, tilting your head to look up at her. ”We should do that again sometime.”

You looked at her in shock, staring into her eyes as you thought about her suggestion. “Totally.” you whispered, agreeing with her before drifting off to sleep.

Minjeong smiled softly at your now sleeping form, pulling the covers over both of your naked bodies and kissed your head gently before turning off the lamp sitting on the bedside table.

“Night, princess. I love you.” she whispered, silently wishing that she had confessed right before you fell asleep. She sighed softly before closing her eyes and falling asleep.

But unbeknownst to you both, both your roommates and her own had come back to the dorm room and stood outside of the room door with knowing smirks.

“Guess the others owe us money.” Yunjin says, causing Chaeryoung, Ryujin and Sumin to all laugh quietly at her words before they all quietly walked away to let the two of you sleep.

[sluttywonwoo]

the roster | part one of three

pairing: christopher bahng + lee sangyeon + choi seuncheol x f!reader

summary: what happens when all the guys on your roster find out about each other?

warnings: see here (mdni!!!)

word count: 4.4k

series masterlist

You’d been set up. You should have known something was off when Sangyeon texted you to come over. He never texted you first. He was the most reserved of the three, always letting you be the one to reach out to him if you wanted to hook up. 

You shot him an accusatory glare but he pointedly avoided your gaze, choosing instead to stare at something on the ceiling that was apparently much more interesting.  

Seungcheol was the first to speak, of course. “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out?” 

You figured there was no point in lying. They already had you cornered. “Yeah, kind of.” The three of them scoffed in unison, making you hold up your hands in defense. “I didn’t know you guys knew each other like that!”

In fact, you had chosen each of them precisely because you thought there wouldn’t be any conflicts of interest. They were all in different groups, all the leaders of said groups which you thought would mean that they were almost always busy with their members. You didn’t think they had time for friends. Let alone friends who were of different ages and also leaders. 

Chris was the biggest gamble. You knew that he knows almost everyone in the industry and has a lot of friends but you didn’t think he knew the other two guys you were fucking well enough to put together that you were actually sleeping with all of them. 

Everything had been going so well. You had perfected your system over the months, using the boys’ schedules to your advantage so there was never any overlap. Seungcheol got weekends, Sangyeon got Wednesdays and Fridays, and Chris got 3ams on Tuesdays, Thursdays, (and sometimes Fridays if you weren’t sleeping over at Sangyeon’s) because that’s just when he was free. You keep your Mondays and the last full week of every month free so that you have time for yourself. Otherwise you’d drive yourself crazy spending all your time with men. 

You had never agreed to be exclusive with any of them. You made it more than clear that wasn’t what you were looking for. Still, they must have thought you weren’t seeing anyone else because all three of them had shown up to this confrontation and all three of them looked pissed. 

“Is it just the three of us?” Chris chimes in. 

“How much time do you think I have?” you mutter. 

“Just answer the question.”

You look away from them. “Yeah, there’s no one else.”

“Lucky us,” Seungcheol sneers. 

“Hey, you’re the one who said you wanted something casual,” you remind him, your tone icy. “You wanted to sleep around with no strings attached and I agreed.”

You’ve known Seungcheol the longest. You were friends first, through your job, but it quickly turned into something more. You couldn’t keep your hands off each other, spending nights and mornings together. Going to sleep and waking up and stealing kisses in elevators. Talking on the phone for hours and planning dates in the different cities he was touring in. 

He shut you down before you could get too delusional about it, though, stating plainly that all he wanted was a strict friends-with-benefits sort of situation. You still remember the feeling of your throat burning as you fought back tears, telling him that was perfectly fine, that you felt the same way. 

You couldn’t let yourself get too attached to a man who didn’t want you in the same way you wanted him so you looked for a distraction and found one in Lee Sangyeon. You met him through Jacob, a younger member of his group. Sangyeon was the perfect distraction. He was charming and funny, never one to take himself too seriously. He was a real gentleman and it didn’t hurt that he had a huge dick. 

You were the one to broach the topic of nonexclusivity with him this time, wanting to beat him to it. You knew exactly what all of these idols wanted. Choi Seungcheol had taught you that lesson early on. Sangyeon took it well, at least, as well as you expected him to. He told you he was on the same page as you, that he was just looking for something casual and you believed him. Now, looking at the expression on his face as he listens to the two other men talk, you’re not sure. 

And then Chris just sort of fell into your lap. You weren’t looking for anything else. Juggling two men was enough work. You just so happened to run into him at some after party, stopping him to compliment his music. One thing led to another and you were shoving your tongue down his throat in a dark closet. Apparently he had a thing for praise. 

Neither of you had to be the one to friend(swithbenefits)zone the other. You brought it up one night as you laid in his bed together and he was quick to agree. 

“Yeah, I don’t have time for anything more than... this, right now,” he sighed. He sounded a little regretful about it, like he thought he was being an asshole despite you voicing the same sentiment. 

So you hadn’t been doing anything wrong- even if your brain liked to tell you otherwise sometimes. You defined the (non)relationships with each of them, used protection with all of them, you weren’t leading anyone on... it had just so happened to get a little bit... messy, for lack of a better word. 

-

“No strings attached doesn’t mean I want you to fuck my friends!” Seungcheol huffs, running a hand through his hair. 

“I didn’t know you were friends with them!” you cry, throwing your head back onto the back of the couch in frustration and accidentally banging your head against the wall in the process. 

“Are you okay?” Sangyeon asks, wincing. 

The other two side-eye him. 

“I’m fine. But why am I here? Did you bring me here just to yell at me?”

“Not exactly,” Chris says, smirking. 

You look to the other men for an explanation but neither of them offer any further explanation. 

“Then why?”

Chris slides his hands in his front pockets and shrugs. “Well, if you’re up for it, the three of us thought we might have a little fun with you.”

“What does that mean?”

Seungcheol steps forward and mirrors Chan’s stance, cocking his head to the side for good measure. You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes, knowing it would only make things worse for you. 

To be fair, all the posturing would be a lot more annoying if they weren’t the hottest men you’d ever seen in your life. 

“I think you know what that means,” Cheol adds, supplying absolutely nothing helpful. 

“Obviously I don’t or I wouldn’t have asked,” you argue. 

Seungcheol whistles and then looks to his friends. “Is she this bratty with you guys?” Chris gives an ‘eh’ hand motion whilst Sangyeon nods outright. “Yeah, I figured.”

“Did you think you were getting special treatment?” you taunt, surprising even yourself. 

He scowls but doesn’t respond, probably in an effort to maintain some semblance of self-control in front of the other two. If it were just you and him, you’d have a hand around your throat already. And maybe that’s what you wanted. Maybe your mouth was working faster than your brain in order to get a specific... reaction out of them like you normally would. Or maybe your mouth just liked to get you in trouble. 

From the way they were acting, they obviously hadn’t lured you here just to hang out. It had to be some sort of sex thing, right? You certainly weren’t opposed, you just needed to figure out what game they were playing so that you could be dealt in. 

“We were curious about which one of us you like the most,” Chris says finally. At least someone was interested in getting to the fucking point. 

You blink at him then turn to look at Seungcheol who just nods in confirmation. “You want me to... rank you? Why?”

“You’re the one who has us on a little roster,” Sangyeon points out, sounding a little mean for the first time tonight. “Surely you’ve thought about it before.”

You shake your head. “I haven’t. I mean, I like all of you guys! I wouldn’t hang out with you if I didn’t.”

“We don’t care about hanging out, we want to know who you think is the best in bed,” Seungcheol clarifies. 

“What?”

“You know, who’s the best fuck?”

“Why do you even care?” you ask. “Like what are you getting out of this?”

“Just a little competition between friends,” Chris assures you with a wink. 

“I... wouldn’t even know where to start,” you insist. 

“We thought you might say that,” Seungcheol hums as he steps closer to you. “Which is why we thought we could test it in real time.”

“In real time?”

“Yeah, let us fuck you, then you tell us who’s best.”

“Right now?” 

Seungcheol shrugs. “You asked why we brought you here.”

“And you just assumed I’d be down?”

“Yeah,” all three of them say at the same time. 

It’s your turn to scoff. So that’s what they think of you. You shouldn’t have expected anything different, to be fair. It wasn’t like you were a saint. You literally had your dick appointments with all of them penciled into your Google Calendar every week. 

“C’mon, baby, we know you by now,” Chris adds, plopping down on the sofa next to you. He stretches his arm across the back of it like guys like to do, opening himself up for you to lean into him if you wanted to. “Are you saying you don’t want us to take turns fucking your brains out?”

You stay silent. 

“Should we take that as a yes?” Sangyeon asks. 

“I’d say so,” Chris agrees.

Seungcheol claps his hands together decisively and then points to the man sitting next to you. “Chan, you’re up first then, yeah? That’s how you do it in your group, right? Youngest first?”

He’s mocking him but Chris doesn’t acknowledge it. If there’s one thing you know about Bang Chan, it’s that he’s not one to back down from a challenge, and while going first in this sort of competition must be daunting he doesn’t look the least bit shaken. 

“Are we doing this here?” he asks the older two. 

Sangyeon considers it and shrugs. “We should probably move to the bed, right?” 

“Dude, it’s your house.”

“There’s more room on the bed,” Sangyeon decides, offering you his hand. 

You take it and he helps you up from the couch. You step in front of the boys and lead them to Sangyeon’s bedroom, calling “it’s this way,” over your shoulder just to be a menace. You can’t see the faces they make behind you but you hear Sangyeon chuckle under his breath. 

You flick on one of his table lamps and make yourself comfortable on the bed, patting the spot next to you for Chris to join you. He does and puts a hand on your thigh, squeezing your thigh comfortingly. Seungcheol and Sangyeon lean against the dresser across from the bed in the most non-awkward way they can manage. 

Somehow, they both still look intimidating despite the fact that they’re essentially about to be cucked by one of their closest friends. 

“What now?” you ask. 

Chris brings one of his hands up to cup your cheek and leans in. “Now, we do this.”

He kisses you gently at first. Whether it’s to ease your nerves or his own, you aren’t sure, but he starts slow, building up to what you’re used to. His thumb strokes your cheek as if to reassure you as he deepens the kiss and slips his tongue into your mouth. His other hand that had been resting on your hip fumbles with your pants. 

“Just pretend they aren’t there,” he whispers. 

It’s impossible to do when you can feel the weight of their stares on you but you try to relax anyway, reminding yourself that something like this has been a fantasy of yours for a while now. You never thought it would actually happen and you definitely didn’t think it would be with them but with your luck you honestly shouldn’t be as surprised as you are. 

“This isn’t going to work if you don’t relax,” Chris continues, low enough for only you to hear. “I kind of have something to prove here.”

“You don’t have anything to prove,” you assure him. “You’re great in bed.”

“They don’t know that,” he hisses. 

“Sorry, sorry, I forgot this is just a competition to you guys,” you grumble. 

He chuckles. “What, you want me to make love to you in front of them? Because I will.”

“I think that’d be even more embarrassing, somehow.” 

“Exactly, now lay down and let me fuck you brainless so you can’t overthink anymore.”

He had such a way with words, that Bang Chan did. 

He shifts so you can lay down and take your pants off. Your shirt goes next, leaving you in just your underwear. It’s the most exposed you’ve ever felt even though you’ve been completely naked in front of all three men before. 

Chris snaps the elastic waistband of your cotton panties against your hip and smirks. “Cute.”

You pout, ready to defend your granny panties but Sangyeon pipes up from the other side of the room before you can.

“She doesn’t care what she wears over to mine because she knows it won’t stay on long anyway.”

That was actually true. You dressed the most comfortably to hang out with Sangyeon because you knew he wouldn’t care. It wasn’t like Chris or Seungcheol cared more, and you didn’t really dress up for them either, but there was a notable difference between the amount of effort you put in for each man, something you hadn’t noticed until just now. 

“She wet yet?” Seungcheol asks, sounding bored. 

You know it’s just a front so his jealousy and impatience won’t shine through because it’s not a very good one. Seungcheol is not and never has been good at hiding his feelings. 

Chris shoots him a look. “I was getting to that.” 

Seungcheol holds his hands up in defense but thankfully keeps his mouth shut. 

Chris sucks in a breath of patience and brings his hand in between your legs, fingers tracing your slit. Your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment because you are, in fact, wet. You have been since they sat you down and stood in front of you like you were going to be scolded for doing something wrong. 

“Yeah, she’s fucking wet,” Chris rasps. “Jesus Christ, baby. I bet your joggers are ruined too.”

His teasing makes you try to close your thighs around his hand but his reflexes beat yours and he catches your knee to force your legs back open. 

“Nice try.”

“You’re the worst.”

His fingers start to wander beneath the fabric of your panties, feather light touches that already have you gasping for breath. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do, I really do.”

��Want me to stop?” he threatens.

“What happened to having something to prove?” you mutter back. 

“Always such a fucking brat,” he muses, jaw tight. 

“Don’t act like you don’t love that about me.”

“You’re consistent, I’ll give you that.”

Chris leans down and kisses you again, presumably to get you to stop talking. It works, of course. He lets his tongue explore your mouth while his hands explore your body, still not giving you what you really want. 

Eventually, he slips a finger inside, taking you by surprise and making you gasp as you grab at him for something to squeeze. He offers you his arm and you take it, fingernails digging into his bicep. 

“It’s just one finger, baby,” Chris coos. 

“Feels.... good, though,” you squeak. 

He adds another right as you start to get used to the feeling of the first and you have to take a deep breath to keep yourself from making another embarrassing noise. 

“Don’t hold back. Let the boys know how good I’m making you feel.”

Seungcheol scoffs, tonguing his cheek. “You don’t have to fake it for him, babe.” 

“Are you sure you guys are friends?” you pant. 

They don’t answer, leaving you to draw the conclusions yourself. You’re sure they were friends... whether they would be after this was another story. 

Chris crooks his fingers up, knowing you won’t be able to stay quiet once he does. He’s right. You moan, albeit quietly, and arch into his touch. 

“So what are the parameters of this competition?” Chris asks the other two and turns his head towards them while he continues to work his fingers in and out of you. 

“What do you mean?” Sangyeon asks back. 

“Like, does foreplay count? Or is she judging solely based on our stroke game?”

Seungcheol considers it for a moment before looking to Sangyeon. “What do you think?”

“I think the judgment should include foreplay,” he says. “Foreplay is part of sex after all.”

“Good point,” Chris agrees. “Any other rules?” They shake their heads. “What about you, baby? Do you have any rules for us?”

You purse your lips as you think, trying not to lose focus with his fingers inside of you. “Just don’t go too hard. I do have to work on Monday.”

It’s only Friday night now, but knowing them, you’ll probably be sore for at least a couple of days afterward. 

Chris laughs. “We’ll do our best. Right, guys?”

They mumble what sounds like an agreement and Sangyeon even gives you a thumbs-up. 

“Can I keep going?” Chris asks you. 

“You didn’t really stop,” you point out.

He had still been fingering you lazily throughout the whole aside. It wasn’t enough to get you off but it was certainly distracting. You had to try very hard to concentrate on what they were saying. 

“C’mon, this is nothing,” he teases, bringing his thumb to your clit as he starts to kiss your neck. “How’s that?” he murmurs into your ear, 

“G-good...”

“Just good? Must be doing something wrong, then.”

Before you can deny it, he adds a third finger, earning a loud cry from you this time. You feel him grin against your throat, hiding his smug satisfaction from the other two. 

“Spread your legs wider for me, baby. Let them see.”

You do as you’re told even though it’s hard. It’s so much. You want to squeeze them around his hand again but you know you’ll only get told off if you do. 

“Good girl,” he praises, making you whimper. 

“That’s all it takes, doesn’t it?” Seungcheol mutters. “We just have to call you a good girl and you’re making a mess all over us, right?”

You squirm, arousal and embarrassment pooling in your belly. You can tell Chris wants to give Cheol shit for butting in when it’s supposed to be his turn, but he doesn’t because his words are technically helping him. You get even wetter around his fingers, a detail Chris elects not to share with the room. 

You’re sure they can see it, though, or at least hear it. The sounds are obscene. 

It’s mortifying. You want to die. But first you want to cum. 

Two of your favorite things about Chris are his hands. They’re huge, especially for a guy his height, and absolutely gorgeous. Thick veins run across the backs of them from his knuckles up through his forearms- he’s a nurse’s wet dream, and yours. You’ve spent an absurd amount of time tracing them with your own fingers when you’re laying in bed together after hooking up and more often than not, it’s enough to make you want to go again. 

He’s good with them too because of course he is. Bang Chan is annoyingly good at everything he does, including but not limited to: making you cum. 

“Already?” Chris muses under his breath. “Does having an audience turn you on that much?”

“Sh-shut up.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone who can take their fingers away any time they want to.”

“No, please!” you protest.

“That’s what I thought. Do you want to cum on my fingers? Or should I make you wait for it?” He’s talking to himself at this point but you answer anyway. 

“I-I don’t know...”

“Probably should let you, huh? You’re still so tight.”

You don’t get another word out before it hits you, your body curling in on Chan’s hand as he finger fucks you through your first orgasm of the night. As soon as you come down, he’s taking his fingers out of you and sucking them into his mouth, kissing you right after so you can taste yourself on his lips. 

“Good job, baby,” he murmurs into your mouth as he adds his tongue back into the mix. “Ready for me now?”

“Mhm...”

“Condoms are in the nightstand,” Sangyeon says, nodding in the direction of the bedside table. 

Chris reaches over and pulls the drawer out, whistling at the other things he finds rolling around in the compartment. 

“This hers?” he asks, holding up a vibrator.

“Who else’s would it be?” Sangyeon mutters. 

“I don’t know what you do in your free time, man.”

He drops the toy back in its place and grabs a condom from the box tucked in the corner of the same drawer. The odds of one size fitting three different men were slim, but having slept with each of them you’re sure they’ll be able to make it work. 

Chris hands you the foil packet, allowing you to do the honors of tearing it open with your teeth while he works on getting naked. 

Seungcheol whistles jeeringly at Chan as he takes his cock out and pumps it a couple of times. You can see the back of Chan’s neck flush red but he remains steady as he rolls the latex on. You realize it must be difficult for him to have an audience too, though he has nothing to be self conscious about. Even if they aren’t showing it, you know the other two have to be impressed.

He’s the perfect balance of long and thick and just like his hands, defined veins run up the length of his shaft. You’ve spent what feels like hours tracing those veins with your tongue, watching him shiver under your touch. Most dicks aren’t pretty but Christopher Bahng’s certainly is.

“Ready?” Chris asks, rubbing your thigh with his palm.  

“Yeah,” you breathe.

Since he already made you cum, he’s able to slip in without much resistance- but he’s big enough that the stretch is still intense, making your eyes roll back in pleasure as you stifle a whimper. 

He gives you a moment to adjust once he’s fully inside you, teasing only a little bit with slight movements of his hips. 

“God, that feels good,” you moan.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs sweetly, “you’re taking it so well for me.”

He brushes a couple of strands of hair out of your eyes so that you can see him properly. Obstructed view or not, he’s beautiful on top of you. His own bangs have already started to stick to his forehead and the pink flush of embarrassment has somewhat faded and turned into that of exertion, spreading from the back of his neck to his chest and face and matching the kiss-bitten swell of his lips. The muscles in his arms and shoulders are engaged with the effort it takes to hold himself above you, making him look even bigger. 

His eyes are soft, even as the rest of his features take on a more sinister expression. That was one of the things that made sex with Chris so good. He genuinely cares for you, not just as a lover, but as a person. Lots of guys put effort into making the other party feel good during sex but that doesn’t mean they care about them. It’s not like that with Chris. 

“Want it faster?” he asks you. You nod. “Ask nicely.”

You should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. 

“Please...”

He frees one of his hands and uses it to stroke your cheek. “‘Please,’ what?”

“Faster,” you squeak. 

“Is that the best you can do?” Seungcheol scoffs from the sidelines. 

“I’ll let her off easy this time,” Chris responds. “She can hardly think straight as it is, isn’t that right?”

Another nod. 

You get what you want and Chan picks up the pace, snapping his hips into yours in quick, shallow thrusts. 

“You’re getting tighter again,” he grunts, faltering imperceptibly. “You’re making this too easy for me.”

One of the other two makes what you assume is a snide remark but you don’t catch it because everything starts to fade into the background as you start to cum around Chan’s cock. It catches both of you off guard, you can tell. It isn’t unusual for you to finish from penetration alone but it usually takes a lot longer. 

“Holy shit, you’re so- fuck, you’re going to make me cum.”

He keeps going after you come down, chasing his own release. It’s almost enough to send you into a third orgasm but he cums before you can get there which is both a relief and a disappointment. 

You whine as the feeling ebbs and let yourself go boneless underneath him. He follows suit and collapses face first next to you on the mattress. 

“Sorry,” he whispers to you. “I would’ve kept going but I didn’t want you to be too sensitive for them.”

You nod in understanding and pat him appreciatively on the back. 

The room is quiet as the three men wait for you to catch your breath. Chris ensures you’re okay before rolling off the bed and joining the other two by the dresser. He mentions something about cleaning you up when you’re all done and offers to fetch you a glass of water. 

“There’s a Brita in the fridge,” Sangyeon tells him after also pointing him in the direction of the cabinet that holds the cups. 

He disappears into the hall and you gather what little strength you have to pop your head up and address the two remaining leaders at the foot of the bed. 

“Who’s next?”

this has been in the works for way too long lol but lmk what you think! i always appreciate feedback!!

tags: @minghaosimp @butterfliesinthenightsky @lelestarmy @stolasisyourparent @brownbunnyb @tinkerbell460 @cixrosie

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[jarofstyles]

Strawberry Sunrise 2

Hello my angels, here is part two of gymrry! 💪🏼 I hope you guys enjoy him

Part One

Check out our Patreon with 200+ exclusive writings and early access

Warnings- mentions of violence, stalking, sexism, misogyny, self defense training

WC- 3.3k

Harry was exhausted physically, but mentally he felt more awake than he’d ever been after a long day of sessions. 

Sitting at the smoothie bar, he sipped on a PB Choc shake that Y/N had ready for him after he was done with his last session of the day. He tried to pay her, but she’d insisted yet again that he was helping her out so the least she could do was give him a free drink. Harry was a tad bit pathetic in how much her genuine smile made his heart race, but instead he nodded and let her finish up her closing duties. He’d offered to help but her eyes had narrowed and she had pointed at his drink, so he decided to leave it be.

Besides, it gave him time to observe her. 

The ponytail was slightly falling now, a few pieces of hair around her face and at the nape of her neck as she wiped down counters. Her tank top with the gym name on it was slightly loose on the torso but clung to her chest. Yoga pants were her choice of bottom, which, fuck- he had to avert his eyes from those considering he had to get up close with her soon. He had to teach her so he wasn’t about to have a stiffy when he showed her how to throw a punch. As attracted to her as he was, these sessions were to help her feel safe. He’d rather have an arm chopped off than be another one of those men that she felt creeped around her. 

It was no secret that Y/N was attractive. She was probably the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, if he was being honest with himself. It was discussed between staff and other trainers about how beautiful she was and how her personality was only elevating the physical beauty she had, because the girl was sweet as pie. She was the type that remembered everyone’s birthday and made sure they got a free protein cookie or gym shirt, and put a few decorations in the break room even in the short time she had been here. Y/N was someone a lot of women felt comfortable enough to go to when someone made them uncomfortable, using her power and access to the private security guard (Who unfortunately left before her) to have them escorted out. It had made it all the more upsetting to Harry to know she had felt defenseless over the guy waiting outside the night before. 

Unfortunately he knew it was a reality for all women. He had a sister, a mother, multiple women as friends and it infuriated him to know that her experience wasn’t an uncommon one. It had made him more than proud of her, actually, when she asked him to help her. To take your personal security and safety seriously was a big deal, even if you shouldn’t need it in the first place. The hope was she’d never need to use them, but he was relieved that she trusted him enough to ask him to teach her. 

The doors at the front were locked so no one could get in, Y/N giving them a few tugs to make sure it stuck before she turned on her heels to face him. Clapping her hands together, she nearly bounced over to him with a spring on her step that he envied, grabbing her water bottle she’d left beside him. “Okay! Let’s get started. I promise not to keep you here for a long time, 20 minutes should be fine- but I realized last night I’d probably break my hand if I threw a punch.”

Yeah, that was exactly what they’d want to avoid. 

“We don’t have to rush unless you’ve got to get out of here. All that’s waiting for me at home is a fish tank and some tea.” He assured her, leaving his bag at the smoothie counter as they made their way towards the training area. 

“Oh- I thought you had a girlfriend?” She asked curiously, undoing her ponytail. Hair fell down to her shoulders momentarily as she ran her fingers through the roots, fluffing it out before smoothing her hair back to fasten into a new ponytail. “That girl that came in a few times, pretty red hair?”

“Oh, no.” Harry shook his head. She’d noticed that? It was interesting that she had. “She’s a friend’s girlfriend. Amanda and I go jogging sometimes but she and her girlfriend are my mates. She’s a chef, though, so she brings me stuff to test out since she specializes in health foods.” He could see it seeming much different to her though. “I’m single, chronically.” The need to clarify was there, maybe seeming a little desperate but hey- apparently he’d not made that clear enough.

“She was super nice and pretty, so I assumed. But I made an ass out of myself with that, didn’t I?” Her laugh was lighthearted but he swore he saw her smile get a bit bigger as she raised her arms up to stretch them over her head. “You’ve got fish?” 

“No, I don’t think so. It’s natural to assume things sometimes. But as for the fish- I do.” He nodded, feeling a little happier himself. Y/N noticed that he had a visitor and seemed happy it wasn’t his girlfriend. “It’s a hobby, I’ve got a saltwater tank. I’m not home enough for a dog, even though I really would like one. Fish are beautiful, relatively easy if you make sure you do the cycling upkeep, and don’t need to be brought out for walks. Besides, I don’t think they miss me too much when m’gone all day.” 

“Oh, god. I get it. I’ve got a cat and she’s a menace when I get home. It’s like I’d been off to war, she likes her snuggles but gets mad at me so she grumbles when she sits on my lap.” Her laugh rang through the gym. A beautiful sound he’d love to hear more of. “Fish are cool though! I watch some of those guys who build ponds on YouTube and all of that when I can’t sleep, makes me wish I could have one in my place. I’ve just got a balcony though.” 

“I’ve been saving for a house, so I get it. I rent small because I don’t need a ton of space for just me.” It was clean and tidy, upgraded with the food appliances and a comfy bed, but Harry wasn’t home all that often. Even if sometimes he wished he was. There wasn’t much to come home to. Maybe he’d be more inclined to get the house search on if he had a partner or something, but as of right now he was happy to stay where he was. “Uh, I meant to ask what you know but you said you were worried about breaking your hand during a punch. Let me see how you make a fist, please.”

In all reality he could spend hours just chatting with her, but if he didn’t try and get to the point they’d be there all night. As nice as it sounded to him, he doubted she wanted that. 

“God- don’t judge me too harshly please. I’ve always been a lover, not a fighter.” Y/N curled her hand up into a fist which she could see immediately wasn’t correct by the look on his face. “I appreciate the effort but I can totally see you wincing right now.”

“Sorry! M’sorry, I just… here.” With cautious fingers, he helped her unfurl her fingers. “You don’t want your thumb inside. It’s far more likely to break that way.” He began arranging the fingers as they needed to be. “You’re gonna want t’have your thumb on the outside… like this.” He murmured, the warmth of his hand a contrast to her cooler one. “Between your first and the second knuckles right here…” his touch was gentle as he adjusted her smaller fingers in the fist. “Near your index and middle. There.” Releasing her hand, he showed her on his own hands. “See? Like this.”

“Okay- I see. I always forget if it’s in or out and then I go with it because it feels like it would protect the thumb but, I’ll remember now.” She sighed, mirroring it with her second hand. “Where do I hit?”

“Easy, Tiger.” Harry laughed, letting his hands fall down. “You’re going to want to remember that the first thing you want to try is to get away first. That’s always the first option, escape and run the hell off. Make noise, get attention from other people. There’s power in making a scene.” From self defense classes he’d taught before he decided to take the shorter form and give it to her now. “You don’t know what people have. I don’t want to scare you, Y/N, but people are unpredictable. The most important thing is your safety, so getting away is the most ideal thing. But if you can’t, you want to make sure you have a good stance so they have less of a chance in grabbing you or knocking you over.” 

Planting both feet on the ground, he left his knees unlocked and kept his arms raised close to his body. “Shoulder width apart, arms up at your sides. Try it.” He stood next to her to show her, gently using his foot to nudge her legs a little further apart as he moved towards the front. “Put your dominant side leg out more in front of you. The worst thing to do is to have your knees locked because it’ll be easier to knock you over.” Rocking on his legs he demonstrated the right way to move, which she followed. There had been no doubt she’d catch on quickly, but he was still impressed. “Are you following along? This is just a crash course and we can meet again to go over more specifics but even just a little bit of this stuff can make or break you.” 

“I am. I really am interested in knowing it all, so keep going please.” She encouraged, eyes bright and determined. It was ridiculously cute in his opinion. “So what if someone grabs your arms?” 

 “If someone grabs you? You pull down. There’s more momentum that way and you’re likely to break free versus if you go up- may I touch you?” The permission was granted with a nod, his hands gripping firmly on to her forearms. “Try moving up, and then down.” 

Y/N followed instructions, immediately seeing the difference in it as she got her arms freed from his grip on the down pull. “Okay, I see. I’ve always meant to go to a self defense class but I’ve put it off… I’m really glad you were there last night. I was nervous to ask because I didn’t want to be overreacting but… I wasn’t sure.” A shrug of the shoulders followed her words. “I didn’t think the guy was gonna hurt me or anything but I didn’t know what he wanted. Why he was staying after I already said no.”

“No.” Harry said gruffly. “No. You don’t give them the benefit of the doubt, Y/N. The first priority is always to protect yourself. Even if you find it embarrassing after and no harm was meant, it’s always better to be safe rather than sorry. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help. You should do it.” The idea of her not asking because she worried about how it would come off made his chest hurt. 

“Listen, I think that our intuition is the best gift we have. It’s there to protect us, down to the most biological level. So if you felt the need to have protection it’s because your body knew it needed it. Okay?” His voice softened up at the end. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like that, but I’ve seen what happens when women aren’t taken seriously. When guys think they’re overthinking or crazy. My sister…” he paused. “She was hurt because people told her she was overreacting, so she doubted her intuition. She’s okay now, but I’ve never forgotten about how she asked for help and people assumed that she just didn’t need it.” 

Harry didn’t talk about that period a lot. In all honesty, it surprised him that he’d even brought it up, but Y/N had gotten to that soft spot in his defenses and reminded him that he could be the one to help her avoid that sort of pain that he knew his sister had to go through.    

“I’m so sorry something happened to your sister, Harry.” Y/N whispered. “I promise I’ll listen to you and take your advice. That’s why I asked you. Something felt wrong and it was because there was no reason for him to be there waiting for me like that, and your car was in the side lot so he couldn’t see it… he thought I was alone.” Swallowing the lump in her throat at the thoughts of what If, she wrapped her arms around herself to self-soothe. “I know I watched a lot of true crime a couple years back and I used to think I was just being paranoid, but it was a wake up call. It wasn’t the first time I’ve dealt with a guy not taking no for an answer and thinking persistence was something that would wear me down, but it was the first time I felt that level of unsafe. My stomach hurt just looking out there.” 

Harry could only imagine. As much as it tugged on his heart to grab her and hug her body to his chest, he didn’t have that right. Not yet, anyways. “Christ, I know. He gave me the creeps too, if I’m being honest. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you overreacted and I think you’re incredibly brave to ask for my help. It’s exactly what you should do. You need to protect yourself at every turn, even if it’s exhausting.” 

“I know. I do, I did for a while but I didn’t think about it happening while working here. A lot of people ignore me most of the time which is fine, some flirt, but no one’s made me feel outright uncomfortable or unsafe before at work. I used to have one coworker back at a store I worked at that would be a bit too persistent but he left me alone after a while. I realize now that I should have said something back then.” 

“Y/N, I don’t want you to ridicule yourself for your past mistakes or actions in general. You made it here, you’re safe and you made the best decisions you could for the world that’s taught you that. But now, I want to teach you how to make sure you can get yourself out of any situation that could come up.” He felt sick at the idea of her having to use these skills but even for his own state of mind, it would help him feel better. 

“Okay.” She nodded, giving him her eyes. It felt like a hit to his chest, stealing his breath.  “Did you want to do more of this, then? I don’t want to keep you for too long because I know if I’m tired you must be exhausted. Can we plan to meet up again?” Harry was pretty sure his exhaustion had to be on his face for her to say it, but he had to agree. Today had been an unusually filled day, so next time he hoped to be able to do more. 

“That sounds good. We can text about it some more if you want to make a little schedule, but if you’d be comfortable you can meet me out at a park or something. I’ve got a nice one near my building if you want to do something in daylight. I think we’ve both got Wednesday’s off?” It was a wonder for him how luck had been on his side with coinciding days off, but he watched her nod and the ponytail she’d pulled back a few moments ago bouncing along with the motion. It was difficult for him not to be gross and think about holding said ponytail again, but he reminded himself that this wasn’t for his personal wants. She was trusting him with teaching her so he had to keep it in his pants. 

“Yeah! I’d love to do that.” She agreed easily. “Can I see your fish tank, though? Not trying to invite myself to your place, even though I kinda am. I just think it’s really cool that you have one.”

“Course, I don’t mind at all.” His chest felt lighter at her own willingness to go past just a coworker sort of thing and initiating getting to know more about him. “I’ll stay later and work on emails at the smoothie bar for the rest of the week then, make sure I’m here to walk you out. I’ll see if I’ve got some other self defense supplies too. I ordered some a while ago t’keep in my car and I know they accidentally sent me an extra taser.” They didn’t. He’d ordered it last night. 

“Oh, really? That would be so lovely of you to let me use it. I’ll pay you back for it.” Grabbing her water bottle from the side of the mats, she turned and surprised the hell out of him by wrapping her arms around his neck for a hug. It took him a second to reciprocate, blinking a few times in shock as he planted his palm over her back. He hoped to god he smelled decent and that the fact he’d had to use the soap the gym provided instead of his own today had been enough.

“Thank you, H. I really appreciate it. I love working here, but you’re so nice to me it’s crazy. I know you don’t have to do any of this for me but you’re going above and beyond and I.. I can’t think of a way to thank you.”

Harry prayed again that she couldn’t hear how hard his heart was beating- or at least thought it had something to do with the training as she rested her cheek against his chest and sort of snuggled in. It was by far the best hug he had ever had in his life. If he could have one of these a day, the stress level would most definitely be brought down. He’d almost bet on it. The feeling in his tummy swirled as he chuckled to disguise just how much he liked holding her, giving a gentle squeeze to her body. It felt so right to have her body pressed against his own, like she was meant to be there. “You’re lovely, Y/N. Course I’d do it for you. You’re a real gem, y’know that? It’s rare to meet someone with genuine kindness like you’ve shown everyone here.” It was crucial that she knew that he saw it. “As for a way to thank me?” 

He had a lot of ideas on that, but he settled on the more savory and far less inappropriate answer. Y/N was his little crush, but he wasn’t sure she had a clue. “All I want is for you t’keep yourself safe, come to me or call if you feel uncomfortable… and maybe a few extra shakes.”  He’d take a PB Choc or Strawberry Sunrise she made any day. 

“Mmm… You’ve got yourself a deal.” Y/N’s face was bright despite the tired eyes she had, pulling away from the hug. Immediately he mourned the warmth and plush of her body. If he could pull her back into the embrace without it being weird, he would. A new addiction. “But for now, you’ll act like the fierce protector you are and walk me to my car, yeah?”

“Anything for you, pet. Let’s go. Need to feed the fish.”

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 8

"I cannot believe you told my wife your date was with *Lena Luthor*," Alex whispers mid-yell, "before you told me!"

"Would it have changed your recommendation?"

At that, Kara hears Alex pause to consider.

"No," comes the final response. Then, "Did it work?"

Kara flushes-- she'd certainly gotten the reaction she'd been looking for. She just isn't sure she wants her sister to know that they hadn't fully resolved that desire.

"Well enough," Kara returns, settling on an incomplete truth. She'd explain the rest later... eventually.

A muttered curse issues over the line. "Jesus. How did this even happen? Wait-- what happens now? Esme said her next show is in, like... 16 hours, in Denver."

Kara smiles into the phone. "We stay in touch."

She's already received a picture via text, showing Lena with a tongue-out wink and a playful peace sign. Another photo had revealed a sticky bun, with a note that Lena had gotten Jess to swing by Noonan's on the way to the airport.

Though the sight of the sticky bun had made her hungry, the selfie made her pause to absorb the image. From the relaxed tousle of Lena's wavy hair, to the ray-bans hooked on the collar of her shirt, and the luxury of the private plane lurking around the edges.... she wonders if Lena realizes just how far she's letting Kara in, allowing her to see Lena in so personal a setting.

Kara's response had been simple. "Fly safe."

It had earned her a floating heart emoji and a promise to touch base upon landing.

"That's it?" Alex asks, pulling Kara back to the present.

Kara huffs a laugh. "What did you expect? She wasn't going to cancel half a national tour for personal time with someone she only met two days ago."

"Well why not? You're worth it."

"You're only saying that because you're my sister," Kara counters. "Besides, I don't want that for her."

Seeing Lena on stage had proven it's something the woman enjoyed. She thrived on the experience of it, and so did the thousands of fans who came to see her.

Which is why, a few hours after Lena's first Denver show would have concluded, Kara is surprised to receive a call from Lena. They'd facetimed when she'd landed, so the lack of video is her first clue that something isn't right.

"Hey," Kara greets, pressing the phone to her ear as she wipes sleep from her eyes. She'd meant to stay awake to check in herself, but not even a book had been able to keep her from dozing off.

"Hey."

Lena's voice is somber. It's such a difference that a wave of concern wakes Kara the rest of the way.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

There's a short pause before Lena responds. "Nothing."

"How was the show?"

"Fine. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be calling so late. I just... I wanted to hear your voice." Lena pauses again. "Is that weird?"

"No." Kara listens closely to the quiet that follows, as though it might give her some insight into what was happening on the other end of the line. "Lena..."

"Could you... talk to me?"

"About what?"

"Anything. Just... so I can listen."

Kara's brow furrows. She fights the impulse to dig deeper, to push to find the why. She doesn't need to know. Lena has asked for what she needs-- and it's something Kara is able and willing to give.

"Did I ever tell you that I didn't always live in National City?"

Lena hums a negative, prompting Kara to continue.

"I'm actually from a town up the coast. Midvale. I miss it sometimes. The stars mostly. In high school, I had friend named Kenny, and we would take his telescope to the old barn, and we would chart the skies together..."

Kara goes on, relating many and more of the troubles she and Kenny had gotten up to in those days. She was careful to steer clear of his murder, and the bullying they'd both experienced. Lena needed distraction, not more heartache.

As she speaks, Lena hums occasionally, sometimes even giving a chuckle. When the sounds of her following along peters out, Kara pauses to listen if Lena notices the stop. When no reaction comes, Kara smiles to herself.

"Lena?" she asks softly. "Still there?"

No answer comes, but when Kara increases the volume on her phone, she can hear the steady inhale and exhale of sleep. Kara listens for a few heartbeats more.

"Sweet dreams, Lena."

[amoscontorta]

Wine time with Sylus | ao3 | other stories in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person pov, no use of y/n

This story contains: fluff, banter, angst, mc with obvious self esteem issues, grief, self-destructive behavior, profanity, alcohol use, criminal activity, allusions to violence, sleepy kissing, biting, inappropriate thoughts regarding kitchen tools, the mental gymnastics mc engages in to avoid acknowledging or recognizing feelings on either side should come with their own warning to be honest, one very thirsty mc whose thoughts are NSFW. This part ends with a misunderstanding that you can bet Sylus will not put up with for long.

In the days following Sylus’s latest little… visit, you’re called out more frequently than usual to counter wanderer attacks. You’re barely home, and the few times you stumble home late into the night, you peel your sweat and sometimes blood-stained hunter’s uniform off right in the entryway, promise yourself you’ll do laundry soon, and drag your aching body to the shower. Then you usually spend what little night you have left lying there with your eyes closed, carefully keeping your mind blank as sleep remains elusive. You have to admit to yourself that the few times Sylus kept you company overnight, you slept like the dead, but you refuse to go so far as admitting that you wouldn’t mind if it were more frequent. If you were to admit it to yourself, which you will not,  you only yearn for it strictly for the sake of your sleep schedule, and absolutely not because you’ve come to crave his warm, comforting bulk against your body.

Tonight is no different, but you’re both looking forward to and dreading the next few days, as Captain Jenna has ordered you to take some time off to rest and recover from the brutal schedule you’ve been keeping for months now, capped off by the recent spate of increased attacks. All of your wheedling to let you keep going, that you’re fine, that the people of Linkon need you, that you need the constant distraction, has proven useless. Apparently the frequency with which you are getting injured remains acceptable, but she is finally at the end of her patience reading your barely coherent, misspelled reports with unfinished sentences that you only manage to submit before Association mandated deadlines by the skin of your teeth.

“Go home, get your head on straight, and come back rested … and literate again, please.” She looks back down at the tablet on her desk, trying to dismiss you, but you stubbornly remain at attention at her desk.

“That’s discrimination, Captain. I can be a perfectly functional hunter without being able to read or write,” you protest, while Xavier winces behind you. “I mean, obviously I can read and write, I’m just a little tired, that’s all. Still able to destroy wanderers!”

Jenna’s already formidable expression begins to darken, but you’re not cowed. You open your mouth to helpfully point out that wanderers don’t care about how well you can spell, when you feel Xavier’s gentle hand on your arm. “Come on, why don’t we go together to get some snacks on the way home? I think they’ve started re-issuing that wasabi flavored chocolate bar we tried at the beginning of the year,” he says softly, and Jenna shoots him an appreciative look before proceeding to ignore you both.

You glumly follow Xavier out into the early evening. Rush hour is over, but the sidewalks are still bustling with life. You weave through the mass of humanity, resisting the urge to drop-kick anyone who cuts you off or brushes against you accidentally. I am a role model for the Hunter’s Association, even when I’m off the clock, I am not allowed to arrest someone for bumping into me…. I am not allowed to arrest someone for…

Xavier tries to distract you from your obvious frustration by describing the plot of the latest manga series he’s reading that he thinks you’ll like as you two make your way  home. You listen absently, feeling slightly calmed by his soothing voice, despite its graphic descriptions of violence in the manga that you are pretty sure you’re going to really like.

“Are there any hot guys in it?” you ask as the mass of people begins to thin the closer you get to your building.

“Hot… guys?” he blinks in confusion, his impossibly blue eyes flashing in the streetlamps that have just turned on.

“Yeah. Like that other one we read, Help, I, a lowly office worker, went to sleep and woke up as the Queen’s assassin in the book I fell asleep reading. The main guy in that was super hot.”

“Well, it is by the same mangaka, so you’d probably like the way they draw the main character in this one too,” he says uncertainly, but with a strange expression on his face, like he suddenly doesn’t want you to read it with him anymore.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try. Have you finished the first volume yet? Can I borrow it?”

You’ve reached your building, the trees surrounding the courtyard rustling in the soft end-of-summer breeze.

“…Great,” he says after a brief hesitation. He holds open one of the entrance's doors for you to enter the your building’s foyer. Your boots and his echo on the polished floor as you make your way into the lift. “I’ll be finished by tomorrow. How about we go the bookstore and afterwards you can come over and read since we have the day off? You can start volume one, and I’ll start volume 2. Does that sound good? We can make fancy ramen,” he says, his normally sleepy energy spiking with the idea of adding a boiled egg and some frozen vegetables to the normally plain ramen the two of you consume more often than not while on the go. Xavier’s idea of fancy has always been adorable to you.

The idea of not just sitting in your apartment alone on the first day of your forced leave is a welcome one, and you agree that he can come find you when he’s woken up, so that you don’t risk waking him up. He likes this plan, because obviously, you’re hardly sleeping at all, and he sleeps longer than you ever would have imagined possible for humans until you met him. As the elevator approaches your floor and the doors slide open, you’re about to step out when Xavier’s soft voice behind you has you turning to look back at his pretty face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours. “I know you feel like you’ve lost everything right now, and that the pain seems unbearable.”

You quickly turn your head—you were not expecting this sneak attack of sympathy and kindness from him. You nod jerkily, trying not to let his warmth sink into you, or else you might start crying.

“It sounds cliché, but with time, even this pain will fade. And you have so much time ahead of you. I can promise you that. One day you’ll wake up, and it will be slightly less unbearable. That doesn’t mean you forget about what you’ve lost. But you can think of it without… without feeling like you’re destroyed again, every time.” He’s looking at you, but you also have the feeling that he’s looking at something else, from a great distance. Knowing how secretive he is, it’s unlikely you’ll ever know what it is he’s seeing.

You nod again, and whatever he sees in you profile seems to satisfy him as he offers you a soft ‘Goodnight,’ and you scurry from the lift to your front door. You tuck away his words, and push them down deep. You know they’re well intended. But you can’t handle crying right now. Not yet. Not yet. So you focus on possible plans for the days stretching ahead of you.

There is a part of you that’s looking forward to possibly being able to rest, it’s true. But the stretch of empty days, without work and battle and the social interaction of colleagues, had been filling you with anxiety before your plans with Xavier were made. But even after tomorrow, you’ll try to make the best of it. You can… try to remember what hobbies you had, before your life blew up. Maybe you can take up a new hobby! Within the span of a few days. Yeah, you can teach yourself to crochet,or make stained glass art, in a day, right? Online videos are super helpful. Maybe you’ll even deep clean your apartment, and go grocery shopping, properly, for the first time in weeks. You’ll buy vegetables that have to be prepped instead of the hottest insta-ramen you can find and slurping packets of applesauce while telling yourself that it counts as fiber, right? You can cook, and bake! You just haven’t in… a really long time. Maybe you’ll bake an entire cake, and then eat the entire cake. Yeah. You have plans, you think to yourself, pressing your fingerprint to the scanner under your flat’s door handle and pushing the door open when it beeps.

As soon as the door closes with a soft whump, you carefully hang up your blades and pistol holsters on your wall-mounted weapon rack, and then you’re furiously undoing the laces on your knee high leather boots, hopping from one foot to the other as you try to kick them off without actually having to sit down and pull them off. You yank off your socks, then shimmy out of your pants, which you also kick off unceremoniously. You’re going to be positive about this little holiday! You’re so close to being comfortable and staying that way for days. You almost rip your buttons in your haste to remove your shirt, and just as you’ve gotten the last one undone, you finally notice the dark, looming figure in the shadows at the end of your foyer.

You’re in your fucking underpants, barefoot, and your weapons are out of reach due to your current strangulation by your own shirt sleeves.

Heart racing, you throw yourself backward against the door, prepared to make a strategic retreat and escape into the building’s hallway to buy yourself some time to free yourself from your shirt, no matter the cost to your pride at being caught out in your underwear, when familiar scarlet-ink tendrils of energy gently wrap themselves around your waist and softly lift you in the air. You find yourself kicking and squirming like a kitten picked up by the scruff of its neck.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you choke out.

“Why are you still struggling, when you can clearly see that it’s me? Cease, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Why are you using your evol on me without my consent?” you retort, wriggling some more for good measure simply because he told you to stop.

“To prevent you from giving your neighbors the show of their lives without even charging admission,” he responds languidly, eyes the color of sunlight filtering through a glass of wine drifting from your probably red, sweaty face down your barely clothed body.

“Oh, they don’t get a free show, but you do?” you sneer, continuing to struggle to no effect.

“Look at yourself,” Sylus commands, and turns his head as if bored. You note absently that he’s wearing a ruby stud earring in his ear... the one that matches the earring in your own ear. So you never bothered to take it out. That doesn’t mean anything—you’re just lazy. You refuse to think about it anymore deeply than that, and then notice that Sylus not only looks bored, but also looks almost… offended? You do as he asks, and see that his evol is wrapping itself around your body in such a way that its bright-dark tendrils are covering all of your exposed, sensitive areas like a fluid robe.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

“Oh, indeed.” He continues to look away from you, aggressively bored, but his evol gently lowers you enough so that your bare feet rest on the ground, and then it loosens, but remains swirling around you.

“Then I’ll… just go get dressed.” You begin making your past him, but stop when you see him nonchalantly hold up a large, elegant shopping bag. It’s black, with some brand name you don’t recognize written in flowy silver script. “What is this?” You look from the bag to his face. He deigns to look at you again. Your eyes drift to his other ear, and you see that where it is pierced is empty.

“Wardrobe options,” is all he says, jerking you out of trying to puzzle out this opaque maniac’s intentions. You take the bag from him and quickly walk to your bathroom. No way you’re going to put on new clothes while feeling filthy from a long day and night of annihilating wanderers. His evol dissipates the moment your bathroom door shuts behind you.

It’s becoming a pattern. Thinking the worst of him, only to be proven wrong. But you don’t know how to overcome the cognitive dissonance of Sylus from your first meeting, and this Sylus who seems intent on taking care of you better than you take care of yourself.

You rinse off as quickly as you can in the shower, towel yourself dry, and take a peek in the bag that he gave you. The first thing you see is a black…? You lift it out of the bag, and it unfolds into a very large sweater. It’s thick, the fabric obviously of high quality. You touch it gently, running your hands along a sleeve—is it cashmere? It’s unbelievably soft. It’s probably a nightmare to wash. On impulse, you lift it to your nose, and take a deep breath.

Your suspicion is confirmed. It smells like him. This isn’t a brand new piece of clothing. This is one of Sylus’s own sweaters that he has worn before. The scent of his clean skin, the sharp tang of gunmetal, the bright burst of citrus, probably from some ridiculously expensive shampoo or body wash. The mix sends a thrill through your entire body: after only a few encounters, you already have bone-deep associations with the way Sylus smells. Fear and adrenaline, yes, but also anticipation—and bizarrely, safety. Instead of feeling terrified, you feel the way you would before riding a roller coaster. Yes, you’ll be screaming and holding on for dear life the whole ride, but you are also inexplicably convinced that in the end, you’ll have your feet firmly planted on the ground, safe again. A part of you whispers that it’s safer to avoid the roller coaster altogether—bolts come loose, wheels pull free from the track, tragic accidents happen all the time. But standing here in your humid bathroom, bone-weary from the day behind you, sniffing Sylus’s unwashed sweater makes you feel more alive than you’ve felt in a very long time.

You pull his sweater over your head, and you’re basically swimming it, it’s so big. The collar is big enough that it threatens to fall off one shoulder. But it’s so soft. And cozy. You hug yourself, and peek into the bag again. There are a few more sweaters, each dark with varying degrees of dramatic flair. This is part of Sylus’s wardrobe, after all. But there are also little sleep shorts, like the ones you were wearing the last time he invaded your home. You pick up a pair—no way would they fit on his big ass. You try, so, so, so very hard not to picture his thick cake stuffed into these tiny shorts.

You fail.

Your brain short circuits for a few seconds.

When it comes back online, you lift out a pair, and the fabric glides silkily along your skin. You’re pretty sure these are silk. They’re black, because of course, but they also have little red … happy pomegranates? Dotted along the hems. They’re adorable. You pull them on over your own bare ass and the sweater-shorts combo is probably the softest thing you’ve ever had on your body. The sweater swallows the shorts and makes it look like you’re wandering around without bottoms on.

You look at yourself in the mirror, silently telling yourself that you shouldn’t get on this particular ride. You don’t know where the track leads, and it scares you. What if it ends over a cliff, and the last thing you ever see is Sylus’s triumphant, cruel face looking down at you as you fall? There are other, less risky rides, certainly ones without wanted posters, right? Right? On second thought, you don’t even have to go the amusement park at all. You’re just fine with trying to get some fucking sleep, with continuing to hone your combat skills, with just trying to be a good person despite really liking knives and being an enthusiastic hunter.

But maybe you can just. Be friends with the roller coaster? Like, you don’t have to ride him. IT. THE ROLLER COASTER. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO RIDE THE ROLLER COASTER. You can just, watch it from a safe distance. You might indulge in little fantasies about what it’s like to ride… the roller coaster. And honestly, fantasies are almost always a hell of a lot better than the reality ever turns out to be. Not to mention! Sylus has never directly expressed any desire to ride … your roller coaster. Sure, he shows up unannounced and cares for you in ways that no one ever has, and he touches you a lot for someone who has no physical interest in you, but physical isn’t necessarily sexual, right? Maybe it’s an evol thing, and the way he touches you has to do with why you both find yourself inexplicably connected for periods of time. Like charging a battery. The point is! There will be no tickets to either ride, thank you, you aren’t open for business and he definitely does not have the proper safety inspection certificates in order, so. No.

You nod firmly to yourself in the mirror. This should be fine. You can be friends with Sylus. You don’t have to let him drag you over a cliff. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him—he seems to be pretty competent at a lot of things that might be useful for certain aspects of your job. Like intimidating people. And exploding people with a thought and twitch of his fingers. And convincing them to do things they don’t want to do by sheer force of obnoxiousness.

Having sufficiently deluded yourself into believing that your plan of action has a chance of success, you slip out of the bathroom and find Sylus in the kitchen, next to a pretty wine glass that you certainly do not recall owning on the kitchen island.

He’s slicing strawberries with a very sharp knife that you do recall owning, because you do spend quite a lot of time sharpening the set it belongs to. They’re not kitchen knives, per se; you actually have them for work and they are really nice to throw. You already had so many knives before you moved into this place that you didn’t see the necessity of spending more money on probably inferior kitchen knives. But the large, really nice butcher block-style cutting board that he’s chopping the fruit on is not yours. And neither are the delicately arranged variety of cheeses, thinly sliced meat, and savory tarts set in puff pastry that fill up most of the cutting board. And lastly, you do not recall purchasing two bottles of what look like red wine sitting next to the wine glass, nor cleaning your kitchen so thoroughly that Zayne could probably perform surgery in here without worrying about risk of infection.

Despite your presence standing at the island before him now, he continues to serenely slice the ever-growing pile of fruit.

“Sylus?”

“Have a seat,” he says, not looking up.

“Oh, why thank you for offering such hospitality to me, in my own home,” you mutter, pulling out one of the wooden bar stools at the kitchen island. You’re about to sit down when you realize that the repetitive chop of the knife has stopped, and you look up to find Sylus frozen with the knife mid-slice in a fat strawberry. His eyes drift from your neck and exposed shoulder, down the soft expanse of sweater, to your bare legs, and then back again. You’re suddenly self-conscious—he’s the one who gave you these clothes. And now he’s staring at you like a wanderer is about to burst out of your chest.

“Did I misunderstand the assignment or something?” you ask, plopping down on the bar stool in the hopes of breaking him out of whatever weird trance he’s apparently glitching in. He swallows, flicks a final look at your shoulder, and then goes back to slicing.

“I’m simply shocked that you actually did as you were told, for once,” he responds, seemingly unruffled again. “You should also put one of the sweaters in your go bag as a backup in the event that your uniform gets destroyed, again, which it does at an alarming rate these days. The Association’s overheads for keeping you clothed must be in the stratosphere.”

“Mm, yes I’m sure you’re very concerned about the costs of doing business for the Association.” You rest your head in your hand, propped up by your elbow on the counter. The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while, with only the snick of the knife filling the space between you. The lights underneath your cabinets are on, emitting a soft warm glow from below, but you notice that he hasn’t put on the harsher, brighter overhead lights. The city’s skyline blinks serenely like an endless fleet of starships in the dark expanse of space through your windows, and a cool breeze wafts in from time to time.

Finally, Sylus is done, and he carefully rinses the knife in the sink and sets it on the counter. He turns back to you.

“No interrogation regarding why I’m here this time?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a light sweater in a deep grey, of a style quite similar to the one you’re now wearing. He looks domestic, and delicious, and you tell yourself sternly that he is friend shaped, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster—

You have to say something. “Oh, are you missing my very effective questioning techniques? Sadly, I left my handcuffs at the office,” you lift your shoulders in a what can you do? gesture, and his eyes follow your bare shoulder again.

“Handcuffs aren’t the only means of restraint available to a truly resourceful hunter,” he says, shaking his head as if disappointed.  “Your lack of imagination is boring.”

“Okay, Sylus. But only because you’re basically begging for it: why are you here?”  You lift a puff pastry and brandish it at him like a knife. “Answer honestly, or you’ll really get it this time!” You take a big, aggressive bite as if to illustrate what he’s got coming to him in case of his non-compliance, and then moan because what the fuck, this is so good, is it goat cheese and honey? And suddenly you’re devouring it, licking your fingers clean when you’re done because you can’t get enough.

“This definitely counts as an enhanced interrogation technique.” His voice is low, and has a rough quality to it that normally isn’t there. You glance up from slobbering all over your fingers and find that he’s staring at you in what is probably disgust.

“Ha, yes, and I’ll keep subjecting you to it until you tell me what you’re doing in my home, again. And how did you even get in? I never got you a key.” You finish licking yourself like an animal and reach for a strawberry. If he’s going to play chef in your kitchen, who are you to refuse to enjoy the literal fruits of his labor? You just live here and pay the damn rent.

He holds up the index finger of his right hand, which is sporting a band-aid that you recognize as one of the same kind you have in your first-aid kit. They’re super cute, with a design of sad little cartoon mushrooms. “I was at my accountant’s, which happens to be in this neighborhood, and I got a paper cut while signing some documents.”

You pause before biting into the berry. “You… came to my flat. With extra clothing, wine, wine glasses, and various appetizers, in order to get a band-aid for your paper cut. Is this a correct summary of events?” You decide you’re not going to wait for him to answer, and take a big bite of the strawberry, feeling some juice drip down your chin. You catch it with your index finger, and then suck the juice off after you’re done chewing.

There is a long pause, and you look up to find him staring intently at your finger. You widen your eyes and wave your hand in the universal gesture of hurry the fuck up, get on with it already? He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deeply. Apparently you’re so horrifying to witness eating that he needs to seek some zen before he can answer. It’s not your fault that he brought you half of his wardrobe and wine glasses but didn’t think to bring any napkins. “Yes, that is a correct summary of events,” is all he offers.

You look at him.

He looks back at you, occasionally flicking his gaze down to your mouth and back to your eyes. You consider baring your teeth at him just in case he wants an eyeful of the strawberry undoubtedly stuck in them, but refrain because you’re polite.

“Okay. Do you care to explain the motivation behind these events?” you ask slowly, thinking that maybe you will brandish a real knife at him to hurry up this so-called interrogation so you can straight up devour the rest of this charcuterie board that this wanted criminal has inexplicably prepared in your kitchen.

Fortunately, you don’t have to go for the knife, because he begins to speak. “There was a wine merchant that looked rather appealing on the way to your place. Since you revealed a deplorable lack of discernment when it comes to selecting a good bottle of wine the last time you hosted me, I thought I’d do my civic duty for the week and educate the less fortunate on how to choose, and enjoy, a decent bottle of wine.”

“I see.” You nod slowly. “That’s very civic-minded of you. You’re truly a model citizen. And the food?”

“It’s not wise to have a wine tasting without something to eat. Otherwise, you might find yourself making questionable decisions. We wouldn’t want that, would we, sweetie?” he seems to have recovered from his nausea at watching you wolf down food, because he says this with a playful lift of a silver eyebrow.

“Because letting a man whose baggage includes a wanted poster into my home whenever he wants could hardly be considered a good decision, and I made that one while sober,” you sigh. “I see your point.”

“Exactly. Just imagine what kind of trouble you could get into after a bottle of wine on an empty stomach?” He tilts his head to the side, and runs a middle finger slowly over his brow.

You shudder, because his big hands. You can’t pursue this line of thought.

“And the clothes?”

“Now you won’t need to borrow your partner’s clothes in case of an emergency. And I’ll have something to wear at my safe house in case you decide to assault me with beverages again.”

“That was one time. And if you don’t show up, then there’s no chance you’ll be assaulted. Therefore, no need for a change of clothes. And, pardon me, but your safe house? I think you meant, my flat. But what you’re telling me is that the whole reason you were coming to my flat in the first place was to put a band-aid on your boo-boo.”

He lowers his hand and begins running his thumb along his lower lip. “Even a small cut can turn life-threatening if not treated properly. And I wouldn’t want a scar, now would I? It’s not much of a safe house if I can’t make use of it when in danger of lasting bodily harm.”

“Mmm yes, what with your evol that renders scarring impossible for you, we wouldn’t want your paper cut to cause you lasting bodily harm. And you couldn’t acquire a band-aid at a pharmacy, perhaps like at the one next to the wine merchant I’m pretty sure you’re referring to?” You refuse to look at his big thumb pressing into his thick, soft-looking lower lip. You stare up at the ceiling, and consider cataloguing wanderers in your head to stem the sudden urge to vault over the island counter separating him from you and pulling that damn thumb into your own mouth.

“They didn’t have a box containing such cute little designs. I never knew I wanted anthropomorphized fungus to decorate a bandage intended to protect an open wound until I saw your own box.”

It takes you a second to remember what the hell the two of your were discussing when you realize he’s talking about your adorable little mushroom band-aids.

“A wine snob, and a band-aid snob.”

“I prefer the term cultured, but yes, I’ve told you before. Life is too short to waste on the inferior. Your sad little champignons surpass all others.”

He’s done it again. He has hardly even moved this entire time, and has managed to exhaust you to the point of blissful indifference. He shows up unannounced, rifles through your first aid kit, decides what you’re going to wear both this evening and in the future when you need a spare change of clothes, and has prepared an hors d’oeuvre spread worthy of at least a mid-ranged restaurant for you to eat while offering you a wine tasting? Fine. “Okay,” you say, reaching for another one of those puff pastries.

He watches you steadily for a few moments, as if trying to sense a trap. “That’s it?”

You shrug. “Sure. I told you that you could use my house if you needed it. I’ve just learned my lesson: next time I’ll be very careful in drafting the conditions of any deal we make, since your interpretation of certain terms appears to vary wildly from any reasonable person’s.”

“I think I’m quite reasonable,” he examines his nails. “I come bearing gifts, and this is how you show your gratitude? By insinuating that I'm unreasonable?”

Another thought occurs to you. “How did you even get in, Sylus?”

“Ah,” he says, squinting and looking out the window, as if contemplating a very deep philosophical question. “While you were sleeping last time… I took the liberty of adding my fingerprint to your door’s fingerprint scanner.”

What. The. Fuck. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Again, it’s not much of a safe house if I can’t access it without your presence. I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s not like I can’t just use my evol to teleport into your place anyway, but I thought you’d appreciate me coming through the front door. Fewer feathers. You didn’t seem to like cleaning those up the last time I teleported out of your place.”

You just stare at him. How would he even know that you cursed him, loudly, as you were mopping up the mess of blood and feathers he generously left in your entryway after being shot? And then it comes to you. Mephisto. Of course. You pinch the bridge of your nose, and visualize violently shaking that bird until his circuits are rewired.

Sylus continues, ignoring your mounting rage. “Come to think of it, we should probably upgrade your locks, kitten. It was laughably easy to override the system and add my print as authorized for entry.”

Forget riding the Sylus coaster—you think that maybe he isn’t even friend shaped after all. He might just have slid right back to enemy shaped. Frenemy shaped? Where does a frenemy lie on the spectrum of “fuck his brains out” to “polite, but distant acquaintances?” But then you remember that it’s not a linear spectrum, and fucking his brains out is not mutually exclusively to being mortal enemies. You’ve read enough enemies-to-lovers romances to know that perfectly well, so even if he is enemy shaped… you shudder. Why are you like this? You redirect your self-disgust and deflect, like a true emotionally well-adjusted adult:

“Why can’t you be normal? Like, do you do anything like a normal person?”

“Why would I pretend to be normal when I’m so obviously extraordinary?” he scoffs, looking at you like you’re the unhinged one in this little situationship.

 “Sylus.”

“Yes, my heart’s delight?”

You stare at him, and he gazes back at you, leaning leisurely back against your counter, arms folded and long fingers slowly tapping out a rhythm on one bulky bicep. You know that if you remove his authorization on your locks that he will just teleport himself right into your place, and you’ll be endlessly cleaning up feathers. And you also really don’t want your neighbors to wonder who the hell the creep is loitering around your door at all hours of the night and then start asking questions if he actually honors your request not to simply appear in your place on a whim. You did previously offer him a key. Which he declined. Apparently because he was already planning this. You run your hand along the back of your neck in an effort to relieve some tension. “You can’t just let yourself into my place anytime you want. There need to be rules.”

“Fair enough. Provided that they’re not moronic, I can follow your rules.”

“And who decides whether they’re moronic or not?” you ask, knowing the answer.

He just smiles at you, radiating satisfaction.

“Okay. Rule number one—” you begin, only to be interrupted as he lifts a finger.

“I’ll follow your rules, if you promise to taste the wine I brought with me tonight.”

Even though you had already resigned yourself to whatever he had in store for you tonight, you can’t help arguing at this little added condition. “No, the deal is, you can use my flat, with your fingerprint, when you need it, if you follow the rules,” you huff.

He starts shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, kitten. You should have set rules at the beginning of our deal. You can’t just impose new conditions halfway through. A deal’s a deal. I suggest keeping that in mind the next time you have to deal with anyone else less… generous, than myself,” he intones, as if you’re a somewhat lacking student in need of instruction.

“So you’ll follow the rules if I promise to… taste wine tonight?” you ask, hoping that you can catch him out on a technicality and beat him at his own game. He considers for a moment, but must see something in your expression, because his eyes narrow and his smile widens to reveal his sharp canines.

“I’ll follow your reasonable, and not moronic, rules if you promise to taste the wine I brought tonight, with me,” he says.

You need to work on your poker face. You need to get Sylus to teach you how to improve it. Ugh.

“Fine.” If this means more food can happen soon, and honestly, yeah, a glass of wine, you’ll accept anything at this point.

He straightens from the counter and claps his hands once, looking more eager than you think you’ve ever seen him. “Excellent, let’s begin.”

“You didn’t even wait to hear what the rules are,” you protest, watching him fish out a wine corkscrew from his trouser pocket. It looks heavy, with a handsome wooden handle, and the stainless steel flashes under the soft lights.

“Send them in a text, I’ll redline them and return them to you, you can counter, and so on and so forth until we have an agreement. Like any proper contract negotiation. For now, it’s wine time.”

And with that, he sets to work opening the wine, humming a little tune so off-key that you have no idea what melody it’s supposed to be. It occurs to you that you’ve never used a corkscrew as a weapon, but as Sylus uses the small blade to slice through the foil covering the neck of the bottle, and then unfolds the lethal-looking twisted screw and begins expertly driving it into the cork, you realize that it could come in really handy in a fight. And there’s something else that’s really appealing to you—the combination of the contained savagery of the corkscrew, the assured movements of Sylus’s hands, the penetration of the cork—you feel a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the sweater you’re wearing.

“See something you like, kitten?” Sylus’s smoky voice drifts into your thoughts, and you look up, realizing you’ve been unabashedly staring at his beautiful hands, again, and the corkscrew, with undivided focus for the past few moments, and he has noticed.

You clear your throat, and then gesture weakly at the corkscrew. “That’s uh, a very nice looking wine opener.” You nod to emphasize your very normal approval of this very normal household item, because you are not thinking any thoughts about Sylus’s huge hands or screwing or penetration. None.

“Good eye. I’m rather fond of this model. I’ll have one delivered to you,” he says as he firmly pulls the cork from the bottle with a soft pop. He sets it on the counter, and picks up the other bottle.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m sure it didn’t escape your notice that the kind of wine I drink tends to come with a screw cap instead of a cork,” you decline, shaking your head. You can buy your own damn self a corkscrew for tucking into your pocket if you ever find yourself at a wine bar that doesn’t allow patrons to be armed, but you anticipate needing some kind of weapon.

“Refuse me all you want,” he murmurs, and you feel like there’s an implied part of that sentence that he’s just not saying out loud. But then he’s repeating the opening process with the second bottle, and you suddenly find the night view outside your window immensely fascinating, because whatever is continuing to happen in front of you is just. Boring. Utterly sleep-inducing. You can’t look or else you might just pass out from the tedium of it before you even get to taste the wine. And a deal’s a deal, as Sylus is fond of repeating ad nauseum.

After hearing the soft pop of the other bottle, you sigh and turn back to find Sylus holding the wine glass and pouring the first bottle’s wine along the inside of the glass until it reaches the widest part of the bowl. For the first time, you notice that there’s only one glass on the counter. But before you can comment, Sylus begins to lecture.

“Now, if this were an ideal tasting, I’d have brought a decanter to let the wine breathe properly for an appropriate period of time before pouring. We'd also be using a container for spitting each mouthful out in between tastes, to avoid the intoxication and poor decisions I mentioned earlier and interfering with our judge of taste. But since we only have two bottles to try, and it’s just you and me here, I took the gamble that you wouldn’t mind if we were a little less formal.”  

You wait to see if he has any other fun facts to share, but he’s looking at you to confirm that indeed, you can live with not waiting even longer to taste this wine that better have gold leaf flakes in it or something to justify this amount of ceremony and can also live with not… spitting out said wonder wine after tasting it.

But you recognize that Sylus appears to be truly passionate about this, and he’s looking at you so earnestly—you do not have the heart to meet his sincerity with sarcasm, when he's so sweetly trying to teach you something new.

“Your gamble paid off. I don’t mind at all,”  you say, meaning it. He perks up and gives you one of his almost smiles, with just the corners of his generous mouth lifted. He then proceeds to explain, in great detail, what type of wine this is, where the grapes for it are grown, its signature characteristics, what year it was bottled, and how it was received by the international wine community. It’s all actually quite interesting, except once again, right now you’re at the end of a long day, you’ve run the gauntlet of interacting with this unpredictable force of nature walking around in the body of an extremely attractive man, and you feel like you should be taking notes to actually retain any of this information.

After he seems to have informed you to his satisfaction and is looking at you expectantly, you nod. “That is… very fascinating. So how do we go about actually tasting it?” You might be an uncultured heathen, but even before Sylus’s lecture, you knew there are rules when it comes to tasting wine. You just always had other things you needed to learn first, like the weakest spots on a wanderer or human body. Or the best method of sharpening knives for the sharpest edge. Or how to clean guns to prevent jamming. How to affix a scope on a sniper rifle and measure the effect of wind speed and direction on a bullet’s trajectory. Or whether you should use baking soda or baking powder as leavener when baking certain kinds of cake. You have priorities. But tonight, it seems, is the night for you to learn about wine.

Before he answers, he moves around the kitchen island to where you’re still seated on the bar stool and leans down, gently spinning your stool so that you’re facing him instead of the counter. He then pushes the one next to you closer and seats himself. Even sitting, you have to look up into his face. You suddenly realize that the way he has positioned the stools puts him so close to you that his long legs don’t have anywhere to go—he just spreads them so that one is stretched out on one side of you, and the other is between your own, his knee incredibly close to your lap. If you shift forward even a little, you could grind on him.

Why is he doing this to you? What does he want? But then it occurs to you that Sylus has never seemed to either recognize or respect boundaries like a normal person—maybe this is just how he interacts with his friends. Constant, small touches, no sense of personal space. You wonder if he and the twins huddle together on the couch, sharing a blanket, while watching something on television.

So maybe you’re the freak, imagining riding this poor guy’s meaty thigh when he’s only just trying to share his appreciation of a sophisticated beverage with you. You close your eyes. It doesn’t matter whether he’s playing this little game on purpose or not. You refuse to let him see how much his proximity is affecting you, because then he wins. You don’t know what he wins exactly, but you will beat him before you let him have it. You try to think about his big hand choking you, but instead of having the intended effect of reminding you why you should never even consider buying tickets to the safety hazard now wedged between your thighs, it has … unforeseen consequences instead. What has this man done to you?!

You open your eyes, reach across the counter and grab a handful of carefully cut pieces of cheese, and then promptly stuff them all into your mouth at once. When in crisis, cheese is always a good solution. Except for maybe the blue cheese you accidentally mixed in with the Manchego or whatever-the-fancy-fuck he brought with him. Aaaand now you’re going to smell like blue cheese for the rest of the night.

You stare at him defiantly as you chew with puffed cheeks, and brace yourself for whatever is coming next. He side eyes you, face impassive.

You’re expecting some biting comment, but “Well, that’s one way to make sure you’ve eaten enough to absorb the alcohol,” is all he says. He slowly slides the glass with two fingers along the base across the counter until it’s sitting between the two of you. “Whenever you manage to finish inhaling all that dairy, we’ll be sure that we’ve given the wine enough time to breathe.” He pauses. “It occurs to me now that while I was preparing the food, I didn’t think to ask if you’re lactose intolerant.”

You deliberately chew as slowly as you can, making him wait as a punishment for making you feel things that you should not be feeling. When you’ve swallowed, you shake your head. “Fortunately, not one of my many flaws.”

“It’s not a flaw.” He shrugs. “How can anything you can’t control about your body be a flaw? And Luke and Kieran are lactose intolerant, so I always have lactase enzyme tablets on me to avoid… unwanted consequences when they decide to have a cheese tasting contest.”

You cock your head. “A what now?”

 He rubs his middle finger between his eyebrows. “Yeah, they can’t help themselves from making a competition out of every single human activity, so on the nights the chef prepares a cheese board with dinner, they try to outmatch each other regarding who can identify the most flavors of cheeses without cheating by asking the chef or querying Mephisto or searching online. Or asking me, because I’m undefeated.”

You stare at him, and think if there’s ever any universe in which you voluntarily return to the base where Sylus kept you captive for days and touched you like he owned you, hand violently clasped in his, where you were terrified for your life, exhausted and confused… and if you ever have a friendly enough relationship with the chaos twins, you’re going to practice your ass off so that if you’re ever invited to such a competition, you can wipe the floor with them. Their cheese-off sounds fun.

Your train of thought is derailed as it registers how smug the last thing he said was. “You’re undefeated,” you repeat, giving him a chance to redeem himself. “At identifying cheeses by taste.”

“And smell, yes. So I’m not allowed to play anymore. My palate is too refined, and they know they don’t stand a chance.”

Oh, you’re definitely going to start sampling cheese every week. You cannot let this smugness stand.

“Ah yes, his royal snobness and his impeachable palate,” you roll your eyes. “Now, will his grace the Duke of Gouda please get on with the wine instruction?” You would give him a little mock bow, but that would put your face right in his formidable cleavage and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from motorboating his unfairly huge pecs. Ugh.

He snorts. “Finally, you’re showing me some long-overdue respect.”

You nod gravely, thankful that the aether core in his eye is not currently delving the depths of your depravity. It’s time to focus. On wine.

“So why do you have to let wine breathe before drinking it?” you ask, because you’re focused.

He looks pleased that you’re interested enough to ask a question. “Much like people, it’s good to expose a greater surface area of the wine to fresh air for a while—it allows undesirable scents and flavors to dissipate, so that it tastes better when you do take a sip than if you drink it straight after opening.”

“Well aren’t you wise, philosophizing about wine and people,” you smile. You find yourself being surprised again and again tonight—at his presence, his bearing gifts, his surprisingly sweet attempt to teach you something, his kind takes on lactose intolerance and what people need to be healthy.

“Did you think I only consist of feathers and spite?” He lifts the wine glass by the stem with one hand, and your hand in his other. He gently wraps your fingers around his own.

“Let’s not forget hubris and violence.” You watch as he gently swirls the wine in the glass held between you. His hand is so warm compared to your own.

“If that’s all, then you still have a lot to learn about me,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t seem offended. Almost as if he’s simply determined. To do what, you’re not sure. “I’d tell you that you should always hold a wine glass by the stem so that the heat from your hand doesn’t affect the temperature of the wine through the glass itself. But your hands are so cold—I don’t think that would be a problem for you. But if you want people to think you’re a connoisseur, you should anyway if you’re ever on an undercover mission. Now, before you take a sip, inhale the scent we’ve just released by swirling the wine.”

You do as you’re told, and lean over, hovering just over the edge of the glass and taking a deep breath. The scent of the wine, warm and deep, fills your senses.

You look up at him and smile again. “It smells really good.”

“Of course,” he lifts the bottom of the glass with his free hand so that you can straighten, and guides your other hand to support the glass while slipping his own from around the stem and allowing you to hold it by yourself. Your hand immediately feels cold again. He leans one elbow on the counter, “I chose it for you. I’m not going to let you drink plonk.”

“Plonk?” What a cute word.

“Shit wine.”

“Mmm, not allowing me to drink shit wine, you’re truly a knight in shining armor.”

“I don’t need armor, kitten. Now that you’ve established that the wine hasn’t gone off by smelling it, you can take a sip.”

You’re about to lift the glass to your lips, when he reaches up and runs his fingertips along your wrist to stop you. “As you do, don’t swallow immediately. Roll the wine with your tongue in your mouth, and try to really think about what flavors you can taste: can you detect the oak from the barrels, earth, tannin, fruit or spices? Is it sweet or dry?”

You nod, mouth suddenly dry. But you follow his instructions and take a slow sip, rolling the rich liquid around in your mouth, and then slowly swallow. A familiar warmth spreads from your stomach, radiating out through your body. His blood bright eyes follow the movement of your lips, your throat. “I taste… fruit.” You pause, trying to appear very serious about finding the perfect description of flavor. You take another sip, close your eyes. “Yes, very fruity notes. Grapes, in particular.”

You open your eyes to find him scowling at you.

“Aren’t you the comedian?” he growls. “I’m going to revoke your wine privileges if you don’t take this seriously. How are you going to feel confident if you ever need this knowledge on a mission? Or on a date?”

You just laugh at him and try to turn a little on the stool, lifting your arm to keep the glass out of his reach, but his knee between your legs prevents you from moving, and he easily leans forward, fingers drifting up the length of your arm to then wrap around your own hand on the stem. He carefully pulls it back between the two of you. Your hand feels warm again. Safely wrapped in his.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my needing to know how to pass as a wine snob on a mission. What kind of missions do you think I’m regularly going on?” You gently lift the glass again, pulling his hand with you, and take another sip. It really does taste so good. You can’t tell if it’s wildly different than the wine you normally get, but you know it doesn’t taste like it’ll leave you with a headache in the morning.

He shrugs. “If we didn’t have to bring the place down when we were at the auction, people would have been watching you at the dinner banquet. What would you have done if people started to notice that you were clutching the wine and swigging it like a drunken toddler and started to suspect that your behavior wasn't matching your cover identity?”

You gasp. “Excuse me, you don’t know how I normally drink my wine!” Who does this bastard think he is? And here you were, thinking he was sweet, sincerely trying to share one of his interests with you. “I don’t need you patronizing me regarding how I’d manage at a formal event or on a date! I’ve been on plenty of dates where I was able to drink wine without driving off my partner.” You try to pull away from him, and the wine sloshes dangerously with your movement.

“Sit still,” he commands, holding your hand tight with his and placing one large palm on your bare thigh. You immediately freeze. “I watched you gulp wine from a mug the last time I was here,” he retorts.

“So you think that just because I don’t care what you think, I can’t read the room and act according to the demands of the situation?” The indignation coursing through you is amplified by the wine spreading through you.

“Then is it fair to say that you didn’t feel the need for any pretense between us last time because you’re so comfortable with me, and not because you’re as civilized as a cactus?” he asks, running his thumb gently back and forth along your inner thigh.

Your brain is being scrambled by his thumb, how close he is to you, his clavicle exposed by the V of his sweater’s neckline, the scent of his warm, clean skin, the wine going to your head after a long exhausting day.

“I’m saying I don’t feel the need to impress you in my own home when you show up uninvited and demand beverages and band aids,” you finally manage. You’re warm. Too warm. “And what’s wrong with being a cactus?”

“Did I say there was something wrong with it? Cacti can survive the harshest conditions on earth and still produce the most beautiful flowers. And they hurt when they stab you.” He smiles like the thought pleases him immensely.

You can’t process this. He says shit like this so easily—he can’t possibly mean it in the way you are trying so hard to deny that you want him to mean it. You refuse to be lured in, only to see the cruel lines of his face when he realizes you have pathetic feelings for him. The man who could as easily rip your spine from your ribcage as offer you a glass of wine, if you lose your usefulness to him. A usefulness you still don’t know the nature of.

You’re suddenly viciously aware of how close he is to you, how he is watching your face with an intensity that makes you feel like the use of his aether core is unnecessary: you’re afraid that he can see everything you’re feeling, and you hate it. You need space. “What are we even doing, Sylus?”

His eyes drift from your eyes to your mouth, and you try very hard to steel your expression, to conceal how utterly raw and exposed he’s making you feel. You can’t tell if you’re successful, when he finally lifts his hand from your thigh and runs the back of his knuckles with such softness along your cheek that it makes you ache. You resist the urge to turn your face and nuzzle his palm.

“We’re tasting wine, sweetheart.” He leans back, pulling the glass of wine you’re still holding with him. He inhales deeply, and then takes a sip, eyes glittering over the rim, watching you. “It is a good vintage. But it’s not the only one I brought.” He guides your joined hands to set the glass on the counter, and then gets up, rounding the counter to rummage in a bag on the floor on the other side. When he stands up, he’s holding another wine glass.

You do a double take. “You brought two glasses?”

He looks from you to the glass in his hand, then back to the glass still on the counter, and then lifts his eyebrows. “Is this a trick question?”

“Why haven’t we been drinking about of separate glasses then?” you demand.

He shrugs. “That glass is for that bottle,” he nods to the glass sitting next to you. “This glass is for this bottle.” He gestures at the other, untasted bottle sitting on the counter. “No need to rinse our glasses in between tastes.”

You want to laugh, and cry. You’re so fucking done with thinking for tonight.

“Okay, Sylus. Whatever you say,” you sigh.

“Oh, I quite like the sound of that,” he smiles, one canine peeking over his lip. “Then you’re going to enjoy the sorbet I brought for us as a palate cleanser.”

He proceeds to go to your freezer, scoop out some of the aforementioned sorbet that has apparently been in there all evening into a bowl, and takes the stool next to you again. This time, he situates one long leg on either side of you, caging you in. He takes a spoonful and offers it to you. “This will help rinse your palate so that you can taste the next bottle without any lingering effects of the other.”

You look from his seemingly guileless face to the spoonful of sorbet. Yup, you’re really done thinking for tonight. You lean forward and open your lips. He slips the lemon sorbet into your mouth. His eyes remain on your lips as he pulls the spoon away, dips it back into the sorbet, and brings it to his own mouth.

After he continues to trade spoonfuls with you until the sorbet is gone, he pours the second glass of wine, and you both take turns sipping it in companionable silence.

“Now tell me. Which one is your favorite?” he asks after you’ve finished the second glass, and return to the first to finish it as well.

“I like them both,” you shrug. “Sorry for not having a more sophisticated answer.” You’re feeling drowsy and loose. He can walk off a tall building for all you care if he doesn’t like your answer.

“They’re both excellent wines. Each one is suited for multiple situations or meal combinations. They’re versatile, just like you are. And I don’t require any particular answer, except your honest one. I think you already know that you don’t need to put on an act for me, ever.”

You rest your elbow on the counter, mirroring his position, and rest your head in your hand. “Why would I pretend with you, if you can just force the truth out of me?”

“I will never do that to you.”

You look away. “You’ve already done it to me once before. What else is there to hide, when you’ve seen the ugliest parts of me?”

“I will not do it again. Not unless you ask me to,” he says so solemnly that you’re tempted to be a fool and believe him. “And is that what you think? That what I saw was ugly?”

You sit up, take the glass from him and knock back the rest of the wine in one gulp. You can't do this right now. You can't think about the the violent hunger, the savage thirst, that his eye brought from the depths of your soul when he forced his way into your deepest, darkest desires the night you met. The extent of how much you wanted to kill him, and make it hurt, when you thought he had killed Caleb and your grandmother. How you still feel that hunger and rage, with every wanderer you kill, every time you hope some dealer in modified protocores resists arrest so you can put them down, with prejudice.

“I’m tired, Sylus. Thank you for the lesson. Now I can successfully fool rich assholes at upscale dens of corruption and unsuspecting dates into believing that I’m a sophisticated connoisseur of overpriced beverages, and swindle them all. And I’ll never horrify you again by swigging wine out of a mug like a drunken toddler. You should invoice the Association for your services. In the meantime, I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

“I see. You’re still on guard, and defensive, when you're drunk too. How fascinating.” He narrows his eyes, not seeming to get the hint that you want him to leave now.

“I’m not drunk. I’m maybe tipsy, and I’m fucking tired. I’m going to bed.”

“All right,” he says easily. He stands and begins tidying up the counter.

“All right,” you repeat, feeling a little dizzy, a little empty. “You know where the door is.”

“As you say,” he says serenely, pulling out food storage containers you also didn’t realize you own and packing the food away.

“Thanks again,” you say, because you are polite, dammit. You make your way into the bathroom and begin getting ready for bed. When you emerge, your flat is dark. The kitchen looks pristine in the streetlight drifting in through the windows. You stare for a moment longer, wondering if maybe he’s finally given up on whatever his agenda with you is after your little emotional display tonight, and he’ll stop coming by now. You’re fine with that. Maybe this is what you’ve needed to do all along. Get drunk and sloppy. Guarded, defensive, he called you. What an asshole.

You pad into the bedroom, yawning, pulling up your phone to look at it as you walk. Maybe you should try listening to audiobooks to try to help with the insomnia. Like, boring ones with deep, sexy voiced narrators who can bore you to sleep like Sylus did the other night. You crawl onto the bed, and then—

“The fuck, Sylus?”

He’s sitting in the middle of your bed, sweater off and replaced by… nothing. Just the expanse of his big, creamy chest. And he’s wearing a pair of silky looking loose, black pyjama pants. An impossibly soft looking line of silver hair drifts from his tight navel, disappearing under his waistband. His gold-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, like last time, and he’s scrolling through something on his tablet. He glances up at you, but then goes back to his… spreadsheets?

“Haven’t we already been through that little routine tonight?” he asks, and yawns. “I’m getting déjà vu.”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” you seethe.

“Going over the financials from the meeting with my accountant today.”

“Why?” You just sit there on your knees, on your bed, gaping at him like an idiot.

“To ensure that my next acquisition is suited to purpose.”

“What?”

His gaze flicks to you, and he pushes the glasses further up his nose. “Well, I made a promise that I wouldn’t change a thing about my latest business venture, so now I need to ensure that the next chain of businesses I acquire can serve one of the functions I had intended for the arcades.”

“What function is that?” you ask, curious now, despite yourself.

“Well, one of two primary functions,” he amends, tapping his temple thoughtfully with a finger.

“Okay,” you say slowly, inviting him to continue.

“Money laundering.”

You shake your head. “Come again?”

“Oh, I’ll be happy to. Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t sure I’d ever receive one again, what with your heavily implied dismissal earlier.”

“Sylus!”

“Yes, my most precious gem?”

“What do you mean you intended to use the arcades for money laundering?” You want to cry even thinking about it.

“To be fair, after you asked me so sweetly not to change a thing, I immediately agreed. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But that’s why you wanted to buy them?” How many times can a heart hurt in one night?

“I said that was one of the two primary reasons I wanted those arcades,” he says, reaching out with one hand and softly stroking your knee.

You look down, watching his calloused fingers drifting so sweetly across your skin. How can this man be so cruel and so gentle at the same time?

“What was the other reason, then?”

“Guess.”

“I’m done playing games with you tonight, Sylus.”

“When was I playing a game tonight?”

“Fine, don’t tell me. Just promise again that you won’t change anything about my favorite arcade.”

He sets the tablet on his lap, and reaches over to grasp your hand. He links your pinkie with his, and lifts it to his lips. “I already promised. And I promise again.” He seals the promise with a brush of his lips, and then rests both of your hands on the bed between you.

You don’t know why, and you will probably never know why, but you believe him right now. It’s clear that no matter what you do, he will not be leaving tonight without great violence on your part, and once again, you’re just too tired to fight him anymore. He reads your body like a damn book, because he silently hands you the glass of water that was sitting next to him on the nightstand. "Even if you're not drunk, but only maybe just a little tipsy," he says, doing an awful imitation of your voice. "You should still drink some water so you don't feel terrible in the morning."

Perhaps because of your easy compliance with his reasonable advice by simply taking the water and drinking it, he seems to deem it safe to pull you into his side. You go down, resting your head on his thick shoulder, and let your gaze wander over his tablet.

“So what are you thinking of buying this time?” you ask, yawning.

 He shifts, lifting your head so that he can wrap his arm around you, repositioning you so that you’re tucked a little closer under his chin, cheek resting against his chest. “A chain of casinos.”

“Casinos?” you laugh softly. “That’s on brand, I guess.”

“Mmhmm.” He runs his fingertips absently along your arm, from wrist to elbow and back again. “Lots of money changing hands. Ideal for functioning as a washing machine for the dirty proceeds from the weapons business, which comes out clean in the pockets of lucky winners.”

“You make your living profiting off the worst in people, you know that?” you ask sleepily, the numbers on the screen blurring.

“They’ll continue being terrible, with or without my involvement. I don’t make them take the bet, or pull the trigger. And if I don't, someone else will put the chip or gun in their hands. Might as well be me collecting the paycheck.”

“Maybe, through the power of friendship, I can change your mind,” you murmur. You don’t think you’ll need that audiobook to fall asleep tonight.

“Friendship, huh?” Sylus asks, but when he looks down at you, he sees that you’ve already fallen asleep. He traces the long sweep of your eyelashes across your cheeks with his eyes, feels your measured, calm breath drifting across his skin. He gently touches one finger to the ruby earring you haven’t taken out yet. The thrill of satisfaction he felt when you answered the door still wearing it would sustain him for weeks. He is absolutely certain that it won’t be the power of friendship that’s going to change him.

He pulls you a little closer into his chest, snorts when he feels you begin to drool onto his pec, and continues scrolling through his tablet.

That night, you dream. You’re walking through your childhood home—but not your childhood home from before your memories, because you will never know what that home looked like. This one, the home from your earliest memories, with its wood panelling on the walls, old-fashioned lace curtains in the windows that you can’t see out of, because it’s pitch black beyond the glass. Hallways lengthening at the same pace as you can walk down them, boots echoing on the polished hardwood floor. You walk and walk, and you can never reach the end. Doors that won’t open, but you know Caleb might be behind them, because in your dream logic, his bedroom is behind every door you pass. You turn the handles, but they remain locked. Sometimes you think you can hear the sound of someone biting into an apple, crisp flesh giving way to sharp teeth, but the door won’t open no matter how hard you throw yourself against it. You hear your grandmother speaking, just around every corner, but you can’t understand what she’s saying. You follow the sound, and every time you think that she’s just around the next turn in the hall, the corridor stretches in front of you again, empty.

You have been in this empty house for years now, and you’re afraid that you’ll never be able to get out. But you’re more afraid that once you get out, you’ll never hear them making these particular sounds again, this slim proof of their existence echoing through the empty hallways.

Slowly, you wake up, and in that endless moment caught between your dream and reality, it’s just peaceful and black—you are coming from somewhere so far away toward something you know will hurt, and you’re not ready to feel that yet. But then a feeling of suffocation is overwhelming you, and you open your eyes to realize you’re literally being smothered by a very big, very warm body.

The relief you feel, the gratitude, that Sylus is still here, that you aren’t waking up alone, again, from the nightmare in your sleep to the reality that the nightmare is real, and you’ll never be able to see your family again, is more overwhelming than your current need for oxygen. Sylus is still here, and the yawning emptiness you were carrying with you for what felt like years during that long dream dissipates in the warmth of his body against yours. You can’t help yourself. Your throw your arm that isn’t being crushed by him over his torso and hug him tightly to you, giving in to the urge to nuzzle his chest and just listen to his steady heartbeat.

You lie like that for awhile, blissfully listening to his soft breathing, when suddenly you realize that pressed so close to him, you can feel every contour of his body, from your chest against his abdomen, his muscular, silk-covered thigh wedged between your legs, and his apparently very, very big dick pressing into your hip.

You freeze, feeling like the creep you have accused him several times of being. He’s just sleeping, and you’ve plastered yourself against him like a vacuum sealed burrito. You have absolutely no business being utterly thrilled that this part of him matches the rest of him in terms of size and intimidation. You will not be taking this joy stick for a test drive. You can get out of this. You’re a very good hunter, and you can evade detection and make a tactical retreat when necessary. And it’s very necessary right now, because you do not want him to wake up and find you attached to him like a love-sick leech.

Slowly, sooo slowly, you slide your arm from where it is slung over his waist, and begin to incrementally scooch backwards, his leg slipping from between both of yours, freezing when he seems to shift a little, and then continuing the slow slide away when he settles again.

You’ve managed to extricate all of your limbs from him, except the one that is currently numb and squashed underneath him. You slowly roll onto your back and contemplate how you’re going to get it out from under him without waking him, when suddenly his arm flops over your waist. You jerk in surprise, eyes flying to his face, but his are still closed. His hand slides from your waist to your hip, and then snakes around to take a big handful of your ass. He makes a little happy noise and then pulls your body into his again. In the process, he has managed to jam his thigh back between your legs. You stare at his face, trying desperately to see if he’s starting to wake yet—how did you even end up in this situation? Then he pulls you even closer, causing his thigh to press deliciously against you. You suppress a whine, because it has been so long since someone has touched you liked this. But of course the person who is touching you is a maniac and is doing so while still asleep. You reach up and pat his cheek to wake him up, simultaneously trying to to pull away from him, but tightens his arms around you again, dipping his head to your shoulder still exposed by his too-big sweater.  You freeze in shock as he inhales deeply and hums, and soft kisses trail from your neck down, and before you can push him away he bites into the meat of your shoulder. The pain, pressure, and warmth of his mouth on your skin have you trying to arch away and into him—you do whine this time, loudly, because it hurts but you want.

Suddenly, his whole body seems to tense. The pressure on your shoulder eases, and he sighs, his breath cool drifting along your over-heated skin.

“Good morning.”

You open your eyes, realizing you’d been squeezing them shut through the last few moments, and meet his sleepy gaze.

"Were you awake?” you demand, terrified of the answer. Because if he was, then what the hell was he thinking, pretending to be asleep? And if he wasn't, was he just dreaming? Was it you in his dream, or was he dreaming of someone else? You don't want to know. You have to know.

“Your rather loud response to my love bite woke me up, I think,” he smiles softly. "I didn't realize that I was... dreaming until then."

“So you didn’t mean to—” you start to pull away.

He tightens his arm around your waist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Sylus, let go. I’m sorry for not waking you fast enough. I was just—I was just shocked. I know you wouldn’t have done that otherwise.” You struggle, but his arm is a steel bar holding you in place.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have,” he agrees, and you feel whatever fragile, tender root that had been growing in the cracks of your broken heart wither, the dry husk drifting away in an autumn breeze. Replacing that faint feeling of hope, you're livid that you do not share the same teleportation ability that Xavier and Sylus have. If you could, you'd teleport in a poof of glittering light or melodramatic feathers. To anywhere else but here.

You nod, and nod, and nod, because he’s not letting you move but you have to do something or else he’ll see it right on your stupid, open face, and you’d rather he slit your throat than see the pain his rejection is inflicting on you. You had lied to him earlier, about not having anything to hide, about always being honest with him. You've been lying to yourself, and to him, ever since you met him.

“What I mean—” he’s looking at you intently, and you want to cover his eyes with your hands, because as always they’re seeing too much, but suddenly, the doorbell rings through your flat.

You both turn your heads to look at the bedroom door at the same time.

Oh. Fuck.

Xavier.

Sylus turns to look back at you, so close that his nose brushes yours. “Expecting company, kitten?”

“It’s Xavier. Shit.” You try to roll away, and this time he lets you. You grab your phone off the nightstand and see that Xavier has already texted you a few times to see if you’re ready to head to the bookstore yet. The texts grow increasingly concerned the longer you don’t respond. The doorbell rings again. “You have to go. Now.”

You turn to Sylus, who is now lying leisurely on his side, head propped up in his hand, silky silver hair cascading across his forehead, occupying the bed like an imperialist force annexing a weaker neighbor’s territory, with no intention of leaving.

“And what are you going to do?” he asks, eyes drifting from your face, to your shoulder, down to your bare legs.

“I need to answer the door and tell Xavier that I’m running late.”

“Late for what?”

“Sylus, I don’t have time for this. You can’t be here. Xavier helped me get into the N109 zone, he spends a lot of time there—he’s smart enough that if he finds out what you look like, he might eventually be able to figure out who you are. You can’t be here,” you repeat, starting to panic. Sylus may not have any feelings for you beyond friendship or a predator toying with its food, but you still don’t want him to get caught because of you.

“You’re not working today. What plans do you have with him?” he asks, completely ignoring your distress.

“We’re going to the bookstore. We were going to spend our first day free just reading manga and eating junk food,” you rush out impatiently.

Sylus just looks at you for a few beats, the picture of lazy boredom on a weekend morning.

“Okay? Are you satisfied? Can you please leave now?” This is good. You can avoid the inevitable, It was a mistake, thought you were someone else, was dreaming about a giant amorous anthropomorphized ruby, you’re not exactly my type, because my type is someone who has their shit together, can identify what fucking region a certain grape was grown in and its exact soil acidity based on the year of the vintage, my type is someone else, anyone else—you reach down and hit yourself hard in the side of your thigh with a fist to get your head on straight, and start heading to your closet, intent on throwing on a robe or longer shorts so that you don't answer the door looking like you're not wearing any pants.

Sylus's irritated voice follows you. “Satisfied? No, I'm not feeling satisfied. But I would advise against answering the door wearing that.”

You jerk to a halt. “Excuse me?” You turn to find him scowling at you.

He waves a dismissive finger at the sweater and silk shirts you’re still wearing. “I think you should change before you answer the door.”

“I look that bad, huh? Thanks for the advice. You need to be gone when I get back.” You turn, hating everything and everyone, and make your way to the front door.

You throw it open, just as Xavier is lifting his hand to ring your bell again. His sky blue eyes, usually so calm and sleepy, widen when he takes in the dumpster fire that you are today.

“Hi, yeah, sorry. I overslept,” you rush out, hoping you can skip this part and go straight to the moving on with your day and your entire life part. “I just need like, fifteen minutes, and then I’ll be ready.”

“Did you get in a fight with a wanderer last night after we go home?” he asks, hand lifting again, this time toward you, as if he wants to touch you, but then thinks better of it and drops it back to his side. He’s wearing the white hoodie that Sylus stole from him. What even is your life right now?

“What? No, I just had some wine and was really tired.” He’s staring at you, brow furrowed now, and it takes a minute to realize that he’s staring at the sweater hanging off your shoulder. You suddenly get a really, really bad feeling. “Why?”

He lifts his hand again, and points, but in a kind of timid way, like a little kid who knows that it’s rude to point but can’t help himself anyway so just points a little so that his mom won’t get mad at him. “It looks like a wanderer bit you.”

You lift your own hand and touch your shoulder, and feel the too-warm skin there, the ache spreading deep into the muscle.

“Oooh, yeah. Yes.” You decide that you need to take acting classes. That is what you will do as your new hobby, on your few days off. You’re going to win the best actor award if it kills you, because if it doesn’t kill you, the embarrassment will kill you instead. And you’d rather die convincing everyone that everything is normal and you’re fine, and not from the embarrassment of the fact that your not-boyfriend, not-fuck-buddy, not-interested-at-all, probably not even your friend anymore Sylus accidentally bit you while fucking asleep and left evidence of it for all the world to see. “I did respond to a really minor alert in the neighborhood last night. It was only one wanderer. Hiding in a trash can of all places,” you laugh, not at all sounding unhinged. Convincing. “Bit me pretty good, but it really was nothing, I had completely forgotten about it. So, still on for the bookstore?” you ask, chipper, eager, well-adjusted!

Xavier stares at your shoulder for a few seconds longer, and then just nods. “Yeah, just text me when you’re ready.”

Bless him. You’ve almost put him back to sleep with your absolutely stellar performance. “Okay, great! See you soon.” You back into your flat again and let the door shut with a heavy click.

Xavier stands outside your door for several moments after you’ve scurried back inside. He thinks about how sharp his light blade is. He thinks about how he’s going to use it on whatever motherfucker thinks that he has the right to mark Xavier’s partner like an animal. And then he yawns, and meanders back to his own flat to wait for your text because he has all the time in the world, and the patience to match it. Xavier is your partner, and he’s not going anywhere, anytime soon. If he murders whatever asshole was in your flat last night right now, that might interfere with your bookstore plans with him.

You stand on the other side of the door for a moment, just trying to collect yourself. You lean against the cool surface, look up at your ceiling. Breathe in the smell of shoe leather, oiled metal. Absently you lift your hand to your shoulder. Why didn’t Sylus warn you before you went to open the door? He even admitted that he wouldn’t have … done that to you if he hadn’t been asleep. Why would he just… and then it hits you. He did tell you to change clothes before you answered the door. The asshole just didn’t tell you why. But he would know by now that you’d actually do the opposite of whatever he says, because he’s not the boss of you. He played you like one of his fucking records.

But why the fuck would he want Xavier to see what happened between the two of you? Does he enjoy your humiliation that much?

You have no idea if you’ll ever have the chance to figure him out, especially if he got the hint that you don’t want to see him anytime soon. You shake your head. Even though you should be exhausted after staying up so late and ending up on the human embodiment of a roller coaster with its wheels coming off despite all of your promises to yourself last night, you feel well-rested. You will survive this. You can survive anything.

You head back to your bedroom to confirm that Sylus is actually gone, because last night proved that whether he actually listens when you tell him to leave depends entirely on his own whims. As you enter, the late morning sunlight spills into the room. He really left. The room is empty. The books and various weapons on your nightstands have been stacked neatly and lined up just so. The clothes that had been left haphazardly hanging off your chest of drawer handles or strewn over the floor are nowhere to be seen. It would be the tidiest your bedroom has been in weeks, if not for the fact that your entire bed is covered in a thick layer of black feathers.

“This bitch,” you breathe.

It’s going to take at least two full size trash bags to clean this mess up.

You decide then and there that Sylus doesn’t have a choice about whether he’s going to see you again. You’re going to bag up these feathers and then tar and feather him with them the next time you see his gorgeous, petty fucking face.

[felassan]

New article from IGN: 'How Dragon Age: The Veilguard Used Lessons From The Sims to Craft Its Character Creator and More'

Inside the intricate systems that bring BioWare's RPG to life.

"Corinne Busche wasn’t looking for a job when she sat down for lunch with BioWare’s leadership team in 2019. She had been a fan of BioWare’s games since the days of Dragon Age: Origins, and she wanted to, in her words, “meet my heroes.” “So I went to lunch with a couple of folks in the leadership team at BioWare, and we started riffing about progression systems and skill trees and economies, and we just really resonated with one another,” Busche remembers. “And much to my surprise, they expressed an interest in me joining, and it was kind of the question you don't have to ask me twice. That was such a dream opportunity, and to be able to step in this space, visit the studio, see my favorite characters on display throughout the walls, I was immediately sold. Immediately.” Busche was coming off a stint at Maxis, where she helped design the systems on various The Sims projects. In taking the helm of Dragon Age: The Veilguard, she became part of a wider talent pipeline flowing from Maxis to other parts of the games industry. It’s a pipeline that includes the likes of Eric Holmberg-Weidler, who was credited with fine-tuning many of the systems that comprised The Sims 4 before spearheading the Professions revamp in World of Warcraft’s Dragonflight expansion. Justin Camden, who also worked on The Sims, is one of Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s technical designers."

"Systematic discovery At first blush, it might not seem like The Sims has much in common with an RPG like Dragon Age outside the fact that they both feature romance in some way. Going back to its release in 2000, The Sims has garnered a reputation as a casual, frequently silly lifestyle simulator; the game where you remove a ladder from a swimming pool and watch your poor little Sims drown. Under the hood, though, The Sims is a complex web of systems, progression and relationships. Sims have jobs. They gain skills. They fall in love. “Maxis is a great place for designers to hone their skills,” Busche says. “There are many projects across differing platforms and service models happening simultaneously which give a rare opportunity for a breadth of experience. What people may not realize about the Sims, given its playful outward nature, is the underlying systems and mechanics are deceptively deep – especially as a dev. One of the more interesting parts of coming up through Maxis as a designer is the experience you get with simulation, emergent gameplay, and emotionally relatable player experiences. It’s just a really unique opportunity being a part of these teams, and those are skillsets that can benefit a number of different games and genres.” Busche’s systems design background is evident throughout The Veilguard. It includes extensive skill trees, with sub-classes that are geared around different weapon types and styles of play, and the choices you make also resonate deeply throughout the story. It’s also possible to level up your relationship with individual factions and shopkeepers, which in turn opens up new possibilities for acquiring unique gear, and characters bear long-lasting scars depending on the choices you make. Systems are layered throughout Dragon Age, deepening the player’s intertwined connection with the world and the characters that inhabit it. “What's so wonderful about [The Sims] is there's so much autonomy in that game, and we find that RPG players are hungry for that same sense of autonomy, making decisions, influencing characters. And what you might not realize in the Sims is behind the scenes, there are some really robust progression systems, game economies, character behaviors for their own AI and autonomy… a lot of really fascinating parallels,” Busche says. “So in that regard, I'm very grateful to my time there, being able to take some of those learnings, whether it's about how to convey romantic progression to the player, or design skill progression, game pacing, a lot of really interesting transferable ideas that you might not think about on the surface." In The Sims, characters go through their daily lives in an idealized world filled with strange but charming characters like Bonehilda (Dragon Age, it should be mentioned, has its own living skeleton in Manfred). While Dragon Age’s characters are still bound by the demands of the story, BioWare goes out of its way to make them seem more alive. As we talk about in our hands-on preview that went up last week, Dragon Age is filled with little messages noting how, for instance, you “traded verbal jabs” with Solas. As we’ll go into in a future article, both platonic and romantic relationships are a big part of how characters grow in Dragon Age. And of course, as anyone who has played a BioWare or Sims game knows, both games have their share of woohooing."

"How Dragon Age learned from The Sims' character creator Ultimately, though, it’s the character creator where the resemblance between the two is the most apparent. Dragon Age’s character creator is extensive, allowing players to adjust physical characteristics including chest size, the crookedness of a character’s nose, and whether or not their eyes are bloodshot, among other features. While custom characters are a time-honored BioWare tradition going back to the days of Baldur’s Gate, The Veilguard draws from the lessons of The Sims in everything from body customization to the flow of the user interface. Cross-pollination like this is common within EA, and Dragon Age: The Veilguard borrows from plenty of other sources as well. That incredible hair technology, for example, got its start within EA’s sports games, meaning your Rook can have a luscious mane like Lionel Messi. But the character creator is perhaps the greatest inflection point between Dragon Age and The Sims. “Character creators are extremely complex, and in many ways even more personal. It’s so important that players feel they can be represented and feel pride in that representation as they go through the creation process,” Busche says. “In particular, I remember we were struggling with some of our iconography, and we turned to each other and said ‘how did The Sims 4 handle this?’ While the technology and UI is quite a bit different, the underlying goals and lessons were quite similar.” She adds that Maxis has a “tremendous wealth of knowledge when it comes to representing gender, identity, and the surprising number of localization issues that come along with that when you’re releasing in different regions and languages.” “It’s always nice when you can draw from that prior experience. See what worked, what didn’t, and how expectations have evolved. The fun part is now we get to pay that forward and have been sharing our knowledge with other teams,” Busche says. On a moment-to-moment basis, of course, The Sims and Dragon Age are two very different games with very different goals. One is a single-player action RPG, the other a lifestyle sim. As studios, too, BioWare and Maxis are in very different places right now. The Sims has been a powerhouse franchise for more than two decades, and EA is seeking to expand its reach with a new movie. BioWare, meanwhile, is seeking to rebuild after stumbling badly with Anthem and Mass Effect Andromeda. But when creator Will Wright first decided to focus on the people inhabiting his games, the world he crafted wasn’t too dissimilar from the one found in Dragon Age. Both use unique systems to create reactive, imaginative worlds full of interesting choices, filled with characters with their own inner lives. It’s a philosophy that’s always been part of BioWare’s legacy; now, in The Veilguard, it finally gets to be on full display once again. Dragon Age: The Veilguard will be on PC, PlayStation, and Xbox on October 31. Make sure to keep an eye on IGN all this month as our IGN First coverage continues."

[source]

[queen-of-deans-booty]

On The Run

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.4k

Warnings: angst, fearing for your life

Summary: You’re on the run from someone very dangerous. You’re always looking over your shoulder, fearful that he is going to be right there and drag you back into Hell. You have a son to protect and you’ll do anything to make sure he is safe, even if it means sacrificing yourself.

Square Filled: silence (2021) for @spndarkbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

It’s been ten minutes since you got the call, and you’re doing your best to pack whatever you and your son might need. He’s still sleeping since it’s three in the morning, but you’re running around your room throwing things in your suitcase--only the things you absolutely need. Everything else can be replaced later. Once you’re done with your suitcase, you walk into your son’s room to pack his suitcase.

Your son is a heavy sleeper so he doesn’t wake as you’re packing his suitcase, but he does wake when you scoop him into your arms.

“What’s going on, Mommy?” he asks sleepily.

“We’re going to live with Aunt Kathy for a while.”

“Why?”

“We’re going on a trip. Just you and me. We need to go now.”

“I’m tired,” he whines.

“Let me just get you into the car and you can sleep, baby.”

You keep your son propped up on your hip while grabbing both suitcases. You rush out to the car and place your son in his car seat before shoving the suitcases in the back. Tyler immediately falls asleep, and you rush back into the house for a last-minute grab. Inside the closet is a safe that contains the most important things you’ll ever own, and you punch in the code and rip the door open. You grab important documents and your gun with special bullets. There is only one thing left in there, and the shiny diamond shines brightly. It pains you to think about what this ring means but you can’t leave this behind.

There is a sliver of hope that everything is going to be fine which is why you can’t leave it behind. You take the ring, head back out to the car, and get in. You pull away from the house you once loved and start the five-hour drive to your sister’s house. When you get to the freeway, your phone rings to let you know you have a text message.

Unknown: Lay low for a few days. I’ll come get you and bring you somewhere where he can’t find you.

You let out a shaky breath and look at your son through the rearview mirror. Tyler is your entire world. You can’t let anything happen to him. You moving to your sister’s house and eventually a new safe location is what’s best for him even if he doesn’t see it.

It’s early when you get to your sister’s house, but you called her right after dawn to let her know you were coming. Tyler and your sister’s kids get along great, so he is happy to play with his cousins while you and your sister sit outside to discuss what’s going on.

“You know I’m happy to have you, but what’s going on? What couldn’t you tell me over the phone?”

“He’s back, and he’s coming for us.”

“You came here?” Kathy sighs. “I love you and Tyler, and I’ll always want to help, but you’re putting my kids at risk.”

“I know but it’s only for a few days. Sam is gonna come get us and bring us somewhere else when he can.”

Kathy pauses and thinks about your words.

“Do you think he’ll find you here?”

“I don’t know. I hope not. He never knew where you lived before, so I don’t think so.”

“Fine, you can stay for a few days. I still have the salt and iron plus that demon knife you made me.”

“I wish that would help. All of that would only piss him off.”

“What will kill him?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. Kathy isn’t happy about any of this, and you feel terrible for bringing her in the middle of your shit. “I didn’t know where else to go, Kathy. My son is in danger.”

“I know,” she whispers. “We’ll figure it out.”

The first two days go by without any issues. Tyler loves spending time with his cousins and staying up late with them while you’re crying yourself to sleep every night. Another day goes by without a single word from Sam, and you’re starting to get concerned. If he says he’ll get you in a few days, best believe he’ll keep true to his word. What if something happened to him?

What if he got to him?

On the fourth day, you’re home alone with Tyler while your sister is out with her kids for a doctor’s appointment. Tyler is watching cartoons and coloring while you’re folding laundry in the living room. It’s not extremely dark outside but it is dark enough to have light on inside the house. Normally, you’d open the curtains and allow the sunlight to light up the rooms. However, the sun is inching closer to the horizon so the curtains are closed and the lights are on.

Tyler giggles at something SpongeBob does when the TV turns off. In fact, all of the lights turn off. The smile on your face from hearing your son laugh is now wiped off as dread creeps up your spine. Every single hair on the back of your neck stands up because you know he found you.

He’s here.

“Mommy?”

“Tyler, come on.” You grab Tyler’s hand and pull him up the stairs. The house isn’t completely dark but it’s not super light either. You tug Tyler to Kathy’s bedroom and pull him into her closet before shutting the door. “I need you to be extra quiet, okay? Can you do that for Mommy?”

“Yes.”

The entire house falls into a deadly silence. The fear of the unknown makes you want to cry but you cannot give your position away. It’s foolish to think that he won’t be able to find you but you’re holding onto that sliver of hope. You pull Tyler close to you and run your hands through his hair to try and calm yourself down.

“Tyler,” his voice drawls from the staircase. You close your eyes and try your best not to let the tears fall. “Tyler, you in here?”

“You’re doing so good, baby. Keep being quiet,” you whisper into his ear.

His heavy footsteps climb up the stairs slowly. You know he’s stomping just so you can hear where he is. He stops at the top of the stairs, walks toward Kathy’s bedroom, and opens the door. It creaks slightly and you shake in fear.

“Tyler, I have candy. It’s your favorite. Come on, buddy, don’t you want Kit-Kats?”

Your son gasps happily at the thought of munching on the sweet treat.

“No, don’t do it,” you whisper. “Don’t move.”

“Tyler, come on out. I have five big chocolate bars for you. Don’t you want a treat?” Tyler squirms out of your arms and runs out of the closet toward his father. The tears fall down knowing you’ve been found, and you take out your phone with shaky hands. “Hey, buddy. Good boys get candy. Now, where’s Mommy?”

“In the closet!”

Shit. You struggle to unlock your phone and pull up the phone app when you finally get it unlocked. You’re in the middle of dialing Sam’s number when the closet door opens. You look up at the man you once loved with all your heart.

“I found you, baby.” Dean kneels down, plucks your phone out of your hand, and slides it into his pocket. “Sam isn’t coming. He sent me instead.”

He reaches out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you fight the urge to sob. His eyes flash from beautiful forest green to dark-as-the-night black. Dean used to be the love of your life until he died and became the thing from your worst nightmare. He took care of you and Tyler until his dying breath, and now he’s back with a vengeance.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me? Good girls get candy.”

“Fuck off,” you spit. “Just leave us alone.”

Dean’s look hardens and he wraps his hand around your throat. He doesn't squeeze but he makes sure you understand the threat.

“That’s no way to talk to your husband. You wouldn’t want Tyler to see Mommy and Daddy fighting, would you?”

You’re trapped. You don’t know how you’ll be able to escape. You did it before when he was in that dead state. Sam got you and Tyler the hell out of dodge as soon as Dean died. The tears fall as you shake your head, and Dean smirks, returning his eyes back to their green color.

“Good girl. Come on out. We have a lot to discuss.”

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[the-curious-butterfly]

Today just feels like a day for firsts so this is for them.

Chloe was sitting on her bed doing schoolwork when Red came, more like barreled, in. She had thought to greet her roommate or say anything really, but all the words got caught in her throat as soon as she looked up and saw the look on her face. There was this intensity to her eyes that would have been frightening if it wasn’t for the fact she was also smiling. Though their eyes met for only a second before she beelined it towards Chloe. Taking the Charming completely by surprise as all she could get out was a “Red, what-“ and then she couldn’t speak anymore. Suddenly her lips were too busy with something soft and tender and…oh.

Funny, she originally thought of herself as more resistant to give in but the minute she felt those lips she was done for. Her body gave a quiet sigh as it went limp, the only thing holding her up was Red who had wrapped her arms around her the moment she sat upon the edge of the bed. Pulling her closer and closer to the point Chloe felt like she would break, but also that it wasn’t close enough.

Chloe has heard and read about first kisses. None of that had prepared her for this. Where first kisses are described as slow, soft, and sweet. Red is quick, intense, and yet still somehow so sweet. While her movements may seem erratic Chloe could tell she was being rather mindful, especially with her teeth. At one point Red even bit her bottom lip, though only enough to tease not to hurt. Her hands, which travel up and down her back now, feel more soothing rather than needing.

How is it possible that Red is kissing her senseless, yet reassuring her that she isn’t losing her senses all at the same time.

It’s so Red. So very very Red. Just like this first kiss.

This perfect first-

…Wait.

After what felt like a lifetime, but was really only moments, Chloe had found the strength to place her hands upon Red’s arms and slowly push her away. Breaking the intensity but not the kiss, not completely anyway. Red’s lips chased hers, though she wasn’t the only one to blame.

“Wait, wait.” Oh good, she hadn’t completely lost her voice. She had been worried about that for a minute. Before she could say anymore, however, Red took her breath away once more for a completely different reason. Something was being held before her that she swears wasn’t there a second ago, something circular that looks oddly enough like a-

“What, Red?!”

“No this isn’t me proposing, not yet at least, this is me saying I don’t mind the thought of marrying you either. Someday.”

All Chloe could do was stare at Red, because really what is she suppose to say to that? Was she suppose to reach out and take the ring? Which was silver and plain looking, but that’s not what mattered. Chloe wouldn’t have cared if it was plastic, what she cares about is the person offering it to her and saying they’re fine with her.

“I talked to Principal Uma and she helped me realize a few things. Number one being, Chloe, if I ever get to the point where I do marry you. It’ll be because I chose to, and how could I regret choosing the first person who believed I was more than what I seemed?”

Chloe stared at the ring then up into Red’s intense yet genuine gaze. “But…I also told you that you weren’t more than what you seemed when we met.”

The answer came after a spot of laughter. “I told you the same thing too, I called you a privileged little princess.”

“I am-was a privileged little princess.” Chloe could admit that now. Red on the other hand was never evil, not the way her mom is…or well was?

“You sure you’re not still are?” She raises a perfectly constructed brow as she teases Chloe. Prompting said girl to shove her off the bed, ring still in hand. “Hey, at least accept this first before you kick me off.”

“Nope, keep teasing me and I might never.”

Red feigns a rather audible gasp. “You wouldn’t!”

Chloe looks down at the pouting child before relenting with a sigh. “You’re right, I wouldn’t, I love you too much to do that.”

There it was, Chloe said it. It was the first time she told Red that she loved her. Six months after you start dating, even if you hadn’t had your first kiss yet, was enough time right? She sure hoped so, except Red isn’t responding nor can she read the expression on her face.

Oh fairy godmother, this was a mistake wasn’t it?

It was a mistake. It was a mistake.

“It was-“

She couldn’t even finish as a pair of lips had defended upon her once more. Though this kiss was a lot different from the first. It was much more like the ones she’s read and heard about. It’s so very soft, slow, and sweet. It’s fireworks and fairy song and everything she’s ever imagined. Red’s arms are sitting on her shoulders this time so Chloe places hers around the other girl’s waist. Something small falls onto one of the sheets of paper scattered around her bed, but she’s too focused on Red to care about what it is.

She takes this to mean a good thing, even if Red hadn’t said it back. The fact that she’s kissing Chloe like this must be a good sign.

That thought gets reinforced when Red pulls away to rest her forehead against Chloe’s. “I’m not very good at the whole feeling thing so I didn’t know how else to respond. Just, know that it wouldn’t feel enough to say that I like you.”

Chloe’s smile in response is so radiant she’s pretty sure she should have gotten the name Charming for that alone. Red herself could barely look at it, but she couldn’t look away either.

Except suddenly that radiant smile turned into an amused frown. “Did you say you went to Principal Uma for advice?”

“Yes…look, I had to go to someone and Maddox is a whole kingdom away.”

“So you went to the Principal? Shouldn’t that be something I would do?”

“What can I say, maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

“Or maybe you respect certain authority more than you like to let on.”

“Chloe Charming, you take that right back this instant.”

“Or else what?” At this point Chloe unconsciously starts rubbing Red’s back through the fabric of her riot jacket. Red’s response is to rub their noses together.

“Or else I’ll stop hanging out with you.”

“Hanging out? Is that what we’ve been doing?”

“Have we not, that’s what people do isn’t it?”

“Red, you really do need more friends.”

Red gently bites Chloe’s left ear causing Chloe to give out a soft yelp. “First of all, rude. Second, why would I need more friends when I have you?”

“That’s exactly what someone who needs more friends would say. Wait, don’t you dare bite the other one!”

Too late, she bit the other one too.

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Lady Vampire (with a brooklyn accent): I gotta tell ya, bein' immortal and a vampire has it's perks, but the one issue is that sex with the opposite gender gets borin'. You can only have so many men inside ya before they feel the same. I've lived a long time too. The amounts of guys who've been like 'I'm the one that can make you feel like a natural woman' and then don't have left me more hungry than me on a blood lust. Then I met up with this woman in the 60s who was a repressed lesbian because 1860s. Took her home, next thing I know we're sweaty and layin' in the bed-

Spoiler: Why are you telling us this?

Vampire: I'm gettin' there. I'm into many genders, but women's is what I enjoy. They soft, they listen, we both like cuddlin', but they're still a challenge.

The vampire looks directly at Spoiler as Red Robin and Red Hood step away a few inches.

Vampire: It is actually hard givin' them an orgasm. I thought it was me. My point is, I don't want any of the mens you're with. I want you blondie. You got the look I like, reminds me of this old pirate back in 1865 and your body is bangin'. What do you say, one night of passion?

Spoiler remains silent as her entire face turns pink unsure of what to say.

Vampire: I'll release your friends from my thrall if you do.

Red Hood: Spoiler, go on over to her. Have that night of passion.

Vampire: I've got vanilla scented candles.

Hood: That's your favorite.

Spoiler let's out an angry growl directed to Hood. Red Robin, standing next to the two, chuckles slowly which grows more and more until he falls on the floor in hysterics.

Vampire: What- What did I say?

Spoiler: I- Y- I need a moment- you said a lot things that I'm trying to process. Is anyone warm? I am gonna just walk for a second.

Spoiler walks away.

Red Hood (chuckling): Are you thinking about it?

Spoiler: Ignoring you!

Red Robin, on the ground laughing, starts snorting as well.

Red Robin: Oh God, oh God, that was the- Oddly enough I agree with your thinking, but with men.

Vampire: Oh you're pan or bi?

Red Robin: Bi.

Vampire: Wow, good for you. Blondie, do it for your friend, he understands.

Hood: I'm on board with this as well. Spoiler, you can cross it off your bucket list.

Spoiler: I am not banging a vampire- Would you just let our friends go for a different reason! Have sex with one of them!

Vampire: Come on, I'm gentle. Won't even bite ya.

Spoiler: I am not banging a vampire! Man or woman, not happening!

Vampire: I swear, some of them are hard to win over.

Hood: Preaching to the choir. Give me a second.

Hood walks over to Spoiler and carries her back to the group.

Spoiler crosses her arms angrily.

Vampire: All right, all right, no sex. I respect the boundary. How about a kiss, no tongue, just lips.

Spoiler: I-

Hood: Nightwing is a vampire, do it for him.

Spoiler: Frick it, fine. Pucker up!

Vampire: Yes!

Five days later:

Dick: How were you able to defeat her again?

Stephanie: I stuck a dagger in her heart and nothing else!

Dick: Um okay.

[city-tickles]

Two Tickle Sessions In One Day!

Hi!

It's been a while but I hope you are doing well. I am still on break from posting clips or requests but I wanted to let you know about my recent sessions.

A month ago I was in one of those bad tickle moods. One of those moods where it was all you could think about and the rush of getting tickled or tickling someone was intense. I don't get these moods often and usually when I do, I don't like it because the last couple of times that has happened, I've received bad news about someone I care about, so it also makes me a little anxious when I get that way. Thankfully, it did not happen this time.

I needed to get the mood out but there was no one in the area to session with. Since no one was available, I decided to check out two parties that I have not been to in years. One M/M party and one Female Foot Party.

When it comes to M/M, I am 100% lee and it is something that does not give me much if any arousal. It's just tickling, and I can appreciate it. I'm sure I'd appreciate it more if it could "get me there" but I've seen enough clips and done sessions, and it usually doesn't. I also rarely do M/M because I have to be in a mood for it. This time, I was in a big mood for it, so I decided to go.

I've spoken about the M/M party in the past. Last time I went about 8 years ago, I just wasn't comfortable or ready to be there and it seemed like the owner took umbrage with that when I tried to leave. I figured a lot of time has passed and I have gained more experience, so hopefully things would be fine. I explain why I wanted to go to the party, and I was allowed to go.

I entered the party, and as a cis-identifying male, it's a little overwhelming at first. Action (Everyone is clothed) is everywhere right in front of you, but everyone is also very nice and doing their thing. I like to give people space, but there was no space to go, so I was just watching everything go down lol.

While waiting, I was introduced to a guy, who had grey hair and , who was also into tickling and we began talking. At first, the convo was small talk, but then we realized we knew each other from a previous meeting, which made things easier. After some talking, he asked what I was here for and when it comes to males, I am strictly a lee, so I told him I wanted to be tickled. Luckily, a massage table opened up and was cleaned off and ready to be used. We asked the table owner, who was a tall, slender man with grey hair and facial hair, if we could use it. Lucky or not lucky for me, we were allowed but the table owner was also into tickling. They asked me if he could join in and I figured why not?

I laid on the table and decided not to be bound because sometimes I stay still anyway. And before I know it, I have two lers all over me, testing out my spots and trying to find where I am most ticklish. They would glide their fingers all over my sides, under my arms, my tummy, my thighs and of course, my feet while I laughed and didn't move around too much. It was extra sensitive because 1. With the massage chair, I'm mostly looking upwards and can only see the ceiling. And 2. I'm getting teasing from all angles! The two very skilled lers keep saying things like, "Oh, he's real ticklish!" "I think he likes it!" While others at the party are watching and saying things like, "I think he doesn't want it to stop" and "He's having a lot of fun now"

With two lers on me, I never had time to have one spot make me off the wall ticklish because it was always changing. Sometimes it was their fingers lightly tickling my stomach that was the most intense. Other times, it was harder touches on my feet by one of the lers. Sometimes it was an attack under my arms. There were a lot of different moments during the 20-30 minutes of tickling that just kept making me laugh hysterically. I do know at one point, a hairbrush was used because I felt it and that always felt more surprising than ticklish. The other interesting part about having two lers on your feet were both styles were different. One was lighter and the other was harder, but both were effective!

(I couldn't find a MM/M gif)

After my time was done, I thanked them for the session and decided to wrap up since the party was coming to an end anyway. It was time to go to the next party.

This party, which I also had low hopes for, runs all the time in NYC and it is pay-to-play. I was that down bad, that I was willing to do it this evening lol. I went in with very low expectations and the reminder that if the first few moments are bad, I can just leave.

When I got there, it took forever for them to let me in, which already set my expectations to low. Despite this, I walked in and heard laughter already. Someone was getting tickled under the sheets, so I knew I wasn't the only tickler in the area. The girls that I saw in there were nice and chill to talk to for the most part. Some were more personable, while others just wanted to make their money, which I am not upset about. They're not there to be my friend.

The first lee was a tiny girl with red hair, and was ticklish but not that reactionary. I don't think she was ticklish on her feet at all, but I would always ask if it's okay to tickle elsewhere. Thankfully it was, and her upperbody, especially her arms, were her weakspot. She did not seem into it in the slightest, so I tried not to overdo it.

The second lee was this tall, black girl, with long hair and very nice to talk to. She wasn't sure how ticklish she could be, so I would tested some of her spots. Her feet were tolerable, her knees were very sensitive, and under her arms, she was almost unable to do!

I brought some tools that I didn't bring out at the M/M party (my bag at that party was all the way on the other side I just didn't want to bother with it) I ran an ostrich feather up and down her soles and her legs, which felt more relaxing to her. Then, I brought out TicklingDuck's device vibrating device.

As the device touched her soles, she would laugh hard, squirm around, cover her mouth, and was genuinely shocked at something being so ticklish on her. I asked if I could use the device on her knees and she went "Oh no!" and let me do it anyway, which I didn't do for long because she couldn't handle it.

The third lee was another redhead, who was also a nice person to talk to and wearing boots and long socks. I tickled her through the socks first, which made her giggle a bit, before taking them off and scribbling on her toes and soles so more. Her feet were also moderately ticklish, so I asked if I could tickle other parts of her body. Her weakspot was the ribcage and made any other spot look like a 1 compared to them! I spent most of my time on her feet since the ribcage was so intense, but we did play a few games. I would tell her if she could let me tickle there for 10 seconds, she would get a reward, which would be a foot massage or other foot worship. She agreed and barely opened up her arms until I scribbled in there and teased her further, saying "You gotta let me get in there or I'm gonna increase the time" She opened up her ribs and it was the longest 10 seconds of her life. Afterwards, I would congratulate her for making it through and doing such a good job.

After we were finished, I was ready to go since I had an obligation to get to later in the evening, but another taller woman approached me and asked me if I like tickling. She mentioned that she liked tickling to and wanted to know if I wanted to session. I was skeptical at first, because it felt like a money-grab, but I figured I'm already here so why not?

Best decision I made at that party. I started by spider tickling all the way up from her feet to legs, to her sides, across her tummy, back to her ribs, and of course under her arms. This woman was genuinely ticklish everywhere and was a lot of fun to play with. I would caress her thighs and tease like I'm about to tickle there, only to sneak attack and tickle her tummy. I brought out the TicklingDuck device again and we played another counting game to see how long she could last without moving, and I made sure to count the longest 30 seconds I could, running my fingers all across her tummy and under hear arms while she laughed her head off underneath the covers. The last thing I did to her, was bring out the pair of stocks that just arrived. I was itching to try them on someone and she was so excited to see stocks. We locked her bare feet and the stocks and I ran my fingers all across her soles and under her toes, while she was unable to get away or pull them out. While these sessions lasted 10 minutes, this one was definitely longer and we both knew it. After she was done, she complimented my ler skills, saying most male lers are rough, but I was very gentle with her, but also devastating, which I took as a big compliment.

Before I left, I had one request for her. I had a hard time locking the stocks on myself at my home, but when I did, they were not very comfortable. I asked if she could test the stocks out on me to see how good they were. She obliged and got my feet in the stocks. Once I was locked in, she began running her nails across my soles, which was one of the more intense tickles I got all night! I laughed hard and and was unable to do anything else, my feet were trapped and that definitely made the tickling worse! She would tease me and say things like "Aww! Is someone ticklish?" And "Now who's ticklish" until I had to stop her because I really had to get going. I thanked her for the fun time and planned to come back in the future.

Overall, it was a great day of tickles and satisfied my ler and lee moods!

[nottsbitch]

Casual - T.N.

Summary: Just a girl and her favorite situationship, who are strictly "casual". 18+ contains smut.

Frat Boy Theo

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In the semi-dark house, all that could be heard was blaring music, making it impossible to hold a conversation.

You had regretted your decision to come as the smell of sweat surrounded you. But unfortunately for you when Theo wasn’t answering your text you knew exactly where to find him.

Every Friday night his frat would throw a themed party, and when this was going on it was almost impossible to get a hold of him.

As you navigated through the large crowd, you finally spotted Theo on the far side of the room, engaged in animated conversation with a girl you didn’t recognize. Her hand rested casually on his arm, and the way Theo laughed at something she said made a pang of jealousy twist in your gut.

The music seemed to drown out, leaving just the sight of them and the gnawing feeling that perhaps he wasn’t as committed to you as you had hoped. It stung to see him so at ease with someone else, and despite the thrumming bass that filled the room, the ache of your jealousy felt deafening.

You took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd, determination set in your stride. When you reached Theo and the girl, you tapped him sharply on the shoulder.

His smile faltered as he turned to face you, the recognition in his eyes quickly replaced by a flicker of surprise. "Theo, we need to talk," you said, your voice steady but edged with frustration.

The girl looked between you two, clearly sensing the tension, and took a step back, giving you both space. Theo's expression shifted from confusion to concern as he tried to gauge the situation. "What's wrong?" he asked, but you could hear the uncertainty in his tone.

"Oh, I thought something might be wrong, but I’m just thrilled to see you’re perfectly fine here, chatting away." Your tone dripped with sarcasm as you gestured toward the girl he’d been talking to.

"Alright let's talk upstairs, Now," He said quickly pushing you to the stairs trying to avoid any onlookers who may have been listening to the conversation.

Once in his bedroom, Theo was quick with attaching his lips to yours, his arms tightening around your waist as he tried to pull you closer and closer.

As he started walking you backwards towards the bed his lips moved down to your neck.

"This isn't talking" You pushed out trying to hold back your moan, Choosing to attempt to stand your ground upset by the way he was acting.

"Can't we talk about this later?" The look he gave you immediately shutting you up.

You watched as Theo walked to his bed sitting down on the edge before motioning you over "Come here" It came out as a whisper as he gestured to his lap.

As much as you didn't want to you found yourself walking towards him, your arms going around his neck when you reached him pulling him in for another kiss. This went on for what felt like forever your lips together, his hands twisting and pulling at your hair every few minutes.

"You know you're my number one girl." He said smiling as his hands began to tug your shirt over your head. He left a trail of kisses on your exposed skin, as he continued to talk about how you had nothing to worry about, though your anger was long forgotten.

You pulled Theo's head back up to yours, your hands running through his hair before you guys were back to undressing each other.

"You're so gorgeous" Was all you heard from Theo which you almost missed because of how low it came out. "Your not leaving this bed until the only thing you remember is my name."

Shivers ran up your spine as you pulled him down to kiss you for the millionth time, this kiss more aggressive than the rest. Theo had his hands on your sides as he moved over your body. Once situated he moved his hands to yours interlacing your fingers as he pinned you into the mattress. Your tongues fought for dominance the only sound heard was the quiet moans coming from both of your mouths. You could feel the warmth radiating off of his body as you used your legs to pull him even closer.

You pulled apart for one moment "I'll never get tired of looking at you" He said, as his eyes hungrily took in your naked body.

You bit your lip trying not to let his words have too much of an effect on you, remembering that sex was the only thing you were ever going to get from this man.

Your core tightened as you guys made eye contact. The feeling of his skin on yours always left you feeling speechless.

When you leaned back in you kissed him more desperate then you ever had before. Not being able to hold back your moans as you ran your hands from his hair to his shoulders, using them to pull him closer if that was even possible.

He bit your lip before pulling away, much to your displeasure. He had his body positioned between your legs. He gripped your hips painfully tight as he started kissing up your thigh.

As you closed your eyes letting out soft whimpers he took the time to look at you, before slowly pushing one long finger into you and quickly pulling it out again. This causes you to open your eyes and look at him. He admired your wetness on his finger before bringing it to his lips and sucking it clean.

You heart was racing out of control at this point just waiting for him to make a move.

"I want to hear every noise you make, Don't try and stay quiet. Got it?" The most you could do was nod your head. He ran his hand through your hair, moving down your body until he reached where you needed him most.

The next thing you knew, his fingers were on you clit, rubbing slowly. You let out a cry from the pleasure "Theo... Don't stop!"

And he didn't, his fingers continued to work as he moved his head next to yours whispering in your ear "I wouldn't dream of stopping now."

The feeling of his hand caused your arousal to take over your mind. Your legs were starting to shake as your head fell back, every sound coming out of your mouth like you couldn't hold it in. The sounds were going to his head causing him to speed up his pace bringing you closer and closer to your release.

She had never felt this much pleasure moaning loudly as he held your hips, stopping you from grinding against his hand. Then before you expected it a wave of pleasure came over your entire body.

You cried out sharply as Theo continued his pace letting you ride out your orgasm.

That was the start of your night and later as you laid next to a snoring Theo, you could only think how things didn't feel so casual to you .

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I'm literally so bad at writing smut if this is bad just let me stay blissfully ignorant