#like i know the us election is not a universal thing but these popped into my head ok

[ariel-seagull-wings]

@the-blue-fairie @princesssarisa @themousefromfantasyland @professorlehnsherr-almashy

So, I would like to share a little about my background as a fan of fantastic fiction trying to reconcile escapism with socio-political analysis:

I grew up with TV, and what I watched was generally a mix of telenovelas and animated movies from Disney and Pixar VHS, and DVDs from Dreamworks, comedy cartoons and live action TV Shows like Spongebob Squarepants, El Chavo del Ocho, The Simpsons and Dinosaurs, educational cartoons such as The Triplets, Madeline and Seven Little Monsters.

My closest family, especially my mother, grandmother and uncle, were readers, and they tried to encourage me to read books, and also to think more deeply about what I watched, beyond simple entertainment.

This was influenced by the fact that they studied at a public university and were involved in discussions of social issues such as quotas and student movements.

When I was growing up, learning to use the internet, I discovered pages and videos of people who delved into this intersection of pop culture and political and social issues, absorbing a lot of things they said, to the point that even my family said: "Take it easy, sometimes it's good to take a break and just enjoy."

After a while, especially in college, I started to filter out what was a comment just to cause controversy, a repetitive joke and what was really an analysis made in good faith, and thus form my own opinions. I used to identify as a centrist and vote white until 2016, when the coup against Dilma and Trump's election took place.

These were the situations in which I realized that being politically neutral was just acting cynical and apathetic while fascism resurfaced. And being a target as a woman, from the Northeast, from a black, poor family and a student at a public school and university, I could no longer afford to press the white button.

"Whoever stays too up the wall falls to the right" as once said the brazilian actor and director Antônio Abujamra.

So I started to identify myself as someone on the left I know that there are problems such as antisemitism and lgtphobia internalized by parts of the left (the brazilian party PCO for example is a joke).

But I live in a different reality than other countries: In Brazil, simply wanting Agrarian Reform and teaching about LGBTs and other religions besides Christianity is considered "Extremist" by the Right.

I can't live in Brazil, which suffered under Bolsonaro, and not be left-wing.

#musings #about me #personal #brazil #politics

[candy-corn-slut]

the OK state gov signed a bill today outlawing diversity, equity, and inclusion programs in public institutions (such as universities) and obviously this sucks for a multitude of reasons

but

i saw a tiktok about the email the president of OU sent in response to this measure, and sooooo many of the people in the comments don’t live in oklahoma (and most never have) and the attitude they have toward it is so infuriating

i saw so many shitty comments like “oh well you get what you vote for” or “well oklahomans are really stupid so obviously they voted against their best interests” or “well the students at ou are mostly in-state so they are getting what they voted for and no one should be concerned for them” or “oklahoma is so hopeless, why does anyone bother staying to try and change things? just leave”

like

so many things wrong with this.

(a) yes oklahoma is a mostly red state and yes stitt (the gov) won the popular vote, but that doesn’t mean he’s popular.

(b) students at ou now did not vote for stitt, in state or not; i know this for a fact bc i voted in the last election in 2018, im older than the bast majority of undergrads at ou rn, and i was barely old enough to vote then. the people who are most impacted by this legislation had no choice in the governor that passed it.

(c) education in oklahoma is really unfortunately bad, because it is severely underfunded which means two things: 1) people who grow up here generally get a poor education that does not encourage critical thinking skills; 2) people who can afford college level education, while they may get that education here, often leave (especially teachers, who make shit pay and can literally double their salary by moving one state south and remain close enough to their family to feel connected to home) and take their critical thinking/widened horizons elsewhere. POORLY EDUCATED PEOPLE=/= stupid people. or hopeless people. education can happen at any age, so abandoning the voter pop bc they are poorly educated is lazy and cruel.

d) Oklahomans (Black oklahomans, queer oklahomans, poor oklahomans, indigenous oklahomans, poc oklahomans, women oklahomas) should not have to leave to have a livable quality of life. we deserve to have a state and a government who speak for us. we do not deserve to be abandoned, and we are not stupid for staying and trying to make things better. things are not hopeless and we will not accept being told that they are

so fuck everyone who doesn’t live in OK who think they know better about our situation and how to improve things. fuck the people who look down on us for having a government that doesn’t represent our interests. unless you are gonna come live in the trenches, unless you have a real, concrete understanding of life and the problems and the great things about this place, fuck off with your elitist opinions and terrible advice.

fuck

#i’m angry can you tell #jesus #fuck #oklahoma #fuck stitt honestly he sucks so bad

[communistkenobi]

Hypothetically if someone had to do a research paper for a stupid elective and ended up enjoying the process of reading academic articles and now wants to do it in their free time… how would they go about it, if they didn’t know how to start because there are simply SO MANY articles out there, and most of them are too advanced for their current level of understanding, and they want to do it in a way that will end up building their knowledge on a topic instead of reading a bunch of unrelated articles because they used the wrong key word or something. Asking for a friend (hypothetically) Thank you for your time mr kenobi!

General caveat that it depends on what the topic is, but what I would recommend is looking up literature reviews on a specific topic you want to learn about. I personally think they’re valuable because they tend to give a “state of the discourse” overview and identify gaps in research/knowledge, so you get to learn about the field as a whole while also learning about the topic itself. I think this helps ground the topic you want to learn about in a specific context. Lit reviews also tend to highlight key terms and concepts used in that field, so even if you don’t want to read the actual lit review, you can peruse the reference list, read the titles, and see if any of them catch your eye. That also helps you recognise common language used throughout research papers to better narrow your search terms.

You can also look for “introduction” + concepts/keywords you’re looking for. There are a lot of academic articles or book chapters that are meant to be introductory texts for students, and those use much less jargon. What I tend to do is search on google scholar, copy the title, and then either paste that into my university’s library search or sci hub/whatever the other open access sites are. Google scholar pulls from a lot of sources, so it’s also not unusual to find papers from non profits and governments popping up, and those tend to use much more plain language (again, this depends on the topic you want to learn about).

A fun one is also searching “critique” or “criticism” + topic if you want to read more dramatic shit. Sometimes a fun way to learn about a topic is seeing people rip it to shreds

Finally, looking for case studies might be another good place to start. So again, search “case study” + topic keywords. In my experience these tend to be less theoretic and word-y, so they might be better if you’re new to the topic. They also do a similar thing of placing the topic in a real world context, which is always very helpful.

You can also, if you feel comfortable, approach the professor or teaching assistants in the class you’re taking and ask them if they have recommendations for learning more on this topic. Profs and TAs fucking love being asked about that shit because it’s usually related to their research and they looooove talking about that to students. Like genuinely it’s one of their favourite questions to get, you are not bothering them by asking, especially if it’s a topic from an assigned reading.

Hope that helps!

#asks #book club

[greenlikethesea]

GREENIEEEE I actually REALLY wanna hear your thoughts on why folie a deux is objectively the best fall out boy album LIKE I AGREE but i wanna see what u have to say about it!!!!!

ohhhhhh man!!!!! okay! you asked for this! get ready! under the cut we go:

a bit of historical context: a lot of younger fans approaching this album nearly 15 years post release do not understand how badly it bombed. it was originally going to be released on election day 2008, but they pushed it back a month due to the historical significance of this particular election (imo, rightfully so). it was panned critically. the band went on hiatus two months after its release.

with the bulk of their discography currently (we have five grouped releases after this album, three albums and two eps, plus a number of collaborations and singles), it's easy to see where folie a deux came from. however, many casual listeners saw it as an extreme diversion from even the album beforehand, which in many people's eyes had expanded upon themes of their smash hit success from under the cork tree while, largely, staying safe. i do think a lot of people who have this opinion stopped listening to the album after "thnks fr th mmrs" but that's just me being a purist bitch about it all. moving onward.

folie a deux is brilliant because of the risk factor involved, lyrically and musically. this was wentz's first go at writing songs from a fictional perspective, which threw people. where's the personal anguish? where's the tumult? but he was (at the time) happily married and his wife was pregnant with their first child during the production period of this album, . so pete drew from his influences -- the beat movement, camus, sartre, his heavy involvement in local politics and the leftist hardcore scene prior to making it with the pop punk concept. shrew businessman, first and foremost. son of two lawyers.

(oh yeah, did y'all know he was one semester shy of graduating with a political science degree from depaul university before dropping out to pursue music full time? and that the only reason he exists is because his parents met while campaigning for joe biden's 1972 senatorial campaign? thanks joe biden for inventing pop punk.)

this pivot from vulnerability caused a kneejerk reaction in a lot of people who heavily related to the raw emotion of pete's prior lyricism, but i think it actually allowed him to be more open and honest about what he was going through in his personal life. by masking the alienation he felt, an emotional, sensitive boy ripped from a chicago suburb and suddenly a man whose foibles appeared in gossip rags daily -- and i mean daily, they were fucking HUGE in the mid aughts -- in fiction, he could actually discuss what we learned later was plaguing him. regret. addiction. depersonalization. a madness shared by two, but it's not pete and one singular person -- it's pete and his audience, this cult of people he accumulated who did not actually know him at all. a lot of the fanbases favorite lyrics, and indeed lyrics that have stood the test of time, are from this period of relative freedom for wentz.

on the music side of things, patrick (as well as joe and andy, but they were less involved in the process at the time -- which is a big factor that led to their initial split!) used this as an opportunity to explore his weirdest musical impulses. as evidenced by his solo work, patrick is not necessarily a punk/hardcore guy first -- his instincts are rooted in music genres that are largely dominated by Black artists, such as soul, r&b, and hip hop. he's truly a musician's musician, and with the money that came from their initial successes, he nabbed whoever the fuck he could. blondie, who makes west coast smoker a verified classic b-side? fuck yes. elvis costello, his hero who he named a son after eventually (declan, not elvis, he's not that cruel)? bring it. lil wayne, in what remains the greatest fob guest spot of all time, bar none? hell yeah, and it's going to be the only cameo anyone talks about.

folie a deux, aside from being a bold, beautiful piece of art, is an album that means a lot to me personally. i skipped half a school day my senior year of high school to test a shitty nokia phone for a chance at two free tickets to the record release show for folie a deux. and as i stood in the crowd, hearing songs they'd never played before for the first time to a crowd who didn't know what to make of it, i knew this was going to be special. and it was.

#asks #fob

[mmmmonkie]

So I know Steven Universe isn’t really popping off like it used to, so of course I accidentally make SU OCs. I run a Lego Monkie Kid account but I wanted to share them as I love them.

This is Green/Z Morganite or “Morgan” and the two gems that make her up, Green Pearl and Ruby-Zoisite better known as Green and Z. Morganite is given a nickname so not to confuse with off colors Morganite.

Z isn’t timid, but a bit reserved and opens up over time. She’s mute and uses sign language to communicate if not drawing/charades which Green uses and if Z wants she’ll be her interpreter.

Green Pearl is v confident and happy but a bit spacey as well as reckless. She’s smart and did a lot of info storing and technical work for her gem but she forgets things a lot without reminders.

They meet bc Green ends up accidentally saving Z as Z is an off color (since Zoisite Rubies are like basically a Ruby that got blended in with a Zoisite) was gonna be shattered but she kinda accidentally prevents it (legit just sees nothing wrong with this Ruby and like takes her away to give her the guide as a Ruby Guard to her gem and eventually realizing her new friend is gonna be shattered runs away with her) They eventually fuse cause they’re close.

As Morganite they talk v quietly, basically in whispers/with a “deaf accent” and are confident but extremely forgetful and get lost all the time. Which is how she meets Steven and Connie. Morganite is basically wandering Earth happily lost and enjoying the sights, and is presently trying to talk to humans cause interested in Earth food from a pamphlet she saw. Humans are having a hard time understanding her with her whispering and accent and her signing. This is post Future where Steven and Connie are on a road trip. Steven runs into her and sees her asking humans for things but a lot of them unable to hear or understand her and Steven goes MUST HELP and Connie is like ,,,I love you but can we just focus on ourselves today? This random gem can figure it out and Steven we learned this lesson about needing to help others. Steven goes :D I can help! But Morganite is just frusturated bc she is fine and she can communicate fine through sign or through whispers and she doesn’t need people to step in for her unless she asks. After Steven learns yet again he doesn’t NEED to help everyone cause it’s a lesson that happens all the time, Morganite does talk to him and they end up friends cause I see them roughly like a teenager around Steven/Connie’s age like 18ish going to college now since this is post Future. She’s not a motherly figure, she’s more like a chill friend Steven learns to comfortably vent to cause she just is care free and forgetful and doesn’t tell people much.

At some point Steven and Connie meet Green and Z, they get split up during a hike basically, so it’s Steven struggling to talk to Z who’s doing drawings in the path since Steven doesn’t know sign, and Green who’s reckless and a bit ditzy with Connie who’s catching her from falling off cliffs by accident bc Green means well and is super nice but a ball of energy so it’s Connie trying to handle that and catch her.

Based on the gem, human version of Morgan and Z have vitiligo. In the school SU promos Z is the elective sign language teacher and Green and Morgan are her assistants.

#su #steven universe #su oc #su oc art #su ocs #steven universe original character #steven universe oc

[its-elvie-innit]

Elvie!!!! I am sending you happy vibes and a warm blanket, pal!!! if you want to, tell us about Meihri sometime!! They have such an iconic design and I've been curious to know more about them for a while!!!! :D

Tucking uo the blanket to ur chin, friend smile :] !!

Iiii can tell you about her now....king of my heart

This is meihri. She has no last name, and originally she was made to be a sona for the mcytblr discord election, where I met victoy! She was based off a minecraft skin where I gave her uneven eyes bc I wanted to wilburize her but Quirky (tm) and fell in love with it. After the election was over, I kind of wiggled her around a bit until she gained this design, because if you look at prior posts she actually had a different design with an olive green coat and HUGE boots to cover her hooves. I believe she used to have goat legs (this was made before tubbo really had schlatt imagery ingrained into his character design, but it was still like, there) so it's a happy medium.

I love her because in my headcanon she is very strange looking. She has a goat beard and twisted eyebrows, and thick blustery cheeks with a dark black top lip and wide nose. She is also the main character of a story I was writing for a youtube series! She has that world, obviously, with a solitary house built into a hill and simple, hard living. She's a carpenter, and a bookkeeper, and a traveller, with three worn gravestones by her house, and lanterns. I love her I love her I love her. She also is an au member of the mcytblrville server, which was born purely out of a need to build meihris house in the election universe. Literally that one house spawned EVERYTHING, including (do you remember this??) The idea for your character in my world who owns the biggest trade shop in the village. They are friends. They do things together. Like knocking over shelves like cats and stealing apples. It's where I put victoys snake too! She is quiet and growls out her words, and she is blunt and she understands people. AND during the mcytblr election I made a storyboard for how she used her weapon, and it was SO COOL!!!! (it was a two-headed scythe with holes. She would pop out the handle and split it apart, using two handholders in the blades as grips, wrap the tie of her coat around the pole to secure it to her back, and use the blades as climbers because SHE IS A MOUNTAIN GOAT AND CLIMBS THINGS!!!!!) I thought it was so cool and it is .

#didnt see this ask for so long!!@ #lina!! #tthhhank you for asking. i have so much more about her but i just love to talk abojt my gorl

[rhysintherain]

Hi, I’m looking to dip my toes into archaeology so I can get a clearer idea of what I want to do with my life. What easy to mid-level projects would you recommend for toe-dipping purposes?

Hey, thanks for asking! Love when people want to learn more about archaeology!

This will be very dependent on where you are, because I'm in western Canada, so that's the area I know best when it comes to archaeology things. If any of my American, Australian, or east coast archaeology people want to add their own things that would be great!

First thing I'd recommend is that you find the nearest university anthropology department that offers archaeology classes. You don't have to take any, but find out what's around, and who their archaeologists are.

In southern BC, there's a few schools that offer archaeology field assistant programs, too. These are usually a few months long, and fairly affordable. They won't teach you the academic side of archaeology, but they also don't require you to spend the time and money to get a 4-year degree. They will teach you how to map sites, document artefacts, and do shovel tests, which is basically the hands-on stuff of day-to-day archaeology. This sort of thing will tell you if this is the type of work you want to keep doing, at which point you can get a degree, or even a job with a CRM company, depending who's hiring and what they're looking for.

If you feel like spending some money, or if you're already in school and have some elective slots, I recommend taking an intro to archaeology course, if your school has one. If you're nowhere near a university with archaeology classes, online schools also offer them (such as Athabasca U in Canada), and they're reasonably affordable.

An intro archaeology class (usually a second year class, but they don't generally have prerequisites) will teach you about what archaeology is, what it can do, the science we use to reconstruct the past, and the methods we use to collect artefacts. It will also talk about the history of archaeology, misconceptions and pseudo-archaeology, why we're nothing like Indiana Jones, and some of the important people and places in the field.

It will also give you the tools to think critically about how archaeology and pseudo-archaeology are discussed in media and pop culture, which is super important if you want to learn about this stuff on your own.

If you're not able or interested in taking classes, there's lots of ways to recreationally learn on your own. Archaeology magazine is a pretty reputable publication, and they write for interested amateurs rather than archaeologists, so it's fairly easy to read. A year's subscription runs about 30$, and you can find them at some newspaper and magazine stores depending on your location.

The PBS First Peoples miniseries is also one of my favorite archaeology documentaries. It has an episode for each continent, and talks about how humans got there and what we know about them in the archaeological record. Most National Geographic documentaries on archaeology are also pretty solid too, but the old ones are often out of date.

So as a basic breakdown: if you're interested in working in the field, try to take a course that offers hands-on experience and training. These can be short, so you don't have to jump right into a years-long degree.

If you're just interested academically or recreationally, online classes or independent research are probably a better bet.

Happy studying! If you have more questions I'd be happy to answer them, and I'm sure most of the archaeology side of Tumblr would as well.

#archaeology #university #education #asks #academic asks #archaeology asks #welcome future archaeologists #the only thing i would say about studying archaeology on your own without formal education in it #is that the media and general public are really weird about it #quite a lot of what is marketed as archaeology is very much not #like ancient aliens and the other conspiracy theories #and even some scientific programs make room for really bad takes #like the ice bridge documentary about the solutrian hypothesis (which is racist pseudoscience) #so its worth reading up on the things they present from actual archaeologists

[sam-dugesian]

"Pomni", "Xddcc" and cheating

now we know swearing is not allowed in The Amazing Digital Circus

this probably also applies to name input

since "penis" would alert the censor program they were probably attempting to write "pnis" to get around the game's censorship software

hamfisting the letters P and N on the keyboard they accidentally typed 'po' and 'mn' in their haste resulting in "pomnis" but since there are only 5 character spaces we see the name as "Pomni"

i mean hamfisting the keys also kinda makes sense if you take the previous name as well "xddcc" i mean judging by the key placement of those letters it's possible they lost the place of the WSAD keys and were attempting to go left, up, up, down, down

this might seem like a random direction input but it actually might have been an attempt to type the Konami cheat code Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start a famous set of inputs in games first used by Konami to unlock cheats in many of their games in the 90's and subsequently adopted by other game developers as a sort of nod to the famous code

now maybe they typed the code wrong or maybe they typed it correctly for the form of it that exists in this game or more widely the universe the game exists as a game in or they entered it in correctly after first pressing left beforehand

at any rate using keys so low on the keyboard is probably to compensate for the fact that the user can't see the keyboard once they are wearing the headset

and also if you take a look at said keyboard you might see there next to those keys the windows icon key that pops up the start menu so maybe the key binding was set this low so they could easily press that "start button"

but what if the code isn't as wrong as we thought since we know of one game where "right, left, down, down, up, up" forms part of the cheat code in game and that game is Gyruss

in a particular version of Gyruss this code increases the graphical detail which is something we see when the amazing digital circus actually starts

now in Gyruss certain objects fly in a circle which is what we see during ADC's intro and though that's only a minor nod to it one thing that must be pointed out is that this code only works on a certain version this version being one that utilises the Famicon Disk System

now this is actually a very important detail since floppy disks for the FDS can run on a personal computer if you use the right software and even better than that Gyruss also had VR headset support

and just in case that wasn't enough to convince you

these horizontal grey units next to Pomni's desk is the exact tech you would use to convert the drives so you can emulate the game on a personal computer

also the black thing in shadow is a Hyperkin Retron 1 HD Gaming Console as you can just about make out those iconic 2 vertical ports

and of course sat in front of it is a modified Game Boy Advance and a flash drive data strip

so as far as i can tell "Pomni" is someone who works for a company that takes outdated nintendo properties emulates them onto new hardware and then alters the graphical content to produce cheat bottleg products

just like the kinds of things that would be sold in bulk online for unsuspecting parents to buy

and this along with the fact that the company name is synonymous with "Cain and Abel" from the bible where one person destroyed the other all in an attempt to steal their success says quite a lot

now Gyruss did have a bootleg called Venus that due to certain distribution laws ended up being massively successful in Austria and Germany where as the original did not

and lest we forget the situation Germany around the time of said events the 1998 German federal election in which employment was low and those with the tech needed were situated in the far-right swinging regions of the nation at the time

in fact there is quite a lot to suggest that this may be some sort of creepy pasta in which the remnants of the right in Germany are in some way cracking down or experimenting on and analysing people who don't meet their exact standards and moreso i suspect that the player is a man and chose a female character which could be problematic in this case

in fact with this knowledge i think ADC might be taking some inspiration (if only in concept) from a game called Circus from 1994

a game created using elements from Circus Charlie which is a Konami property from 1984

especially since "charlie" in this case was deliberately designed to be a gender ambiguous character which when you think about it SO IS POMNI

#game theories #the amazing digital circus #Youtube

[purplesurveys]

1738

If you have a job, how long is your shift? I have a 9 AM to 6 PM shift. 

What was the last thing you received in an envelope? I never really receive anything in envelopes lol, but the last parcel that came for me had been my orders for D-Day and Face, which arrived simultaneously. The next time I have packages arriving it’ll be for my copies of Jack in the Box and Layover, and also the guitar pick necklace thingy that they released for Yoongi since I got the one that says ‘Bangkok’ :D 

Do you ever wear your hair in a pony tail? Yes, but these days mostly in a low ponytail because my hair just looks better that way. Any higher and for some reason the frizz just starts acting up like crazy.

When was the last time you got a new phone? February 2022 when I got my current phone. My mom’s always bugging me to get a new one just because and I keep telling her that just because this phone’s already fully paid for and I now earn enough to afford phones doesn’t mean I need to replace every time a new iPhone comes out hahaha.

Do you wear your watch on your left or right arm? I never wear watches, but if I catch myself with one I’d go with my left.

What was the last kind of pop you drank? Idk, probably a Sprite.

Do you think you’re single because you repel the opposite sex? I’m single because that’s what I prefer. I think I also just come off as being disinterested, which works out perfectly for me.

What language did you take up in high school? We weren’t offered that option back then. I think the newer batches have language electives now though, which if correct, lucky them! It’s always fun learning a new language.

Why are you home? I’m not home. I’m at a Dunkin’ having coffee and a croissant because…no big reason, I just don’t wanna be back home yet haha.

Do you like sunflowers? I’m not, like, crazy about them, but I think they’re pretty to look at. I also have a soft spot for sunflowers because my university has a tradition where they plant sunflowers all across our veeeeeery long main road at the start of the year, so that they’d be fully bloomed by August – when the newest batch of students graduates.

Whose bedroom were you in last? Nina’s – I needed to borrow money from her.

Are you counting down for anything? I’m counting down to my theoretical resignation. I don’t have a new job to jump to yet, nor do I have a resignation letter drafted, basically I’m not rushing/putting much pressure on myself – but the idea of resigning is already pretty solid in my head and I do have an internal deadline for it. My bosses also know about this.

Are you watching TV? What’s on? I’m not watching TV at the moment.

Have you ever been bitten by a mosquito? Sure, but I’m usually also able to catch them mid-bloodsuck.

Do you have a sweatshirt on right now? Nope. I have a dress that goes just above my ankle, and a denim jacket.

Where is your ex? No clue man. 

Have any pictures on your dresser mirror? I don’t have that.

Did you hang out with anyone today? What did you do? I was in the office today so my co-workers, I guess? My bosses basically held an all-day orientation for me and Dev since we’re both getting promoted to Director.

Have you had any beer this week? I was offered beer, but didn’t take it up. I hate beer anyway.

What channel did you last watch on tv? I never watch channels on TV anymore – the last thing I used the TV for was YouTube.

What was the last alcoholic beverage you consumed? Soju.

Currently waiting on something/someone? Eh, not really.

Last time you painted your nails? Forever ago.

What was the last thing you watched on television? Return of Superman hehehe.

Is your shirt yellow? My dress is black.

How old will you be in 12 months? I'll be 26.

What did you do last night? I was managing one of the busiest events in my entire career so far, with my legs going sorer (due to running around all over the place) and my impatience growing shorter by the minute because the event agency we got weren't doing shit and I had to take care of every single moving part that night.

What woke you up this morning? Just my own body clock.

Do you sleep naked? Nah.

What should you be doing right now? I should REALLY be catching up on sleep because I've had so little of it for the last two days...but it's the weekend, and revenge bedtime procrastination is calling me, so here I am at 1 AM.

Looking back, did you ever think you would be where you are now? In a sense, yes. But not as far as I have since gone, and I also never expected things to happen as fast as they have. I never thought I'd hold a directorial position at 25, and I'm not necessarily happy about it either.

Does the person you have feelings for start with any of these letters: Where are the letters? :))

Do you have make-up on? Nope.

Have you kissed anybody in the last 4 days? I have not.

Have you ever held hands with someone in a car? Yes.

The last person you kissed name started with a J or R? Both wrong.

Are you taller than 5 foot 7 inches? I'm nowhere near 5'7" to begin with.

Would you rather be called honey or baby? Baby.

The person you have the most feelings for calls you right now, what do you do? Sorry to make the answer boring but that person doesn't exist.

Why aren’t you texting the last person you kissed? Because I've blocked them everywhere, as far as I can remember.

Could you go the rest of your life without smoking a cigarette? Sure.

Your last kiss meant nothing to you, right? I think it did. I just didn't know it would be the last.

Where is your phone? Beside me.

Will you kiss the last person you kissed again? No.

What if you had a baby with the last person you kissed? It's not possible. Like, literally not possible.

Where did you get the shirt you are wearing? I don't even know where this dress came from. My mom might have previously owned it then handed it down to me.

Do you think you’ll be married in 5 years time? No.

Would you ever try being a vegetarian? Nope.

Did anyone call you babe yesterday? Nah. I have a client who will occasionally call me that (in a non-creepy way! She's just quirky like that lmao) but afaik we didn't even talk yesterday.

Did you ever slam a door on someone? I'm sure I have, but I make it a point to avoid doing that as much as I can.

Have you ever walked on the beach at night? Sure have.

I bet you’re thinking about someone right now? Nope.

Are you in love with someone right now? I am not.

What have you watched so far today? Taehyung's Spotipoly thing to promote Layover; Taehyung's live; and I was like 1/3 through my favorite vlogger's newest video til I skipped the rest of it since the video was sponsored and it was getting boring.

What is the weather like right now? Very humid.

Have you ever given a toll collector 75 cents in pennies? I just don't pay in coins, period.

What was your favorite Christmas gift you got last year? My favorite auntie got me two BTS albums hehehehehehe.

[phoenixmosheh]

June 10th 2023

Now that I am done playing games with the basic betch...where was I?

(Oh Yeah...I was doing what the bible said: "keeping watch" to see how the world is about to be duped (played) by their leaders.)

I am going on a hiatus...so I created a playlist on The Brand Enchantress account...it's for people with brains who would like to prepare for the future. It's called "streets smarts."

One of the things predicted on that playlist is called "gun control." I am sure some of you in the United States have predicted barring guns could eventually occur in the near future...but don't let them catch you sleeping.

Article Link: (I skimmed this article by the way...I just know what to look for when I'm looking)

Newsom proposes 28th Amendment to Constitution that would restrict gun access (10news.com)

Raising the federal minimum age to purchase a firearm from 18 to 21

Mandating universal background checks to prevent truly dangerous people from purchasing a gun that could be used in a crime.

Instituting a reasonable waiting period for all gun purchases

Barring civilian purchase of assault weapons that serve no other purpose than to kill as many people as possible in a short amount of time – weapons of war our nation’s founders never foresaw.

The Melchizedek:

(How will you measure who is going to kill as many people as possible in a short amount of time...is there a science to it? I wouldn't trust it I mean ... you can barely look at people, even after cutting them open and come to the conclusion, their ancestors were not primates) (I like science and scientist...medical doctors and medical staff but I believe there are people within these fields who are thinking the same thing, but need money to make a living, so I'll be the sacrifice). you're welcome.

Correct me if I am wrong...but isn't California #1 when it comes to electoral votes? Especially, when it comes down to the United States voting their "Kings" (presidents) into power (office)...is it the same for amendments or...? because why did they choose Newsom, to pop the question or propose this amendment? Why not a presidential candidate... you can't wait until November 5th, 2024 you betches? (Presidential election). I totally understand it takes like 3,000 years to manifest what the people have legally voted for anyhow...I'm surprised they haven't caved and decided to disregard your ballot box votes...how honorable.

Speaking of measurements...perhaps I am new to this world but how do you measure one person's poo out of sewage full of everybody's poo...is there an alarm that goes off that separates all other doo doo from sewage...why is it a mystery person? Can DNA not be found in fecal matter? Especially, if you were able to pinpoint that poo and pin it on one person...am I crazy? I like learning too, enlighten me.

Scientists are trying to find a mystery person in Ohio who has a new kind of COVID and is shedding it into the sewage

"Cryptic" COVID-19 lineages (the f*ck?) are new versions of the virus that haven't been seen before. (When they are trying to find a reason to create a reason for a new lockdown...lie better...just use the bad weather at this point)!

Article Link:

Scientists are trying to find a mystery person in Ohio who has a new kind of COVID and is shedding it into the sewage (msn.com)

The problem is you believe in the moral of humanity. Outbreak was made in 1995 right? Think of it this way...if they could show pictures of germs under a microscope in that movie...they can show you pictures of germs they created on "canva" and pay someone to write an article about it.

Just because I told Elias in a youtube playlist to meet me in Sin City, doesn't mean I am in Sin City. We have inside jokes/codes...Jesus Christ!

'Crashed Las Vegas UFO' witness 'terrified' by 8-foot creatures in his backyard: '100% not human' | Fox News (article per website published June 10,2023)

United Kingdom: Here We Come

Prepare for wave of extraterrestrial sightings in UK, say UFO experts | UFOs | The Guardian (article per website 2/2/2023)

I told you guys several blog post ago...you were going to start hearing more stories about Aliens... (The Aliens Did It!) aka The Melchizedek...good ol' Ai and paid off actors. (Hopefully, they provide you evidence soon...I mean I would think if I really want people to believe something...I would just show them a piece of AI junk that blew up in our face years ago that we never released to the public...and then pay someone to write an article about it... show them a video like we show them movies...and then I don't know...tell them if they catch one sh*tting in sewers they will win the lotto.

...she dropped sin city in a YouTube playlist... so drop a UFO in sin city ..omg you're so smart! (Maybe it was another sin city a$$holes) ...way to welcome The Melchizedek home. You win an award.

Stay awake out there on those streets a$$holes! Ta Ta for now...

#Youtube

[coffeyejlersen12]

Why That Book A Person Readers Elect To Try A Good Author

This is an exceptional true book that John Grisham has given to his scanner. debut video capture causes the readers to place themselves regarding position of a prisoner while they are not guilty but are usually charged as guilty and sentenced to death or life without parole. It's not at all a place anyone would like to be in but somewhat be FAR along with it. The story occurs mostly in Oklahoma in and near the city of Ada. Peggy Stilwell's beautiful daughter, Debbie Carter, was one that liked to imagine by herself and do things that she wanted to do without her mother or anyone interfering. She dreamed of being independent. Several places wherever she worked or hung out were never the best places around town but simply because said, Debbie was a spirit. It only takes 30 minutes per day. You to complete 10 push-ups every 5-7 minutes 4x. ashampoo burning studio crack -ups a daytime. If 10 is so hard for you, do not panic just do the best count a person can can 4 times a day till you achieve the 10 counts. And guess what, you eventually will give you the chance to do more than that. John: Yes, I absolutely agree with you David, and it's really not entirely possible that many humans. When you pop into business, everything freezes which in existence and suddenly it's quite hard. You said it correctly you know, because small owners are mostly connected towards the business, do not let travel to. It probably might be very wise for to be able to let go and not wait before very late when experienced to to be the cash has run arid. That may not be smart, but at the same time, to be able to fair, there aren't many who held on on it and made it. They would have to get new business model and commercial models into something right. John: Entering this business is, quite frankly, a bad business. It took me five years to write "Beneath a Marble Sky". And while i had it finished, I still needed to find a brokerage and a publisher, and none of these tasks basic to. But, fortunately, a regarding people advocated this purchase. I did as well, and of course I was able to work and work and work and check this out project come full round. Yes, it worked for me and I also tried everything before, I've also eaten donuts and awakened leaner day after today. The author of the manual also says he eats cherry turnovers, hamburgers and fries, ice cream and cheesecake and guess what happens? He still wakes up each morning to a toned, sexy body and a six-pack of abs. Now, let us get to the biographical files. John Grisham was born in 1955 in Ar. He currently lives in Mississippi. Before he was a successful author, he would be a lawyer and too a crackback politician. mindomo desktop received his Bachelor of Science degree from Mississippi State and received his law degree from the University of Mississippi. In 1983, he was elected to the Mississippi House of Representatives and served until 1990. As great see typically the next section, his legal expertise comes into play for all of his various classic tomes. The author is quick to condition that while his story is using fact, it is a work of misinformation. People debate to this day as towards the length of time it latched onto build the Taj Mahal and who the head Architect was that was a student in charge from the project on its own is. While the story of the cause of the Taj Mahal been recently something told over and above in Asia, the Western world has heard very little of the intimate love story intricate. The author brings this time tested traditional tale to the Western World in a way that simply amazes you inside the very first page. A Carb back loading diet is basically timing when you eat your carbs, and only eating carbs in the afternoons/evenings once you've already found out. that way the carbs are being consumed through your muscles associated with your fat cells, the science tells us.

#CRACKBACK.ORG

[diablejambe]

me, having not kept up with the manga in a hundred years:

me, today:

#like i know the us election is not a universal thing but these popped into my head ok #and is JOKE #anyway #bnha spoilers #bnha 290 #dabi #dabi is a todoroki #bnha memes #election memes #bnha #my hero academia #my hero academia spoilers #mha dabi #bnha dabi

[separatist-apologist]

Don't Blame Me

They Say She's Gone Too Far This Time

Summary: Elain Archeron is certain Graysen Lockhart is the love of her life. She'd stake her life and her reputation on it, and could not be swayed…until visual proof of his constant, unrelenting cheating is sent to her in the undeniable form of pictures and screenshots. Humiliated and angry, Elain vows revenge the only way she knows will get under his skin.

She decides to sleep with his arch nemesis, Lucien Vanserra.

Part 1: For You, I Would Cross The Line

AO3

A decade of love ended with two simple words. Hey girlie. Elain sat in LAX’s terminal staring at the notification on her phone, a pop-up from a stranger on Instagram. It was the first of a series of messages, each longer than the last.

You don’t know me but I know you, the next began. Elain cleared it with an immaculate nail, painted yellow for the upcoming Easter holiday. There was another waiting.

Told me he was ending things, that it was just a matter of breaking his lease

She cleared that message too, ignoring the message over the loudspeakers. Around her, figured blurred into lines of colors, people moving through the airport for flights, towards lives that mattered, that had meaning.

A new message begging to be accepted popped up on Elain’s screen, obscuring the engagement photo of her and Graysen. Ten years, encapsulated in one photograph. The two of them, grinning ear to ear. The picture was retouched, airbrushed, and had been slapped on a million fliers, shoved in mailers, and splashed over billboards. Consistent. Reliable. Family Man. Graysen Lockhart. And Elain, his pretty, smiling fiancé, showing her ring off to reporters and baking fucking pies while he—

I have pictures.

Elain cleared that message with a furious swipe of her thumb, for all the good it did. Screenshot after screenshot after screenshot poured in, barely visible in the little icon and yet Elain knew what she would find if she looked. Every light night she’d happily gone to sleep believing he worked, every business trip he took, every time she went out of town to visit her sisters…Elain knew she’d find Graysen making the rounds.

There are more of us…but they’re afraid to text you. I could add you to the group chat—

Elain let out a soft scream, drawing the attention of the flight attendant waving people through the gate. She needed to get in that line if she planned to go back to D.C. Elain should have boarded ten minutes earlier, had remained glued to her chair, staring at her phone. Her entire life was Graysen. They owed a townhouse together, were six months away from a wedding. The idea of flying back home where he’d surely be waiting made her feel sick.

Blowing things up might cost him his career. Half the seats in their state were up for election and Graysen was supposed to be campaigning for another four years. Elain had taken a break from driving through endless sleepy towns to see her younger sisters new baby and had planned to rejoin him.

I’m sorry.

Elain laughed dryly. So was she. Still paralyzed with indecision, Elain was saved by God or fate or the universe, whatever strange force watched her in that moment. A new message, one that came through her regular phone and not Instagram, from a pretty, blonde face she recognized.

Arina. Elain’s best friend in the entire world despite her marriage to a Vanserra, and utterly unaware of what Elain was going through, sent her a quick, pleading text.

I know you’re on your way home right now BUT please please PLEASE consider ditching Graysen for a couple days and helping me plan Eris’s birthday party. PLEASE. Elain, no one throws a better party than you. This is me, begging on my knees. Graysen will live but I will not if Eris manages to outdo me. I will have to exile myself from both my marriage and my life.

Elain liked to keep things quiet. Her life was private…until it could be exploited. And Graysen had taken everything, every cute story, every soft memory, even their proposal and turned it into something he could make profitable for his career. And Elain had allowed it with a smile, had been more than happy to stage her engagement knowing full well he intended to propose, in an effort to maximize the public’s opinion of him.

Without her, what was Graysen? He was a loser, she decided angrily, rising to her feet. Her feet ached in heels, worn with her tight pants and even tighter—yet modest, of course—top, so when people took photos of her reunion with Graysen in the airport, she would look perfect. She wouldn’t embarrass him. They would maintain that flawless reputation of pretty people in love.

Elain accepted the Instagram messages after buckling herself into her oversized gray seat, paid for with Graysen’s airline points, tucked safely away in business class. The tiny, round icon of her smiling face slid to the bottom, letting the other woman know Elain had seen those messages.

Elain, like she did everything else, took meticulous screenshots of everything. She saved every photo, creating a little folder on her phone labeled Arina Birthday Party, knowing full well every picture she saved went straight to their shared icloud account on their shared computer in their shared home.

And as the flight attendant made the rounds, asking people to put away their devices, Elain paid the absurd twenty dollars for inflight wifi before returning a message to the interloper. The homewrecker. The woman she ought to hate.

Please don’t tell him you told me. Add me to the group chat.

The plane roared forward, all sound but that of the engines filling Elain’s head. It settled her, giving her a moment to stare out her little window and appreciate the sunny view of the pacific ocean. The plane would circle back, crossing over mountains and plains, before landing in the swamp Elain called a home. The entire time she’d been with Feyre, her sister had pleaded with her to move to California. Feyre modeled in Paris and Milan, had married a handsome Silicon Valley type who had a lot of handsome friends. Feyre had already successfully set Nesta, their eldest sister, up with Rhysand’s best friend. Why not Elain, too? Wasn’t Elain tired of the cold and the wet and the humidity? Didn’t she want sunshine and soft sand?

And Elain had laughed at the absurdity of it all. Sure, D.C. was cutthroat but Elain was above all that. She had love, she was happy. Let the rest of the city squabble and fight—she’d always been content to watch, certain her and Graysen were better than all the rest of the slime that slithered through the halls of the capitol.

Clouds covered Elain’s view of the ground, drawing her back to her phone. In the group chat, seven different people began offering apologies and explanations. These girls were friends, she realized. Perhaps not at first but they’d become friends through their realization Graysen was lying scum and their own hurt feelings. They’d met more than once, for drinks and then regular brunch as they debated if they ought to tell Elain. She swallowed her anger because their hurt was, of course, valid and they’d all known. The entire time, they had all known she was there and had only thought to tell her when it became apparent Graysen was never going to leave her.

Elain turned to Arina, the only person she could trust.

Of course I’ll help you. Question, though. If you ever caught Eris cheating, what would you do?

Arina’s answer took longer than it might have. Elain blamed the spotty wifi for that .While she waited she ordered a drink—vodka tonic, which she shot without touching the tonic, before ordering another. The stewardess arched a brow but said nothing, merely handing Elain two more mini bottles and walking away before Elain could order a third.

I’d fuck his mom and destroy his life, in that order. Why?

Elain scoffed, her fingers hovering over the glass screen to tap her response. She couldn’t sleep with Graysen’s parents and she certainly couldn’t destroy his life. She wouldn’t know how. If she left him, Elain knew he’d figure a way to spin it. Graysen was the master of spin. He’d make her into some bitter ex or worse, paint himself the heart broken ex-fiance pining for his heartless love.

A Washington Post article popped up in her notifications. Lucien Vanserra pulls ahead in Prythian City by six points, giving him a sweet lead ahead of the debates.

Elain blinked, opening the article to read. She kept careful tabs on Lucien Vanserra. Their state had two available Senate seats—Graysen occupied one, and Lucien the other. The pair hated each other. Lucien was from Vanserra money, so old it could be traced back centuries into Europe. Arina had told Elain the Vanserra’s were in line to the British throne distantly, and she’d been required to invite more than one Duke scattered about Western Europe, some of whom sent very nice gifts.

Graysen’s family was also wealthy but the money was newer and Graysen used that to his advantage. Lucien could never pretend to be a down home country boy but that was Graysen’s entire image. Elain knew Graysen had attended the same Ivy, had grown up in a sprawling estate with ocean access, and had attended the finest private school’s money could buy. But to the voters who saw pictures of him in scuffed up boots on John Deere Tractors, Graysen was just like them. A working man, a man of the people. And Lucien? He was an outsider, a traitor from the city with money that only cared about protecting the stock interests of his wealthy pals.

The truth was more complicated. Graysen certain did his fair share of protecting the wealthy at the expense of the working class just as Lucien had championed fair wages and capping housing costs.

She sat there, settled in her seat, mind racing. Destroy his life.

Lucien Vanserra would keep his seat, but Graysen’s was in doubt, contested by a bartender named Jurian Iring. Vanserra was helping him raise money but with his own campaign to run, he’d need help. She could help. Graysen wouldn’t have to know. She didn’t have to end things now. Elain could wait, could bide her time, could collect information and quietly pass it along to Jurian’s camp and watch Graysen’s campaign crash and burn. She could choose how to leak his multitude of infidelities, so they had the maximum impact and force him into corner of her own design.

Elain looked back to her phone, at the picture of Lucien Vanserra waving to a crowd of his supporters. Broad hands, brown skin and that Vanserra red hair tied off his face. He was broad, his musculature unhidden in his crisp, expensive suit and his features were just as elegant as his older brothers though softer somehow. She cocked her head, her anger sharpening into something else. Something darker, uglier.

Revenge.

Elain would destroy Graysen’s life and fuck his nemesis while she did it.

LUCIEN:

“What are your thoughts on the internet?” Vassa LaFlamme asked Lucien mere seconds before he stepped out of his office doors.

“Good for some things,” he said quickly, snapping the door shut behind him. Vassa was quickly becoming a thorn in his side. He regretted offering his assistance to her boyfriend Jurian, who was still unbelievably working his day job and had left campaigning largely up to the wide-eyed naivety of Vassa. She was a fire-bird and yet Lucien could not be her mentor, not when he had his own campaign to run.

“I got a DM today about Graysen from an unverified account. Looks like it was created this morning,” she added. Lucien glanced down, snatched the phone from her hand and read the message. It was just as Vassa said—no profile picture, no pictures or anything that would prove it was anything but a pornbot, with a downloadable PDF. Any other time, Lucien might have dismissed it. Swearing he’d buy Vassa a new phone, he clicked the link on a hunch. In his line of work, a dead profile usually meant someone high up was trying to make waves—or ruin a life—and didn’t want to risk getting caught. He prayed for a sex scandal and instead found a schedule of events Graysen was attempting to nail down for the final leg of his campaign. All in smaller town, towns Lucien might even skip in favor of bigger voting blocs.

It meant Graysen either assumed those places would vote in his favor or that hitting the more rural parts of the state would make up his deficit. “Well?”

He handed it back to Vassa. “Looks like someone wants to help. Maybe he fucked over his campaign manager or one of his volunteers. If you beat him there, you might have a decent chance of swaying some undecided voters.”

Jurian was persuasive when he got on a stage and Vassa wasn’t a polished politican’s wife. If you set her beside Elain Archeron, Vassa, while beautiful, looked absolutely normal. It was obvious Vassa did her own hair, that her clothes were purchased in places anyone could buy them and when Vassa smiled, it didn’t seem practiced in a mirror. Jurian and Vassa were the polar opposite of Graysen and Elain, D.C.’s stepford couple.

The problem was getting Jurian out of the cities and into the rest of the state. Jurian had hung his hat on the liberal parts of the state outvoting Graysen, tired of his pandering. He underestimated how deeply entrenched rural politics tended to be, how conservative the east coast still was, and that he was another city outsider. Lucien was just barely tolerated, a liberal Vanserra always mucking about. His family name helped. Jurian had none of that and needed to assure the rest of the state they would not be left behind if two liberal senators represented their interests in the capitol.

“Can I trust it?” Vassa asked, her cerulean eyes somehow bluer beneath the harsh fluorescents overhead. Bouncy red curls offset golden brown skin and a constellation of freckles. Vassa didn’t belong somewhere as profoundly ugly as D.C., though Lucien did not have the heart to tell her. He certainly preferred Jurian to the smug preening of Graysen, at any rate.

Lucien shrugged. “If I knew the answer to that, I’d run this place. My advice? Go with your gut. If you think it’s legit, beat Lockhart to every place he’s planning on attending either with volunteers knocking on doors or with Jurian himself talking to people. No matter what, though, you two need to leave Prythian City.”

Lucien’s phone rang, ending his talk with Vassa. She seemed to understand her time with him was at an end, peeling off at the end of the hall while Lucien paused. Eris. His brother only called when he needed something. Lucien hit the green button and loosened the blue tie wrapped too tightly around his neck. “What?”

“What’re you doing this weekend?”

“Drinking in a hotel bar,” Lucien replied automatically. He’d be campaigning right up until election day. “You want to join?”

“Do they even have bars in a Best Western?” Eris replied dryly.

“Fuck you, Eris.”

“It’s my birthday, asshole. Arina is arranging something, and I need you to be here for it. Father is coming.”

“Your father,” Lucien corrected automatically. “Not mine.”

“You have his last name, that makes him your father. Don’t make me face him alone or I will send the press the nakedest baby picture I can fine—”

“That will only help me,” Lucien shot back, his stomach tightening at the prospect.

“Yes, I have heard about the finsta,” Eris replied dryly. “Arina is monitoring it with glee. Will you come or not.” “Yes, I’ll come but if you think I’m going to speak to Beron, you’re wrong.”

“He wrote your campaign that very generous check, did he not?” Eris questioned a little too slickly. Lucien’s hand balled to a fist at his side before he took a breath. It was late and in his wing of offices, Lucien was the last to leave. It wasn’t usually like that for him and today he was grateful no one but the sanitation worker was there to see him quietly losing his temper.

“You know I have no idea what or who is giving me money,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Ah, of course. Politics is so famously free of money’s influence. I’m sure this was just a good faith donation from a constituent.”

“If he’s hoping I’ll do him a favor he can get fucked—”

“Calm down, baby brother. I never said that. Don’t let him rile you before you’ve even seen him?” “Why bring it up at all?” Lucien demanded, well aware that Eris loved to cause problems for the simple joy of it.

“Ever since mothers fair was revealed, you pretend you are above us all. You aren’t, and I intend to make you remember it. See you this weekend. Bring Arina a nice bottle of wine for her troubles. She’ll have to arrange another seat for your last-minute arrival.” “Tell her I’m coming,” Lucien snapped but the phone went dead, leaving Lucien angry in the middle of the nation’s capital, holding his phone like it was a lifeline. He ran a hand over his face, catching a hint of rough hair ghosting his cheek.

Everything is fine. Your life is fine, he reminded himself. He would shave in the morning, just as he always did. He was a man and Beron could not hurt him—not anymore. Not with his money, not with his words, and not with his fists.

But just to be sure, Lucien changed course for the gym.

Just to be safe.

ELAIN:

“Are you sure you can’t come with me?” Graysen asked Elain as she folded another of his shirts, setting it neatly into his suitcase. “Surely Arina can live without you.” “I promised,” Elain replied, holding firm when she knew any other time she would have rushed to join him. “And besides, no one wants to see me. You’re what everyone has come for.” His cheeks flushed with pleasure. Graysen stood in their bedroom in front of a full length mirror she’d driven over sixty miles to buy. Vintage, in its ornate frame, with glass made over a century before. Elain had hung a strand of pearls from one of the corners to soften the burnished edges and even then, as Graysen admired his own reflection, Elain admired her handiwork. She’d designed a life, had turned the once empty brownstone into a home, for all he cared. She could hardly stand to sleep in her bed knowing he’d brought so many other women into it, staining her sheets not just with the act itself but with the lies told.

She intended to change them out entirely when he was gone. He’d never notice. She was merely another piece of decoration in his life that he could appreciate when he needed to, only to forget when it no longer served him.

“I hate the thought of you spending the night with a Vanserra.” Graysen turned to look at her, unaware the tight, slinky black dress she wore, with the draped sleeves and low neckline, served a secondary purpose. His words were double-edged. Elain had told Arina everything, had shown her the pictures, the texts, and most important, had shared her plan. It was risky—Arina was a Vanserra and might very well balk at Elain’s plan to involve the youngest silbing in her revenge plan.

But Arina had merely played along, suggesting Eris invite Lucien to offset Beron’s surprise attendance at the party he certainly had not been invited to. Elain could do the rest. Lucien might not like her but men were stupid and Elain was pretty. Let him think he was getting something over on Graysen. What did she care?

“It’s only Eris,” Elain reminded Graysen, trying not to shove him away when he wrapped his arms around her waist. “And he is very married.”

“Mm,” Graysen murmured, pressing a kiss against her mouth. He could be so sweet. It messed with her, had been all week since she’d returned. She wanted to pretend she’d never seen any of those texts, wanted to go back to how things had been before. “I can’t wait until that’s me.”

She hated him for making her love him. Elain smiled, swallowing her hurt while he caressed her face. “Elain Lockhart. My beautiful wife.”

“Soon,” she lied. “Only six more months.”

“Where are we with that?” he questioned, releasing his hold on her to zip his suitcase on the bed. “I haven’t heard you mention much about it.”

“There’s not much to say,” she lied again. She’d put everything on pause, unsure if she was better off cancelling her deposits or pretending things were fine and eating that money. She didn’t want to waste anyone’s time—and the date she held for the cathedral downtown was coveted. Someone else was surely dying for her early afternoon Autumn wedding.

“Mom says you haven’t responded to her text about a dress,” Graysen accused, glancing at her. “Are you still angry about what she said at Christmas?”

Elain crossed her arms over her chest, letting him see, just for a moment, how furious she was about everything. He didn’t blink, didn’t react. “You mean when she called me fat?”

He sighed, exasperated. “She didn’t call you fat, she just thought you were eating a lot and was concerned about your health. You took it the wrong way. Please text her, okay? Let her make it up to you—” “By shaming me into losing ten pounds for a wedding dress?”

Graysen slammed his bag to the floor. “Don’t cause problems for me right now, okay? I love you, baby. Call my mom. It’s one day at the expense of a lifetime of happiness. Punish her through her credit card but don’t punish me. I don’t want to be in the middle of this cat fight.”

He kissed her cheek and Elain fisted her hands at her sides to keep herself from punching him in the gut. “You’re under a lot of stress,” she murmured. “How can I help?”

“Want to suck my dick?” he asked, his tone light as though he were joking. She hated him for daring to ask her such as thing, when she knew the second he got on the road he’d be texting some new girl who wasn’t part of the group chat, who didn’t know what a liar he was…who would be all too happy to fall to her knees and suck him off the second she arrived to the hotel he was staying at.

“You should have asked sooner,” Elain replied sweetly, kissing his cheek. “You’re going to be late.” “When I get back,” he decided, as if there was a chance in hell. “I’ll be thinking about it all weekend.”

She had no response to that, so she only smiled, smiled until her teeth ached and her cheeks hurt. Graysen continued to talk right up until the car taking him to the airport arrived, unaware that Elain was privately plotting his demise in her head to get her through the interaction. She counted silently to one hundred once the dark door closed after him, just in case he came running back in for headphones or a charger and then, once she was sure he was gone, let out a scream the neighbors almost certainly heard.

She wanted to trudge back upstairs to the bedroom, bury her face in the cream sheets, and sob until there was nothing left. She hadn’t let herself cry—Elain knew if she let go of her anger and gave in to her sadness, acceptance would follow. She’d tell Graysen everything and lose her advantage. He’d spin things to his advantage; he’d salvage his career and he’d get to go on with his life as though he’d done nothing wrong.

She couldn’t stand the thought of it, so Elain took a breath and fixed her hair. She blew a controlled breath through perfect, red lips and smoothed a hand over her flat stomach until she felt calm again. Graysen would not return until Monday evening. It was Friday. For three days she’d be free of his presence, of his lies.

And in the strangest turn of events, Elain almost felt free.

LUCIEN:

“You hardly needed me for this, brother,” Lucien complained, raising a crystal glass of whiskey to his lips. Beside him, Eris looked around the room of mostly Arina’s friends, one hand on Lucien’s shoulder. Lucien supposed Eris did not have time for friends as he headed the family business. Beron had been ousted half a decade earlier for fraud and, despite the utter scandal, had merely paid his fine to the securities department and gone about his life as if nothing happened. He had an absurd presence on twitter and an almost cult-like following. He also had not come, despite his threats.

The party was winding down and Lucien regretted the wasted day no matter how many of Arina’s pretty friends had been giving him fuck me eyes all night.

“No, but it did feel like old times,” Eris admitted with an easy smile. He clapped Lucien on the shoulder, walking him from the large living room towards the connected dining room. The pair paused in front of the wall-length windows of Eris’s penthouse that overlooked the city. Eris truly was king up here, surveying his domain with satisfaction. Lucien wondered if his brother ever felt pleasure at what he’d obtained. “Besides. You made my wife incredibly happy. She likes you.”

“A moral failing,” Lucien joked. He was just as fond of Arina despite the absolute insane decision on her part to marry Eris in the first place. Arina was nice, she was normal. She liked to cut down her own Christmas trees, she knew how to cook for herself and had once forced Eris to return a necklace when she learned how absurdly expensive it was. Lucien had heard a rumor Arina made Eris take her to Olive Garden every year for their anniversary and he believed it, though Eris had never admitted the truth of it.

“Stay the night. Let Arina make you breakfast and then continue your tour of fuck all nowhere,” Eris continued dismissively. “Or better yet, drop out and come work for me.”

“I’ll stay the night,” Lucien agreed. “But only because the bar in my hotel is probably closed.”

“Smart man. Ayva is out there, if you’re looking for something to do…Arina invited her specifically for you.” Lucien rolled his eyes and waved off his brother, heading down the hall for the bedroom he typically occupied. He’d dumped his bag on the bed earlier to mark it just in case a horny couple decided to take it upon themselves to find more private accommodations.

Lucien flipped on the light, surprise to see Arina had covered the once white walls in a blue floral wall paper he quite liked and Elain Archeron sitting on the edge of the bed, massaging one of her feet with a perfectly manicured hand.

“Wrong room,” Lucien informed her, gesturing towards the bag she’d tossed gracelessly to the floor.

“I thought it looked cheap,” she replied without moving. Elain kicked her other shoe off, as if daring him to do anything about it. Was she drunk? Lucien couldn’t recall a single instance in which he and Elain had ever spoken to each other, a feat considering they’d both been in Eris and Arina’s wedding party.

“Graysen let you off the leash tonight?” he bit back, catching how her eyes flashed defiantly. She rose, all five feet of her without her absurd shoes and Lucien had the sense he ought to shut the door behind him, if only to keep someone from seeing him get slapped.

“I am his good little pet, aren’t I?” she murmured when she reached Lucien, looking up at him through thick, dark lashes. She was gorgeous, cheeks flushed, brown eyes sultry. “What would he say if he knew you were here right now?”

“You’re drunk,” Lucien guessed, suddenly unsure what else he could say. She laughed dryly, fingers reaching for the button of his jeans. He stilled.

“Would it matter if I was?” she questioned, undoing the metal clasp with one hand. Well practiced, his mind screamed, staring at pouty, red lips.

“What are you doing?” he asked instead. Because Elain was right—he didn’t care if she was drunk or not, just like he didn’t care if she was engaged. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his jeans, pushing them down his knees.

“I’m off my leash tonight, remember?” she murmured, cupping his cock through his underwear. Lucien exhaled softly, hardening beneath her soft hand. “I want to see what all the fuss is about.” “If you think I’m going to stop you, you’re wrong,” he told her, reaching for her hair as she pulled him from his pants. Elain’s smile was almost cruel, so at odds with the endless pictures she’d seen of the bright, friendly woman supporting Graysen in a Chanel pantsuit.

Elain sank to her knees, pumping the length of him once. “When did I ask for a gentleman, Vanserra?”

Fuck her, he thought as arousal spiked through him. His grip on her honey blonde hair tightened and the moment her lips slid around the tip of his cock, Lucien shoved, forcing her to take far more than she meant to. Elain gagged, hands braced against his thighs.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he groaned because despite the intense dislike he felt for her, her mouth was utter heaven. Her tongue slid along the length of him, lips wrapped around her teeth and despite her initial discomfort, she adjusted quicker than he’d expected. He could not picture nice, polite Elain taking anyone’s cock, and certainly not like this. Her cheeks hollowed, creating the most delicious friction and Lucien closed his eyes for a moment.

Her teeth scraped roughly against his skin. He jerked, looking back down at the furious expression blazing from her eyes. Elain pulled back, letting him keep his grip on her hair, still fisting the length of his cock she could not take in her throat. “Look at me or finish yourself,” she demanded roughly. His balls tightened and Lucien could only nod, guiding her back. He repaid her by pushing her further, delighting in the gagging that erupted from her own mouth as she struggled to adjust. He knew he was big and liked to imagine she wasn’t used to a penis so large, and certainly not one being shoved so inelegantly into her mouth. There was something primal about it, watching her on her knees, practically subservient before him, her mascara streaked down her cheek, head bobbing as he kept her in place. His whole body was hard, tighter than a bowstring as she sucked, her saliva pooling from her lips and dripping down his sac. Any other woman would have been given a warning but for Elain, he merely held her still so he could fuck her throat, delighting in the way she gagged. It was music, in a way, to debase her this way. And when he came, he said nothing at all. She squealed, pushing back but Lucien held her until he’d pumped every last drop down her throat.

She looked up at him with more of that blazing hatred, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Lucien felt the most terrible urge to taste her, then, and, pressing his luck, reached for her. She scrambled to her feet and, hand raised, slapped him roughly across the face. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

He gestured down his body, his cock still twitching and swollen, her lipstick stained along his skin. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that hitting him only made him want her more. What the fuck was wrong with him.

“Give me your phone,” she demanded and wordlessly, Lucien handed it over. A moment later, Elain had typed in her phone number though instead of putting a name that would note her, she’d put a small, pink flower. She sent herself a quick text and then tossed his phone at his feet.

“You couldn’t hand it to me?” he asked, yanking his pants back over his hips.

“Get it yourself. I decide how this goes. Not you.” “What makes you think I ever want to see you again? I got mine,” he shot back with a smirk. Elain only smiled and collected her shoes, as if she knew what a liar he was.

“See you around, Vanserra.”

And she left him, half hard and feeling stupider than he ever had in his entire life.

ELAIN:

Elain was curled on the sofa when Graysen returned, her phone tucked beneath her thigh. She heard the door open softly and close softly. His bag thunked to the ground. Elain waited for him to tiptoe through the foyer into the living room where she waited. “You’re awake,” he said, clearly surprised. And she was. Any other night, Elain would have been in bed by eight in order to be up at four am for the gym but she’d made an exception. She wanted to know how late he’d been sneaking in and at one thirty am, Graysen had finally snuck his way in, smelling of J’Adore.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Elain murmured with mock sleepiness. That was half true. She couldn’t sleep knowing he was out with another woman not using protection. “It’s been a long weekend. How was the trip?”

“Awful without you,” he lied, keeping his distance. Hidden in the dark, Elain wondered what other tell-tale signs she’d find if she turned on the light and looked for herself. She merely curled her legs beneath her body, reaching for her phone. “Fucking Iring beat me out there, the prick. I’m gonna need you next weekend. “Of course,” Elain agreed sweetly. “I should have told Arina no.”

That pacified him. “I should shower. Meet me in bed?”

Elain rested her head along the back of the cushioned tan couch and nodded, her hair spilling around her face and Graysen, thinking he’d gotten away with something, continued up to the bathroom where he’d scrub away the evidence of his crimes.

Elain pulled her phone from beneath her and scrolled through her contacts, looking for the little fox emoji that denoted Lucien. He was an ass, choking her on his dick and still it had been almost fun. Certainly gratifying, in its own way. She’d masturbated to the thought of blowing Lucien just as Graysen had begged her to a few hours before.

5am? She texted, unsure what she even wanted from him. He didn’t seem like a particularly kind or generous lover and it occurred to Elain if she was going to cheat on Graysen, she might pick someone who could actually make her come. She’d been faking it for years, getting off only when Graysen felt like going down on her, which was infrequent at the best of times. She’d told herself it was the tradeoff for love, that you either got mind blowing sex or the love of your life, but never both.

Still, she’d fake it with Lucien to one day rub this whole thing in Graysen’s face. She could get on top and control the entire thing. Use him just as surely as he’d used her, she decided. What did she care what he thought of her touching herself while he fucked her? It made Graysen insane—he swore it would upset any man.

Lucien sent back an address and nothing else, as though he’d made his peace with the situation. Satisfied, Elain turned off the television, straightened up the living room, and made her way into the bedroom upstairs. She passed the bathroom where Graysen showered, his bodywash overpowering the lingering perfume she’d smelled when he came in.

She was in bed, back turned to him when he came in. She felt him slide in, felt his hand on the middle of her back.

“Baby?” he whispered. She almost scoffed at his audacity but instead focused on keeping her breathing even. Graysen leaned over and Elain continued to feign sleep, eyes closed, until he pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade and settled back to his side of the bed. She was fuming, so angry she was sure she’d never sleep.

She was startled when her alarm jolted her awake at four am, cheerfully reminding her that Elain always got up at four am so she could make it on time to her hot yoga class. Graysen groaned, flinging an arm over in Elain’s direction. She pushed it back, silencing her alarm and headed for the shower. Still holding her phone, Elain realized she had a notification.

Lucien, ten minutes earlier, had sent her a sweaty, shirtless gym picture. Elain, ignoring the way her whole body tightened at the sight of glistening abs, responded with one word.

Gross.

He was hardly gross. He had the biggest penis she’d ever seen in her entire life, a low bar considering she’d only ever seen two. He was in incredible shape and there was something appealing about a man with discipline, who got up early like she did to work out. Graysen preferred to run and was often dieting, which meant Elain, too, was running and dieting. She hated running. Elain liked weights, she liked dancing, she liked anything but the monotony of running. Graysen thought weights made women too bulky and dancing was too slutty.

It was a reminder that Graysen controlled every aspect of Elain’s life, from the color of her nails to the kind of clothes she wore and everything in between. Elain wasn’t allowed in anything too short, too low cut, that showed the barest hint of skin. That included shorts to work out in, it included bathing suits on the beach, and it often extended to even the lingerie she wanted to wear. Someone might see her buy it and think she was the wrong type of woman.

What would he think of her now, carefully soaping her body only to send a strategically posed, low light selfie straight back to Lucien? There was no way to know the pair of wet tits belonged to her and though Lucien was a bastard to be sure, he didn’t seem like the kind of asshole who’d leak the pictures.

His response was instant.

Hurry the fuck up.

It only slowed her down. Pleasure coiled through her all the same and Elain took her time drying her hair and curling it, applying a thin layer of make-up, and all the other stupid shit she did because Graysen demanded it even though going to work out in make made her skin itch. Her workout would be different, and she thought she quite liked the sight of her lipstick smeared over Lucien’s cock, besides. Maybe she’d take a picture of that, too. Maybe that would be the picture she showed Graysen, when this was all over and she’d completely blown up his life.

Graysen didn’t budge by the time Elain left, her tennis shoes laced up, her bag tossed over her shoulder. The only difference between today and any other was her lack of kiss—she always kissed him on the cheek before she left, just in case anything happened. Murmured an I love you he never returned. She doubted he noticed the difference, was grateful for the quiet.

Just like Elain, Lucien lived in Georgetown. Why shouldn’t he? A Vanserra living in the historic neighborhood was practically a right, a king come to claim what was his by birth and blood. It made sneaking around much easier, when she merely had to jog four blocks down. Lucien’s home didn’t share a wall and wasn’t a townhouse, a fact Elain was immensely jealous of. Three stories of gorgeous white stone and Victorian architecture, bathed beneath the early glow of the morning sun, left Elain momentarily stunned on the sidewalk. Remembering she was supposed to be at yoga and not at a Vanserra’s, she jogged up the steps, hands gliding up the old iron railing and wondered who had once lived there before him. Who else had walked those steps?

He opened the arched door before she could knock, dressed casually in black basketball shorts and a blue v-necked t-shirt. She’d never seen his hair loose around his face—it had always been neatly pulled back but in the doorway it hung damp and thick around his handsome face, making him seem rougher and almost rakish by comparison.

He gestured for her to step inside, further impressing her with a modern, bright interior that utilized the high ceilings and large windows to maximize the amount of natural light pouring in. She wanted a tour more than she wanted to fuck him in that moment but Lucien, unaware or unconcerned with her interest in his décor, merely gestured for her to follow him up dark hardwood stairs.

And she did. She hadn’t come to compliment him, after all. His bedroom was a little darker, the curtains pulled against high windows, his duvet a blood red that wasn’t totally at odds with the cream of his walls.

“Get naked,” he said the moment he’d shut his door. “I only have an hour.” “I’m sure that’s plenty of time,” Elain sneered in response, pulling her tank top over her head. Lucien’s expression darkened but he didn’t argue. He also didn’t take a piece of his own clothing off, a fact she didn’t realize until she was shimmying out of her leggings.

“What about—” she began but he growled softly, shoving her to the bed and yanked roughly, stretching the seams. She gasped, worried he’d rip a hole if he wasn’t careful. He took only a moment to look at her, a hungry gleam in his eye, before he reached for her wrist and yanked her back to her feet.

It occurred to her only a moment later that she’d very explicitly told him they would do things her way or not at all. He’d heard her and perhaps interpreted it to mean she would decide when while he decided the how. Elain began to protest his wordless manipulation of her body until he was flat on his back and she straddling his chest.

“Lucien you—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, pulling himself further down, arms grasping her thighs. He yanked and Elain gasped again, this time from the feel of his tongue dragging up her pussy. The pads of his fingers dug into the bone of her hip, holding her so tight she wasn’t sure how he was breathing. She fisted his hair just as he had done the weekend before, deciding he didn’t care. Let him suffocate, if he wanted to say that kind of shit to her.

And oh God, she had to use her other hand to hold the head board. Her hips rolled against his face of their own accord, urging him on though he had set a very polite, almost leisurely pace. She remembered what he’d said only a minute before. I only have an hour.

An hour. If she could get Graysen to spend more than five minutes between her thighs she considered it a win and Lucien was bemoaning an hour. She could not imagine it, was sure she’d come even if he changed nothing about how he currently stroked against her.

“Turn me around,” Elain gasped, practically writhing when he switched between long, broad strokes of his tongue to short, faster flicks. He said nothing though he paused for a moment and then, with a slowness that made her scream softly, delved into the opening of her pussy, fucking her with his tongue. She hated him, hated him for how good he was with his mouth and how bad she wanted to come. “Lucien, let me suck—”

“Fuck, Elain,” he groaned, letting her climb off his face long enough to reposition herself, his hands frantically pulling his shorts from his hips. He was achingly hard and utterly erect—the sight of his bobbing cock against his abs thrilled her a little. Graysen had told her eating her out did nothing for him, made him so soft he needed to stroke himself while he was down which he found distracting.

Lucien hauled her back against his face without warning and she squealed in delight, sighing at the feel of his fingers spreading her apart. It took her a moment to remember what she was supposed to be doing. She reached for his cock, pumping twice with her hand to get a feel for him. Lucien’s breath quickened, hot against her cunt and Elain moaned softly, grinding against him.

“I’m gonna come if you keep doing that shit,” he told her, mouth pressed against her body. She wasn’t sure if she meant the stroking of the grinding of her hips and as a test, she did both, first her hand, and then her lower body. He groaned against, losing his rhythm for a moment.

“Suck my fucking cock, Elain,” he ordered and Elain had never been so aroused in her life. She ought to have told him no, but Lucien’s tongue was back in her pussy and Elain was building too hot, too fast. She sucked the tip of his cock into her mouth, her mind focusing on taking as much of him as she could, to see if she could take more than before. It gave her something else to focus on, beside the throbbing pleasure between her legs.

“You’re only pretty when you’re sucking me,” he told her, his words panting and muffled. She would have laughed had she not had half his cock in her throat. She raked her teeth up the skin of his shaft in warning, a reminder to shut his own mouth if he wanted to finish at all and Lucien seemed to understand the message.

He couldn’t hold her head against him as he pulsated closer, the vein in his cock raised. She knew he was about to come, had figured out his tell—his hips began to thrust upwards, trying desperately to fuck all of her. What would it feel like to actually have every inch of him in her, pumping desperately, madly?

Elain came for the first time in a year, grinding hard against her face. She let herself be loud, let herself press against him, use him for her own pleasure just as she said she was. He didn’t mean anything to her, was merely an object for her to use. The feeling was clearly mutual as Lucien pulled her off him just in time to coat her in his come. She punched him hard in the thigh, using her other hand to wipe his emission from her throat.

“I get it now,” Lucien panted, grinning ear to ear as he looked at her. “Why the press is always calling you beautiful.” “I hate you,” she replied, standing quickly. He didn’t stop smiling. He merely gestured towards the bathroom door at the far end of the bathroom.

“I know you do. Go clean yourself up.”

And Elain did exactly as she was told.

LUCIEN:

“I can’t stand them,” Vassa hissed, arms crossed over her chest as Elain and Graysen swanned into the little auditorium. Graysen and Jurian would face off in a series of townhalls. Lucien understood Vassa’s frustrations—Elain was a veteran when it came to greeting constituents. When Vassa came in, she’d barely spoken to anyone, focusing on getting things set up, still leaning the ropes. Elain immediately began greeting the people seated on benches around the circular stage, eyes bright as she inquired after their lives and heard their problems. Lucien knew without a doubt Graysen would never have gotten half as far without Elain baking pies and kissing infants and remembering the names of a seemingly endless stream of strangers.

He resented Graysen for it almost as much as he disliked Elain for her willingness to play along. What did she get from the whole thing? Did she imagine she might one day be First Lady? That hitching her wagon to someone like Graysen would one day pay off for her?

Lucien let hismelf imagine her covered in his come, messy and disheveled and so fucking hot. Where was that woman, he wondered? The Elain he saw now wore a bright blue pencil shirt with a modest jacket, a silver bracelet that matched the delicate chain around her neck and the gleaming diamond on her finger. It occurred to him that in the time he’d spent with her, he’d never once seen her wear her engagement ring.

Not a hair was out of place, her lips the perfect shade of pink, her eyeshadow creating the sweetest, doe-eyed effect. Graysen approached in his navy suit and placed a hand on her back. Elain turned and offered him a beaming smile…until he looked away. It was only a moment but Lucien, so busy studying her in his resentment, caught the hatred that flashed over her features before she caught herself. It was the briefest flicker, hardly anything at all.

“I’ll bet he’s fucking women all over the state,” Vassa, unaware of Lucien’s obsession, continued whispering from her spot in the stands. He was there as moral support, sitting in the front row beside Vassa just opposite of Elain and Graysen. Elain took her seat, smoothing the back of her skirt before sitting and tossed a pretty curl over her shoulder. Graysen said something to her and her smile tightened for a moment but she smiled in agreement all the same. Graysen joined Jurian on the stage, preparing to be mic’ed up and flipping through his note cards in his jacket pocket.

“You think?” Lucien murmured. “You don’t think Elain unplugs him when the night is over and puts him on a charging dock?”

Vassa giggled. “If anyone gets put away, it’s politician’s wife barbie. She’s too perfect. I’ll bet she’s pent up as fuck.”

Lucien couldn’t comment on that, though Vassa wasn’t wrong. She sucked dick like she needed it to breathe. He couldn’t think about that or he’d have an erection in the middle of what promised to be a very dry town hall. Lucien had given Vassa the run down earlier—he personally thought townhalls were preferable to big debates. People were obviously preselected ahead of time and each candidate had a sense of the questions that would be asked, but there was an intimacy to them that made viewers and participants feel like they knew a candidate better. It let candidates show off more of their personality, of their values. Jurian needed people to see he had more in common with them than Graysen, who was guaranteed to come off too polished, too slick no matter how back woods he wanted to portray himself.

And Elain, in her thousand-dollar shoes, did Graysen no favors in this venue. Lucien supposed she existed simply to make other men jealous, to perhaps make them think subconsciously that a man with a woman like that might rub off on them in some way. As though there was anyone half as beautiful as Elain anywhere else.

Her eyes met his, that practiced smile shifting into something else. Her gaze drifted towards the hall and Lucien didn’t dare believe she’d chance such a thing. He was merely thinking with his dick while she was letting her mind wander. Still, it was him who stood even as Vassa looked up at him.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Totally fine. I need to take care of something really quick,” he added, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Jurian is going to be fine. This is where he shines.”

Vassa nodded, curls bouncing sweetly. She was exactly what she needed and if Jurian ever got smart and hired an actual campaign manager, Vassa could give Elain a run for her money. He’d try and sell Jurian on the merits of that later. He turned towards the aisle, nodding at the same people he needed to vote for him before pushing through wide, double doors. There was a dressing room between where he sat and Elain sat—small, practically a closet all things considered, but he didn’t need a lot of room.

What he needed was a condom and to get that, Lucien had to run from the purple carpeted lobby to the parking lot, trying to remember where he’d left his car, fish his keys from his pocket, and pull the yellow foil from his glove box. He slipped it into his pocket, walking back to the glass doors of the auditorium. He could hear the booming words of the moderator welcoming guests and hoped the dry political droll wouldn’t permeate through the walls.

Lucien considered, for one brief moment, this was all in his head. That he’d imagined Elain’s desire from across the room and was walking to that dressing room, the same he’d once spent a terrifying ten minutes standing in before his very first town hall, to find it empty.

Lucien yanked the door open and Elain grabbed his tie, dragging him further inside. The door slammed shut behind them and Lucien couldn’t help himself, leaning to kiss her.

“Not my face,” she snapped, her fingers pressed to his lips.

“I’ll bet you’re a shitty kisser anyway,” Lucien lied, hiking her skirt towards her hips, mouth finding her arching neck.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she replied. “Why are you here?”

“I hate Graysen as much as you do,” he couldn’t help saying. Elain fumbled with the belt of his dress pants, yanking too hard. Lucien didn’t care, rubbing himself against her slim leg as he hauled hre against a small table shoved against the wall. He meant to bend her over it, but her skin was so soft and smelled sweet, like honey and jasmine and Lucien needed to lose himself in it. He was cognizant of her hair, burying his hair in the soft strands for only a moment.

“You’re not running against him,” she reminded Lucien, dragging him back to the present. Right. They weren’t friends—she was going to marry his worst enemy.

“I’m here to support Jurian,” Lucien told her, taking step backwards so he could pull his cock from the opening in his pants. He had no intention of getting naked or being caught with his pants down.

Elain hopped off the table, hips wiggling as she shimmied out of a pair of lacy, hot pink underwear. Her eyes darkened at the sight of the condom in his hand, watching as he ripped the corner with his teeth.

“Turn around,” he told her, pocketing her underwear. She was so obnoxious, the way she watched him over her shoulder with those big eyes, as if daring him to do anything about it. Knowing they could get caught, that anyone might walk in on them. How would she explain it? Elain Archeron, soon to be Lockhart, caught fucking a Vanserra?

Why did the thought making him so hot? Lucien rolled the condom over already straining cock and pushed the hem of her dress up over the perfect curve of her ass. He ran his hand over her skin before slapping hard, the sound ringing over the muffled conversation humming in the background. The print of his hand immediately reddened against her fair skin and Lucien couldn’t help his smile, satisfied.

She merely wiggled her hips invitingly, spreading her legs, still incased in those black heels, wider apart. “Tick tock, Vanserra. I don’t have all day.”

He wrapped a hand around her throat, brushing his lips against her ear. “When we get home, I’m going to make you regret this moment.”

“I regret every moment I’ve spent with you,” she replied sweetly, pushing her hips against his straining erection.

There was clapping in the background, acknowledging Elain’s sharp wit and Lucien could appreciate the humor of the moment. He snapped his hips, sliding into her without warning, without an ounce of sweetness. She gasped, gripping the edge of the table. “Ass,” she whispered, as though he were the problem. Lucien knew, the moment he was fully incased in her body, that it was she who was the asshole. How could she not have warned him, he wondered? Dizzyingly, Lucien rolled his hips, forcing himself to stay silent despite how tightly she gripped him. She felt like a second skin, the heat of her body seeping through the condom until he could all but imagine what it would feel like to fuck her raw. He held her hip, yanking her against him until Lucien could hear nothing but the sound of their combined breathing and the slap of their skin.

“Can you come like this?” he asked her, reaching for one of the curls of her hair.

“Does it matter?”

He hated her in that moment. He tugged her hair until she leaned backwards, looking up at him and, ignoring her earlier request, kissed her because he couldn’t stop himself. Like everything about them, there was nothing elegant or nice about it—the kiss was bruising, his tongue in her mouth, her teeth biting too hard until he swore he could taste blood.

“It always matters,” Lucien swore against her lips, releasing her so he could focus. If he kissed her again, he might be tempted to seek out her taste where it was stronger, to bury his face between her legs and let himself enjoy her until she was writhing and bucking against him.

She exhaled roughly when he snaked his hand between their bodies, cunt clenching tightly around him. “Tell me what you fucking need,” he growled, rubbing her clit until she practically dripped around him, her whole body a vice, sucking him deeper. She came with a sweet whimper, the feel of her convulsing around him emptying his mind of all other thoughts. He came almost regretfully, knowing the moment he finished his wild, primal pumping he would have to send her back to Graysen.

Elain all but shoved him off her, pulling her dress back to her knees. “My underwear—” “It’s mine,” he interrupted smoothly. “I’m not giving them back.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you going to smell them later?” she taunted, raking her fingers through her still immaculate hair. He took a step towards her, wiping a bit of smeared lipstick from her mouth with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m gonna use them to masturbate tonight,” he replied. “Want me to send you a video.”

Her eyes burned with hatred. Elain reached for the door handle as Lucien quickly zipped himself back into his pants.

“Send me the video, Vanserra.”

Elain snapped the door shut behind her, leaving him grinning like an utter fool in her wake.

ELAIN:

“How the fuck is he always one step ahead of me?” Graysen raged, turning the television off to pace across the plush white rug in their shared living room. “Someone is telling him something, I just know it.”

Elain didn’t look up from her phone, staring at a series of filthy texts from Lucien. “Maybe you should vet your volunteers better.”

“Its like he’s in my mind. I say I want to go to a soup kitchen and there that bastard is, photographed by the press—” “You left last weekend for Our Little Sisters,” Elain reminded him, looking up from her screen with a frown. “What happened?”

Graysen paled for a moment, caught in a lie he’d obviously forgotten about. “I told you, he beat me to it.”

Elain looked back at her phone, knees pulled to her chest. Come over.

“You could still go,” she reminded Graysen stone faced despite the arousal currently pulsating through her. “Good deeds aren’t a first come, first served sort of thing. Pick an organization in a county you haven’t visited yet.”

She wondered if he was considering which of his mistresses he’d told all this to that might be blabbing. He began to pace again, brown eyes stormy, his handsome face ugly with anger. “It’ll look cheap in comparison. It’s just one thing of a long list. Someone has betrayed me—” “Vet your volunteers better. It’s the same staff as before,” she reminded him, fingers flying across the screen.

You sound desperate.

Graysen ran a hand down his chin. “Do you have plans tonight?”

She frowned, once again forced to look at her fiancé. “No. I thought we were staying in?”

“What about Arina? You haven’t seen her in forever.” “Her and Eris have been in the Maldives for his birthday.” “They’re back though, right? You should visit her.” His desperation infuriated her, so transparent she had to work to keep her expression thoughtful.

“It would be nice to spend some time with her.” “Spend the night, even. Have a girls night. You’ve been working really hard, Lainey. On me. Take my card and really go crazy. Spa, drinks, dinner, shopping, whatever you want.”

Elain glanced back at her phone, to the new message waiting for her.

Desperate to see you covered in cum.

She plastered a smile to her face. “You spoil me.”

“You deserve it, baby. I mean it. You’ve let me drag you all over without any complaining. Have a nice night with Arina.”

“What will you do?” she asked, rising to her feet, well aware he was about to lie to her face. Would he see his mistress? Graysen crossed the room, holding her face in his hands.

“Work. I’ve got to figure out how to bury that piece of shit. It’s going to be a boring night staring at my computer.”

“You work too hard,” Elain told him too sweetly, her mind wandering to every filthy thing she’d do to Lucien as repayment for this moment. “I’ll miss you.”

He slapped her ass. “Go have fun.”

Elain put on a slinky red dress and a pair of matching red heels with absolutely nothing underneath. She concealed that fact in a long jacket, buttoned over her breasts so when she came to see Graysen he didn’t notice her nipples poking from beneath the silky fabric. Not that he looked in her direction at all. It was ridiculous to think he was staying at home, in his button up blue shirt and his navy dress pants. He had his watch still on, for fucks sake. He was clearly waiting for her to leave.

And she did, unbuttoning the beige coat as she walked the four blocks to Lucien’s house, each step freeing her of her resentment. By the time Lucien pulled open the door, wearing only a pair of long, athletic pants loose around his hips, Elain was almost excited.

“You’re overdressed,” he commented, eyes immediately zeroing in on her breasts.

“It’s called a gift, and you’re welcome,” Elain retorted.

“To see your tits through clothes? That’s only a gift to someone whose never seen you naked. Take your dress off…but keep the shoes.” “You’re a pervert,” she accused, sliding the dress tortuously slow over her skin, reveling in the feel of the fabric against her overheated skin. Lucien watched hungrily, not moving from the foyer. 

“Did I steal your only pair of underwear?” he asked, reaching for her now naked body and skimming his hands over the sides of her skin.

“I couldn’t risk you keeping them,” she replied.

“Answer me one thing, Elain Archeron,” he began, his mouth so close to hers she could taste the alcohol he’d been drinking. “When you’re done punishing Graysen for whatever fuckup he’d=s committed, are you going to marry him?” “Jealous?” she taunted, eyes searching his.

His eyes flashed with heat. “Yes.”

She didn’t let him say another word in the wake of that admission. She should have left him entirely. It was too far, to admit there was something at stake for him. This was supposed to be meaningless, punishment for every wrongdoing of Graysen’s. Instead, Elain grabbed Lucien by the back of his neck, kissing him roughly. She was stupid, thinking she could walk away. He was utterly electric, his hands pure heat as they hauled her into the air.

Fingers rubbed between the globes of her ass, his mouth bruising. Elain dragged her fingers through his hair, pulling through thick tangles. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms around his neck as Lucien walked them up the steps, never breaking the kiss. She was grateful for his athleticism in that moment, certain she would have died if he set her down, if his clever fingers stopped their expert, soft touches.

He dropped her to his bed, his heady, masculine scent enveloping her. She yanked at his hair, unwilling to give him a moment to say another word that might betray whatever feelings were bubbling in his mind. As far as Elain was concerned, she had a plan and Lucien asking if she intended to marry Graysen would only fuck it all up. He knew what this was.

She pushed desperately at his pants, not wanting to think about anything but his cock buried inside her, of the oblivion fucking him brought. He kicked them off, panting over her before trailing a series of punishing, bruising kisses over her skin, sucking against the skin of her breasts so hard she was certain there would be tell-tale purple bruises in the morning. She didn’t care. She raked her nails roughly against his back, hoping she might scar, wanting to hurt him for scaring her.

His cock slid through the slick folds of her pussy, reminding her she’d always meant to be in charge of their sexual interactions. She shoved him off her roughly, straddling his hips before he could stop her. He misunderstood, groaning his approval and trying to haul her up over his face but Elain slapped his hand off her. She centered her body over her cock, taking the base of it into her hand, and guided herself down.

“Look at me,” he demanded when her eyes shuttered. “You’ll look at me when I fuck you.” “I’m fucking you,” she reminded him breathlessly, rolling her hips quickly, desperately. They moaned in time, his broad hands spanning her ass again, practically holding her over him, his pace just as frantic, just as needy.

“Please, Van—”

“Say my goddamn name!” he all but yelled at her, reaching for a strand of hair and yanking until her face was mere inches from her own. “Say my name, Elain. Look at me and say my name.”

Their eyes met, her hips frantically meeting him thrust for thrust. The pain only made her wetter, made her want him more. “Lucien,” she whimpered. “Please, I—”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Elain and Lucien froze, looking behind them at the crisp, stunned figure of Eris Vanserra. Eyes wide, pale-faced, Eris seemed genuinely surprised, maybe for the first time in his life. “I don’t know which of you is dumber right now. Get fucking dressed.”

Elain slid Lucien from her body, wrapping the blood red blanket of his bed around her as Lucien very quickly dressed. He looked wild and a little afraid, yanking a shirt from his desk against the window over his head.

“Stay here,” he murmured. “I’ll be right back.”

Something was bubbling in her chest, something Elain had kept buried for far too long. When the door snapped shut behind her, she stood with a numbness she hadn’t thought herself capable of feeling. She pulled open his dresser drawers, pulling on a pair of blue basketball shorts and one of his t-shirts before sitting on the floor, her back against his bed. Elain drew her knees up to her chest, waiting for Lucien to return.

The door opened and familiar blonde hair and green eyed peeked in. Arina, hurried and clearly worried, quickly slipped into the room. Arina, who had known about this plan the entire time, even if Elain had never shared the specifics, who had likely been waiting for Eris in the car when he stopped by to see his younger brother.

Arina, dressed in a beautiful blue dress, sat on the wood floor beside Elain and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Graysen has been sleeping with other women behind your back, Elain,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

And the tears Elain had been so desperately trying to keep at bay finally erupted from her chest. She buried her head in Arina’s shoulder, her sobs loud enough to interrupt the sound of Eris yelling at Lucien downstairs. “No. I’m not okay.”

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain x lucien #dont ask me what im doing #i very obviously do not know

[angeli-marco-writes]

Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway? 

“You are absolutely unbelievable!” 

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics. 

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face. 

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs. 

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded. 

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.” 

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open. 

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake. 

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now. 

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door. 

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body. 

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek. 

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together. 

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there. 

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too. 

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker. 

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows. 

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.” 

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.” 

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory. 

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face. 

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long. 

“What are you doing?” she whispers. 

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.” 

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.” 

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.” 

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive. 

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise. 

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces. 

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep. 

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him. 

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone. 

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks. 

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets. 

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling. 

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck. 

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine. 

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years. 

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again. 

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little. 

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name. 

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words. 

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort. 

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off. 

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees. 

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.” 

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane. 

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away. 

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up. 

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?” 

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on. 

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there. 

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers. 

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air. 

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair. 

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen… 

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him. 

“Do you have a condom?” he asks. 

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had. 

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before. 

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another. 

“Please.” She all but begs. 

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing. 

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame. 

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns. 

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly. 

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other. 

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her. 

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely. 

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another. 

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight. 

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them. 

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before… 

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?” 

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body. 

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.” 

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering. 

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.” 

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom. 

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner. 

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs. 

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs. 

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther. 

“Thank you, Sherlock.” 

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse. 

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks. 

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.” 

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything. 

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.” 

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly. 

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain… 

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly. 

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton. 

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way. 

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...” 

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier. 

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles. 

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs. 

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock. 

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag. 

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that . 

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet. 

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of… 

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple. 

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone. 

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlolly #mystrade #sherlock smut #sherlock fanfic #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes smut #william sherlock scott holmes #mycroft holmes #molly hooper #dr john watson #sherlock bbc #john watson #sherlock x oc #sherlock x reader #sherlock fluff #sherlock angst #sherlock fic

[cottage-writings]

Being a non-native and non-American person on this part of the internet is so strange. It's like everyone assumes we have the same frameworks, and when I don't know things I'm misinformed and intentionally malicious.

What's a MAP? Whats dd/lg or however you spell that acronym? I assume they're political things, seen listed in "do not interact" Posts.

For us republican means someone who wants our nation to be a republic, meaning without royalty. Yet I could never say this on the internet, since it would create a misunderstanding.

I don't want to listen to American music anymore, don't want to watch (only) Hollywood shows. I want to emotionally break free from the influence of Amerika.

If you're American, perhaps think of how many candidates and parties of the upcoming German election you can name. Or understand the reason why the Czech Republic dislikes being called Czechoslovakia. How my name got made fun of when I first joined a discord - they didn't think it was a real name, that it was gibberish. Deciding whether to Google something in English or my language, then switching back to mine because amerikan answers weren't applicable. Hearing about people being anti-subtitles. And this is still only European. And then contrast that of how many direct speeches I've seen from American politics. That I know all the names, of past and present candidates. That we all held our breath in fear.

Have you watched a Polish horror movie? Is there Belgian metal in your playlists? Ukrainian queer pop? Russian detective shows? Have you read works by Han Kang? And then there's more. More to discover always, and for me too.

Many aspects of life are universally human, but the way American politics and internet discourse work is not. I want to seek for the things that unite us, to be stronger and live more purposefully together, but please be patient and don't judge others for not knowing things that seem obvious to you. Thank you and I hope your day is well 💞🏳‍🌈

[mae-gi-writes]

Yūgen | Sunwoo (The Boyz)

Yugen (n.) a profound, mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe that triggers a deep, emotional response. 

Requested by anon! In which Sunwoo, the ace of the volleyball team, is curious about what you’re drawing all the time. Until one day, he stumbles upon a drawing of himself made from yours truly. 

Genre: fluff, volleyball player! Sunwoo and art student reader, shy love, softness, and inspired by haikyuu because I have been obssessed with the anime lately TT__TT  A/N: It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve posted here! Slowly but surely, I’m going through my inbox and replying to your requests. Thank you for your patience, stay safe loves, ily all xx 

-----

Sunwoo wasn't artistically inclined.

But that never stopped him from admiring those that were. He was always so curious as to how just a flick of fingers managed to create a shadow, or how just one glance at a subject made it through onto paper without so much as an effort to remember the details. It was like it was automatically recorded into one's brain, hands already registered to mimic the curves and the folds and the shadows that turned into nothing short of a miraculous piece. So when he caught sight of someone drawing, it always piqued his interest. He stumbled upon you one late afternoon after his volleyball practice, with sweat dotting his forehead and his training bag slung casually over his shoulder. He was about to direct his way to the parking lot upon exiting the gymnasium, only to spot a lone figure huddled upon the bleachers and curled into a ball that caused Sunwoo to frown. Slowly sidling up to the stranger in question and peeking over the railing to catch a glimpse of your face, his eyes are instantly driven to the sketchpad in your hands.

You didn't notice him though, so absorbed in your own world with earphones blocking out reality that a tsunami could've gone unnoticed. So Sunwoo took advantage to climb over onto the opposite bleacher and, after ensuring that your back wouldn't turn to greet him, leaned over the separation to catch sight of a lone figure cartwheeling freely over the page. Woah. You were talented alright. There was nothing else to describe the fluidity of movement you caught with your pencil. It made Sunwoo's breath catch in his throat. He had the sudden urge to know exactly what kind of face hid behind the visual mastery manifesting before his very eyes. After all, there must be other things for them to see rather than the boring literal reality that most people settled for. What kind of imageries were they creating in their heads? What beautiful stories were they crafting? Worlds they got lost in? You moved then, causing Sunwoo to jolt back and scurry away with his heart beating out of his chest, deciding that it was enough spying for the day. After that day, he made sure to seek you out every time after practice although he noticed you never strayed too long in the same place, always moving about like a shadow lingering in the corner, invisible yet omniscient. Sometimes you would find a quiet spot in a patch of sunlight by the tennis courts. Sometimes you'd be found on the bleachers, alert eyes observing every pass, every move, every twist of a body like  camera taking everything in. Sunwoo never approached you. Not that he didn't want to, but he found it awkward to just come up to you and present himself as the guy who'd been stalking your drawings. So he admired you from afar instead, relished in the passion of your dark coffee coloured eyes and in the attentive focus dipping your eyebrows in a soft frown, lips paeted slightly in concentration. "Do you know her?" He'd asked one of his friends from the volleyball team once, during their lunch break as he saw you line up at the cafeteria. Changmin took a peek at your face before he shook his head, "she might be in one of my electives." "Which one?" "I think it's art." Sunwoo forced his face to remain in a mask of calmness as he grabbed a steak sandwich, no fries, "do you know her name?" "Nah. I don't think she's ever spoken in class," Changmin's eyebrows quirk up then, "why'd you ask?" "No reason." Changmin's pointed look defined anything but that.  Although he did have the decency to drop the subject as soon as the rest of the volleyball team joined the table. Sunwoo got his answer a few days later when he practically toppled over you and your drawing crayons. It was his mistake. He'd been leaning too far out from the top of the basketball bleachers, struggling to get even the smidgest glimpse of what amazing piece of art hiding under your jacket sleeve, only for his foot to slip. Down he went with a curse, crashing straight into your body and quickly scrabbling to wrap his arms around your head, a pathetic attempt to cushion your fall as you fell into a heap in front of the bleachers. "You--you okay?" He huffed out, breathless and heart beating like a time bomb. Pulling his arms away slowly, gently, he finally met your gaze straight on and --oh my, your eyes were not coffee coloured at all.  But more of a honey-brown, wide open and framed by soft lashes. Currently dilated in panic. "I'm fine! What--What about you? Oh gosh, I'm so sorry--" "No it was my fault," he made a grab for your sketchbook and scattered pens only for his orbs to register the face messily etched onto the paper. His breath caught. For a minute, he could do nothing but stare at the replica of his face made in charcoal. Those were his eyes, his slightly crooked nose. The scowl he wore during his soccer matches. That was him. The resemblance was akin to that of perfection. That was before your hands snatched away the sketchbook before you quickly slammed it closed, cheeks blazing red, "that's-- I swear I"m not a creep, I-- I just do that for practice--" "It's amazing." Your head-- which had been bowed this entire time for fear that anger would be his response -- shot up in surprise, "what?" "It's amazing," Sunwoo repeated. He wouldn't mind repeating it forever, he realized, if that meant he got to see that aforable blush of yours. He reached out with his hand, "can I look at it again?" So you allowed him after some slight hesitation, and if he noticed, he didn't comment. Fingers brushing against yours slightly, he handled the sketchbook with utmost care as he flipped through the pages with child-like awe. He'd seen your drawings, sure, but mere glimpses here and there, a sneak peek, always accompanied with the fear of being found. But now, he could take his time and actually relish in the soft tracings of your crayon, admire the gentle shadings that made up the tip of his nose. You had managed to capture that frown -- the one he used whenever he concentrated -- to perfection and for a minute he swore he'd fallen in love with himself. "You're really good," he murmured, though that definitely banalized the array of praises popping through his head, "you should keep doing them. I mean it." "So, you're not--" you paused, "mad?" "Well I think you'd have more reason to be mad if you knew I was stalking you from before." "What?" Oh Sunwoo, you idiot. Your eyes had tripled their size and you were looking at him like he'd just grown a second head. He lifted his hands as defence, "that sounded so much better in my head. I swear I'm not that creepy, or a stalker, I just--well you're always drawing and I got curious but I can't really come over and tell you to show me so I had to hide and peek and--" You burst out laughing in his face and despite the fact that he was the cause, he couldn't help joining in with a small chuckle, a grin spreading across his features at how alive you looked at this very moment. "You can ask me next time," your grin settled into a soft smile, "I don't bite." "Your words, not mine," he said, tone lighter and teasing. He helped you gather your belongings and as the pair of you started towards the school gates, he asked for your name. "Y/N," you answered, "and you?" "Sunwoo," he noticed the sky was darkening into purple, a sign that twilight was approaching. Usually, he'd be in a hurry to catch the last bus of the evening to avoid the pain of traffic after six. But it was like his body was slowing down on its own to join your pace, as if he was automatically tuning in to the rhythm of your steps. He found he didn't mind. "So why athletes? Any special reason why you like drawing them?" He asked as you reached the gates. "I just like watching the way they move. It's ...graceful," a hand went to rub the back of your neck, "and they come in handy for figure practice." "I mean, we're not that graceful when you're on the pitch ready to get blown away," he chuckled, "but thanks. At least we know we don't play like animals." "Oh god no. The volleyball team's pretty good. The rugby team on the other hand..." you sigh before you shake your head, "that team is nearly impossible to draw." His shoulders shook as he laughed, "well I don't think they aim for graceful. They look like a pack of wild dogs. Even I don't understand how they play." You had reached the said bus stop by then before you spotted your mother's car along the sidewalk, "oh, my mom's here," you turn to him, "where do you live? Maybe we can drop you--" Meeting your mom? On the first day of meeting you? Sunwoo's hands flew up, shaking them wildly in response, "oh no no, that's not necessary. I'll see you tomorrow!" Thank god for the bus that pulled up at the right time so that he didn't have to linger longer than he needed to. But he didn't miss the small wave of your hand as you watched him go, the smile on your face warming his heart even when it was one of the coldest winter days of the year. From that day onwards, Sunwoo made it a must to make his presence known whenever you were deep in your sketches, always observing, sometimes silently keeping you company and sometimes getting so wrapped up in conversation that your pens would lay forgotten by your bag as you bantered back and forth about subjects that would've made people throw you looks of concern. It became routine to have Sunwoo's head pop up from behind the bleachers or to see him walk up the path to your special hiding spot, right where your gaze would meet the tennis court. You sketched him more and more, folding your drawings into your bag so that he wouldn't see although the urge to catch his face on paper was a growing addiction you couldn't ignore. Even your friends had noticed his lingering presence, proceeding to prod you with questions reflecting their curiosity. "He's from the vòlleyball team isn't he?" Yeji asked one time during lunch, upon noticing the way the said young man's stare lingered over the back of your head before turning away just as quickly, "do you know him?" "We've spoken once or twice." "How do you know him?" Your other friend, Saeron, nudged you with a wriggle of her brows. You brushed her teasing away, "we bumped into each other and then he saw my drawings." "Oh right, you do sketch athletes," Yeji leaned forward, mouth full of bread, "did you sketch him?" "I did, actually." "Oh awkward," Saeron giggled, "he's handsome though, can't deny that. You gotta introduce us sometime." You mumbled out an agreement even though you sat with them just for the sake of having people around. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate them. You did. But they seemed to speak a language you couldn't quite grasp. You would rather sit in your own silence, enjoy your own company if that made sense. Maybe that was why it was so surprising, that you allowed Sunwoo to linger as long as he wanted to. There was something authentic about the way he reacted to your words, an unguarded expression that made you comfortable enough to speak up without fear of judgment. Spending time with Sunwoo was listening to water trickle down the river. Smooth and free. Peaceful. But Sunwoo seldom knew of your high regards, was not aware of the tiny sketch of his figure in mid-spike that was hidden in the pocket of your school skirt so that you could take a peek whenever you felt out of place or nervous. It calmed you down to admire his composure, even if his expression was a mere mimic that could not replace reality. "Do you have any material in particular that you like to use?" Sunwoo asked one cloudy afternoon, breaking the silence while huddling a little closer to peek at your newest sketch of Lee Juyeon; a basketball star player known for his quick reflexes and adept playing style. Not only was his skill on par with that of a Nationals team, but his looks had garnered him quite a fanbase from the get-go. Sunwoo would've liked to say that he wasn't jealous of the way your thumb gently applied shade to Juyeon's lower lip. But the spike in the middle of his chest proved him otherwise. "I like charcoal the most, it's the easiest to work with," pausing to admire your work, your eyes glanced over at him, "do you draw?" He scoffed, "like a five year old." "Wanna try?" "No way. I'll ruin it. I'm okay with admiring it from afar." You hummed an unknown tune as you pulled back your sketchbook, "how is practice?" "Alright. Could be better. We won a practice match last week so we're kind of taking it easy." "That's good though isn't it?" Your gaze met his. His eyes were various gradients of warm maroon and you wished-- at this very moment -- to paint his features into memory. That was when you realized how close you were. You shuffled slightly back and didn't notice the frown Sunwoo threw you in response, "it is. And I'm happy we get to rest. The team deserves it." "You're pursuing it in College?" Your eyes tried not to linger too much over his lips, "volleyball, I mean." "Depends," he smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, "if we make it to the Nationals." "You will." "Someone's confident," he chuckled. "Well I'm no pro but even I can tell you're talented, Sunwoo," you peeked at him from behind your fringe, glad that you could blame the cold for your red cheeks when just the intensity and closeness of his entity made you want to squirm, "so if there's anyone who can do it, it's you." It was impossible to keep eye contact after such a confession. You lowered your gaze, glad for your sketchbook that acted as a distraction. It was at that very moment that the paper tucked so neatly in your pocket slipped out, causing Sunwoo to quickly make a grab for it. You made a noise of protest before trying to snatch it back, but the boy only chuckled before unfolding the creased page so that there he was, depicted in all his glory. "Is that--" his voice was hoarse and you took this as your chance to steal it from his grasp, reddened cheeks burning and fingers shaking as you folded it back to its tiny square shape, "is that me?" "Y--yes." "You--you keep that with you?" "I--I do," you lifted your chin up defiantly, though you felt your limbs trembling. His eyes, they pierced your own, piecing together a coherence that caused your stomach to fill with butterflies. When he spoke next, his words were a mere murmur. "Why?" "I--I don't know," eyes darting towards the ground, you mumbled, "I just like watching you...play." A pause. Then, Sunwoo shifted a little bit closer. "You like watching me play? Or do you like," he cocked his head, "watching me?" If you were red before then you were probably the colour of a fire engine truck by now. Averting your eyes and turning your head away were instinctive responses due to the blood rushing through your face. "Stop flirting with me," came your mumble. Laughing softly in response, he scooted himself a little closer, so close that his shoulder brushed your back. He leaned over, head tilted to catch your expression. "Cute," his lips broke out in a crooked grin and you swore you felt your heart explode. Flustered, you shoved him away out of instinct but he wasn't having any of that. His hand grabbed your wrists and with a yelp, you were dragged even closer to his chest. "You like looking at me that much huh?" His tone was teasing while his eyes glimmered with playful mischief, "why is that,Y/N?" "You ask as if you don't know," you mumbled out through jumbled words and you were glad he actually understood you. But instead of laughing some more, his features softened into a smile instead as he proceeded to gaze down at you with an expression you couldn't quite place. It was in your normal behaviour to admire people. Not the other way around. And at this very moment, you felt way out of your comfort zone. "I don't know." Your orbs flew up to his in surprise and what you found in those coffee-coloured pupils made your breath stutter, heat coiling through your abdomen. "It...it calms me down," your whisper was barely louder than a breath but by the way Sunwoo's smile widens to reach his eyes, you could tell he heard you just fine. "I like watching you too," he replied. A strand of your hair caught in the wind and he raised his hand to curl it around the back of your ear, his touch ghosting with sparks wherever flesh bumped into flesh. You felt warm. He didn't pull away. Didn't bother hiding the slight dust of pink in his cheeks either, as he slowly allowed his palm to cradle the side of your face. Gently. As if he feared you might run away, recoil back. But you didn't. Even with your breaths going staccato, even if your heart felt like a wild animal. You calmed yourself down with the knowledge that he seemed just as nervous as you were and suddenly, out of a stroke of boldness, your hand went up to hold on to his, pressing it close to your cheek. His breath hitched. You shivered. The wind blew against your figures, a gentle reminder that the day was coming to an end. You weren't exactly sure what changed that day. There were no verbal agreements, nothing that suggested your relationship had changed. Yet, the subtle touches of his hand against your back, your shoulders, moving your hair from one shoulder to another, complemented by his gentle doe-eyed stare that made your toes curl, these changes were small, but significant. And you couldn't find it in your heart to say that you disliked it. What are we? The words lingered at the tip of your tongue, as bitter as the aftertaste of coffee as you stole small glances in his direction. You were sitting comfortably under a tree that overlooked the tennis court where Sunwoo had decided to join you. He'd fallen asleep halfway through your beginning sketch and was now leaning against the tree trunk, face relaxed and body leaned towards yours, close enough that you could admire his face. Countless hours you had spent tracing Sunwoo's features on paper. Countless times you had imagined tracing his lips with your thumb, wondered whether they were as soft as they looked. Maybe it was just curiosity or maybe you had let him walk into your heart so easily that you hadn't realized it yourself. But if there was one thing you could swear your heart upon it would be that you could no longer imagine every day without Sunwoo's presence at your side. As if on instinct, your fingers took a life of their own as they reached up to push a few strands away from his face. They gently carved a path down his cheek, landing at the corner of his jaw. Dangerously close to his open mouth. There was no denying it. Sunwoo was beautiful. Handsome. Had those features on par to that of a model's. You were so focused on edging your way to touch his lower lip that you didn't realize you had been staring, until you glanced up to see his brown orbs fixated on yours. You froze. Shit. "Like what you see?" He murmured. Then, before you could scramble back and probably run with your tail between your legs, his own hand grasped your own and he pushed himself off the trunk before his head angled towards yours, finding your lips. Soft. Sunwoo's lips were soft. You panicked. Not used to the closeness. The fire that sparked between your lids. But his other hand went to clasp your jaw, holding you close as he kissed your next protest away and unconsciously brushing his thumb against your cheek. Shivering in his touch, there was no running away from the way his mouth molded against yours so snugly, and you didn’t want to. You found yourself addicted to the sweet pressure of his upper lip meeting your lower ones and soon enough -- without realizing -- you melted into his touch. 

Sunwoo made a noise that sounded like a soft grunt, his other hand lacing around your waist to pull you closer so that you tumbled halfway into his lap. With embarrassment suddenly flooding through you, you let out a squeak that he answered with a chuckle of his own before distracting you once more with a series of kisses that left you gasping.

Your hands, initially balled into fists in your lap, went to rest against his chest and you didn’t realize that you were gripping onto his school shirt until you parted for air. Only were you aware of your compromising position, of the hard ridges of the young man’s thighs, of the firmness of his chest against your palms, of the way he seemed to be so much bigger than you even though he was a lean athlete, meant to be light and as speedy as the wind. 

Breaths coming out ragged, you tried to slow the beating of your heart. Though it seemed to be quite the challenge, given how lovingly, how intense, Sunwoo seemed to be in making love to your neck, nibbling on your pulse point and causing a soft whimper to fall from your lips. 

A whistle blew in the distance.

The soccer team. They’d be crawling up the hill any minute now.

“Sunwoo,” you breathed out, eyes hazy with mixed feelings of desire and embarrassment. You feebly tried pushing against his chest, to no avail. He merely groaned, head tilting upwards to catch your mouth into another kiss. 

“Sunwoo,” you groaned against his lips. But he held on for dear life, one hand clasping the back of your neck, tangled into your locks. The other around your waist, pressing you as close as he could possibly get you to be. 

“Just one more,” he mumbled in-between kisses, hooded eyes fluttering closed and head slanting to kiss you a little deeper, a little harder.

Your body was on fire. You weren’t used to this intimacy, nor all of the affection he was raining down upon you. 

But it felt good. It felt amazing. Eye-opening.

He finally relented after what seemed like an eternity and you quickly made a move to scramble out of his lap. Though he wasn’t having any of that, grip made of iron as he held on. You looked up to snap at him to let go before everyone saw but was faced with his pout instead, which was enough to bring down your defences. 

“Please,” his pout deepened and your heart practically vaulted through your chest. Cute. Cute. Cute. Stop. Burying his face into your neck, he whispered, “I just wanna hold you.” 

So he did. And thank god the team had decided to take a different route so that you would avoid their imploring, questioning gazes. Though Sunwoo admitted that he’d already known they would go up from the other side of the gymnasium, considering they did that every other week to train their stamina in the process. 

That earned him a light smack on the side of his head, making him whine, “What did I do to deserve this Y/N?” 

“You knew!” You wanted to throw him a glare, but it was impossible when you were busy fighting the grin spreading across your face. 

He grinned back at you, that crooked smile that always resulted in a burst of butterflies roaring through your abdomen. Just like now. 

“So, since you have a drawing of me that you keep staring at every day--” his words died into laughter when you tried smacking his arm, proceeding to cage your wrist with his hand before kissing your knuckles. You squirmed as he continued, “does that mean I can get a picture of you?”

You let out a noise of protest, “that depends,” you mumbled, unconsciously finding refuge in his neck.

Chuckling, Sunwoo grasped your chin lightly to pull you back so that his brown orbs gazed right into yours with a gentleness that had you weak at the knees, “on what?” 

“On what I get in return.” 

“What if I say I’ll take you on a date?” he said wickedly. 

You couldn’t help your smile. 

“I guess that could work.” 

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