#which i know is blasphemous to say but here we are

[angelwithdemonictendencies]

wake me from this eternal slumber, rumor has it, a kiss is all it takes; i'm no fairytale but your lips might make me one.

jh86 x reader: you've sworn off frat boys, but maybe just one more?

(warnings: blasphemous filth, unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), oral sex (m on f) yay! we love exceptions, fingering, hair pulling and lips and limbs and all my usual stuff (you guys know what i'm about). idk just please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: well, favorites, my ex was in pike in undergrad, so you can thank him for 18k worth of a fantasy-level frat romance (i know, it's too much, i need to cut it down, but i can't. this is how i'm dealing with my breakup. leave me be). and, actually, don't thank him. thank me, because i worked really, really hard on this <3. there are a billion things that i ask you to take for granted, like how i included too many side characters, so i know it will be confusing, but i needed sleazy nh13 in there, okay? and i needed starboy pitcher lh43, and cc22 falling for his postgame reporter, and tz11 not being able to catch, and qh43 being a pawn in a president x president love story featuring alex turcotte. all of it was necessary for my healing process. i wanted to write something in which someone can drop into your life and rewrite all of the things you believe to be true. some star-crossed shit. so, this is my best shot. what is love, after all, but leaving your window open for fratboy jh86 to climb into? i was never actually in greek life, so all of this is based on what my friends have told me (sam is based on my irl best friend, fun fact). forgive me for any plot holes and inconsistencies. please, please, tell me what you think, because i love when you do, and tell me what you want next. thank you for your support. thank you for indulging my silly whims and most delusional daydreams. tell your snakes i love them. getting pretty busy up here in the real world, but until next time. go canucks. all my love).

this day, the first day of classes, had been a real disaster, honestly. what had been the worse part, even? it was hard to decide, with so many natural contenders.

would it be the alarm clock of your roommate, which had gone off for twenty minutes, until you had to get up yourself and shake her awake? or maybe the pop quiz in your lecture, on the very first day, when you forgot to do the reading? but, no, we can't forget the back to back to back texts from that guy, the one who mistook your general friendliness as romantic interest.

it had been a terrible day, genuinely, but this might be the worst of it, you thought, as you stood outside the tke house, on the sidewalk, waiting for your friends. your friends, who said they would be out ten minutes ago.

it was getting kind of brisk outside, and your outfit, compliant with the finance bros and business hoes theme, wasn't keeping you very warm. you looked down at your phone, tried to will a text from one of them into existence. you just wanted to go home, which, honestly, you probably should have already done by now. your sorority house was maybe a five minute walk down the row, but you didn't want to abandon your friends, and you didn't really want to make the walk alone, in the dark.

you could go back inside, you knew. but, this day had sucked, and you weren't in the mood to dance on an elevated surface tonight.

you opened the text conversation with your roommate, typed almost out? and hit send, before a deep voice pulled your head up.

"miss, is that an open container?" you looked up to find a stout officer of campus security shining his flashlight on you and your red plastic cup.

of course, because today was terrible, today would be the day that security cracks down on their no-open-containers-on-the-row rule. of course.

you looked into your solo cup, swirled around the pink liquid. what could you even say this was? the officer could probably smell the vodka in it from where he stood, a few feet away. honestly, it was probably better to just come clean. you'd get, what, a citation? hopefully a warning, if you could conjure up some tears?

you sighed, opened your mouth to spew some sob story, but you were cut off by some goofy voice coming from the door.

"there you are, baby!"

both you and the officer turned to face the voice, now an approaching figure.

your eyes narrowed as you tried to make out a face from the dim street light. you certainly were not anyone's baby. and you were fairly certain the only people who could have been wondering where you were would be the friends you came with, who had much more feminine voices.

before you could tell this guy he had the wrong idea, though, he slung a heavy arm around your shoulders, used it to pull you close to him before pressing a kiss to the side of your head, gentle, doting, fleeting.

you were about to shove this guy off of you, as he had obviously mistaken you for someone else.

"thanks for holding my drink for me," he said, then, taking your cup from your hand and downing it in one go.

you swallowed, your mind buzzing, not just with confusion but with the weight of his body against yours, the ghost of heat from his lips on your temple, the slightly muddled sandalwood scent of him so close. was he covering for you, this stranger? this stranger, who definitely could see your face, now, so there was no one he could be mistaking you for.

was he just being nice?

"'course, baby," you mustered, letting yourself lean into his embrace, hooking an arm around his waist. if he was going to get this officer off of your back, you'd let him.

your savior turned to face the shorter man in front of you both, as if noticing him for the first time. "oh, good evening, officer," he said, ever the gentleman. "can i help you?"

as the officer explained his presence with a gruff tone, you turned your neck to look at the face of the man who currently had his arm around you, whose lips on your forehead you could still feel like a purpling bruise.

you looked up at him, and your stomach flipped, because he was just so pretty. so much so that it flooded your gaze, made him hard to take in all at once. that fairytale profile, cut jaw, sharp cheekbones, soft slope of a nose. long, dark lashes that framed light blue eyes. grown out hair that curled around the brim of his backwards baseball cap, which read the letters tke in bold font. full, pink lips you had the sudden urge to tug on with your teeth.

uh oh, the gossip in your head whispered to her friends. we've seen this before. we know how this ends.

you could have shushed her.

"as you can see, officer, there's no liquid here, at least not anymore," the tke boy above you said with the voice of an experienced sweet-talker, smooth and sugary. "we wish we could be of more help, don't we, baby?"

he turned his gaze down to you, meeting your eyes directly for the first time. oceanic amusement met your careful skepticism, so electric and charged you swore the streetlight above you began to flicker.

"sure do," you said, reluctantly fixing your gaze on the officer and away from the mesmerizing face next to you.

the short man looked unconvinced, but switched his flashlight off anyways.

"have a good night, sir," you added, to which he muttered something and walked in the other direction.

you waited until he was out of earshot before lifting that warm arm from around your shoulders, crossing your own arms over your chest. "right," you began, "so, do i know you, or something?"

he tilted his head, let a bemused smile slant across his face, completely lopsided, completely endearing. "or something," he said, his eyes glinting, brimming over with mirth.

you furrowed your brow, shifted on your feet. "why did you come out here, then?" you asked. "and what was that whole act for?"

he sucked on his teeth for a moment, during which you took in his whole frame, his wide shoulders, tall build, strong stance.

uh oh is right, you thought to yourself, clasping your hands behind your back.

he shrugged, the movement making the muscles in his shoulders tense. you looked at your feet. "saw you come out here by yourself," he said, simply. "just wanted to make sure nothing was wrong."

you narrowed your eyes, which made his gaze shimmer again.

"then i saw you with the security guy, and he's been camping out recently for their open container policy, so i figured i'd-"

"you figured you'd pretend that we're together?" you raised a brow. "awful dramatic, don't you think? could have just smacked the cup from my hand." you cringed internally as soon as you said this. you'd felt his hand on your side, and there was no chance that soft touch was capable of anything so harsh.

he just took a step closer to you, though, and part of you wanted to back away, but you didn't. you couldn't. "maybe i had selfish motives," he added, "maybe i wanted him to think i could pull a pretty girl like you, hm?"

you gave a slight scoff, the smallest shake of your head, before looking up at him again, finding him closer, looking at you like you were something special. something he wouldn't find again.

"okay, you can turn off the charm, now," you warned, more for your own sake than his. "what's your name?"

he stuck out his hand to shake yours, which felt wholly odd, given you could still feel his lips on your skin, like a brand, a scar. "i'm jack," he said, and you took his hand, gave it a shake as you offered him your own name in return.

"and you're in tke?" you asked, half-hoping he would laugh, nod you off, say that fraternities were stupid. hoping he wouldn't be a frat brother, so that he might still be on the table. so that you wouldn't have to walk away from him knowing exactly how he would hurt you if you gave him too much of a chance, too much of yourself.

he nodded though, and you could have sighed in disappointment. he was so, so pretty, but pretty wasn't good enough for your no frat boys rule. not after last time. "are you in a sorority?"

"no," you said immediately, shaking your head. this was a lie, you were in alpha phi, but you were hoping he'd lose interest as soon as you denied it, as so many greek-life boys did.

the light didn't blink out from jack's eyes though. "you must have a walk ahead of you then, if you're not on the row," he said. "i'll walk with you, it's dark."

you peered up at him, dubious. what was his angle, here? what would he have over you if you said yes?

luckily, you didn't have to answer, because you heard your roommate's voice from the door, now walking towards you. "'m so sorry, didn't see your text," she said, walking right past jack and pulling you in for a hug. "of course we can go. let's go back to the house, yeah?"

you nodded, returned her hug.

"the house?" jack's voice asked, to which your roommate pulled away from you, looked at him.

"yeah, a-phi," she said, skeptical. "um, who is this?" she elbowed you.

"this is jack," you explained, "he saved me from a safety citation. jack, this is my roommate, sam."

he nodded to her, which she returned. if jack had put together that you had just lied to his face about being in greek life, he didn't call you out on it, only smiling that goofy grin at you again, the one that awoke butterflies in your stomach, the one that had the street light rolling its eyes at you.

"well, jack, we're off," sam said, linking her arm in yours.

"goodnight, ladies," he said as the two of you set off down the sidewalk. "until you next need saving, baby."

you shook in a disbelieving laugh.

"baby?" sam whisper-screamed at you.

"i'll explain later," you told her.

you did explain later, that night, when the two of you were taking off your makeup in your mirroring vanities.

"i'm sorry, what?" sam said when you had finished recalling the night. "he quite literally kissed you?"

you flushed, waved her off. "barely," you said, "on the head."

"okay, sure," she mused, patting toner into her face. "sure, as if this isn't the longest you've talked about a guy since last year!"

you sighed. "it doesn't matter," you said, trying to make yourself believe it. "he's in tke. and i've sworn off frat guys, you know this."

"oh, i know this," she replied, "but rules are made to be broken."

"that's not right," you sing-songed.

"don't talk back to your president," she sung right back at you, using her position in the sorority as a trump-card, as she was so prone to doing.

"he's probably just like the rest of them," you reminded her, and yourself, "he's charming and sweet and lovely until he gets what he wants, and then he's gone."

the words hurt as you spoke them, jagged and sharp in your throat, like shards of glass. it hurt to think about your history with frat guys, the ones you'd let get close to you.

the guy from pike whom you had been seeing, sort of, for half a year, who had relished in the chase of it all, been so caring until you finally slept with him. and then he acted like you were nothing, not even worth a text. he had acted like you were crazy, delusional, for thinking your relationship went any deeper than sex.

he had all but laughed at you when you had suggested anything different. "i don't, like, do labels," he had told you. "you know that, right?"

you shuddered, now, thinking about how stupid, how utterly childish he had made you feel. thinking about how you had given the next guy, the one from lambda, a chance, about how he had done the same thing, with slightly different words, on a slightly different timeline.

you refused to feel that way again.

sam just shrugged. "i don't know, love," she said, "the way he was looking at you, back there, i swear, it was special."

you scrunched up your nose. "i'm not changing my mind. it's not worth it. he's not worth it."

something in the back of your mind twisted, though, because there was a trace of disbelief in your tone.

"whatever you say," sam said.

"now, tell me about your progress on project peace treaty," you said, hoping to change the subject, referring to sam's crush on the tke president.

one of your other friends had come up with the moniker after sam had been voted president herself, like a relationship between the two leaders would be some kind of deal between nations.

sam pretended to faint in her chair. "i don't know how much more obvious i can be," she whined. "i swear, i can't tell if he's just quiet or if he wants me to get the fuck away from him."

you rolled your eyes. "there's no way he's not into you," you said, and you meant it - sam was your best friend, and the best person you knew. if there was a way not to like her, you were unfamiliar with it.

she just shook her head. "you haven't talked to alex," she said, solemn. "he's, like, impossible to read." she shot you a look. "not all of us can have a tke brother wrapped around our finger after meeting once."

you threw a pillow at her, laughed her off, tried not to dream that night about starry blue eyes and soft lips on your temple.

the week passed, slowly, defined by welcome back mixers and new classes, new faces.

before you knew it, it was friday. you were exhausted, but you only had two classes today, the first of which passed quickly, the second of which was ballroom dance 101.

you had already had your first ballroom class on wednesday, so you knew it was fairly laid back, a good way to get some unit credits, a place to move around a bit before the weekend. you were, however, taking it alone. sam had been planning on taking it with you, but then an opening for a class she really needed had come up, and you had insisted you'd be fine on your own, that obviously her major credits were more important than this random elective dance class.

and it was fine, truly, if not a little less fun without her there. you waited patiently for the instructor to arrive, watching the little circles of friends stretch and chat. you leaned your back against the wall, crossed your arms over your chest, let your mind slow until you felt a presence next to you.

you glanced to your left, felt your heart stutter as you did a double take. "jack?" you asked, almost incredulous. if he looked pretty in the night, he looked downright distracting in the daylight, today in khakis and a polo shirt.

"hey, baby," he said, maybe a trace of smugness in his voice as he mirrored your lean, your posture. "how're you?"

this felt like a trap. he felt like a trap. your eyes narrowed. "you're in ballroom? since when?"

"since i switched into it, yesterday," he answered, simply and plainly, before his mouth quirked up. "is that what the experts are callin' it? just 'ballroom?'" he gave a facetious nod. "i like it. drop the 'dance,' 's too bulky."

you rolled your eyes, but laughed nonetheless. "we went over this kind of expert vocabulary on day one," you said with a shrug, "sorry you missed it."

the instructor clapped her hands, signaling her arrival, before beginning a stretching sequence on the floor.

"you're gonna dance in khakis?" you whispered to jack, who had taken the spot next to you as you both leaned forward to touch your toes.

"was i supposed to bring my tux?" he asked, which made you choke down a laugh. "or are we doing some kind of breakdancing i'm unaware of?"

"what, you don't have your handstand mastered?" you teased, "if you insist, but that's the foundation we're building from, just warning you."

"students, focus!" the instructor demanded, shooting you a glare, which you acknowledged with a nod before sharing a guilty smile with jack, like kids caught laughing too hard on the field trip bus.

after class, the both of you were planning on walking back to the row, so you just walked together, chatted pleasantly. the street was pretty in the daylight in a way it wasn't at night. there was something to be said, you thought, about being able to see everything clearly, about knowing exactly what you were looking at. and sure, there was beauty in mystery, and there was beauty in danger, but there was beauty in comfort, too.

"so, do you think i could get your number?" jack said, as you both turned the corner, the tke house now in clear view. his smile was easy. "for all the questions 'm gonna have about the tango?"

you let out a little laugh, thought for a moment. it was just your number, after all, and he said it was for class. it probably didn't mean anything. it was probably safe. "okay," you said, taking out your phone, handing it to him, "sure." your mouth quirked up as he put in his information, sent himself a text. "don't know how much help 'm gonna be, though."

he handed your phone back to you, that halfway grin on his pretty face. "you're right," he said, making his way towards his front door. "if anything, you'll just distract me from the steps, lookin' like that and all."

you looked down, shook your head, felt the gentle heat of a blush on your face. "focus up, then," you chided, gripping the straps of your backpack.

"oh, i'm focused, baby," he called out, "just not on dance."

you rolled your eyes at him as he smiled at your reaction, both of you saying your goodbyes. you heard his front door shut only when you had completely turned away, began to walk the few houses down the street.

when you got back to your room, you flopped down on your bed, breathing into your soft comforter, until you heard the door swing open again. you looked up.

"all good?" sam asked, raising a brow. she threw her bag and keys on the floor by her desk, slipped off her shoes, hopped up onto her bed, opposite yours.

"yeah," you said, sighed, then laughed, short and breathy. "remember that guy from last weekend?"

her eyes went wide, now alert. her posture straightened. "uh, your valiant hero in the face of danger? of course."

you laughed, then, more naturally this time, hugged a pillow to your chest. "he's in my dance class." you looked down at your hand, examined your fingernails. "and i gave him my number."

sam squinted at you. "okay," she said, slowly. "i know what i think about this, i think you know what i think about this." she tugged her hair elastic down, freeing her hair from the ponytail it had been in. "what do you think about this?"

you sucked on your teeth, thought for a moment. "i don't know," you said. "i guess i'm just confused. and worried. and i don't think i want him to text me first, but i also kind of want-"

a buzz from your phone interrupted you, and sam tilted her head back and groaned. "that's him, isn't it?" she asked. "that's definitely him."

and it shouldn't have been, you thought, there was no way it was him, because it had been what, ten minutes? you knew frat guys, and you knew it couldn't be him.

it was.

forgot to ask if you were coming tonight, he had texted, followed by told you you're distracting lol.

"i knew it," sam said, shaking her head, "i'm like an oracle. it's a gift, i know, but it's also a burden." she gestured for you to speak. "what's he say?"

"asked if i'm coming tonight," you said, looking up at her, "in all lowercase. and he said lol."

she waved you off. "non-issue," she declared.

"but, like," you pushed, giving her a look, "who taught him to use all lowercase?"

"doesn't matter," sam continued, "he called you baby and kissed you on the forehead. he gets a lowercase pass."

"so you're the oracle and the lawmaker?" you asked, teasing.

sam nodded seriously. "and the president," she finished.

you laughed, then sighed, began typing.

"what're you saying?" sam asked, leaning forward on her bed, as if she would be able to read your screen.

"just that 'm not going," you said. not tonight sry, you sent, followed by you might want to get that distraction thing checked out.

sam nodded. "what was their theme tonight? something bad, right?"

"country bros and rodeo hoes," you answered with a grimace.

"who the hell is in their little think tank?" sam asked, shaking her head, "'m gonna tell alex if they do the bros/hoes thing again a phi isn't coming."

you were nodding in agreement when your phone buzzed again. then you'll be up at a reasonable time tomorrow? he had asked, followed by any chance you wanna come watch my friends' baseball fall game?, followed by maybe more exposure will help w my distraction problem :).

you bit your lip, looked up at sam. "what?" she asked.

"have plans tomorrow morning?" you said as you typed. thanks for the invite, you sent, followed by can i bring sam? and can you bring alex?

"of course not," sam said, "it's saturday morning."

as long as you'll be there, you can bring anyone you want, he texted back, followed by alex is in!

see you there :) you said in a final response.

the field @ 9, he sent, followed by thank you!

your brow furrowed at this, because what was he thanking you for? what had you promised him, in this interaction, besides just seeing him? surely that wasn't enough to warrant a thank you?

you cleared your throat, tossed your phone aside. "well, you do now," you said to sam. "we're going to baseball tomorrow morning."

sam groaned. "those guys suck."

"alex is coming," you tried.

"i love baseball!" sam said, straightening again. "and soph is covering it for the paper, so we can support her, too."

you laughed. "so easily convinced, eh?"

"you don't wanna talk to me about being easily persuaded," she sing-songed. visions of easy grins and high cheekbones flashed across your mind, and you knew she was right, so you let it rest.

the next morning, as the two of you walked to the baseball field, sam was reminding you about the plight of being the president.

"we've warned her a million times about what she's posting," she told you, out of breath, referring to one of the freshman who didn't seem to understand your house's social media rules. "i don't know how many times i can remind her politely before i just start smacking cans out of her hand when someone takes their phone out."

you laughed as you rounded the corner by the field entrance. "i say resort to violence," you said, "i hear it's always the answer."

sam groaned while you smiled. "look, there they are," you whispered, spotting him and jack over by the stands. suddenly all evidence of sam's unhappiness was mysteriously gone. her face was the image of alert interest. you imagined you probably looked a little more nervous as you approached where they were standing.

"gentlemen," sam greeted the pair of them as you approached. "good to see you." she shot a wink alex's way. he appeared completely unaffected. "'specially you, handsome."

you and jack shared a gentle smile at sam's boldness, and it felt like a secret language, the kind you make up with your friend during a playdate, the kind everyone understands but that feels extra special, anyways.

"hi, sam," alex said, plainly, but you caught the faintest of a pleased look in his eyes before he nodded to you in greeting.

"thanks for coming," jack said, although when he said it he was speaking directly to you. there was a fluttery feeling in your stomach that you scolded into submission. then he offered you his arm, and you decided that the butterflies were probably here to stay, at least for now. "shall we?"

you exhaled, had the feeling that touching his extended arm would be like touching a loaded gun, dangerous and daunting, but you took it anyways, found him warm and comfortable against your side as you fell into step together. "i'm, uh," you started, testing your limits, "i'm happy you texted."

jack shook his hair from his face. his returning smile was nothing short of stunning. "yeah?" he asked, which had your mouth feeling a bit dry. "made you happy?" this fact seemed to make him especially pleased, proud.

"what, no arm for me, al?" came sam's abrupt voice from behind you. alex appeared horrified by this nickname. "that's fine, i have enough arms, anyways. three would be overdoing it, i think."

you coughed, turned your gaze back to jack. you felt the force of his attention like a suckerpunch to the stomach. "yeah, i, um," you tried, "thanks, i guess. for inviting us."

his soft features lit up with amusement at your uncertainty, obvious discomfort. he appeared just on the verge of laughter, but it didn't really feel like he was laughing at you, somehow. you knew what being on the bad end of joke was like, and this didn't feel like that. maybe you were just distracted by how his mouth curved around his almost-laugh, slow and delighted. "of course, baby," he said, and you sort of wished he would stop calling you that. for your mental well-being, he really needed to stop calling you that. he tugged you slightly closer to him as you made your way towards some empty seats in the stands. "can i have the seat next to you?"

and you let out a little laugh, then, as you sat down, made a motion as if to wipe off the seat to your left. "all yours," you said.

he hummed, something sparking in his eyes as he sat down, which had you rethinking your words, the gravity of them. you couldn't bring yourself to regret them, though, if you were honest. how could you regret them, when they made him look at you like this? like there was some worldly truth in the blush on your cheeks?

the cracking sound of a bat pulled you from your daze. "so, who do you know on the team?" you asked, eager to push the conversation towards something safer, something that didn't have your neck feeling hot, didn't make the arm rest between the two of you feel like something cruel.

he turned his head towards the field slowly, reluctantly. "11, 22," he said, pointing to where they stood, one tall, the other shorter, broader. "trevor and cole." he smiled. "they aren't very good."

you huffed a laugh. "they're on a d1 team," you chided, "so they must not be terrible."

"we still have no idea how they made the team," jack replied, shaking his head. "you'll see, swear trev can't catch a ball."

"and they only took on cole 'cause he's good with media," alex added from the seat on the other side of jack. "he's their backup backup catcher."

sam snapped her fingers. "cole, like cole caufield?" she asked, her eyes widening when alex nodded. sam looked at you. "he's the one soph's been talkin' about. the one she interviews all the time for the paper."

you laughed in recognition. your friend sophie covered almost every baseball game, and apparently a certain backup backup catcher had been giving her a lot of grief whenever she tried to get a useable quote.

"oh, and 43," jack said, pointing to the lanky kid on the pitcher's mound. his smile turned bashful. "'s luke, my younger brother."

your stomach flipped at how his gaze had softened. "didn't know you had siblings," you said, although you didn't know much about him, so you guessed that made sense.

he just nodded. "older brother, too, you might know him, actually."

"'s in tke with you?" you asked, to which jack made some affirmative sound.

"yeah," he said, "quinn, 's close with nico."

you hummed in recognition, picturing their faces, noticing the similarities. "right," you said, "you guys do look similar."

his smile turned indulgent as he tilted his head. "'m better looking though, right, baby?" he asked, and his voice dripped with confidence, but you felt a strange compulsion to reassure him, anyways, could somehow sense that this was important.

so you just ran your tongue along the inside of your cheek, gauging what to say, here, how much you could reveal. "i think you're pretty, jack," you said, and it was soft, low, for him. your eyes caught on his for a blazing second. "you know i do." and it was true, you knew he was aware of the way he affected you.

his gaze grew hooded for a moment, which terrified you, a horror-movie jump scare, a reminder of the reason you made your no-frat-boy rule in the first place.

luckily, as always, sam had something to say. she scoffed. "don't know about that," she said, leaning back in her chair, crossing her legs over the seat in front of her. "quinn's a straight ten." she gave a satisfied smile, looked to her right. "say, al, d'you think you could set me up with him? you guys are close, right?"

alex didn't answer right away. he shifted slightly in his seat.

"c'mon, from one president to another, think you could help me out?" sam gave a dreamy sort of sigh. "he's got a real face on him, and ever since he's grown out his hair-"

"'m not setting you up with him," was alex's short reply, cutting sam off, not quite looking at her.

you knocked jack's knee with your own, mirroring smiles on your faces.

sam just pouted as the game started. "don't have to be such an ass about it," she said, but you could tell by her face that she had accomplished exactly what she had set out to.

you weren't really a baseball fan, but this particular game flew by, probably because of the shaggy-haired, full-lipped person sitting to your left.

the slow pace of the game was cut with conversations about the party tke threw last night (it was lame, jack insisted, and his knowing, shy grin gave you a hint as to the reason why), which led to a conversation about who picks the themes (a board of esteemed individuals, apparently).

"i know it's just nico," sam said, rolling her eyes. "tell him that if he keeps up with the bros and hoes thing a phi isn't coming."

this actually appeared to alarm alex. "you're not serious," he said.

"as death," sam said, nodding.

alex promptly took out his phone and started to text someone. you had the sneaking suspicion it was nico.

jack asked about what you did last night, which led you to talking about your favorite movies.

"you've never seen scream?" you asked, practically confused.

he just shook his head, something glinting in his eyes.

you scoffed. "you have to. it's the best."

"you'll have to show it to me, sometime, then," was his response, which had you blushing, which had you wanting to.

cole never went in, as was expected. he seemed to spend the majority of his time goofing off in the dugout, throwing paper cups at his teammates, then turning away like he had no idea how they'd been hit.

luke threw a great game. he was the kind of player that drew your attention, that you just knew was good, even if you didn't know anything about the sport.

trevor only batted once (he leaned his shoulder into the pitch and took his walk). as an outfielder, he didn't see a ton of action, only getting one real shot at a catch, of course fumbling an easy out, much to the dismay of his teammates.

cole put his head in his hands but welcomed his friend back to the dugout with open arms.

the game ended with a win for the good guys, and you found yourself sticking around, all because jack wanted to wait to congratulate his friends and brother. he extended a hand to you to help you up from your seat, his grip firm and warm against your palm.

your group of four walked down to where the players would exit. you were surprised to find the silence especially comfortable, easy.

at some point, jack slapped his thigh, lightly. "i meant to ask you, baby, what's your coffee order?"

you gave him a confused sort of look. "just hot coffee with oat milk," you answered, almost wary. "why?"

"for next time," he answered, like it was the easiest thing in the world, maybe the most obvious.

you swallowed down how touched you were by this. it felt like ginger, like something you know is good for you but that feels foreign, harsh, anyways. "how do you like your coffee, then?" you asked.

"sweet," he answered, with a smile that made you feel like he knew something you didn't. "really, really sweet."

a chaotic presence shook you both from the haze you'd settled into. "oh, hey, guys." you turned, found your friend sophie there, hands full with a clipboard and her bag and a voice recorder. she pushed her hair from her face. "how's it going?"

"all good, soph," sam answered. "you?"

sophie blew out a breath. "will be good once i get a couple quotes," she said, "just hope they don't give me twenty-two. readers want quotes from impact players, and-"

"sayin' 'm not an impact player, love?" came a goofy approaching voice. you turned again to see cole coming out of the now open exit gate.

sophie groaned. "tell me they're giving me someone else," she pleaded, to which cole grinned wider. "tell me they're giving me someone who played, today."

cole rolled his neck, cracked his knuckles. "might wanna turn on your recorder," he advised, "you're gonna wanna get this."

sophie just rolled her eyes and pulled him to the side, beginning a short interview about the game as you continued to wait.

shortly after, trevor walked out, grinning when he registered the group of you. jack slung an arm around your shoulders as his friend approached, which you noticed. which you would have questioned, maybe, if he didn't pull you into his side in the best of ways, if his touch didn't make you basically delirious. so delirious that you reached a hand up to hold his, dangling from your shoulder.

you could almost hear his satisfied smile as trevor clapped alex on the shoulder in greeting. "packed the stands for us, eh?" he asked, to which alex laughed.

it was the most emotion you'd seen from him. sam appeared very confused, crossed her arms over her chest. "great game," she said.

"yeah," jack continued. "my favorite part was that gorgeous catch in the sixth." he nodded. "seamless."

trevor scoffed, waved jack off. "almost had that one," he insisted. "was this close." he brought two fingers up to show just how close he had been to making that catch.

"you were not," came another voice. you recognized the tall figure as jack's younger brother.

jack clapped his hand in a handshake, congratulated him on the win. you echoed the sentiment, stuck out your hand in greeting, which he shook. "really good game," you said, "i'm-"

"know who you are," luke said, to which you furrowed your brow.

"how?" you asked. luke shared a look with his brother, halfway amused, halfway bored.

jack cleared his throat. "might've mentioned you," he said, but it came out like a mumble, a murmur into your hair.

your heart felt too big for your chest, for a moment. the peanut gallery around you faded away, suddenly it felt like it was just the two of you, standing here. just the two of you, in this universe. "been talkin' about me?" you whispered, and you couldn't help but lean a little more into his side, your grip on his hand growing a little more substantial, a little more confident.

because you'd been someone's secret before, someone's wyd text late at night, someone's nobody, really, someone's a friend. you knew what it felt like to be traded up for, like an old phone, to be the just old enough model that someone looked for someone else, someone newer.

it felt a little spectacular to be someone to write home about, someone to be seen with in broad daylight, someone to be gushed about to a brother. maybe it just felt spectacular to be that kind of someone for jack, in particular.

"a bit," jack breathed into your ear, the softest, probably most uncertain you'd heard him. like he didn't want to scare you away.

you bumped your hip against his. "real chatterbox, hm?" you whispered, adoring the ghost of a flush up his neck, the shy smile he couldn't seem to hide.

"only about stuff that matters," he said, and whatever joke you were going to say died in your mouth, tasted bitter.

luckily, cole and sophie approached, drawing your attention away.

"good to go?" alex asked, to which cole nodded, a smug smile on his face.

sophie huffed. "i don't know why they give me you every damn game," she exclaimed, shoving her recorder and clipboard into her bag. "as if you could give me a useable quote if your life depended on it."

cole scoffed. "i can't help it if your questions are boring as hell," he said. "why don't you ask me something interesting?"

"like what?" sophie asked. "what do you propose i ask you?"

"to dinner next week," cole answered immediately, his smile more of a toothy smirk, and sophie groaned, shook her head.

"i'm out," she said, taking a quick right. she made eye contact with you and sam. "i'll see you back at the house, tonight, girls?"

you both nodded, called out your agreement and goodbye.

when sophie was out of earshot, trevor clapped cole on the shoulder. "don't you get tired of striking out, coley?" he asked.

"you don't seem to, trev," luke observed, to which jack let out a laugh.

"hey, i got a single out of today," trevor argued. no one seemed to view that as the victory that he did.

cole and trevor eventually peeled off to the athlete's dining hall to get lunch, while luke walked back to the row with the group of you, saying something about grabbing a shirt from quinn's room.

when you all made it back, standing in front of the tke house, jack reluctantly retracted his arm from your shoulders. you felt cold without it.

luke headed up to the door.

"luke, tell quinn i say hi, would you?" sam asked, to which he gave some confused confirmation, before disappearing into the house. sam then turned to alex. "a pleasure, as always, al," she said, barely sparing him a second glance.

"yeah, bye?" alex said, almost a question, obviously wary of sam's change in pace.

jack touched your hand, pulled your gaze to his like two magnets, eliciting some kind of shield between you and the rest of the world. "thanks again for coming," he said, so soft, you could feel in your bones that he meant it.

"'course," you said, found it strange that it was entirely true. of course you would come when he called you. of course you'd indulge his every whim, when he asked so politely. "see you on friday? for dance?"

and he gave the slightest of pouts, but it drew your attention to his mouth nonetheless. made your cheeks feel hot, your heart beat fast, nonetheless. "too long, baby," he said, and you could have rolled your eyes at his boyish whine, but you never would. not when he was whining for you.

you just stayed quiet, let yourself smile, slightly. "maybe before friday, then?"

he grinned as if some plan he'd formed had turned out exactly as he'd hoped. "i'll text you," he said, giving you that fairytale smile, and you'd been told that before.

you'd been told that before, during nighttime hours that passed like slug across rain-drenched walkways. you'd been told that while in boxer shorts that weren't your own, standing in a doorframe that was practically laughing at you.

i'll text you, you'd been told, from some guy on his bed, on his phone, not quite looking at you.

and the doorframe might have cackled at how desperate you seemed, then, desperate for something you'd never get from this guy in the room you were leaving.

kick rocks, girl, the doorframe might have said, you know how many i've seen come in and out, even just this week? and you really think you're special?

but, right now, jack told you that he'd text you, and you couldn't find a doubt in your mind. you knew he would.

you proved to be right. the weekend flew by, because you were busy, yes, but also because of the near-ongoing text conversation you had fallen into with jack.

he might ask you something about the classes you were taking (besides ballroom), to which you would shyly tell him about some finance discussion you found genuinely interesting.

you might ask if he played sports at all, like his brother (he played hockey growing up, but wasn't good enough to play in college, like luke was with baseball), to which you would tell him you found it hard to believe that he could ever be not good enough at something.

and you'd believe it, too, wholeheartedly. sure, he had this ease to him, this softness, but he also seemed to possess a specific kind of eagerness, a delicious sort of hunger you felt must lead him to the things he wanted without exception.

you wouldn't admit it to anyone who asked, but he had you smiling at your phone on more than one occasion, had your heart beating a little faster with every notification. he had you dreamy. it was a good look on you.

that's how he had you, just over the phone, so the feeling was amplified by a million the next monday afternoon, after class, on your walk back from the business building, as you passed the tke house. a walk you'd taken a hundred-something times over the years, but this time was different, because your name was being called out of an upstairs window.

your heart stuttered, because you recognized that voice, in its confidence, in its goofy gentleness. you stopped walking, looked up, searching for an open window.

"that you, jack?" you called back, when you found it, found him leaning out of the pane with a smile you could see from where you stood. even though you knew. even though you'd never mistake his tone for anyone else.

he gave a pout. "who else?" he asked, and it was careful, calculated, even though it was playful. like he really wanted to know who else you thought would call your name from a window. like he really wanted to be the only one.

"oh, no one," you assured him, beginning to walk down the sidewalk again, towards your house, "you're my only romeo." you'd meant it in a joking way, but you could tell the first three words were the ones that mattered to him. the ones that would echo in his head. you're my only.

this made him light up, made him glow like a disco ball in a middle school gymnasium. "look so pretty today, baby!" he said, in response, before the distance between you grew so stark.

you flushed, wanted to feel the word pretty from his mouth against your neck, wanted to swallow it down. but you just smiled. "only today?" you asked, wondered where this confidence had come from, tried to imagine you saying that to anyone else. you couldn't.

"come back tomorrow, just to check!" he called out after you, making you shake your head, look down at your feet.

you weren't even back to your front door yet before your phone buzzed. not just today, he'd texted you.

i knew what you meant :), you sent back.

just didn't want you to think differently, he replied, followed by spend a scary amount of time thinking about how pretty you are.

the following day, you'd be lying if you said a smile didn't bloom across your face as you walked back after class, as you approached the tke house. maybe it was some pavlov response, but it was probably because you recognized the figure sitting on the window pane on the top floor, swinging his legs, just looking out, like he was on the top of a pirate ship.

you smiled, but your pulse stuttered, a bit. "jack?" you asked, although of course you knew it was him, that perfect facial structure, shag of soft hair. "is it safe up there?"

his gaze fixed on you, alight with flame and amusement. "worried 'bout me, baby?" he asked, and you rolled your eyes, but something in you twitched, because you were, actually. when did that happen?

"why're you hanging outta your window?" you asked, because you didn't need to tell him that you cared that much about him, not yet. you barely wanted to admit it to yourself, even.

he seemed to take your deflection as confirmation, anyways, to see right through you, as he typically did. his grin ticked up, a beautiful combination of a bashful blush and confident smile. he pushed his hair from his face. "knew you'd be walkin' by," he said, swung his feet up and back gently. "had to catch you."

you swallowed, ran your palms along the straps of your backpack in delighted disbelief. "you were waiting for me to walk by?" you asked, still not quite understanding.

he only nodded, tilted his head, gave the softest of smirks. it was almost too much. "don't you know you've got me waitin' by the phone, baby?" he asked, melodic. it was almost like he was making fun of you, with that teasing tone, but you knew in your heart that he wasn't. that he would never.

cherry-blossom pink bloomed across the bridge of your nose as his confession registered in your mind. the thought of him throughout his day, acutely aware of his phone in his pocket, his heart racing at every buzz, like yours did. "bein' so patient, are you?" you asked, the words smooth and drowsy in your throat, like cough syrup.

he hummed, swung a leg back over the pane, starting to shift his body back inside. "'m here when you need me, baby," he said, matter-of-fact, absolute. his gaze sharpened, the temperature of it rising to a scorch you felt like a slap. "or when you want me."

it was something sort of breathtaking, how honest he was with you, from the beginning. how he seemed perfectly content just waiting for you to come to terms with the attraction you felt so deeply. the attraction he could see in your eyes, in your breath, in your words.

you were scared, though, because this was the before part. and the guys you'd had before had appeared genuinely interested during the before part, too. it was the after part you were concerned about.

because what if he lost interest as soon as he had you, like the other guys did? he seemed so different, and so genuine, and sure, you'd never thought anyone to be as beautiful as him, but what if he wasn't different? what if he left you, too, standing alone, dumb, a desperate fool?

how many times had a beautiful trick forced your hand? you shivered at the thought, but the romantic in you wanted to believe. in yourself, in him. she wanted to believe in the love story between the beautiful trick and the desperate fool. she needed to.

the following day, perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised, as you approached tke house on your walk back, to recognize jack's familiar figure in his front yard. he appeared to be making progress closer to you, day by day, from inside his room, to outside his window, to now, just next to the sidewalk.

the scene you approached wasn't necessarily a rare one, not on the row, but it might appear odd to an outsider. a few of the brothers, some that you recognized, were sitting on a couch that they had obviously moved from inside, while a couple others, jack included, were lounging on adirondack chairs. most of them had computers out, doing work, or something like it. and, of course, because it was a sunny afternoon, all of them, save for one, were bare-chested.

you weren't especially sensitive or judgmental when it came to that sort of thing, but, as you got closer, you found your cheeks growing hot, anyways. you were embarrassed like a kid, like you'd been caught with something forbidden, and you might've walked right by the house, avoiding eye contact, if jack hadn't made that impossible.

"tryna sneak by, baby?" he called out from his chair, teasing, his posture so distractingly relaxed, knees spread wide. he waved you over with a knowing smile. "c'mere," he said, but not like a demand. like a request, sweet-sounding from his full mouth.

and you'd do just about anything he asked, so of course you exhaled, turned on your foot, walked nervously from the sidewalk onto the lawn, over to his chair. you nodded your hello to nico, on the couch, on your way, finally stilled in front of jack's chair.

your heart was pounding, your palms felt damp. he'd called you baby, in front of all of his friends, like you weren't something to hide. the opposite, actually, like you were something to show off, someone to be proud of. he looked at you like you were worth something, and he looked so beautiful, drenched in sunlight, so stunning that your throat felt tight.

"hi," you said, internally smacked yourself at how lame you sounded, how dumb.

"hi," jack parroted, his smile growing as he shut his computer, set it down on the ground next to him. you suspected he could probably feel your nerves, your distraction. you suspected he was delighted in it. and that made you feel a bit better, at least. to be his delight, for the moment being. "you know quinn, right?"

you turned your eyes to the chair next to jack, to a face you recognized, the only one in the yard wearing a shirt. "yeah," you answered, giving quinn a small nod, which he returned. "hey, quinn."

the older brother gave you a small smile. "hey," he replied, "heard your sam's been askin' about me."

you laughed, twisted the sole of your sneaker into the grass slowly. "she has," you confirmed, although you highly doubted her interest was genuine. "very recently, at least."

quinn just laughed, gave a slight shake of his head before turning back to his computer. he knew something you didn't, you could tell, but you couldn't focus on that, right now, not when jack's voice called you back from your curious state.

"wanna sit?" he asked, spreading his legs wider as if to make room for you. you scrunched up your nose, slightly, in thought.

"you're not busy?" you asked, sort of shaky, shifting on your feet.

he shook his head, gave his thigh a soft pat in invitation. "wanna hear about your day," he said, and you could have swooned.

you set down your backpack next to his laptop, on the grass, let him pull you onto his lap. you settled into his chest, crossed your feet over the far armrest, rested your hands in your own lap as he draped a heavy arm around your shoulders to keep you upright.

you tried not to ruminate too hard on how warm he was, how his bare skin seemed to spark against you like an electric shock. jesus, had you ever been so awkward?

"nervous, eh?"

you looked up at him, found his smile lazy but his eyes attentive, almost concerned. you nodded, because who could lie to those eyes? "you make me nervous," you said, plainly, because it was true.

he fixed you with that starry gaze, his mouth dipping slightly into something like relief. you were confused, your brow furrowing as he took your hand in his free one, brought your fingers up to his neck, just below his ear. he pressed your index and middle finger into his soft skin until you could feel his pulse, until it vibrated through you.

until you could feel just how fast his heart was beating. you felt molten, all over, like day-old valentine's day chocolate over a flame.

you rubbed careful circles into his neck, as if to soothe the underlying pace. "like you just ran up the stairs," you said, and it came out like a whisper. jack just huffed a laugh, let his hand fall to the top of your legs. there was something mesmerizing in his eyes when he looked at you, then. "thank you," you added, a breath.

"make me nervous, too, baby," he said, so soft only you could hear. his mouth twisted into a teasing grin. "'m just better at hidin' it."

you rolled your eyes, but relaxed deeper into him, all the same, leaning your head back on his extended arm, shifting across his lap. "guess 'll have to get better at it, then," you said, a small smile on your face.

he just shook his head. "hope you don't," he told you. "hope you never hide from me."

your tongue felt too big for your mouth, then, so you just asked about his day, told him about yours, felt yourself grow more and more comfortable with each passing second, as the sun peeled across the sky like a sweet orange. you had homework to do, but you lost track of time, talking with him about everything and nothing, about nonsense and significance. you found yourself hanging off of his words like they were his lips, found yourself laughing so genuinely and sharing more with him than you had with a new person in a long, long time.

his laugh rang in your head like church bells. everything he said to you felt like a secret, like something just between the two of you. people moved to and from the lawn as you spoke, as you listened, but neither of you seemed to notice. the hours melted away in moments.

"jesus, there you are," came a loud voice from the sidewalk, pulling you from your bubble. you turned, found sam, a hand on her hip, looking right at you. "would it kill you to answer your phone?"

guilt bloomed in your chest. you hadn't thought to check your phone in what must have been an eternity. you quickly picked yourself up from jack's lap to grab it from your bag, caught a glimpse of his pout, which made your stomach flip. you scrolled through your notifications, winced at the texts you'd missed, mostly sam asking where you were. "i'm sorry," you said, looking up at her, and you meant it.

sam didn't hold grudges, though, had better things to do. it was one of the things you loved about her. so she just waved you off, approached you where you knelt next to your phone. she tilted her chin up at jack in greeting before noticing his brother. "'sup, quinn," she said, pushing her glasses to the top of her head. "didn't get the tarps-off memo, did you?"

quinn looked up, smiled right back at her. his gaze darted to the front door of the house and back in a second, almost undetectable, but you noticed it, noticed quinn's grin grow almost devious. "sorry to disappoint, sammy," he said, emphasis heavy on the nickname, his eyes settling on the door again. he coughed, nodded his head. "hey, uh, alex."

you bit your lip to stifle a laugh, shared a look with jack, who touched your shoulder lightly. just to say are you getting this? just to say i'm right here with you. as if you'd forget.

sam spun around to face alex, who stood on the front steps, hands in the pockets of his shorts. he wasn't looking at sam, though. he was glaring daggers at quinn, who was acting oblivious, practically humming contently in his seat.

"excuse me?" sam's voice was pitched. "what the hell are you wearing?"

your eyes widened as you registered the front of alex's t-shirt. it was a pretty pale yellow, with some bid day slogan on it, over three identical triangles. alex was wearing something tri delt.

you felt jack lean forward, his mouth right by your ear. "that from this year's bid day?" he asked. you nodded slowly, so as to let the scene unfold in front of you without disruption.

alex just looked down at his shirt, shrugged, appeared to be the picture of confidence, even arrogance. "what's the big deal?"

sam rolled her eyes, crossed her arms over her chest. "tri delt, al, really?" sam sighed, then began to pull at the sleeves of her own sweatshirt, tug it over her head. of course, she was wearing only a bra underneath. of course, she didn't care.

quinn laughed, let out a whistle.

jack's laugh shook through you as he leaned forward, rested his forehead on your shoulder blade. you grinned at the intimacy of it, of letting him hide his laugh in you.

sam exhaled again, her sweatshirt now in her hand, which she extended to alex as she fixed her glasses. "here," she said, impatient.

alex narrowed his eyes, took the blue mass of fabric, pulled it over his head.

sam didn't wait to see him put it on, like she didn't need to check, instead turning on her heel, in pajama pants and pretty much nothing else, and began to walk back towards the a phi house. she gestured your way, "let's go, you," she ordered.

you scurried to grab your bag, pushed up on your feet, touched your fingers to jack's chin, lightly, before making to follow her. "movie tomorrow?" you asked, emboldened by hours of comfort, of being made to feel comfortable.

"yes, please," jack said, and the way he smiled up at you was something of dreams. "i'll text you, yeah?" you nodded, turned to run after your roommate.

"pleasure as always, madam president," nico called out from the couch, to which sam scoffed.

you caught up with her, hugged her into your side. "feeling feisty, eh?" you asked.

"tri delt," she said, biting, "what a moron, honestly. who does he think he is?"

you laughed. "i don't think he's thinking about anyone in tri delt, right now," you tried.

"and don't think we're not talking about you," she said, wagging a warning finger at you, "disappearing for hours, just for me to find you in the lap of a," she gasped dramatically, for emphasis, "frat boy!"

and you did talk about it, later, in the comfort of your room. you talked about jack, and how special he made you feel, and how patient he was with you, and how different he seemed.

and you talked about how scared you were, how you were so worried that as soon as you gave him any more of you, he'd take it all and run like blue and red flashed in the rearview. how you were more scared now, probably than ever before, because of how ready you were to give him whatever he wanted, and after such a short time of knowing him, too. to give him all of you, if he asked.

or, at least, to give him enough of you that, if he did run, he would leave nothing left.

sam listened, and asked questions, and talked for a long while, but the gist of it was that sometimes good things are scary. sometimes to be scared is to care, and sometimes to care is to be human.

"jesus, just look at me," she said, "make a fool out of myself on the daily for that scumbag, and look where it gets me." she sighed. "minus one sweatshirt and plus one poor boy calling me sammy."

you laughed. "you're a lot of things," you mused, "but you're no fool."

unlike you, foolish one, some voice in your head taunted, low and mean. your nose twitched.

sam hummed. "so, i should be out of the room tomorrow night?"

you groaned, hung your head in your hands. "it's a terrible idea, right?" you asked. "of course he's going to think something specific when i asked him to watch a movie at my place, hm?"

she just laughed at your anguish, put her hands up in surrender. "hey, you asked him," she pointed out. "not like he snapped you u up? at three a.m."

you scrunched up your nose. "i guess," you said.

"you make the rules," sam reminded you, "you set the pace." she fixed you with a look. "but you seem to like the fast track, love." she gestured to her cheeks. "you're glowing with it."

and maybe she was right. but you didn't feel like you were glowing, the following night, the night jack was supposed to come over.

you'd fussed over your hair and your clothes and your general being, made and remade your bed, folded all the clothes in your closet, as if he would be doing a thorough inspection.

you felt scattered, scared, so devastatingly nervous. you caught a glimpse of yourself in your mirror, almost flinched at the lack of confidence you found, the physical embodiment of anxiety. it seemed to web under your eyes like spiders, seemed to coat your skin like dull plaster.

it was sort of odd you felt so anxious, you thought, because you trusted jack. you trusted him so much, so truly. brutal memories had your sense of security all twisted around, though. at the moment, you couldn't quite grasp his lips against your temple, you couldn't tangibly touch his kind smile, didn't have the echo of his reassuring words in your ear.

you just felt crazy. crazy for wanting to trust him, somehow even more crazy for not being able to just let go. how badly you wanted to let go of the past, of your insecurities, of your fears.

it was almost like you were being pulled between two realties. you felt the stretch in the lines on your palms, in the seam of your mouth, in your breastbone. it was a pull between the kind of fear you found some deranged sort of certainty in and the future, what could be, what you could almost taste, if you'd just let yourself relax. if you'd only let yourself enjoy it.

why do you have to remember every embarrassment and failure? some voice in your head screamed, why can't you just be normal? you swallowed around your sadness, because he'd probably want someone normal, right? he probably wouldn't want you.

as if summoned by your despair, your attention was pulled upwards by a knock on your window, a few quick raps. you squinted, were shocked to find jack's pretty face on the other side of the glass.

you lived on the first floor, so it wasn't necessarily unsafe, or anything, but the front door was right there, and he was early. he was early, and you looked like a mess, felt like an even bigger one.

still, you walked over to the window, pulled it open. "what're you doing?" you asked, cleared your throat to hide the shake in your voice.

his blue eyes flashed with something like recognition, gone again in a moment. "am i too early?" he asked, like some impatient kid on christmas morning. "i can wait by the front door for another hour, if you want." you could have sighed in his voice, this specific tone that calmed you like lavender, the one that was almost making fun of you, but not quite.

even in your chaotically disorganized state, you just left the window open, stepped back. "'course you can come in now," you said, welcoming him in. you gave him a bit of a laugh, but it sounded kind of sad as it came out. "'m sorry about all this," you said, giving a rough gesture to your room, yourself, as you sat at the foot of your bed. "i'd probably have fixed it by the time you were supposed to get here."

he climbed into your room, and the sight was so intimate it made your chest contract. when he looked up at you, confusion dripped down his gaze like candle wax. "what do you mean?" he asked, coming to sit next to you, warm and easy. "fix what?"

you gave him a half-smile, genuinely believed he was just being polite. "i know i look crazy," you said, running your fingertips under your eyes. "i feel crazy."

his eyes filled with kind concern, not pity, but just care. he tentatively wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulled you into his chest in an embrace that felt like a midday nap, exactly what you needed. "then i'm happy i couldn't stay away, crazy girl," he said, and it was so soft it hurt. "tell me." a request, only because he wanted to know. he wanted to know you.

and, after a sigh, you did tell him, just as you'd told sam. you told him about how scared you were, about how you could feel how he was different, how you knew it like some philosophical principle, but how you were terrified, anyways.

you told him about how dumb, how juvenile and stupid you'd felt, over and over again, just for wanting to be taken seriously, just for wanting someone to deem you worthy of something longer than a night. just for wanting someone to stay. you told him about how you'd had people be so sweet and kind and caring, but they'd still left after they'd gotten what they'd wanted.

and you sort of felt pathetic as you spoke, and you half expected him to laugh, to tell you that you were like every other girl, expecting un-promised things from some poor guy. but, of course, he didn't. of course, he just held you to his chest, listened to you the entire time, his thumb rubbing circles into your upper arm.

"i don't want you to think that i think you're a bad guy," you made sure to say, looking up at him, "and i don't want you to think that i don't care about your life, and your anxieties, and stuff, just because i'm rambling about mine." you let your eyes flood with everything you were feeling. "but i also don't want you to think i'm disinterested, or bored, or something."

he hummed, and it was quiet, for a moment, as your words rolled around his head. "what do you want me to think, then?" he asked, finally, gently.

you leaned your head on his shoulder, thought for a second. "i want you to know that i'm into you," you landed on, and the truth tasted sweet on your tongue. "and i want to ask you to keep being patient with me, please." your mouth quirked up. "like you already are, i guess."

his smile was something dreamy before he pressed his lips to your hair. "how about this?" he said, a murmur, "how about you let me try to convince you i'm staying, hm? trust me to?"

you found yourself nodding.

"and if you want something, you just ask me, okay, baby?" he amended. "ask me, and i'll be here. promise."

you looked up at him through your lashes. "thank you," you breathed, after a pause, because a promise was something special. him being so soft with you was something special, too.

he gave a slight shrug, his smile almost a smirk. "you told me you're into me, baby," he said, like that explained everything.

you just laughed into his shoulder, felt fear melt away, dissolve into the air. "what did you come over for, again?" you joked, because you were supposed to be watching a movie, and instead you'd unloaded all this information on him. instead, you'd told him how you felt.

but he didn't seem to hear the joke in your tone. "to see you," he said, simply, making you flush.

eventually, you watched the second scream movie, which was your favorite, and you asked about his day, and you continued to add to the filing cabinet of information about jack that existed in your mind. eventually, the dim light and night air made your words slow and your eyes droopy. eventually, the two of you fell asleep.

when your eyes fluttered awake, sunlight poured in through your curtains like flour through a sieve. your limbs felt stiff, your neck tight, having fallen asleep in an awkward position, but your head was clear, not foggy at all. you'd slept scarily well.

a slight shift on your mattress drew your attention, and your eyes widened when you registered jack, still asleep, still in the clothes he'd come in last night. you looked around to find your laptop on the floor, jack's sweatshirt halfway off the side of the bed.

checking your phone for the time, you mouthed a curse, because you were already late for your eight a.m. you must have forgotten to set your alarm for this morning. admittedly, you had been awfully busy last night, in a comfortable sort of way. you'd had much more important things on your mind than today's lecture, namely the way jack's voice grew rougher as the hours passed. namely, how he shared things with you like he trusted you with everything, like he knew you'd take care of him.

you silently rose, crept to the bathroom to brush your teeth and quickly get ready. when you emerged again, you were relieved to find his eyes still closed.

he looked so peaceful, like this, so blissful, almost angelic. the morning sun settled on his face, the crown of his head like a halo, his chest rising and falling with even breaths.

as you pulled on a different shirt and shorts, you couldn't help the small smile that stretched across your face. because, you remembered, you'd told him everything, and he had stayed. when you looked over at him, he didn't disappear. he was really, genuinely there, and had felt comfortable enough in your bed, in your space, to fall asleep with his arm under your neck, with his knee grazing your hip.

only when you picked up your backpack did he stir, reaching a hand to rub over his face, stretching with a groan that made you blush. when he retracted his hand, resting it up against your headboard, his sleepy gaze found yours. he smiled, an instinct, a compulsion. you smiled back. "tryna sneak out on me?" he said, yawning halfway through.

you approached the side of the bed he was laying on, by your nightstand, bent down and sat back on your heels so you were close to eye level with him. "no," you told him, honestly. you pushed his hair back from his face, and he hummed at your touch, eyes drowsy, getting used to the light from the window. perhaps still getting used to the light of you. "just didn't want to wake you."

he exhaled, and you felt the heat of it on your arm. "going to class?" he asked.

you nodded, smiled. "but i'll see you later, maybe?" you asked, hopeful. "i'll text you?"

"please," was his reply.

before you pushed up from your knees, though, you bit your lip with indecision. "jack," you began.

"yeah, baby?" he asked, almost confused, certainly intrigued.

"remember when you said to tell you when i want something?" you tone had grown cautious.

"'course," he said, reaching a hand forward, under your chin, to keep your eyes trained on his.

you swallowed, shifted. "i want something."

he smiled, shy, in a flash of teeth, just so, so pleased. "anything," he answered, sleep now gone from his gaze, replaced with something sharper, something beautiful. "anything." he said it like a plea.

you breathed out, searched his eyes, then leaned forward slowly, pressed your lips gently to his. only for a second, soft as anything, barely there, before making to pull away again.

then his broad hand was on the side of your face, though, guiding you back to his mouth, this time harder in commitment but not in force. the positioning was kind of awkward, with him propped up on his elbow, and he tasted a little bitter from the morning, and your heart felt like it was buzzing, but it was perfect. it was perfect, all of it, because it was with him.

no running away, his kiss seemed to scream at you, not from me.

you hoped he could sense your promise by the way you reached an arm around his neck, by the way you relaxed into his mouth, practically a sigh of relief.

he felt like lazy laundry days and laughing in the kitchen and pinkie promises. he smelled like worn-out cologne from the night before. he felt like trust, and belief, and something meaningful. he felt like something, someone, you could get used to. someone you wanted to, at least.

you both pulled away, at some point, only just barely, enough to catch your breath. you ran your nails along the nape of his neck, watched his glossy gaze settle on you.

"'m really gonna be late, now," you said, dumb, but you didn't really care. you had greater things to care about, it seemed.

he laughed, and you felt it in your fingers. "they're lucky they're getting you at all," he said, and it was a rasp. his smile grew lopsided. "or maybe 'm the lucky one."

you gave a slight shake of your head. he just said these kinds of things, and he didn't think about how they'd make your vision spin. how terribly inconsiderate. "i'll see you later?" you clarified, giving his shoulder a squeeze before getting up, lugging your backpack on.

he nodded, still a bit dazed, it seemed.

the thought made you smile. "bye, jack," you said, on your way out.

"bye, baby," he called out after you, a sing-song. you could hear the happiness leaking from his voice, could almost taste it.

time passed quickly and blissfully, from there. the semester began to rush forward in a flurry of classes and chapter meetings and philanthropy obligations, all which were cut with movie nights with jack in your room, nights on which he slept over more often than not (you swore every time he came over he stole a different sweatshirt of yours. your closet was starting to look scarce, but whenever you saw him push the too-tight sleeves up on his forearms, you couldn't find it in yourself to mind), dance class on friday afternoons (you didn't know how someone could be so tragically terrible at ballroom as you seemed to be, but you looked forward to it, all the same), parties at tke on the weekends (you grew to know his friends and brothers and their girlfriends, grew to be a part of their little world).

tonight was one of those parties, and you were in your room, trying to figure out what you were going to wear, before sam burst in the door.

"we're not going," she said, plain and simple, sitting on her bed.

you looked at her with a raised brow. "why not?" your eyes widened. "what did alex do?"

she rolled her eyes. "it's not alex," she explained. "i told nico no more bros and hoes bullshit a long time ago, and he didn't listen." she shook her head, as if disappointed. "what is the theme, if not golf bros and tennis club hoes?"

you gave a light laugh. "so we're actually not going?"

"nope," sam declared, "already put it in the chat. a phi is boycotting."

as if on cue, you received a text from jack that read coming tonight?

haven't you heard, you sent back, a phi is on strike :)

you accepted his almost instantaneous face-time request, grinning as his pretty features filled your screen. "what do you mean you're on strike?" was his immediate question.

"hi to you, too, jack," you teased, your stomach flipping when his eyes filled with something soft.

"hi, baby, 'm sorry," he amended, and his voice was genuine.

you waved his apology off lightheartedly. "i'm under strict presidential orders," you told him, "apparently nico didn't heed the warning about the bros and hoes thing."

jack groaned, then looked away from the screen for a second. "they're not coming," he called out to someone, "like, actually, all of a phi is not coming."

"and we're not budging!" sam called out from her bed.

"is that sam?" came another voice from jack's end. "put her on."

and so the phones were passed to alex and sam, respectively.

"c'mon, sam," alex said, the most emotion you'd heard from him in a while. "you guys need to come out. we need you there."

it was true, sort of. they needed girls there, and a phi was plentiful with pretty smiles and kind laughs.

"no can do, al," sam said, smug. "tke needs to learn their lesson."

alex blinked.

"will you put nico on, please?" sam asked, syrupy sweet. "i have some choice words for him."

"no, you can't talk to nico," alex responded, short.

"what's the deal, madam?" came a very nico-sounding voice, off screen. "it's a good theme, eh? think you'd look great in a tennis skirt."

you rolled your eyes.

"what, won't let him talk without his lawyer present?" sam pressed.

jack's laugh was bright. you felt it through the screen.

"he can talk to you when he puts a shirt on," was the curt response.

you smirked. alex was not doing a very good job of shielding his emotions, not anymore.

"you know me better than that, don't you?" sam asked, almost offended. "not one to get distracted easily by a bare chest."

alex sighed, rubbed a hand over his face.

"are you saying you get distracted by nico's abs, al?" sam continued. "i mean, i get it, even if i can't relate personally."

"you're not talking to him, sam," alex said. "our theme for tonight is not up for debate. it's too late."

sam gave a dramatic sigh, appeared deep in thought.

"well, can i talk to quinn, then?" sam said. "not for any reason, really, just want to see his face."

you bit your lip out of frame, smiled, because you had a feeling jack was doing something similar. you had a feeling that if you were in the same room, right now, you'd be sharing a knowing glance, a hidden laugh. you felt warm with that knowledge.

"quinn's busy," alex bit out. you could almost hear his grinding teeth.

sam just gave a theatrical pout that had you giggling.

"shame," sam said, a winning smile on her face.

you heard alex's deep exhale. "you're killing me, here, beautiful," he said, a sigh. your eyes widened. was alex finally breaking?

sam just hummed. "'s that my sweatshirt you're wearing, al?" she asked. "color looks nice on you."

then she handed the phone back to you, walked from the room, and when you looked down at the screen, alex was gone, too, leaving only the soft slope of jack's nose, messy hair in his face. "hi," you said, a smile bubbling free.

"hi," he parroted. "if you're not coming, then, what're you doing tonight?"

you shrugged. "probably just watching a movie here," you said. "nothing crazy."

his nose twitched, his eyes shone with an unasked question.

"wanna join?" you asked, loving the way his face lit up at your invitation.

he sucked on his teeth, and your stomach coiled with heat at the sight. "think 'm technically supposed to be here," he said, to which you pouted. "but i might be able to sneak out."

"sneak outta your own party?" you asked, a light laugh on your mouth like a sparkly gloss.

"for you," he added, which made your laugh settle into something dangerous.

you scrunched up your face in delight. "'ll leave my window open, then," you said.

"thank you, baby," he said, waited for you to hang up first.

you did leave your window open, let the cool nighttime breeze ease in, blowing your curtains slightly, the edges of your sheets by your feet. you were comfortably on your side, your mind quiet as your eyes lazily took in your computer screen.

the tassels on your drapes seemed to sing at jack's knock on the window pane. the fixtures in your room seemed to relax, the wood of your desk turning malleable, the light on the ceiling to burn hotter, dimmer.

play it cool, you wanted to shush them, the way you whisper to your friends in middle school when your crush walks past your locker, just act normal.

your smile crept up on you, slow and genuine, as he swung his other leg over, shut the window again, immediately kicking off his sneakers and collapsing on top of you, the weight of him almost oppressive against your chest, your face.

you laughed nonetheless, wrapped your arms around his middle to hug him closer, to breathe him in. you felt his neck relax, his heavy head hang just above your shoulder. he let out a breath, like he was exhaling everything heavy. like he was making space for you in his lungs, in his chest, in his being.

you rubbed gentle circles into his back over his sweatshirt. "successful jailbreak?" you murmured, your voice muffled into his chest.

he pressed his lips to your shoulder, gently, before rolling off of you, soft as anything but sparking heat between the two of you nonetheless. "you've made a fugitive out of me," he joked, laying an arm over your torso and pulling you into his side.

"sure they won't be missing you?" you asked, brushing his hair from his face. his eyes simmered with something lovely.

he gave a shrug you felt through your whole body. "if i was there, i'd be missin' you," he clarified in explanation. of course, your heart stuttered like a shy kid giving a speech at an all-school assembly.

"i'm glad you're here," you said, soft, the words not feeling like nearly enough. you hooked one leg around his, tangling the two of you further, then rethought your action.

because you'd known guys who'd groan at this kind of thing from you, who would warn you not to start something you couldn't finish, who would call you a tease or something much meaner.

but, of course, jack did no such thing. he just relaxed deeper into the position, nodded towards your abandoned computer. "what're we watching?" he asked.

you swallowed. it struck you as weird, that his endless patience and kindness sparked something hot in your stomach, that you wanted to give him anything and everything, all because he would never demand it of you.

his hand on your back suddenly felt heavy, his leg under yours too warm. you hummed, tilted your head up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

you could feel him smile against your lips. "what's that for, baby?" he asked, rough.

"for you," you answered, simply.

you felt his pleased exhale in your bones as he took your chin in his hand, led your mouth to his in a deeper kiss, this time, one that felt like coffee mugs with lipstick on the rim, like good morning texts before you wake up, like burning fireplaces in the winter, fragrant and lively. "so sweet for me, baby," he mumbled against your mouth.

you sighed, ran your fingertips along his jaw, found courage in the blue of his eyes that willed your nerves away. "can i have something, please?"

"anything," he answered, softly, immediately, as he always had.

you ran your tongue along the inside of your cheek, wondering what you were actually asking for. "i just want," you started, uncertain, then started again. "just-"

you cut yourself off with a shaky exhale, reaching an arm around his neck, shifted your body until you were on top of him, kissed him with something feverish in your veins. he let out some kind of whimper-ish sound, so strained, so desperate, as his hand found your hips, held you to him with intention.

you kissed him like you were burning, like you needed him to taste the flame of your want, like your desire was some burden you couldn't possibly shoulder alone.

he didn't seem to mind, anyways, quite the opposite - he kissed you back like he'd take anything you'd give him, like the fire you were exuding was water in a drought, like you were some fabled savior. like you were saving him.

you pulled gently at the hem of his pink sweatshirt, or yours, rather, withdrew slightly to help him tug it off. he was so beautiful, always, but especially now, glowing in the light of your bedroom, flushed entirely because of you, eyelids heavy with attraction.

you stilled, straddling his hips, his back against your headboard as you traced the veins in his arms with your fingertips.

his thumbs slipped under your sleep shorts, rubbed feather-light circles into the flesh of your hips. "tell me what you need, baby," he said. "whatever you want, swear it."

you bit your lip to dull your smile, because you realized, in that moment, that there was no semblance of fear in your mind. not even a drop of doubt. you knew, that no matter what you gave to him, no matter how much of yourself you offered up, he wouldn't leave you, dumb and ashamed, standing alone in some taunting doorway. he'd stay.

the fact made unfiltered want flow through you, powerful as a river after heavy rain.

you met his gaze with a confidence that hadn't been there in a long time, that he seemed to pull from you with ease. you rocked your hips against his lap, relished in the strain you saw in his eyes. "wanna feel you inside me," you rasped, continuing to shift back and forth. "wanna make you feel good, hm?"

you felt his groan in your teeth as he flipped you on your back in a single, swift motion, left messy, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck. he didn't saw anything about how long he'd been waiting, about how long you'd made him wait, and you had a feeling it was because he genuinely didn't care.

you had a feeling the only thing he cared about, in this current moment, was the feeling of your collarbone under his teeth, the way your hands rooted in the curls of his hair, the not-nearly-enough friction of his grinding hips against yours.

you both twisted and tugged clothes aside, hurried, almost crazed, until you could take him in your palm, hard and hot, run your grip up and down his length, urging a groan from his throat that you wanted to taste. his exhales were so, so labored as his hips jerked towards you involuntarily.

your eyes widened, because you'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be with someone like this, to be with someone whom you trusted entirely, someone whose pleasure you could feel as deeply as if it was your own. it made your blood feel volcanic as it beat from your heart.

"please, jack," you begged, and his overwhelmed gaze found yours, again.

"i know, baby," he cooed, running his fingers through your folds, cursing under his breath at how wet he found you, from barely being touched. all from him. your grip around him faltered as he pushed two fingers inside of you, the stretch immediate. "i know." you cursed, shut your eyes as he thumbed your clit, making your breath feel heavy in your mouth. he retreated further. "just wanna taste you first, baby, please?"

you just nodded, perfectly happy to give him any he wanted. then his mouth was on you, his tongue slow, methodical, as you tugged at his hair, your face pinched in pleasure.

pressure coiled inside of you as he pressed his tongue flat against your clit, making your back arch up of your bed, the friction dreamy.

the weight of him pressed your hips down, heightening the sensation, making each motion of his fingers feel like an eruption of flame, each swipe of his tongue feel monumental.

you choked out a whine of his name, pulled on his curls just a little harder, lewd, slick noises echoing in your ears. "more," you breathed, to which he groaned, rocked his hips against the bed, desperate for some kind of friction, some kind of relief. the sight had you clenching around his fingers.

"not enough?" he asked, his voice gentle, the fervor of his motions anything but. "need more, do you, pretty thing?" you nodded, whimpered a please, which had him pulling his deft fingers from you, shifting closer to you. he angled his cock to your core, held your hips down with his other hand. he hummed. "you can have it, baby."

your eyes fluttered shut as he began to push inside of you with a moan that you swore made your lampshade blush, made the conservative hangers in your closet shake their heads, disappointed. you grasped at his forearm with a reaching hand, fisted the other in your cotton sheets, the texture heightened in your palm.

you felt the stretch everywhere, half expected your bedroom to crack in half, to feel the pressure just as acutely as you did. "almost there, baby, 'atta girl," he bit out, "fuck, feel so good for me."

you whined at his words, at the feeling of him all the way inside of you, that perfect stretch that gave way to something deliriously good as he began to move and in out, slow, deep.

you felt your eyes roll back, as if in slow motion, as you dug your nails into his arm, shuddered at the sensation as he pressed your hips harder into your mattress. "'s so deep, jack, fuck," you breathed, careful as a wince.

he held the top of your headboard with a steady grip, increased his pace. when he spoke, his voice was gritty. "that okay, baby?" he asked, shifting your hips to make you more comfortable, to make the angle feel better. "how's that?"

"so good," you moaned, raw, "feel you everywhere."

and it was true. he thrust in and out of you at a mind-numbing pace, with an intensity that burned through your body. time seemed to freeze, or maybe to liquify, to flow like molten rock. to scatter into oblivion, marked in breathy pants and strained moans, desperate kisses and tired muscles instead of minutes and seconds.

at some point, he took his hand off of your headboard, brought it to his mouth, bit down, as if to stifle a groan, as if to distract himself, last longer for you.

the thought shot right to your core, made your head spin faster, that his pleasure might run so deep, because of you, that he needed a distraction from it.

you moved your hand to your clit, rubbing carefully, moaning at the stimulation, which made you clench down, grip him in a maddening kind of way.

he gave a choked moan. "fuck," he grunted. "can't, jesus, can't do it, baby, so wet for me." his voice was a tortured sort of overwhelmed as his hips sputtered, as his pace continued, harder, faster.

he made to look away from you, maybe to sink his teeth into the flesh of his hand, again, but you wouldn't let him, instead reaching up to pull his fingers to your own mouth, press them against your tongue, soothe the angry red mark that had begun to show.

you swore your mind was somewhere else, somewhere shiny, somewhere sleepy, as you felt his stomach and thighs contract, firm and wiry.

"won't last like this, pretty thing," he breathed, a slight sheen on his collarbones, his forehead, shimmery under the overhead light. "so close, baby, feel too good for me." his exhale was unsteady. "so perfect like this."

"want it," you whined, so impossibly close, yourself. "need it so bad, baby, please. want all of it." your eyes met his. "need you."

he seemed to shatter at your words, at your request, his high, warm and hazy, triggering your own, a blur of whines and pleases and his hot breath at your temple, an all-consuming wave that had your vision blurring, had you clenching down on him so tightly.

he collapsed on top of you for the second time that night, this time his skin glowy and damp, the air sticky and humid as you both let your breathing normalize again, as you let your eyes flutter open.

he rolled to your side, refusing to unclasp his arms around your back, consequently pulling you to his chest, your nose against his breastbone. you traced a hand along the top of his spine, so perfectly content, so wonderfully blissful.

with anyone else, now would be the time when the anxiety really set in. now would be the time that the furniture started to hiss at you to get out.

such anxiety was nowhere to be found, though, not now. not with him. his rough hands felt soft on your back as he shifted deeper into your bed, making himself comfortable, making you comfortable, too, in succession.

and even though you knew it, he knew you, just so, so well. "'m staying," he whispered into your hair, "long as you'll let me."

your heart was pink jello in your chest. you pressed your swollen lips to his shoulder. "i'll let you," you promised.

and so your self-proclaimed frat-boy-ban was broken, completely done away with, replaced instead by the most delicious stability.

the already fast-paced semester was made a fairytale blur by your beautiful exception, in all of his endless kindness, his unrelenting loveliness.

how many afternoons did you spend in his lap, out on his front lawn? how many nights did you fall asleep together, tangled up in each other? how many parties started with his hat backwards on his head, but ended with it on yours, instead? when did you start to leave your window open, every night? how many mornings did he surprise you with coffee, remembering your order like it mattered, simply because it was something you'd told him? how many times did his beauty and thoughtfulness surprise you, again and again?

like the time you went with him to a baseball game, an away one, this time, to support his friends and brother, when you insisted that you'd drive. you'd had to stop for gas, halfway through, gotten out of your truck, had only just stuck the nozzle in before he'd come around the side to lean against the door.

you had felt yourself raise a brow, almost confused. "sort of a one person job," you'd joked, to which he'd smiled, leaned back further against the side, just waiting with you.

like he couldn't bear to sit in the passenger seat, alone, not when you were out here, hands idle.

or like the night of your ballroom dance midterm performance, in front of an audience (an audience that included a lot of your friends). you'd stumbled halfway through the steps, nothing crazy, but certainly enough to notice. your face had grown hot, an embarrassed strawberry-milk flush.

but then, across the stage, jack had tripped over his own feet, in a way that looked pretty intentional, if you thought so yourself, as if he wanted to draw everyone's attention for a moment. as if he wanted to keep any potentially judgmental eyes off of you. he caught your knowing gaze as he pushed himself off of the floor, shot you a cheeky wink.

or, like tonight, a phi's blind date formal. this event was always a highlight of the year, at the very least always entertaining, always a good source of drama, of gossip, for a few weeks following.

planning it was a nightmare, from what sam had told you, a disorienting flurry of spreadsheets and communications with different frats and teams. typically, each house was matched with a frat and an athletic roster, and the dates were assigned from there, based on survey results and different requests.

you were excited for tonight, not nervous at all, because you'd requested jack as your date, and sam practically ran the whole thing, so you knew there would be no surprises.

for you, tonight was just a fun opportunity to dress up, to hang out with your best friends and your favorite boy.

the reveal of the dates was one of the best parts of the night. you'd be called upon to come out the door, and your date was supposed to be standing on the front step to walk you to the venue of the formal, just a few blocks away.

you gave yourself a final once-over in the mirror, turned to sam as you slung your clutch over your shoulder. "ready?" you asked, to which sam gave herself a spritz of perfume, nodded. you held the door for her. "did you tell me already if you requested somebody?"

she gave you a grin. "quinn," she said, simply.

you laughed. "you're gonna drive poor alex crazy," you chided.

she just shrugged. "he's driving me crazy, more like," she corrected. "all he does is bitch and moan when i mention other guys, then he wears my sweatshirt like it's all he owns, calls me beautiful, all that nonsense." she gave you a look. "i'm losing hope, love. if he doesn't make a legitimate move soon, i might go for quinn for real, just for all his trouble."

when it was your turn to open the front door, you took a breath, turned the handle, weren't surprised to find that familiar figure on the other side, pink flowers in his hand, his suit fitting him so wonderfully, his eyes softening when they caught on you.

your smile came easily, so naturally, as you approached him. he reached an arm around your middle, pulled you into his embrace by the small of your back as you wrapped your arms around his neck. you pressed your lips to his jaw in greeting before he pulled back.

"let me get a look at you," he said, soft, holding your hand at a distance, giving you a twirl that made you feel like a princess. he whistled. "i'm the one on your arm, tonight, pretty thing?" he asked, his smile toothy. "must be my lucky night."

you flushed with contentment, ducked into his side. "i'm the lucky one," you insisted, before the door opened again, making the two of you move to the sidewalk as he handed you your flowers, which you accepted with bashful thanks.

sam now stood in the open doorframe, but her wandering eyes narrowed when they landed on the curly-haired boy that stood on the front step. "what the hell is this about, alex?" she hissed.

"you look lovely, sam," alex said, undeterred.

"yeah, okay, thanks," sam said, "you know i requested-"

"i know," alex interrupted. "i vetoed your reuqest." he offered her his arm, which she took, lightly, reluctantly.

"that's not how this works," she reminded him, "you don't get a veto."

"i'm the president," he deadpanned, "of course i get a veto."

"i'm the president," sam retorted, "and i requested-"

alex sighed, turned to face sam, placed his palm over her mouth. "stop," he said, short, "talking."

her eyes narrowed, and jack pinched your side as you took in the sight in front of you. you shared an excited look.

"please be my date, tonight," alex asked, removing his hand from sam's face only after her mouth stopped moving. "for real."

after a brief pause, sam's mouth broke into a wide grin as she looped her arm through alex's, fell into step behind you and jack. "get up off your hands and knees, al," she teased, "'course i'll be your date. waited long enough, haven't i?"

it was a storybook sort of night from there, one defined by shared laughter and good music and gushing with your friends about their dresses.

time passed too fast in a blur of dance-floor spins that made the hem of your dress bloom, gentle touches and laughs into shoulders.

at some point, you and sam took a break by the edge of the venue, next to the refreshment table, having promised to bring jack back a drink. sophie approached you. you smiled, having not really seen her since the last chapter meeting.

"hey, sophie," you said, "this dress is stunning on you."

"thank you," sophie said, genuinely, before her eyes flashed. "if you see cole come up behind me, warn me, okay?"

"isn't cole your date, though?" sam asked.

sophie sighed. "technically, yes," she admitted, "but he thinks i requested him, which i didn't, so now he's being especially persistent."

you tilted your head. "so you got paired together because your survey results matched up? completely organically?"

"i guess," she answered, exasperated. "which i don't get, because we have, like, nothing in common."

"you have a little in common," sam said, "you both love baseball. it's, like, all you talk about."

"okay, so we have one thing in common," sophie conceded. "it's a conflict of interest! i'm supposed to be an impartial reporter!"

you shrugged. "impartiality is overrated," you said, and you meant it. now that you'd settled into being completely honest about how you felt, you couldn't imagine it any other way, couldn't fathom hiding that kind of thing from people that mattered.

"code cole, code cole," sam whispered.

"soph, you gotta stop running away from me," cole said, coming up behind her, shooting her that confident smirk. "tirin' me out, love."

sophie sighed, turned to face him, crossed her arms over her chest.

"care for a dance?" cole asked, extending his hand to her.

her gaze dipped to his fingers, then rose again. "i'll dance with you," she said, which made cole light up with excitement, "if you agree to give me at least one objectively useable quote after ever single game for the rest of the year."

cole blew out a breath like it was the easiest decision of his life. "done," he declared. he gave an enthusiastic fist pump when sophie took his hand and led him to the floor.

leaning back against the table, you and sam scanned the room, laughing at trevor's ridiculously bold suit, scoffing at nico, who was dancing with two girls at the same time, sharing a knowing glance when you registered quinn and luke, sitting at a table on the outskirts, luke's tie completely untied, quinn's tied around his head. the two loners appeared to be engaged in a game of cards with their respective dates.

eventually, you made good on your promise to jack, grabbing two drinks. when you turned your back on the table, he was walking up to you, his face pleasantly flushed, eyes so doting. your smile grew as he got closer. your eyes shut, delighted, when he threw an arm around your shoulders.

"there you are, baby," he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. you were hit with a dizzying sense of deja vu, knowing you'd been here before, knowing so much had changed since the last time you'd been in this position. "thanks for holding my drink for me."

you smiled up at him, leaning into his side, warm and firm against you. it was something magnificent, to have it not be an act, this time. to have it be completely genuine. to have it be real.

"of course, baby," you said, the slight tease in your tone made shimmery by the glint in his gaze.

he hummed, moved his arm down to wrap around your waist, pull you against him as he swayed back and forth to the music. you exhaled, so utterly at peace, relaxed into his chest, tilted your head back to look up at him. he met your gaze eagerly, that smile you so adored overtaking his face like a mural on the side of a building. "what?" he asked.

you shook your head, laughed lightly. because what, really? how could you sum it up? "you," you answered, honestly. "just you."

how could you sum him up? he was one million things. your pretend boyfriend in the face of campus security. your ballroom dance partner. your movie-night, good-morning text, sweatshirt stealer. your window-climber, baseball-watcher, owner of your favorite smile. your tke boy. your exception.

he was one million things, but, when he leaned down to press his lips to your hair, he was only one.

yours.

fin.

#hockey #hockey smut #nhl #smut #jack hughes #jack hughes smut #nhl smut #quinn hughes #trevor zegras smut #jack hughes x reader #new jersey devils #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #luke hughes #nico hischier #alex turcotte #cole caufield

[ellalalala]

A semi-long rant about Dottore's implied self-hatred, loneliness and inner struggles

I am, like many others, endlessly fascinated by Dottore, which means that I've been sucking the game dry for any Dottore content I can find; I've watched the dialogue between him and Nahida numerous times, read the "Zandik's Legacy" notes over and over and even the description of the "Wise Doctor's Pinion" from the Pale Flame artifact set. So much has already been said about him, but I'd like to offer my own two cents about an aspect of his character that is often ignored in favor of his villainy: Dottore's inner struggles.

I'll recount everything that I've gathered and tell you of my interpretation of Dottore's character.

To start, one thing that I never see people mention is a line from Nahida's retelling of the Tatarasuna incident. In the very beginning of the cutscene, we see a monster covered in light blue fur (obviously Dottore) who Nahida describes in a very interesting way. She says:

"Once in a while, the monster would take off its fox fur at night, and lament to itself as it gazed at its reflection in the water: "I am a monstrosity, yet they are too foolish to see it. I pity them."

Of course, it's easy to say that this is just a fairy tale Nahida created to preserve Scaramouche's memories and that this could've been made up - which is only half true! We must remember that Nahida has seen Dottore's consciousness. She already knew of the arguments between his Segments when Dottore confronted her to take the Electro and Dendro gnoses. Why do I bring this specific line up, though?

Because this line outright tells us that: 1) Dottore spent sleepless nights in Tatarasuna reflecting on himself; 2) That he, perhaps sincerely, pitied the people of Tatarasuna for not seeing past his facade.

I also think that the use of the word 'lament' is very interesting. To lament means to express sorrow and regret for something. I would think that this implies Dottore feeling remorseful for not just who he was, but what he would do to Tatarasuna. To provide further proof, I think it is important to look at the expression on the furry monster's face (as Nahida portrays it) when it laments to itself:

(What a cute little thing.)

It looks a bit... upset, doesn't it? Like it is mad at itself as it gazes into the water. This expression, combined with his thoughts and the use of the word 'lament' gives us a clear sign that many ignored: Dottore isn't as shallow of a villain as we thought.

Later in the cutscene, Nahida says:

"But the monster soon found solace when another came to live among the foxes who was not their kin: a kitten, carved from the wood of a white tree, who had been abandoned by the humans."

And in that moment, we see a wide-eyed little monster gazing at the kitten:

(Feels really silly to use this as an example but you've gotta trust the process)

Here, Dottore found someone like himself. An outcast, a creature that did not quite fit in with the ordinary humans - someone who could understand Dottore's loneliness and ostracization. After getting chased out of his hometown for his blasphemous ideas, after getting expelled from the Akademiya and possibly exiled to Aaru Village for his heretical views - Dottore had finally found someone to whom he could say: "See? They will never accept us. It is you and I against them, for they will never understand us."

What person wouldn't seek companionship, after all?

But things didn't turn out the way Dottore expected them to. Unlike Dottore, Scaramouche didn't need to hide his true identity in order to be accepted by the people of Tatarasuna. Thus, the following happened:

"Furious at this happy resolution, the monster lit a fire on the mountain. The terrified animals panicked as the fire spread..."

... and we know the rest. What matters is this: Dottore was angry and jealous of Scaramouche. Exiled from his hometown, rejected by his peers, insulted and looked down upon just for wanting to destroy the imbalance between Man and God - and along comes a puppet, a creation of the Raiden Shogun, who receives acceptance and guidance from the people of Tatarasuna. Not just that, but the only creature who could share Dottore's loneliness is whisked away from him, proving once again that Dottore will never know what it means to have a true companion.

Thus he tricked Scaramouche into believing that Niwa had betrayed them, had him join the Fatui and later used him as the blueprint for the creation of his Segments. Dottore basically ruined Scaramouche's life out of bitter jealousy.

That should be it about Tatarasuna for now. What I'd like to focus on next is the conversation between Dottore and Nahida in the 3.2 Archon Quest.

There are a few lines that interest me, so I'll go over them one by one.

Dottore uses a lot of big words to sound like he's saying something profound when in reality he's saying nothing at all (a nice callback to his Commedia Dell'arte counterpart), but there is one thing that both he and Nahida place great emphasis on: the fact that Dottore, smart as he is, cannot make peace with himself.

First to say it is Dottore. After asking Nahida for her opinion on his Segments, he says:

"Indeed. It's difficult for humans... to make peace with themselves, not to mention oneself from a different period."

The line still feels out of place. It sounds as if he is musing to himself.

Again, we get a line about his Segments, after Nahida asked him to erase them:

"You were observing me, and that's how you know I've long grown tired of their doubts and endless arguments."

I think it's safe to assume that the arguing is a metaphor for his struggle of self-acceptance. It seems every Segment has something to say to the others, but more on that later.

Nahida uses Dottore's own words against him:

"Like you said, it's difficult to make peace with yourself. Being as smart as you are, have you managed to do that?"

It's important to note that Dottore doesn't answer that question, but even without that, it's obvious to us, the players - of course Dottore hasn't managed to do that.

Whenever Nahida questions the relationship between his Segments, Dottore easily changes the subject. For example:

"Is the relationship between all the versions of you really that bad?"

"I don't think there's any need to dwell on that. The surplus versions of me can be exchanged for a Gnosis. Do you think anyone can offer themselves at a higher price?"

His Segments all argue constantly. When considered that they are replicas of Dottore at different stages of his life, this takes on an entirely new meaning - beyond his facade, Dottore is a man who can barely make out who he is.

Consider this also: in "A Winter Night's Lazzo", Columbina tells him, "You're looking very young today, Doctor."

To which Dottore replies, "You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment."

A piece of dialogue that had been brushed off by many, myself included - until I realized what this might imply. Dottore finds Columbina's comment insulting because he hates who he is. He hates the younger versions of himself because they represent a Dottore who didn't have the knowledge he has at this current stage of his life. They weren't as smart, as knowledgeable. But that's not really the full extent of it, of course.

Dottore was never fully accepted by anyone, this we have established. In the Akademiya, the students called him a 'madman', a 'monster' (as said in the Wise Doctor's Pinion). When we meet him in the 3.1 Archon Quest, he is referred to as 'The Outcast'. He is always being alienated, but could we assume that he just accepted this rejection and decided to embrace the titles people had thrown at him? This is just... very bold speculation, of course. It is impossible to deny that Dottore didn't always naturally stand out due to his heretical views, but I think it's worth considering that he could have just chosen to be the monster people thought of him as. After all, in the confrontation between him and Niwa, Dottore tells Niwa to think of him as a monster and a demon (for a reason that was... meant to be comforting? Not very important right now).

Consider also how different all the Segments sounded when they found out that they were being erased. All of the voices, along with their manner of speech, varied greatly; I interpreted this as proof of the many masks Dottore has worn over the course of his life. Dottore abandoned whatever humanity he had and decided to embrace the mask of a monster, constantly reinventing himself because he isn't secure in his identity - perhaps he doesn't have one at all. He is a scholar, a Harbinger, a researcher - but without those titles, what is left? What is he left with when he sheds those facades? The constant dodging of Nahida's questions about his Segments, the arguments and the worries of said Segments, the introspection in the cutscene about the Tatarasuna incident - indeed, Dottore is a man filled with self-hatred. A lonely outcast who has never known the comfort of kinship. A monster who swallowed his loneliness and dedicated his life to research.

That should be it, I suppose. My brain is fried and if I remember anything that I might have missed, I'll add that info later.

I want to mention one thing: this doesn't mean Dottore is a misunderstood good guy - doesn't take a genius to know that that is not true. Dottore has no regard for human life (which is ironic, considering how he believes humans have great potential and he wants them to be equal with the Gods). He has hurt so many and I'm sure he will continue to do so. He is evil, but it should be noted that he was once just an ordinary human, too. There must be an explanation for why he is the way he is. It's easy to paint him as just a monster because damn he's good at what he does; but I like to think that there is a layer to him that we just haven't fully seen yet. I'm excited to find out more about him when Snezhnaya gets released in like 2 years... ha. If you've read this far, thank you a lot! Curious to know what you guys think. I love Dottore

#il dottore #dottore #lore speculation #genshin impact #zandik #i love dottore!

[pparadiselost]

la maison.

noel noa x single mother fem reader noa finds himself falling head over heels for the sweet mom next door. warning(s): nsfw, alcohol, dubious consent (drunk sex), single mother reader, named son oc (irrelevant outside of pornmaking plot), creampie, breeding minors do not interact.

recently, noel noa has developed a bit of a problem. 

he had fallen in love with his next-door-neighbor. which, in the grand scheme of things, wasn’t the most unique nor the most world-shattering of issues he could possibly have, but these once trivial feelings he had no time to waste on started taking root in his head, they began to spread like wildfire throughout his daily life.

the pro soccer player was mildly surprised to find out that the young man who had lived next to him in the quaint apartment he called home had moved out while he was playing overseas. noa didn’t think too much of it. he rarely ever grew close with the neighbors around him. he was often out of the house, gone for months to even years at a time playing for whatever country or club summoned him, and when he was home, he preferred spending his time alone rather than getting attached to people who he had nothing in common with.

but the two of you had gotten off on a completely unexpected foot.

“dada!” the squirming toddler in your arms squeals. you nearly drop the bag of groceries you were precariously balancing on your elbow, yelping softly as your son uses all the force he can muster in his tiny body to lurch towards noa. “dada, dada!”

“no, sweetie, that’s not your dad,” you gently remind him, unable to stop the sheepish smile that tugs at your lips. you expertly lean the little boy against your hip while you regain your grip on your groceries, flashing an apologetic smile at noa. “i’m so sorry about that. he has a habit of saying that to every man he sees.”

noa stands practically frozen in his doorframe. he’s seen his fair share of almost blasphemously beautiful women in his life: models, actresses, influencers… but nothing holds a candle to the way his heart thumps in his chest when his eyes land on you. every bit of you screams sweet yet battered to him, your eyes mild and gentle by the tugs of time and your body all covered with loose clothes to make sure your boy could hug right into every little nook and cranny that he pleases. 

a perfect image of motherhood.

his dick throbs in his pants. 

it’s lecherous. he doesn’t even know your name, and he’s getting turned on. hell, you might even be married, yet he’s lusting after you. 

“it’s alright. i know how kids are,” he lies. he actually doesn’t know how kids are, but it’s enough to get you to laugh again. “do you live near here? i don’t think i’ve seen you around.”

“ah! i do.” you lift a hand to point at the door right next to his while your son tugs at your clothes impatiently. he keeps mumbling dada, dada in that gurgling voice of his, looking up at you and then stealing glances at noa. “we moved in fairly recently. i didn’t think we’d have a neighbor, because i thought the next door apartment was empty.”

his heart skips a beat, and noa coughs to clear his throat. “i see. my job requires me to be overseas a lot, so i’m out of the house often. i suppose, that makes us next-door-neighbors then. my name is noel noa. it’s lovely to meet you.”

he half-expects you to gasp and run off upon hearing his name, but instead your smile widens. “it’s lovely to meet you as well. my name is (y/n). this naughty little elf right here is honoré. do you wanna say hi to mr. noa, sweetie?”

you keep cooing at the boy, while noa breathes a sigh of relief. so you don’t recognize him to be a pro player. in some ways he prefers that. he wouldn’t want to scare you away. his mind races when he thinks about how he’s now next door to who he believes is the most fuckable woman on earth. 

“alright, it was a joy meeting you. i’ll see you around then, mr. noa?” you offer. 

‘noel is fine.’ noa nods, mumbling an agreement before you wave and disappear into your suite, leaving him dumbfounded in his doorframe. what was he even leaving the house for? he doesn’t remember anymore.

but god. temptation had fallen straight into his lap, and if the arousal churning deep in his gut told him anything, it was that his life was going to be trouble from now on.

…

…

…

noel noa has also come across a stroke of luck. his manager on the other end of the phone sighs and tells him that the next season has been postponed for a few months, mumbling on about some logistics issues between the professional leagues regarding budgeting and some new stadium being built. noa couldn’t care less: his job was to play soccer, and that was final.

the bottom line was clear. he wouldn’t be flying out and disappearing again, and for a few months, he was free to do as he wanted so long as he kept himself in tip-top shape and maintained his usual training.

a guilty part of him celebrates. it means he gets to stay longer with you, right next doors. he’s been running into you more often, and you’re always quick to offer up a small greeting and make small talk with him when time allows. noa tries so, so hard to be a good man and genuinely get to know you as a good neighbor should, rather than to look at you and be driven half-insane by how much he wishes he could drag you to his suite and fuck you on his bed. 

honoré never fails to happily scream out “dada!” at noa when he sees the man, and you always correct your son with a stern voice. part of noa wants you to stop correcting him, his inner lust-demon celebrating slightly at the fact that your son is ready to accept him as his father. noa had been hesitant on full-on courting you, or at least, what he considered courting (lavinho never failed to make fun of him for having “the flirtation skills of a 13th century monk!”), having assumed that you had a husband.

but he notices the lack of a wedding band around your ring finger. could it be that you didn’t have a husband, after all?

not that it matters. noa knows he shouldn’t let himself daydream. he barely knows you, and the very least he can do is show you a modicum of respect rather than treating you like some hunk of hot meat on the dating market. 

it’s dark outside when noa sits down in his bed, unwinding by himself after a long day of analyzing previous games and practicing by himself out in one of the nearby training fields. he hasn’t seen you all day, but he knows you’re home because he stole a peek at your apartment window while heading in. the lights are on, and presumably, you’re inside. it isn’t safe for a woman and a little child to be out and about when it’s dark, and noa wonders if he should offer to escort you if you ever need to go out. 

no. he shouldn’t overstep. he really shouldn’t.

but what really throws him for a loop is what he hears through the thin apartment walls. at first he thought it was his phone, having auto-started a video, but nothing in his house could be capable of making that noise. noa sits still on his bed and cranes his ears, and then realization settles like cold snow on his body.

you’re singing. your voice is hushed, loving, and every now and then, noa makes out the whiny cries of a little boy.

he pauses. 

dear lord. are you singing your son to sleep?

noa grits his teeth and stifles a groan when a rush of blood floods his groin, and his pants immediately start tightening up. he’s used up all of his self-restraint to not feel this way around you, yet the thought of you, in such domestic bliss with your toddler, turns him ridiculously on. his cock fucking hurts from how hard it is, pressing up angrily against his pants and demanding that he do something about it. his stomach throbs and swirls with need, with the desire to fuck something until he’s satisfied.

his hand absentmindedly wanders to the waistband of his pants, and he guides his dick so that it springs free from its restrictive confines. noa doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard before in his life—his cock slaps up against his stomach, and the irritated tip is already drooling greedily. noa hisses quietly when the cold air rushes against his swollen organ, and he carefully wraps his hand around his dick.

you continue your singing.

noa wonders how you must look. he wonders if your sweet hair is damp from a shower, or if you’re getting ready to step into the bath once you put your son to sleep. he wishes he could bury his face in your hair and lewdly inhale, and he begins to slowly stroke his cock at the thought of your features.

maybe you’d hold your son to your chest. blood swells south at the thought of your breasts. the sloping curve that you always hid behind conservative clothes. noa isn’t sure if he wants to sweetly coax you out of them, getting you to shyly bare yourself for him, or if he wants to rip them off of you like an animal and savor the way you squeal and try to cover yourself up.

he wants to grope your tits. your gorgeous tits, made to hold a little boy close to your heart, once filled with milk to feed your son, all swollen and easily filling up his cupped hands. noa barely holds back a moan as he fists himself while daydreaming about your breasts. 

he’d ghost his fingertips over your puffy nipples. he’d hear you cry out, sobbing out a “i-i’m sensitive there, noel-” while he teases them. he’d tug on them too, after a while, feeling your cunt grow wetter and wetter while he has his way with your body. he’d keep on circling his fingers all over your supple breasts, the dainty signs of motherhood filling out and fueling his own libido.

his cock twitches in his fist. he’s leaking pre-cum like a broken faucet. just the mental image of your fat tits has him acting this way, and noa doesn’t know what to do with himself. his balls tighten and contract, and your singsongy filling his ears overwhelms with lust.

he wants to fuck you. he wants to fuck you so bad. his length is fuming at him for not being buried into your delicate body. noa wants to fuck into you anywhere he can get. 

your smaller hands, struggling to fully wrap your fingers around his thick cock. or your mouth, that canary-like voice of yours being put to good use by choking and slobbering all over him. or even your tits that he had been drooling over, slapping his cockhead over your sensitive nipples until you’re squirming and scrunching your face up the way he likes it. your plush thighs wouldn’t be too bad too, hearing your breath hitch and hike up an octave whenever his tip catches on your throbbing clit.

‘fuck- fucking hell, fuck, fuck…!’ he grits his teeth as his hands speed up, fucking against his cock as if he were a bull in heat. he hasn’t even had the opportunity to fantasize about your gummy pussy yet, and he’s already this close. 

he’s too preoccupied taking his time fucking you with his eyes in his mind, stroking fervently to the sound of your muffled voice. he wants to cum, he wants to cum so bad, he wants to take all of his pent-up frustration and make it real and tangible that you’re the one who drove him to this ridiculous state.

he swears he’s going to fuck you. he swears he’s going to fuck his cock into you until your body bends and breaks to him, until you turn into a fucked-out shell of the sweetheart that lives next door. he’s going to get you fucking hooked on his cock so that you’re drooling and chasing after sex with as much as he’s going crazy for you. 

horribly wet shlick-shlick noises echo around his bedroom as he thrusts himself all over his hand. his stomach twists violently, and his heavy balls contract painfully before noa cums all over himself.

‘shit. shit…!’

he grits his teeth and shuts his eyes, forcing down any noises out of fear that you might hear. the rush almost breaks him. ropes of heady cum splash all over his chest and abs, instantly drenching and burning into his skin. he strokes himself through his orgasm, the coils in his gut twisting against themselves, unfurling in and out as pure pleasure streaks through his body. god, this was so wrong of him to do, but noa would be fucking damned if he said he ever came this hard before.

his cock hangs from the pricks of overstimulation as he continues to stroke himself, coaxing out every second of his orgasm as he possibly could. shame immediately floods his body like ice water when his foggy mind clears bit-by-bit, yet he can’t bring himself to jump to his feet and start cleaning up.

noa sits defeatedly in his bed. his chest heaves as he catches his breath, wishing his cum was streaked all over you rather than his own body, and he swallows thickly. he feels horrendously guilty, yet in a twist of ironic fate, your voice keeps trickling through the thin walls.

noa doesn’t even have time to fully let the guilt hit before his dick is swelling up in his fist again. 

‘one more round. just one more round,’ he bargains with himself, ‘just until you stop singing lullabies to your son.’

…

…

…

“i’m so sorry, noel,” you laugh awkwardly. “i really hope i’m not bothering you.”

“it’s no problem at all, really. this is what neighbors are for.”

you stand a few paces in front of him, and the exhausted smile on your face makes noa’s heart speed up dangerously. honoré is fast asleep on your back, strapped to you with a baby harness. in noa’s hands is a stubborn jar of sauce, which, according to you, absolutely refused to open no matter what you did or how hard you had tried to wrench the lid open.

noa firmly grips the lid, and with a small grunt, he easily pops the jar lid open. your eyes widen in awe as he flexes his muscles subtly, a few of the veins in his toned arms becoming visible. he notices you staring at him, and he gently screws the lid back on before handing it back to you.

“thank you so much!” you beam. “it stressed me out so much that i couldn’t get it open. silly of me to think that when i have you right here. classic case of mom brain.”

noa thinks he’s going to stop breathing. you’re beaming at him in such a lighthearted manner, and your words bring his brain to full halt for a split second. he manages a lukewarm smile, and he’s getting ready to wave you off and let you scurry back into your apartment complex before you pause.

“you know… if you aren’t that busy tonight, would you like to come over for dinner? i’m in the middle of cooking right now—well, duh—and i feel like it wouldn’t hurt to make friends with the person living right next door,” you offer up innocently. “you don’t have to if you don’t want to! i completely get it-”

“-i’d love to. when would you like me over?” noa doesn’t even need to consider his options. “should i dress up?”

“dress up?” you gasp. “you don’t need to do anything fancy like that! it’ll just be a nice home cooked meal, maybe a little wine, just as a sign of goodwill. i’ll still need about… let’s say an hour? that way i can clean up a little too… the petit rascal here has a knack for getting into everything.”

“an hour sounds good to me. thank you for the invitation. i’ll look forward to it,” he responds plainly. his thoughts are going a million miles per hour. 

dinner. at your place. with you. just you and him. 

lady luck must be on his side. not even playing in the world cup could compare to the amount of anxiety and anticipation bubbling up inside of him. you flash him a thumbs-up, unaware of the wrench you had thrown into his nearly nonexistent courtship plans. he stands a bit dumbfounded in the doorframe (not too dissimilar when he first met you) when you scoot back into your place, most likely jumping straight back to work in order to prep food and spruce up your home to take him as a guest.

an hour. noa decides that it’s enough time for him to groom himself a bit too. jump in the shower, douse himself with a nice perfume, pick out a casual yet still suave outfit. if time allows, he’d even run down to a nearby store to buy a bouquet of flowers. a nice little thank you present for the meal, but undoubtedly enough of an ambiguous gift to give it a slight romantic tinge.

noa was going to milk this opportunity. you had thrown him the perfect chance, and noa knew that once he fixated on something, he would see it through.

to his success, all things willing.

…

…

…

everything about your house suited you. your apartment complex wasn’t decorated too lavishly, yet it wasn’t barebones either. noa smiles when he sees all the pictures of your son you have framed against the walls, and your shelves are stuffed with picture books and other memorabilia of the toddler.

you had expertly put honoré to bed before noa had came around, and when he knocked on your door an hour later, you had buried your face in your hands and laughed like a schoolgirl that had been confessed to when he presented you with a bouquet of beautifully prepared calla lilies.

“you shouldn’t have!” you had smacked his arm playfully, but noa felt his chest swell with pride when you rifled through your closet to find a makeshift vase to place the flowers in. 

dinner had been delightful. noa had eagerly wolfed down whatever food you served him, and you were more than happy to prattle on to him about how honoré had recently developed an affinity for blueberries and that you were debating between buying him legos or a toy truck.

of course, the wine flowed generously throughout too. you had admitted that you had saved the red wine for a long time, never having a reason to drink it since your hands were full with a baby and not really wanting to crack a whole bottle open just for yourself. noa could tell you were enjoying the drink, swirling the wine glass around rhythmically as the drink slowly stained your plump lips a deep shade of maroon.

how lovely. noa wondered if it would smear if he were to kiss you.

letting you chatter on without stopping you let him extrapolate a lot that he wouldn’t have known otherwise. it didn’t take too many sips to get you a little tipsy, and with a few questions to ease you up, you were practically an open book.

you had gotten pregnant with your son a few years back, and when you approached honoré’s dad with the news, the sleazebag had completely vanished from your life. as awful as it sounds, noa celebrates inwardly when he hears that you’re single. you admitted that you were lucky enough to have good friends and a somewhat stable support system who took care of you through your pregnancy, and you had honoré without too many complications. but one thing led to another, and you ended up moving here.

“i work remotely,” you murmur, stealing another mouthful of red wine. “it’s… not much, but it’s enough to provide for me and my little boy. i get to pamper him a fair amount, and working from home means that i don’t need to worry about a babysitter! it won’t be too long until i can send him to school, and at that point, i can probably look for a better paying job that i can commute to.”

“i see. if i’m ever around, i wouldn’t mind looking after honoré. you already have a lot on your plate, and if there’s anything i can do to ease the load…,” noa trails off. you sigh dreamily, shaking your head.

“oh, i couldn’t ask you to do that. but i really appreciate the offer.” you glance towards the nursery. “honoré has taken a liking to you though. he gets so excited whenever he sees you!”

the tension between you two is electric. noa feels like his heart is about to give out on him, and if the tension mounting in his stomach tells him anything, it’s that he should be thankful for having the foresight to wear loose pants. your house smells like you: sweet, light, a perfect aphrodisiac for the starved man.

this is the closest he’s ever been to you, the longest he’s ever talked to you. you keep batting your eyelashes at him, looking up at him with such pretty, tipsy eyes. maybe it’s the alcohol talking for the both of you, but noa finds it hard to even swallow. he sips tentatively at his own wine glass. his mouth keeps drying up, and he’s thankful that you’re so good at filling up his silence with your own little chit chat. 

“if you don’t mind me…,” you start. you peek at him, and he stares back at you with his sharp golden eyes. “what do you do for a living, noel?”

“me…?” panic stabs at him for a moment. 

should he be honest with you? you didn’t recognize his name when he introduced himself, so it was clear that you had no idea that the man right next to you was quite literally the world’s best striker. would that change the way you viewed him? would you be scared? repulsed? would you talk to him again if you knew?

“sorry-,” you’re quick to apologize. “that was too much of me. you really don’t have to answer me. that was entirely my bad.”

“no, i don’t mind.” he owes you that much. you had been nothing but kind and welcoming towards him, and all he did in return was go insane with desire. the very least he could do was come clean about who he truly was.

he shifts in his seat, and noa braces himself for the worst. “i’m a professional soccer player.”

you blink at him. “r-really? wait, that’s kinda cool! do you play for a local league or something?”

“i play as a striker for bastard munchen. it’s a german team. they’re one of europe’s most prestigious leagues, and they’ve sent players to the world cup.” his grip on his wineglass tightens just a tad bit. “i’ve played in the world cup.”

your jaw drops. “oh my god. you’re not joking with me, are you?”

he risks meeting your eyes. “do i look like the kind of man to joke around?”

you cover your mouth with your hand, unable to look him in the face. “oh my god… ohhhh my god…! i’m so sorry! i’ve been referring to you so casually, and- and-”

he raises a hand, and he shushes you. “what are you apologizing for? you’ve done nothing wrong. you’ve always treated me kindly. i don’t see why knowing my job would change anything between us. we’re still neighbors. and at this point, we’re friends as well, I'd hope.”

he sees you swallow back a sigh, and you take a deep breath and nod. “right. yes. this doesn’t change anything… it’s still a lot to just- to just take in, you know?”

“you take the time you need. and if interacting with me becomes too much, then i understand. the last thing i’d like to do is make you uncomfortable.” his heart wrenches painfully inside of his chest at the thought of no longer being able to talk to you. but you’d find out sooner or later, and if his cover was going to be blown, noa would prefer doing it on his own terms. 

“can i ask you another question then?” you ask with your mousy voice.

“go ahead.” 

“why do you live here then?” you hiccup. “shouldn’t a super talented soccer player like you live in a big mansion?”

“i could. but i don’t particularly want to.” noa notices that you’re working up the courage to look him in the face again. his stomach twists once more, the sight of your pretty face all conflicted throwing his brain into turmoil again. he clenches his fist, digging his nails into his palm to bring himself back to the same plane of reality that you were on. “i’ve never been interested in a flashy life. i prefer living quietly and doing as i’m told.”

“that does sound like you,” you hum in agreement. “well, as surprising as it is, i’m glad to have someone like you for my neighbor. and i promise i’m not saying it just because i know that you’re a professional athlete now!”

you giggle brightly, your lips curving to match the rim of your wine glass. you down the remaining liquid, giving a soft smack of your mouth to fully savor the notes. noa clenches his jaw visibly, and his nails threaten to break the thick skin of his palms.

you’re tempting him. you’re driving him insane. your lips are dyed and pretty, and noa has been staring at them all evening. his throat feels dry and heavy, and he forces the arousal pooling in his crotch to calm down.

he can’t be like this right in front of you. it was one thing to act like an immoral, debauched man in private, but it was another to be unable to control himself in front of you. he was better than this. he knew he was.

but the heart wants what it wants. and there was nothing more that noa wanted than to force you to your knees, to whip his hardening cock out of his pants and smack your slutty wine-stained lips with the tip. he’d force you to open up and stretch that cute mouth of yours around his girth, watch you struggle to take him into your mouth and whimper all over his cock. knowing you, you’d beg him to be gentle with you, to be quiet so that you wouldn’t wake up the slumbering angel in the next room over, and noa would have to fight every animalistic instinct in him to not fuck you until you’d be wailing the house down.

“is everything alright, noel?” you break him out of your thoughts. he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts before he faces you. he can’t stop the heat from flooding his face, but he’s quick to decide that he’d simply blame it on the alcohol.

he couldn’t keep doing this forever. something or other would give, and the last thing noa would want would be to do some unforgivable or stupid. it was torture, to have his body say one thing and his mind another, especially when you were quite literally within arm’s reach.

“i’m alright. you don’t need to worry about me. i can take care of myself,” he promises. you lean in closer, enough so that noa can feel your warm breath trickling across his neck. his heart threatens to stop, and he looks at you with hesitant eyes. 

“are you sure?” your hand lands on his thigh, squeezing him gently.

oh. so that’s how things were going to be. what a goddamn minx you were, doing something like this with such disgustingly innocent intent. 

“yes. i’m fine,” he presses his lips into a thin line. “would you mind passing me the wine bottle? i’ll pour us another glass, if you don’t mind…”

…

…

…

your mouth tastes delicious, like fresh wine and everything he had wanted to do to you since forever. your face is flushed, and your eyes are hazy, barely meeting his as you struggle to keep up with him through your drunken state.

“n-noel-!” you squeak out. his heavy body weighs you down, keeping you trapped between him and your squeaky bed. things are a blur, even for him. 

one moment he’s pouring you more wine, and the next, the two of you are stumbling into your room, where he tosses you down onto the mattress like you’re a ragdoll.

“tell me you want it.” he rolls his clothed hips into yours, and you recoil into the bed with a choked whine. the sound goes straight to his dick. god, how long had he wanted to hear that? to hear the woman he had coveted for so long moaning underneath him?

you shake against his larger form. “w-want it- i want it, noel-“

“you want me to fuck you? you want your next-door-neighbor to fuck you?” he whispers. you shut your eyes as he kisses up your neck, his hands gripping your waist as his lips capture your earlobe. he sucks, his tongue lapping at your soft skin.

his imagination has nothing on how you actually feel in his hands. even through your clothes, he has no issues palming at your figure. you breathe out his name as his palms feel your curves, his fingertips dancing with the hem of your clothes.

you nod wantonly, not once fighting off his advances. “yes! yes, i want it- want you to fuck me- want my next-door-neighbor to have sex with me!”

“good girl,” he exhales. your breathing shallows as he coaxes your shirt over your chest and head, and you shudder as his eyes land all over your stomach and breasts.

your bra struggles to hold onto your chest, your full breasts pooling over the edge. you yelp when he yanks at your bra, snapping it off of you and letting your chest tumble out fully in front of him.

you instinctively try to cover yourself up with your arms, and noa grabs your wrists and wrenches them off of your chest. you mewl when the air nips at your nipples, causing them to perk up slightly.

“don’t you dare think about hiding yourself from me,” noa whispers. “you have no way of getting yourself out of this.”

you rub your thighs together, your cunt throbbing. when was the last time you had done this? you hadn’t had sex in years, not when you had your hands full with a baby and keeping yourself afloat. you were a mom, for fuck’s sake, with a whole baby to watch out for, yet here you were, pinned down underneath noel noa while he grinded his boner into your thighs.

his hands latch onto your chest, and his palms grope at your fat tits slowly. you moan out breathlessly when his calloused palms tease at your nipples, sending a jolt of arousal into your stomach. a wet patch forms in your panties, horribly turned on just from having your boobs squeezed a few times.

“god, you have no clue what your body does to me,” noa rasps. “do you have any idea how much i’ve dreamt about this? how much i wanted to touch those slutty tits of yours? look at you—your body was practically made to be fucked.”

your core twists painfully, and his fingertips pinch tentatively at your nipples.

“ah-! ahhh- noel-,” you buck your hips unconsciously, arching your back as he tugs at your chest. it stings, but it feels so good. even with the wine muddying your thoughts, your body responds to every little bit of attention noel showers onto you. you didn’t know you had it in you to be this lewd or to be this responsive. 

you want more. it had been far too long since anyone showed you any love like this.

he slaps your tits before bringing his hands down to your pants, expertly undoing the zipper and hooking his fingers around the waistline. you let him wiggle your clothes over your hips and legs, leaving you almost entirely naked save for your drenched panties. it feels so terribly lewd, to lay there all bare for a man, even if you two haven’t technically done anything.

his hands squeeze possessively at your thighs. “i wanted to fuck you ever since the first time i saw you. ever since you told me your name, since your son started calling me dad. that wouldn’t be so bad, would it? if i became his dad?”

your chest tightens, and you bite back another lewd moan. noa ducks his head down and nips at your thighs with his teeth, and you flinch into his chest. 

“you said it yourself. your little boy loves me,” noa murmurs. his tongue laps over his teeth marks, and you suck in a breath. your pussy twitches, clenching around nothing. your body wants more, wants to feel more noa more, wants him to take over your body and make you his. “nothing would make him happier than his beloved mommy to have a dad by her side.”

his mouth heads upwards, and he uses his strong hands to pry your shaking legs apart. you whimper, already feeling so exposed to the bigger man despite still having your panties on. he leans back, but his fingers ghost over your crotch. two fingers press up right against your pussy, and he rubs them up and down your covered slit. 

his fingertips are damp. you’re obscenely wet, and watching you struggle to control yourself has noa’s cock straining for its life in his pants.

“or even better,” noa grabs at the waistband of your panties, “daddy fucks mommy pregnant and gives him a younger sibling that he can dote on.”

you throw your head back against your pillow. your mind spins with arousal and alcohol, and noa slips your panties off without any resistance. a strand of slick sticks to the crotch of your underwear, and noa’s finally rewarded with the sight of your bare pussy. he can see your hole fluttering and twitching on itself, desperate to be stuffed and stretched out with something.

god. your body is so attractive to him. he’s never wanted to fuck someone more in his life. with your full hips and soft stomach, motherhood has mellowed out and accentuated you into a woman noa just couldn’t resist.

he thinks he’s going to stop breathing. 

“d-don’t look too hard-,” you stammer out. your body heats up and flushed at how intently noa’s staring at your defenseless cunt, knowing that your body’s begging to be penetrated and fucked.

“i’ll be so good to you,” noa vows. you’re frozen on the sheets, and noa nearly shreds the clothes off of him. your voice catches in the back of your throat when you see his toned chest and abs, the silhouette of the soccer player resembling more of a greek god than the man you had always known as your neighbor.

he pulls his pants down, and when he shoves his boxers off, you can’t help but gasp “oh!” at how big his cock is. he’s obscenely thick and long, and your pussy is both parts scared and aroused at the sheer size. god—you just know that he would stretch your walls out deliciously. his tip smacks his abs, and prominent veins run all along his length.

“you’re so big…,” you eke out. “it’s been so long since i had sex… i don’t know if it’ll fit.”

“i’ll make it fit.” noa rests his hands on top of your knees. “do you want me to prep you?”

you nod. “yes please…”

he reaches over and grabs your hips, and before you can fully register what’s happening, noa hoists your hips up into the air. you give a loud cry, and the bed creaks underneath you as noa ducks his head. his grip on you is firm, and his fingers press into your hips as he brings your drooling cunt to his mouth.

noa’s tongue circles your throbbing clit. your hands fly up to your pillow, gripping at the plush material. jolts of electricity shoot up your core, and your stomach twists with pleasure. your thighs subconsciously try to shut, but noa curves his hands to keep them spread open.

“nngh…! wait, noel, hold on-,” you sob. you grip your pillow, clamping your teeth shut as noa teased your clit with the tip of his tongue. your hips shake as you grind up into his mouth, each wave of stimulation making your pussy drool and throb for more. “ah- be gentle with me…!”

be gentle with you? dear lord, noa sucking on your clit like a starved man was him being gentle with you. he had jerked himself off countless times fantasizing about having you naked and in his arms like this, and it took everything in him not to break that dripping cunt of yours in half with his dick. his cock twitches and protests when noa ignores his own arousal, too preoccupied in trying to force an orgasm out of you.

you taste so sweet on his tongue. you mewl out his name over and over, and your voice sounds like literal honey to his ears. one of his hands snakes down from your hips, and while noa swirls his tongue around your nub, he circles your pulsing hole with a finger. he could die right there and then, and noa would die a happy man. drowning in your honeyed cunt, losing himself to the tantalizing sensation of pleasuring you like any devoted man would. 

“oh! oh god, noel-” your pussy can’t stop leaking with slick as noa keeps teasing you. he slips a finger in without much resistance, and your walls eagerly latch onto him. noa groans against your cunt when he feels your wall twist and clench around his finger, greedily sucking him in. 

god, noa thinks he’s going to go insane. his cock wants nothing more than to bury itself into your sweet pussy, and feeling you twitch and clamp up on his finger makes his dick grow hungrier. his arousal is almost impossible to ignore, yet noa continues to swallow and lap at your core while he fingers you slowly.

he slides in another finger, thrusting in and out of you carefully. you buck your hips, crying out so prettily for him. noa curls his fingers and presses his fingertips all inside your pussy, and he stays vigilant in looking for that sweet spot that would completely unravel you.

“fuck-! fuck, wait- please, i-i can’t-!” you plead. your pussy tightens up around his knuckles dangerously, and noa fucks his fingers up into the spot that made you clench up and mewl so loudly. you’re already moaning and trembling this much just from being fucked on two fingers and having your clit sucked. noa can’t get enough of the way your body twists and reacts to everything he gives you. 

a third finger prods at your hole, as if to ask if you’re ready. you inhale shakily as noa pushes another knuckle into you. 

“fuck…!” you’re immediately clenching up, and your pussy’s walls are rubbing all against his fingers greedily. you’re nearly in tears, just from being fingered, and noa fights his desire to break you. “it feels so good- you feel so good, noel…!”

he thrusts his fingers into you, and you reel visibly. he can tell from the way your pussy has been twitching and gushing all around him that you’re close, stretched to your limit just from three fingers. he doubles down on flicking his tongue all over your clit: letting you grind your hips down greedily against the broad of his tongue. your body shakes, and you can’t stop sobbing. 

you’re almost there. you both know you’re almost there. noa focuses himself on pleasuring you fully, and he roughly fucks his fingers into you and curls his knuckles into your g-spot without any mercy.

“noel-!”

your cunt squeezes his fingers for dear life, and noa latches himself onto your clit as you nearly wrench yourself out of his grasp. heat shreds your body, and the tightening in your stomach snaps violently as you cum shamelessly all over noa’s hands and mouth. you cry out his name loudly again, your normally gentle voice sounding so lewd and desperate as your slick gushes all over his chin and palm.

“fuck…! cumming- i’m cumming, noel…!” your body twists in his hands, and noa continues to stimulate your cunt until you’re babbling incoherent noises. he pulls his fingers out of you slowly, feeling your pussy try to cling to his knuckles before he lets you down properly onto the bed again. you’re struggling to catch your breath, your wide eyes all hazy and drunken as you suck in shaky breaths.

noa has no issue swallowing down your cum. he sucks your juices off of his fingers, cleaning up his mouth and chin before he scoots closer to you. you let out such a pathetic moan when he spreads your legs out again, your body too pliant and weak to offer any resistance. the sight of your obviously overstimulated and squirt-slicked cunt makes some sick monster in him swell with pride.

he did that. he made you cum.

he grips his long-ignored and fully engorged cock, and he smacks it against your cunt lightly. you flinch, your hole flaring up as he rubs his dick up and down your slick pussy lips. 

“are you doing alright?” noa asks. his hands grab your hips, and your heart flutters as he rubs soothing circles into your skin. you nod weakly.

“yeah- i can do it,” you promise. you glance up at him with such pretty fluttering eyes, remnants of tears clinging to your lashes as you swallow. “i want you in me… i want your cock in me, please…”

“alright. deep breath. relax for me,” he commands. you nod again, and you shakily inhale and try to loosen your muscles up. 

it immediately burns when he slides into you. you grit your teeth, trying your hardest to keep your pussy relaxed as his thick cock invades your pussy and stretches your walls out to its limits. noa grips your hips tightly, and he groans lowly when he feels you clamping up around his dick.

“fucking hell-,” he breathes out. “you’re so fucking tight-”

“t-too big-” hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “oh god, you’re going to break me!”

your pussy sucks him in and rubs all around his cock in a way that makes noa see stars. you’re so soft and tight, clinging and drooling all over his dick while his girth stretches and flexes your walls out. he keeps pushing past the resistance until he bottoms out, his balls resting heavy on top of your ass. you choke and gasp as he pushes your hips back even further, and he hovers over you, keeping you trapped underneath his thick legs.

a mating press. 

“listen to me now,” he says. “i’m going to fuck you pregnant. i’m gonna fuck this pussy of yours till you’re pregnant again, and i’m going to give that little boy of yours a sibling of his own. you’d like that, wouldn’t you? have a baby of our own and form a perfect family…”

your pussy squeezes involuntarily, and even without you saying anything, he knows you’re turned on at the thought of being bred by him. a loud moan bubbles up in your chest as he slides his monstrous cock out of you before roughly slamming his hips down, forcing his entire length back into your tight cunt.

you barely choke back a scream. his cock has filled out every single bit of your hole, leaving you no room to comfortably take him. you swear that his tip prods dangerously at your womb, threatening to force it open so that he can dump as much of his cum into you as he wants.

oh god, you’re fucked. you’re having raw sex with your hot neighbor, and he’s talking about fucking his own child into you.

“god, you’re so fucking tight,” he groans. “can’t believe you had a whole baby with this pussy with how goddamn tight you are-”

you shudder as he thrusts in and out of you. every time he pistons his hips, he doesn’t waste a single movement. none of his thrusts are shallow; each one pumps deep and directly into your womb, clearly with the sole intent of getting you pregnant.

“haven’t had sex with anyone since- since i got pregnant with honoré,” you manage out. “fuck, fuck- you’re going too deep!”

irritation irks him in at the thought of some bastard getting to fuck you first, at the thought of another man getting to fuck that slutty pussy of yours. what kind of madman would even dream of letting you go, let alone throw you out so cruelly into the world? if he could, noa would keep you at home and lavish you with all the attention and love you could ever want. he’d pamper you, treat you like the goddess you are, make sure you know your worth and more. he can imagine it: buying you pretty clothes, taking you out to expensive dinners, spoiling honoré until the boy’s world is flipped upside down by his indulgent stepfather. 

but when noa glances down to see you all spread out and submissive for him, your hole eagerly taking his cock and getting ready to be stuffed with his cum, he can’t help but gloat slightly. he’s the one who has you now, the one who’s going to properly sweep you off your feet, the one who’s going to make you his.

“don’t lose yourself just yet. i know you can take it.” he fucks his dick into you once more, and you moan, unable to stop the arousal coiling up in your core. he wants to make sure you feel it, makes sure you feel every inch and ridge of his cock rubbing against your insides. he doesn’t know when the last time you had dick was, and neither does he particularly care, but he wants your body to know that his dick is the best you’ll ever have. “get used to how it feels. i’m going to make you my wife—gonna give you a family of our own. that’d be nice, yeah? to have someone that can support you? so you’re not all alone with just your son?”

you can’t help but nod, your pussy quivering at the thought. you know you’re not thinking straight, not when wine stains your thoughts and your body’s overrun with lust. but for some reason, thinking about noa wifing you up, taking you to be his cute little housewife while he fucks his kids into you, chasing after honoré and whatever other babies he’s going to put in you, finally having someone kind and reliable to depend on… 

you want it. you want it so bad.

your cunt makes it obvious from how much you’re clenching up around him, unconsciously milking his cock.

“you like that? you like the thought of getting married to me and having my babies?” noa eggs on. 

“don’t tease me like that-,” you protest. you can barely keep up with everything happening around you. his cock keeps stretching you out, rubbing all over your slick walls and sending waves of heat up your core. arousal floods your gut, and all you can care about is how good it feels to have sex, to finally let loose and forget about all the worries in the world, to lose yourself to a man who wants nothing more than to be good to you.

“tell me it feels good. tell me you want it.” noa’s fingers dig into your thighs. your clit throbs, and you bring a hand to your crotch to rub at it frantically. you’re sniffling and sobbing pathetically underneath the pro player, already this cock-drunk and overwhelmed just from having cum on his mouth once. 

“want it-,” you obediently repeat. heat floods your face and neck. he’s so possessive, but it turns you on so much. “want you so bad- want you to fuck me-”

“is that all?” his hips pound into you mercilessly, and you groan. his balls slap against your ass every time he fucks his cock into you, a constant reminder that you’re about to be bred by him. 

“it’s embarrassing to say…” you can’t meet his eyes. noa hums disapprovingly, and dread pools in your chest when he draws his hips back all the way, until just the tip remains buried inside your indecent hole. “what are you doing…?”

you instantly turn to look at him, horror flashing across your face when you choke out, “n-noel, hold on, you can’t-!”

he slams himself all the way into you. you shriek, your core immediately burning at the ruthless stretch. his cock prods at your womb brutally, and a mix of pain and unbridled pleasure rips at your body. you’re instantaneously reduced to a crying mess, unable to form words as noa breaks your pussy. you swear you’re going to break into pieces, body left completely to the man’s mercy. he keeps drawing his hips back like that, his cock reveling in the feeling of being completely enveloped by your welcoming hole.

the room echoes with your cries, the desperate ah- ah- ah-! noises from you spurring him on to keep fucking you like a bull in heat. as much as he loves you, cherishes you, wants to keep you by his side, the sex is animalistic and unforgiving. your body feels bruised and battered as he bullies his length into you over and over again, stretching and molding your insides to adjust to his massively unfair size.

“say it!” noa’s voice doesn’t waver even once. “say it properly, or i’m not stopping until you pass out.”

you open and close your mouth dumbly, your mind too fogged up to think properly. you endeavor and push through, pursing your lips to form the words that noa has wanted to hear since the beginning. “w-wanna have sex with you more! wanna be yours- wanna be your wife-! wanna get m-married to you and- and have your babies!”

“yeah?” the blond man repeats. “you want me to be your husband? you want me to be honoré’s stepdaddy? you want me to father the rest of your kids?”

the dirty talk arouses you in a way you didn’t even realize was possible. you throw your head back, your back fully arched. you’re being so loud, too loud, and while you knew you should be quiet and good for your son’s sake, you can’t help but shamelessly beg for the man on top of you to fold you in half and fuck you pregnant until you’re nothing more than a stupid breeding bitch for your evidently soon-to-be husband. 

“yes…!” you moan wantonly. “i want it all!”

he’s dangerously close. so are you, he can feel that much. you babble on and on about how you want him, how you want him to make you his, how you’ll be anything he wants you to be. what a depraved woman, he muses to himself, so desperate for love that you’d throw yourself at him once he gives you an opportunity to. he thinks it's awfully ironic, knowing that he did the same to you, and he’s glad that he has nothing but relatively good intentions.

minus the fact that he wants to get you pregnant.

his cock throbs and threatens to spill his cum into you. you’re teetering on the edge, aroused beyond your own comprehension by the sex and dirty talk, your sticky fingers playing with your abused clit. his hands reach for your tits, groping your sensitive breasts again.

he can’t wait to see you pregnant. your pretty chest, swollen up with milk for his baby, and your hips full and rounded out. your soft belly is stretched out, and you practically glow with warmth. he knows you’d be a good mother—he knows you’re a good mother. you dote on your son with so much love in your heart, and he knows you’d do anything to make sure that your family stays happy and healthy.

his heart swells. 

“fuck-” he pumps his dick in and out of you at such an inhumanly fast pace. your pussy won’t stop coiling all around him, making sure to milk him for all he’s worth and intoxicating him endlessly. noa knows he hasn’t had that much to drink during dinner, but the sensation of fucking into your warm hole makes him feel like he’s had one sip too many. “gonna cum, love- gonna cum inside you and make you my wife…”

“do it-!” you encourage him. your voice is strained and high-pitched, and your thighs ache with the pressure of having him breeding you in such a demanding position. but he’s so deep in you, touching you in places you didn’t even know was possible, and the pleasure makes your mind go blank. “cum in me- please, cum inside me, noel!”

how can he refuse? you’re begging for him, asking him with such doe-like eyes and offering up that tempting body of yours. 

it’s his turn to beg. “stay with me.”

you let out a loud squeal as he draws his heavy hips back one last time. your hole contracts around him, your desperate walls trying to drag him back inside, and he slams down into you as far as he can go. he knows he’s going to be hooked on your pussy, hooked on your body and the way it feels like you were made just to take his cock and get pregnant with his babies, hooked on all the ways he’s craved you with such an insatiable appetite since he’s laid eyes on you. 

he lets himself go. with all the lust in his heart, enough to rival the sheer amount of love he has for his sweet, sweet neighbor.

he’s never cum this hard before. his balls tighten up painfully as he empties himself out inside of your cunt, and you moan out his name when you feel him pulsing inside your core. noa clenches his jaw, gritting his teeth together as the rush of his orgasm possesses him. you’re too much for him: too loving, too ready, too perfect, and noa would rather be damned than let you escape him.

it hurts to thrust into you so quickly, not having fully even finished riding out his climax, but he’s determined to shove as much of his semen into you. he needs you full, needs to know that you’ll be knocked up with his baby, and he uses his cock to force ropes of his hot cum into every inch of your womb.

your core tightens and twitches when you feel him cumming inside of you, all of the tension building up coming to a standstill in that moment. “fuck! fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck- noel, i’m- i’m cumming- i’m cumming, i’m gonna cum- noel…!”

your cunt wrings his cock, gripping onto his length furiously. noa has to double down, brace himself for the way your body refuses to let him go, as you cry loudly and cum all over him. your pussy keeps contracting and squeezing, your second orgasm immediately setting your nerves on fire and taking complete control of your senses. he can tell you’re instantly overwhelmed, your breathing turning irregular as you pant out for air, a slick ring of ivory froth forming at the base of his cock.

“s-so good-,” you slur out, your words melting into one another. you shudder when noa pulls out of you, whining in slight protest at the sudden feeling of emptiness overtaking your warm pussy. a strand of milky cum follows his dick before breaking, and like a broken dam, a rivulet of semen leaks out of you and drips down. it follows the curve of your ass before beading momentarily on the sheets, creating a pool of cum underneath you.

even noa didn’t realize he came that much. he blames it entirely on his intent to breed you.

he sits down wordlessly by your side, the two of you laying in the darkness in silence as you catch your breaths. noa debates getting up to fetch you some water or a towel, but before he can, you grab at his wrist and coax him back to your side.

“you asked me to stay with you,” you whisper. you sound so hushed, but noa would have to be an idiot not to pick up on the wavering tinges of longing in your words. “don’t go just yet… stay with me.”

he wipes some of the sweat off of your forehead, tucking some loose hairs behind your ear. he ducks his head down to kiss your face, just like how proper lovers would. you smile so brightly, despite your body still aching from the number noa just did to you. you’re an angel sent from heaven, this much noa is sure of. he has never been one to believe that sincerely in abstract concepts like soulmates and fate, but when he cups your face and rubs his thumb over the apples of your cheeks or your eyelids, he gets it. he truly does. 

“don’t worry.” his voice is calming, and despite the fatigue ebbing over you in relentless waves, you can hear him loud and clear. “i’m not going anywhere.”

…

…

…

you’re fast asleep. noa’s aware that he should be asleep too, the clock ticking into the long and lonely stretches of early morning as he keeps you tucked into his chest. a firm arm holds you close to his heart, and your body slots against his like you were made to be held by him.

a missed call notification from his manager rests on his homescreen. he doesn’t want to pick up just yet. he doesn’t want to return to the real world, to his responsibilities, to be away from you.

a text message from his manager pops up, and he scans the preview with his usual eagle-like eyes.

‘sorry for calling you so late, noa. hope you’ve been doing well,’ his manager writes. ‘unfortunately, it looks like you’re going to have the next few months off as well. some material shipments got delayed, and without it, the stadium won’t be completed for a little while longer. your instructions are the same as last time: keep up with your exercise regime and do as your club tells you. other than that, you’re free to do as you want.’

relief floods noa’s weary body. he turns his phone over, blocking off the light before he pulls you to his chest even tighter. burying his nose into your hair, he holds you against his beating heart. thump-thump, your heartbeats syncopate to one another, and noa already knows he’s going to spend his precious time dedicating himself wholly to you and your happiness.

what he doesn’t see is the next text from his manager. not that it matters, noa has everything he could possibly want right now.

‘you sure are one lucky man,’ it reads. ‘make sure to take some time for yourself and relax, away from sports. breaks like these are rare.'

'you know what they say, noa. there really is no place like home.’

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock smut #bllk smut #noel noa #x reader #fem reader #my writing

[romanoffsbish]

Bible Study

Priest!Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

WandaNat x Fem!Reader

Warnings: BLASPHEMOUS! (Read with caution) Mean-ish WandaNat. (Am I a whore?)

Smut: Father (N), Mommy (W), Bunny (R) |Fingering (R), Oral (W), Unprotected Sex (R-Nat has a Dick), Kinks: Spitting, Slapping, Praising, Breeding.

18+ | Minors DNI | Please Don’t Report^ Labeled.

4,674 Words

Wanda knew everyone in town, it was part of the gig being the pastors wife and all, so when you entered their church this morning her curious eyes locked right in on your docile form as you took a seat on the aisle three rows back.

"Isn't she so pretty Natty?" Wanda held onto her wife's bicep with unexpected force as she surveyed the crowd settling into the pews, "She's precious, can we have her, please?"

Natasha chuckled, "Will that make my detka happy?" Wanda nodded. "Then she's all ours."

The couple shared a sweet kiss before Wanda took her rightful place in the front pew, right by their twins, Billy and Tommy Romanoff. They were a perfect split, Billy looked just like Wanda, while Tommy looked like Natasha.

——

Natasha softly smiled down at her family, then she looked out at her congregation with a grin, "Good morning everyone, shall we begin?"

—

The sermon was great, it didn't feel anything like you were used to in the past, there was an air of understanding in the preachers eyes and you knew it to be genuine as she had a wife. Word traveled around this small town fast, which is why you ended up here this Sunday.

There wasn't judgement here, and that was the way it should always be, as the bible itself says.

There was a post sermon luncheon being hosted across the way from the main church in a smaller building, it definitely piqued your interest, but you were unable to bring yourself to enter, so you did the next best thing and turned to leave towards the parking lot.

"Where are you sneaking off to dorogoy?"

"Oh, um hi there ma'am, I was headed home."

Wanda winced, "Please, refrain from calling me ma'am, it feels like you've just wounded me honey," she gripped at her heart to feign pain, causing you to chuckle softly, "My apologies..."

"Wanda," she held out her hand, you nervously accepted it, and your knees threatened to buckle at the mere sight of her gorgeous smile.

"So, instead of heading home, how about you follow me in? We'd love to get to know you."

"Y/N."

"A pretty name, attached to such a pretty face, what a shocker," she mused, relishing in the sight of your widened eyes, and at the way your head fell to hide your sudden nervous smile.

Wanda escorted you to the table with her kids, "I'll be right back with some snacks, sit tight."

"Hi!" Tommy shouted, you met his enthusiasm with a calm wave. "I'm Tommy, this is Billy."

"Hi," Billy greeted, far more reserved than his brother, "You're new, what brings you here?"

"I'm on a journey of self discovery actually," you admitted, rather easily at that, "I'm from out West, but I decided to venture out and in my journey I seem to have ended up here."

"Interesting, of all the places you could've traveled to, tell me honey, why New Jersey?"

It shocked you to see the pastor stood beside you, she was no longer in her church attire, but instead she wore a pair of blue jeans, with a simple white shirt that clung to her muscular figure in a way that seemed far too sinful for the venue, but your eyes still wandered.

"I-I'm not exactly sure Pastor Romanoff, I just know something told me that this was where I needed to be, so I parked my RV and stayed."

Natasha smirked, if her job has taught her anything, it's that God works in mysterious ways, and that this here was a true testament to the powerful nature of divine intervention.

"Please, call me Nat," she extended her hand out, and even if your hand was clammy, like before you accepted it, and whispered, "Y/N."

"Well Y/N, we're so happy to have a new face around, especially one as gorgeous as yours," she winked and you about lost the ability to breathe as she looked at you like you were her prey while her children were sat there coloring.

Wanda returned to see you looking absolutely awestruck, your lips pursed, while your eyes were chock-full of wonder as well as terror. Their prayers have finally been answered is all she can think as she settles down beside you, a smidge too close for a preachers wife you reckon, but you also can't be bothered to care.

"Hey, Y/N," you turned to look at her, your breath hitching as you nearly bumped noses, "Are you free for an introductory bible study?" Wanda smiled at you, innocent in nature, but you could see something more devious brewing behind those mesmerizing viridescent orbs.

"I-I, where, when?"

Natasha smirked, "Here, tonight, let's say 6?"

"Yeah, okay, what do I need to bring?" you asked while jumping to your feet in a rush.

Wanda followed your movement, placing a hand on your lower back she gently guided you to the exit with her wife right behind her, the women smiling brightly as you faced them.

"Just bring your pretty self," Wanda said while placing a kiss on your slightly heated cheek, "We'll handle the rest, don't worry about it."

When you got into your RV your skin was crawling, every alarm that could go off did, but you simply turned the radio up to drown them out, and headed straight towards your hotel. Where you paced for about an hour, deciding if returning was a smart idea, and wondering why you had the urge to shave for such a night.

You're preparing for the likes of a date, when in reality you're meant to meet the pastor and her wife to go over various pieces of scripture. You could use some sort of help honestly, resisting temptation was never exactly your strong suit, and with women as gorgeous as them you were perceivably hopeless if you read the vibe right.

And God, were you hoping you did...

—

After hours of deliberation you found yourself eagerly driving back to the church, a bible in your shaky hand as you got out of the vehicle. But it mattered not when your heart was consumed entirely by sin, your body matched that sentiment, adorned in a lacy red two piece that you could catch a glimpse of through your sheer white top tucked into a tight black skirt.

"Oh fuck," Natasha cursed, she could feel her cock hardening at the sight of you through the blinds in her office, "Wanda, come look at her."

"Yebena mat'," Wanda cursed in her wives mother tongue, "Come on, she's waiting!"

(Holy shit)

Natasha and Wanda quietly approached you from behind as you were stood in front of the church doors in wait for the clock to strike six.

"Aren't you an early bird?" Wanda announced herself with a playful smile when you turned to her, a bit startled, but you were able to recover pretty quickly, "I haven't got much else to do."

"Really? You're dressed so," Natasha paused, eyes drinking you in, her tongue seductively moving passed her lips as she wetted them before her tone dropped, "Provocatively."

You smirked, unsure where this sudden wave of confidence of yours came from, but you were ready to run with it, "Oh, well I actually have a date after bible study, but I thought I looked cute, are you saying this gives the wrong idea?"

Natasha's jaw clenched as she brushed passed you with the church keys, meanwhile Wanda's only giveaway towards jealousy was her eyes. They spoke in place of her neutral expression.

"It's cute, but Natasha's right, you look slutty."

Words worked too you supposed...

They left you stood in the doorway with your mouth agape, and a sinking feeling setting in. You were just trying to tease them, but it seems all you did was anger them, and likely ruined your chances of this fantasy to actually happen.

"Are you coming Y/N? You're letting all the cold air in honey," Wanda called out to you, and it was her soft voice giving you whiplash that brought you back from your mind full up on turmoil. "Yup, sorry," you shuffled inside, shutting the large doors behind you, and in doing so, you effectively sealed your fate.

Natasha cleared her throat, "Come here," she was stern in not only tone but stance as she stood at her podium behind the altar, and you had no interest in making her mad so your legs swiftly brought you to her. "Kneel," she husked, sending shivers down your spine as you were quick to obey the alluring woman in charge.

"You won't be needing this," Wanda slipped the bible from your hands, leaving you in a state of total confusion, your eyes tracked the room as you began to realize that this was indeed a closed bible study, and not just a fantasy.

"Look at me," Natasha commanded, and your flickering gaze instantly settled on her stony face, "From this moment forward you will call me Father, and if at anytime you wish to leave, you're free to go, do I make myself clear?"

"Answer her malysh," Wanda said from right beside you where she was crouching down to be on your level, "Don't upset her now honey, or this'll be no fun for any of us, and mommy wants to have fun with her precious bunny."

You nodded without a moment's hesitation, "Yes father, I understand," you smiled at her, and for a brief moment you saw her lips upturn before they fell back into a neutral position.

Natasha turned away to grab some things, and as she did that you released a nervous breath, only to have another caught in your throat as Wanda pressed herself into you. "You're so pretty bunny," she craned her head around to gently kiss your cheek, an act of faux innocence because in the next instance she was kissing your tingling lips hard enough to leave you breathless, "Can I touch your body, hm?"

The question felt near redundant, her lips have already touched yours, while her hands held onto your hips for support from behind, so you knew that what she was asking wasn't as simple as it sounded, and you were so eager to give in, you nodded vigorously, but Natasha gripped your chin before you could nod again.

"Use your words," she held you tighter for emphasis, "Unless you wish for consequences."

"Sorry father, I-I promise to be good," Natasha nodded, and once she loosened her grip you turned to face Wanda, "Yes mommy, you are both free to touch me however you like."

"There you go," Natasha smiled at you, it was soft, but in a condescending way, "I knew you weren't just a pretty face, such a smart girl."

While Wanda's hands bunched your skirt up Natasha's hand gripped your chin again, far less tightly than before, "Open up bunny."

Natasha watched with pride as you obediently parted your lips, she lifted the chilled golden chalice to her lips, sipping the ruby tinted wine into her mouth before she slowly leaned over, and sensually spit the wine directly into yours.

It was perfectly synchronized, the altered liquid permeated your tastebuds, and then it slid down your throat just as Wanda slid two of her fingers into your dripping cunt. Natasha pressed her lips to yours just as a scream was ripped from your burning throat, catching it with efficient ease, and spurring your arousal on tenfold as she slid her tongue over yours.

Never in your days did you expect communion to play out like this, but you'd honestly never felt closer to a higher being than you did now. Natasha, and Wanda were the holy figureheads for this small town, you understood the appeal right away with their charms, and now you thanked the world for introducing them to you.

"You're dripping," Wanda groaned, "Good grief, do you hear yourself detka? So wet."

You'd willed yourself to feel shame for what was taking place here tonight, you felt like a common mans' whore with how easily you were giving it up, but you just couldn't seem to care. With the way she fucked you, and Lord, with the words she said, they had you in a chokehold. "It's like this pussy was meant for mommy's fingers. Don't you agree detka?"

Natasha pulled away from you, the picture perfect display of cool as you panted loudly. She returned to her previous position, moving about to put things in order for, well, you hadn't a clue honestly, but you were excited.

"Answer mommy," Natasha commanded, "Sorry father," you choked out over a moan, "Y-yes mommy, I was made just for you to fuck."

"Watch your mouth," Natasha chided, her hand made instant contact with your cheek, "Pretty girls like you need not speak like that Y/N."

"Oh, okay, I-I'm sorry father, I won’t swear,” you stuttered, mind currently reeling from how your body alit with this nearly painful desire as her hand harshly collided with your skin, you nearly asked her to do it again, you’re certain Wanda knew too with the way she smirked against your shoulder, you’d clenched so hard she felt your walls suck her in even deeper.

“U shlyukhi bolevoy sindrom,” Wanda spoke in secrets to her wife, you dropped the redheads gaze as soon as she looked to you with a smirk, she knew now. “Imeyet smysl.”

(The slut has a pain kink / Makes sense)

You wish you could say you were embarrassed now, but you weren’t, only eager for more.

The pastor began to hum a familiar tune to fill the nearly silent room, and with that followed Wanda's sultry voice,"'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace, my fears relieved." Natasha unexpectedly sang out the next line, "How precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed."

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound," the women kept their voices low, their raspy tones wrapped around your brain as they harmonized, further clouding your lusty mind. "Sing with us sweetheart," Wanda nibbled on the lobe of your ear as her thumb grazed your clit, pulling a set of delicious mewls from you.

"Go on bunny, be our good girl," Natasha purred, her face now in front of yours as she crouched down before you with a sly smirk.

"That saved a wretch like me," you were alone as you choked out the next line, working your hardest to not get too lost in the pleasure that you forget the words, you weren't sure she wouldn't stop if you did. Wanda sped up her pace in reward, her lips parted as she breathed heavily, seeing you so pliant for them made her heart swell with hope, and she was giddy to see her wife's eyes held the same dream when they locked gazes. Natasha nodded; it was time.

"I once was lost, but now I'm found," all three of you sang the next line in synchrony, "Go on detka, let go, finish the song for us."

Her words felt coded, and as you sang the last line you knew they were, "Was blind, but now I see," your vision blurred as you came a second later, finishing on Wanda's fingers as she'd curled them with a sort of expertise.

"Good girl," Wanda purred, you whimpered at her praise, you felt your walls clench around her fingers, and cried a moment later when she pulled them from you. You were spent, your body now sticky with a thin layer of sweat, your head rested on Wanda's shoulder as your heart pounded in your head, you didn't see nor hear what the women were saying or doing.

You'd never experienced as powerful of an orgasm before, it was very much life changing, and you nearly chuckled that it happened in a church. A place of worship; you surely felt that.

It wasn't until you felt pointed fingertips tap the side of your head that you opened your eyes. Natasha stared down at you with a grin, "What do you say bunny?" You smiled softly, "Thank you mommy," you turned awkwardly to kiss her lips in thanks. "Thank you Father."

Natasha beamed genuinely, loving the way that you understood without much guidance. You were perfect, her wife always had a knack for finding prizes, and she clearly has yet to fail.

Wanda's sticky, glistening fingers flooded your vision a second later as she dipped them into a metal basin, metaphorically washing her hands clean of your sin, but you noticed she left out two of her coated fingers. You watched with a dry mouth as she lifted her hand up to her wife who didn't hesitate to lick it clean, "Sweet..."

You nearly fainted, traces of your slick now layered over her lower lip, shining just right under the dimly lit church lights. Wanda's moan directly into your ear after she tasted you next made your body tremble with renewed need as you kept your eyes locked on her wife's. It felt as if they sought to kill you with their provocations, so sexy in their natural states.

Then, the icing on the cake came when the pastor dipped two of her fingers into the tainted water, stirring it languidly until she was satisfied that your essence had mixed in well.

"Vo imya papy," Natasha chanted in her mother tongue, her thumb dripping with the not so holy water pressed a circle into your forehead, then her hand returned to the bowl, "Mamochki," her thumb swirled over your left cheek, "I dragotsennogo zaychika ty budesh' nashim," and then repeated on the right.

(in the name of the father / mommy / and the precious bunny you will be ours.)

Wanda nearly snorted as the words translated in her mind, her wife always did have an odd sense of humor; you were likely none the wiser.

"Are you ready for more?" Natasha asked, and once you replied her pants were at her ankles. The redhead watched the way your eyes fell to her tented boxers instantaneously, "You see what you did to me bunny? It's aching, and the only remedy is to let me breed your pussy, ok?"

It was a risky game saying yes, you weren't on birth control, and though you wanted kids, you weren't exactly financially stable being on the road, but when you felt Wanda grip your hips a bit tighter, and saw the hopeful look in Nat's eyes you realized your life was about to change.

You nodded, but quickly fixed your mistake, "Please father, fill me up, make me pregnant."

"Oh bunny," Wanda coo'd as her arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace, "You're going to have to clean up the mess you made of mommy too," she swiftly shifted from behind you, and gently moved you to lie flat on the ground with her arms still around you. "Can you do that?"

"Of course," you beamed, a bit too excited for such a blessing. "Such a perfect gift you are." Wanda pecked your lips, then booped your nose, a soft moment before all the carnality.

Natasha cock sprung to life as she removed her boxers, she saw the way your eyes widened at her size, then she shifted her gaze as you did. The redhead began to lazily stroke herself as you both watched Wanda slip out of her dress.

"Wow," you gasped, both women chuckled as they took in your enamored features, "You're both so beautiful, a match made in heaven."

The irony of your words seemed to be lost on you in your dizzied state, but both women had to stifle a laugh. With how tonight's transpired, it's unlikely any of you are ever ascending.

"Have you seen yourself bunny?" Natasha spoke, "You've got to be like a fallen angel."

A warmth blossomed beneath your skin, and your bashful smile gave you away, you'd been well worked up as it was, but that did you in.

Within a moments time your brain further short circuited as the brunette straddled your chest, you internally cursed as you felt her wetness dripping down from the swell of your breasts. It was only turning you on more to know you caused any of this, and soon enough you moaned unabashedly as her aromatic arousal was pooling in the divots of your neck.

Wanda tutted as your hands tried to bring her closer, "Patience now bunny, I wanna see your pretty face first when daddy fills you up."

Natasha lined herself up with your hole, she slipped her tip in with ease, yet you clenched. The redhead groaned as you held her in a vice grip, with a harsh thrust of her hips half of her length was sheathed within you. Stretching your walls further than they’d ever been before, you moaned in a high pitch as her thick veins throbbed beneath the crushing pressure of your delighted pussy as you clenched.

Wanda’s legs were growing tired, as was her patience with the pit forming in her stomach, so without warning she slid down your chest and onto your agape mouth. She nearly fell forward as your screams echoed through her pussy, and sent shivers throughout her body.

Natasha had used the distraction of Wanda to fully pull out, then thrust back in until she was bottomed out. Wanda’s loud moan was simply an echo, her body a vessel for your pleasures release, letting Natasha know she was an expert at her craft, with her ego now doubled.

There was a cycle at play here, Wanda knew this very well, Natasha was staving off her release, but all the while ensuring that the both of you came, and well into the double digits.

Wanda was out of lives as you sucked her clit between your teeth harshly when her wife had slapped your clit with incredible force. The way you ate her out was different than she’d ever experienced before, it was a sloppy, tempered kinda carnal, it was so sensual, she could swear she was in Utopia, and she’d once thought she met God when she actually bagged Natasha.

Wanda surged forward, landing painfully onto the hardwood on her hands and knees due to the overstimulation. You barely had a chance to gulp down any air before Natasha was devouring your lips, her tongue greedily entering your mouth, lapping up her wife’s essence as she busts a nut without warning.

Her face falls into the crook of your neck with a pleasurable grimace, she was grunting hotly as she chased after her ever fleeting high, “Fuck!”Sounds reminiscent of a tidal wave could be heard between your legs as she desperately continued to fuck her seed into your womb.

“Oh bunny, daddy can’t wait to see your belly swell, pregnant with our kittens,” she was panting against your neck now as she built herself up to another fast approaching high. This time she completely stills as her orgasm paralyzes her with blinding pleasure, and you writhe as her seed instigates another big O.

Once she regains control of her body she jackhammers her hips into yours with no regard to your cries of anguish. “You’ll be an amazing mom Y/N, so good to all our babies,” she honestly whispered against your sweaty forehead as she laid a kiss there. Natasha had finally grown tired, pleased with her efficiency she finally allowed herself to rest atop of you, and stopped her attack on your sensitive pussy.

Wanda had already finished redressing by the time you and Natasha had finished recovering. Though her panties only grew wet as she watched the two of you beautifully fall apart. Once Natasha pulled out Wanda was kneeling at your side, her left hand cupped your face, while her other cupped your cunt. You hissed at the barest contact, whimpering, “no more,” as her fingers dipped inside, shoving back in the mixed arousal slowly oozing out of you.

Wanda didn’t want to hurt you, so she stopped after a few thrusts, scooping her fingers as she pulled out to bring the arousal to her mouth. You whimpered as she licked one of her digits clean, “Shh, mommy is gonna share bunny.” Wanda pressed her other finger passed your kiss swollen lips, leaving it there for you to suck on in a self soothing manner as she cleaned you up with a warm towel from the church kitchen.

You whined in subtle anguish, but you settled when she smiled at you with a tender gaze. In a haze of minutes for you, Wanda had redressed you and gotten you up onto at least your knees.

"Look at me bunny," Natasha cupped your cheek with a contrasting tenderness to every other touch she'd given you tonight, and she smiled just as tenderly when your hazy eyes lifted to meet hers, "Welcome to the church."

You snorted amusedly, "Thank you father,” your voice hoarse after the many harsh moans.

Natasha smirked down at you, the pad of her thumb ran over your lips, a soft gasp left her when you wrapped your lips around her digit, "Careful sweet girl, trust me, you can't handle another round tonight," her eyes darkened, and you were convinced of her terrifying honesty as you swallowed thickly and released her thumb.

"She's right detka," Wanda guided you to your feet, and kissed you with a natural smile, "Stick around town though, and I promise you we'll see to it that you're properly cared for by us."

"How so?" Wanda smiled, "In all the ways that matter, you could be ours, if you'd want that."

"But you have a date," Natasha reminded you, and you watched Wanda frown while still held tight in her embrace, "I-I was just kidding."

Wanda pressed her lips to your cheek, "That's so delightful to hear sweetheart, we aren't ones for sharing," leaving behind a smudge as she'd just freshly reapplied a layer of her lipstick.

Natasha reached for your hand next, so you extended yours to her, and she pulled you in for a far less tender kiss, but the way she cupped one half of your face told you she held you in an equally as tender regard as her wife.

"We'll see you next Sunday kotenok, drive safely, and don't forget to thank the Lord for all he's done for you in your nightly prayers," she softly pushed you passed the large oak doors, and you turned back to the happy couple with a smile that made their hearts flutter, "Thanks."

Wanda smiled warmly, "Pleasure was ours." Natasha winked at you, adorning that stupid smirk that made your core throb, you slowly wobbled your way back to your RV, a perfect reminder that you definitely did need to rest.

Wanda blew you a kiss, and watched with delight as every wall you had left crumbled as you dopily caught it. "I think I'm in love Natty."

The redhead turned away so she could lock up, "Mhm, she's a perfect fit for us, let's remember to thank God for divining us such a miracle,” suavely turning back around she sent a wink.

Wanda pressed her front into her wives, hands flat against her chest as she gazed up at her in wonder, "Do you think it worked?" Natasha's arms overlapped behind her wives lower back, her face contorted thoughtfully before she leant in to peck her alluring lips, "If it didn't, we'll make sure it does next time, she's ours now."

The couple shared a soft kiss, an excited smile worn on both their faces as they drove home. Soft tunes filled the air as they rode with the top of their mustang down, both women silent as they each dreamt up how to decorate the guest room. If all things worked out well, in a weeks time they hoped to be bringing you back with them, to the place you'll soon call home. 

——

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #gxg #wanda x natasha x reader #wanda x nat x you #wanda x nat #wanda x natasha #wandanat #wandanat smut #wandanat au #wandanat imagine #wandanat fluff #wandanat fanfiction #wandanat x female reader #wandanat x reader #wandanat x you #wandanat x y/n

[nightgoodomens]

So how about a one shot where Aziraphale realises he has hots for Crowley getting his hands dirty?

😈😈😈😈

Aziraphale decided that he really should have fallen a very long time ago.

He never out loud admitted that he was putting himself in danger to get Crowley to save him - or in other words - to see him. It would probably be seen as pathetic or blasphemous considering he was pretending to be a poor Angel in need of saving by a Demon. But Crowley always showed up and never judged him and Aziraphale wondered if he knew.

He probably did. Crowley was a cheeky bastard but for some reason never tried to tease him about this, so Aziraphale decided he went along with it because he liked saving him. Or he liked him.

Hey, it worked for every heroine in the book. That’s where he got the idea from in the first place. They were always saved by the handsome bad boy that was only soft for them. Aziraphale decided to test out the little fantasy - and it worked. He liked the feeling of being rescued, he always struggled to pretend that he doesn’t really need the help, because his face was probably beaming from happiness. It wasn’t just the rescuing, it was seeing the demon and knowing he might be able to spend a few hours in his company.

But those days were long over. Now he and that demon had their own cottage and there was nothing to be rescued from… apart from a neighbour who tried to stick her nose in their business and Crowley found it funny until she said a mean thing to Aziraphale and he snapped at her in a way that ensured she never bothered them again.

Aziraphale was content and happy. They really finally had their peace. And he had Crowley all for himself.

Things were so peaceful in fact that he forgot that Crowley was a tempting creature. Aziraphale was used to him, he knew his flirt, he knew the seduction. He was lucky to have all of this in his normal everyday life.

But what was infuriating was that Crowley didn’t know of all the ways he was seductive when he wasn’t trying.

Or perhaps Aziraphale really should have fallen because he had a goddamn dirty mind.

Six thousand years! This is how long he knew the demon for, but only when they got the cottage he found out that Crowley was very much into sorting things out himself. He worked on the Bentley. He fixed the boiler. He fixed their appliances. He was so good at figuring things out.

And Aziraphale should had been a good partner who appreciated having such a hands on partner. Instead he felt himself swallowing hard seeing him working without a T-shirt on, sweat and dirt smudged across the uncovered body, as he twisted his slim hips to get behind the old boiler which played up again.

Or… it might have been… Aziraphale who broke it.

Why was he finding it so hot?! It was Crowley! He was hot and sexy and Aziraphale could have him whenever he wanted since that demon was last to say no, cheeky grin on his face majority of the time. They had a lot of years to catch up on, that was their excuse.

Yet somehow that bloody snake was not catching up that Aziraphale was breaking things on purpose to see him twisting, half naked and dirty.

Not even when he convinced Bentley to suddenly start losing oil because good lord Crowley covered in black smudges.

“You know what?” Crowley spoke up, one hand on the boiler, hot, sweaty and dirty. “I think we need to call someone over. I am clearly doing something wrong if it keeps on breaking. We can’t live here like this, it gets so hot. I’m sweating! I’ve never sweat in my life!”

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice was way too high. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re perfect.”

Crowley would have given him a surprised look normally, but he was too busy wondering what was wrong with the boiler.

Aziraphale wondered if his miracle was a bit too good this time. They were really getting too easy for him to do at this stage.

God, help me.

God was probably laughing her ass off at him.

“It’s not that hot.” Aziraphale waved his hand dismissively.

“Angel. We are melting.” Crowley looked at him surprised, finally.

His hair was stuck to his forehead.

God, forgive me, for I am going to sin so badly, Aziraphale breathed.

God was definitely laughing now.

“What’s up?” Crowley was suddenly right in front of his face. Aziraphale groaned. “You’re being really weird.”

Get the hint you bloody demon.

“I am not weird!” Aziraphale scoffed, trying to be offended but his hands were touching Crowley’s chest, so that didn’t work out.

“You’re going to get your hands dirty, Angel.” Crowley said, still not getting the hint.

“I don’t mind.”

Crowley looked confused for a moment, but he finally did get the hint -when Aziraphale’s hands reached his belt and pulled him closer.

“Angel.” Crowley’s face turned into that smug smirk that Aziraphale loved but would never admit it. “Are you trying to tell me you like me like this?”

“Only for the past three months, dear.” He unlocked his belt and threw it to the floor.

Crowley laughed delighted. “You’re the one who keeps on breaking everything.”

“Possibly.”

“Aziraphale.”

“Just take your pants off, Crowley.”

He wasn’t planning to worship God tonight.

#good omens #crowley #ineffable fandom #good ineffable omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #ineffable dumbasses #ineffable idiots #ineffable lovers #aziraphale #aziracrow

[vidavalor]

Bread: A Good Omens Sex Meta Thing

Let's talk Aziraphale and blasphemous sexual innuendo, shall we?

We are still going to talk about what the deal is with the Fish soon as promised but I wound up finishing this shorter one first. You do not have to have read my other metas to read this. NSFW under the cut.

What do *checks notes* Jesus Christ and Ella Fitzgerald have to do with Aziraphale's "get thee behind me, foul fiend" moment in 1.01... and how do they make it somehow even more delightfully filthy?

Probably as a result of putting on a show to sound angelic and demonic when speaking to one another in public, Crowley and Aziraphale seem to have a thing for using scripture, Bible references and/or Heavenly mandates as sexual innuendo.

It overlaps at times with their general love of wordplay and also their repeated use of destructive/apocalyptic terminology as sexual metaphor and innuendo, which is not unique to them but which they do a rather stellar job at. While all of these things are in multiple scenes and one of them-- the "seeds of destruction" scene in the car on the way to Tadfield-- is especially interesting and will be its own meta at some point soon, I'm not sure we've fully appreciated just how completely, gloriously obscene the "get thee behind me, foul fiend" moment in 1.01 is and that is largely what this meta is about.

In Good Omens, it's established in the 1.03 Cold Open that Satan himself didn't tempt Jesus Christ-- he sent Crowley to do it. While Crowley and Aziraphale witness the crucifixion of Christ, Crowley tells Aziraphale that he's the one who "showed him [Jesus] all the kingdoms of the world", which establishes that it's Crowley who tempted Jesus in the desert, in what would have been an attempt to claim Jesus' soul for Satan but which we can probably figure that Crowley wasn't particularly wild about, especially since he liked and admired Jesus. Spoiler alert for The Bible here lol but the story goes that Jesus rejected Satan, as you no doubt have heard. In Good Omens, this would then mean that Crowley failed to tempt Jesus, which he likely wasn't exactly heartbroken over.

Crowley appeared to tempt Jesus on three occasions and, throughout all of it, Jesus was fasting in the desert over 40 days and 40 nights. The first temptation was to turn stones into bread to relieve Jesus of his hunger. The second was to jump from a high cliff and rely on the angels to break his fall. The final temptation is the one that Crowley references to Aziraphale in the Golgotha scene-- to worship him in exchange for all the kingdoms of the world. Jesus rejected Crowley at every turn and so was spared from Satan claiming his soul in what is arguably one of the most famous stories that has ever been told in all of human history, right?

The way this relates to sexual innuendo in 1.01, though, is related to the first temptation of Christ, which was to try to get Jesus to alleviate his own self-imposed hunger. It was to try to get him to eat bread-- actual bread for actual hunger for food. In Ineffable Husbands Speak, though, bread is related to sex by way of it being euphemistic for participants in partnered sex. (See: Mrs. Sandwich, who arranges for different breads to come together; references to black bread, brioche, sourdough, etc..). In 1.01, when Aziraphale drops "get thee behind me, foul fiend" while inviting Crowley into the bookshop (and into him), they have just come from eating lunch and 'lunch' is also their word for a food kinky date that ends with sex, as we looked at in the Crepes post, which I'll link at the bottom of this post, for anyone who hasn't read it and is interested.

So, what we're saying here is that Jesus refused Crowley's offer of relief from hunger for food and we know from The Bible that, in rejecting the last of Crowley's attempts to tempt him with all the kingdoms of the world, Jesus said: "Get thee behind me, Satan" (all of Satan's ministers being referred to as "Satan" as they are-- theoretically, anyway-- of The Devil). Later in The Bible, it is noted that Jesus also repeats "get thee behind me" in an intentional reference to his temptation in the desert when admonishing Peter for being too concerned with "worldly" things and not things that Christ felt were "of God."

Aziraphale. Knows. All of this.

Not even just because it's one of the most famous bits of The Bible and because parts of what is retold in The Bible are things Aziraphale has lived through. Just to make it abundantly clear to us that Aziraphale knows the story and that it was Crowley in the desert, they gave us the 33 A.D. scene, in which Crowley directly tells Aziraphale that it was him who failed to tempt Jesus... which adds some layers to Aziraphale using "get thee behind me" in 1.01, no?

Aziraphale-- an angel-- is standing there in 1.01, intentionally saying to Crowley the same words that *Jesus Christ* used to reject Satan through rejecting Crowley's temptations-- and he's using those words of Christ to invite Crowley *to fuck him.*

After Jesus rejected the temptation of bread but Crowley and Aziraphale? They just went to out to eat...

Aziraphale is enthusiastically not resisting any temptations and satisfying all the hungers here lol. Which is the point--

--much like the "tempt you to a spot of lunch?"/"temptation accomplished" scene, they're joking about temptation.

Pleasures like food and sex are not a sin and Aziraphale happens to like having both of those things with Hell's most notorious tempter, whom they both know Aziraphale has wrapped around his finger. Aziraphale is not risking his soul to enjoy being with Crowley-- the stakes are not the same, nor are the temptations, as what Jesus faced-- which is Aziraphale's dirty joke. Aziraphale's partner is a tempter for Hell who takes pleasure in being with Aziraphale, an angel who rebels against the repression of Heaven and allows himself to enjoy the good things in life. Crowley and Aziraphale tempt each other as they find each other tempting, in the sense that they're attracted to each other, but they don't view alleviating hungers for food and sex with one another as truly sinful.

Crowley is loving every minute of it, of course. His sweet, kind, lovely, clever angel who is also just so very deliciously bad that he's using innuendo related to that poor bugger Jesus to talk to Crowley about what they want to get up to in bed. Aziraphale is all Jesus might have resisted you but I've no such inclinations.

That's profane lol.

You just know they've also had conversations about how hot Jesus was that included some smirky references to consumption of "the body of Christ" and a dry "amen."

There is another thing "get thee behind me" references as well-- something that I think is a sharper reference after S2 added in a connecting piece to it. Here's where Ella Fitzgerald begins to come into this...

In S2, during The Resurrectionist minisode, Crowley, at one point, quips to Aziraphale: "you say potato, I say 'excellent'", which is an example of one of Crowley's historical anachronisms. As we know, he sometimes says things outside of historic time and place and another musical example of this occurs in this same minisode, when he sings "O Flower of Scotland" before it was actually written. The "you say 'potato', I say 'excellent'" has the lyrical rhythm of the famous Gershwin song "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off." The phrases "you say potato" and "po-TAY-to, po-TAH-to" literally come from the lyrics of this song so Crowley's "you say 'potato'" in The Resurrectionist minisode is 110 years before the song was first written and performed in 1937.

The fact that this reference is happening in the scene in which Crowley has switched his accent to Scottish, causing him to pronounce things differently than Aziraphale, is also part of a joke that goes along with that song, which is a duet built around using the different pronunciations of the same words to illustrate the love between a couple who sometimes see things differently but actually adore it in each other and really never want to be apart. The lyrics also use wordplay to marry food with love throughout the song (yes, it really is the most Crowley & Aziraphale song that has ever been written lol) and include a line around oysters, which are more than a little relevant to Crowley & Aziraphale's story.

Maybe funnier is that if you take Crowley's "you say 'potato'" moment in The Resurrectionist and you add it to Gabriel's arrival in 2.01-- in which an enormous bin of tomatoes spills at his feet and roll into the street-- you have a further reference to "Let's Call The Whole Thing Off" because the first two lines of the song are centered around potatoes and tomatoes and what happens in the Gabriel scene? He turns around after putting down the box and the crowd gasps, right? There's been endless debate over what Gabriel's whole deal down below is and the show-- which basically couldn't show us even if they wanted to because it would up the content rating of the show past what the studios would prefer-- had an opportunity for ambiguity and took it. It ultimately doesn't impact the story they are telling if Gabriel was efforting in that moment or not or what kind of effort he was sporting-- the answer can be whatever you want it to be. The debate over it is very "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off", as it's "'you say 'to-MAY-to', I say 'to-MAH-to'". The end result of the scene is the same no matter what Gabriel's deal was in that moment, which is the point. To some extent, this is the show itself overall, too.

Okay, so why am I going on about Crowley's historical anachronisms in a meta about Aziraphale's blasphemous innuendo?

I'll explain how it relates to the "get thee behind me" moment on the other side of the song, which I've included in case you think you know this song but you aren't sure or if you do know it and just want to listen to some Ella. :)

I bring this up in a meta about biblical blasphemy because it's actually the second, subtle reference to Ella Fitzgerald in the series-- the first is actually "Get Thee Behind Me, Satan"... which is also an Ella Fitzgerald song from the 1930s. Specifically, it is an Irving Berlin song that was also, like "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off", written for film, during the same period. ("Get Thee..." was written in 1935 and first played in a film the following year; "Let's Call..." written & performed in 1937.) The fact that the Jesus-ish "The Resurrectionist" minisode had another subtle nod to Ella Fitzgerald might strengthen the idea that Aziraphale is also referencing the Ella Fitzgerald song in 1.01, as well as the Biblical story that it references.

Making things even more interesting is one of the possible reasons for Crowley's historical anachronisms in the series in the first place, which might be that they hint at some of the ways that our professional midwife/cobbler Bildad the Shuite has been subtly influencing humans towards different ideas throughout history.

There's another meta on my blog about a different reference that ties to this a bit and it relates to how some of Crowley & Aziraphale's dialogue during the scenes of The Blitz so far (both parts) reference the 1957 film 'North by Northwest', which had the same screenwriter-- Ernest Lehman-- as the film adaptation of 'The Sound of Music'. Since the film came out 16 years after Crowley & Aziraphale first said these things in 1941, the implication is that at least one of them might have known Lehman and the two of them are actually partly the inspiration for the main couple in the film. I talked in that post about how this is hinted at by Crowley's repeated euphemistic references to trains in S2, as 'North by Northwest' is responsible for originating trains-as-sexual-metaphor forevermore through some now very famous scenes.

If it's already canon that they knew classical composers and Shakespeare and such, it's not far off to suggest that this type of interaction continued into more modern times and that maybe the Gershwins, Irving Berlin and/or Ella Fitzgerald were people Crowley and Aziraphale knew whose work was then inspired by bits of their story. "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off" could have been kicked off by one of them recounting (or Crowley repeating) the "you say 'potato'", which is bound to happen anyway, since Crowley and Aziraphale are so self-referential about their past in how they speak with one another, like every old married couple. (This would also be interesting as it might point to them in New York in the mid-1930s.)

So, right, Aziraphale and blasphemy, yes, yes, we're back to that now... :)

Mah point is that whatever you think of Aziraphale's present musical tastes, he was absolutely listening to the then-current music of the 1930s and Ella Fitzgerald is an example of an artist that both he and Crowley would have liked and still like. They both know these songs so, at minimum, saying "get thee behind me" to Crowley is potentially not just referencing Crowley and Jesus in the desert but also referencing this Ella Fitzgerald song and what's of note here is that this is a very sexy song that is pure, blasphemous innuendo in the best way. It describes a secret night of passion between a couple in a forbidden relationship as being unable to resist temptation by comparing it, just as Aziraphale does to Crowley in 1.01, to Jesus' successful rejection of temptation in the desert.

Lyrics like this:

Get thee behind me, Satan I want to resist But the moon is low and I can't say "no" Get thee behind me

Get thee behind me, Satan I mustn't be kissed But the moon is low and I may let go Get thee behind me

It's possible that Aziraphale suggested the Biblical metaphor to Irving Berlin at one point and the song is actually inspired by Crowley and Aziraphale, even if no one but them knows just how much. At minimum, Crowley is responsible for this song in GO in the sense that it wouldn't exist without his interactions with Jesus in the desert, which would also be enough for Crowley and Aziraphale to just have a thing about the song. "Get Thee Behind Me, Satan" also being from the mid-1930s means that it pre-dates "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square", so maybe there's even an element of this being one of their songs. At the very least, Aziraphale totally thinks of it as one.

...and have I mentioned that the last lyrics of the song are just the recurring Crowley line of "It's too late" repeated?

Someone I'm mad about Is waiting in the night for me Someone that I mustn't see Satan, get thee behind me...

First post in the 'GO sex meta things' series:

#ineffable husbands #good omens meta #aziracrow #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #crowley x aziraphale

[starbylers]

Here’s 7 of my favourite Byler proofs just from season 4. Pretty sure we all know these but just a refresher if anyone is feeling doubtful <3

Camera focusing on men wrestling when in Mike’s POV

There is no other explanation for this shot: Mike was watching the boys. Hinting at his sexuality is the only reasoning here that has actual narrative purpose.

Symbolism in the final scene

The dying Mlvn flowers vs the blooming flowers edited between Mike and Will.

El walking away from the love triangle framing, alone. Mike and Will centred as a pair between the other endgame couples. This is not an accident, the way everyone is positioned in twos is incredibly staged and deliberate.

Mike’s bedroom walls

The shirtless male dragon on a literal rainbow poster (this one is so obvious I have to laugh). Other characters have pictures of the gender they’re shown to be attracted to on their walls, why is it any different for Mike? And of course the one way sign. Set design is a professional career, these things were not thrown in at random. A character’s room is supposed to give us insight into who they are and their story.

The narrative. The most basic but strong evidence that exists.

El lying to Mike for months. Mike avoiding touching Will and pretending not to look at him in the airport, after finding out he likes a girl. Mike and El fighting and Mike using gaslighting language and shifting blame. El leaving Mike behind with ‘from El’. Their relationship is on the rocks. Will and Mike having multiple interrupted heart to hearts. Borderline flirting and definite gazing into each other’s eyes in the Dear Billy talk. Mike feeling insecure and inferior in his relationship. Will’s secret love confession making Mike feel happy and better about himself. That same confession encouraging Mike to give the monologue. The monologue being completely impersonal and containing at least one 100% confirmed lie (love at first sight). El fails to achieve her goal (save Max) despite Mike’s words. El having no response to Mike’s long-awaited ‘I love you’ when it’s been days.

Suzie’s house foreshadowing episode 9

Mike & Suzie’s dad both hit by the arrow (to show he represents Mike)

‘It looked genuine’ do I need to say more?

Also this foreshadowing is backed up by one of Suzie’s sibling’s lines ‘too much salt’ (aka reference to the salt bath).

The Suzie’s house sequence has absolutely no purpose to the plot. It exists for parallel purposes.

Fruit on pizza metaphor interrupting Mike’s alleged ‘I love you’ attempt

Mike: ‘That’s blasphemous! Putting fruit on pizza?’

Argyle: ‘Try before you deny.’ El: ‘It’s good!’

I think this metaphor is pretty self-explanatory. (Trying the ‘fruit’ = exploring his sexuality, Mike thinks it’s wrong, specifically using the word ‘blasphemous’ (which in simple terms is defined as ‘to disrespect God or religion’, and we know Mike grew up in a homophobic small town in the 80s). There are more detailed explanations of this elsewhere on Tumblr, this is just a mini summary).

Also, Argyle calling Mike Romeo (reference to a doomed relationship).

Again, this scene had absolutely no purpose plotwise or character-wise (at least explicitly). It was pure symbolism.

‘Straight doesn’t make sense’ map joke

Mike: ‘Straight, straight, straight…right on the money, as I said.’

Jonathan: ‘It just doesn’t make sense.’

Yet again, no plot or character purpose for this dialogue, or at least not for wording it this way. This was clearly a joke alluding to Mike’s sexuality (and him possibly being in denial), similar to the telemarketing joke in s3 (‘El? Sorry, not interested’).

#byler #these things are only scratching the surface of all the evidence but just wanted to ease people’s minds :) #we are getting our endgame guys

[hero-israel]

hi, fellow Jew here

what's antisemitic about the genocide claims? i've heard this a lot, and aside from being Horrific Misinformation, i don't... see why this is antisemitic? like it's bad and wrong but i don't know if it comes from Jew-hate if ykw i mean.

sorry, this could be a stupid question-

When it comes to Jewish institutions, all misinformation, false accusations, and conspiracy theories are inherently antisemitic. Charging Jews with "genocide" in these circumstances - when they are shooting back in a two-sided war, aimed at an armed group, taking steps to encourage and allow civilians to flee - requires a false accusation and a minimization / inversion of terms.

David Schraub:

"For thousands of years, for much of the world, part of the cultural patrimony enjoyed by all non-Jews—spiritual and secular, Church and Mosque, enlightenment and romantic, European and Middle Eastern—was the unquestionable right to stand superior over Jews. It was that right which the Holocaust took away, or at least called into question: the unthinking faith of knowing you were the more enlightened one, the spiritually purer one, the more rational one, the dispenser of morality rather than the object of it. To be sure, some people were better positioned to enjoy this right than others. And some people arrived onto the scene late in the game, only to discover that part of the bounty they were promised may no longer be on the table. Of course they’re aggrieved! The European immigrant who never owned a slave but was at least promised racial superiority is quite resentful when the wages of Whiteness stop being what they once were. Similarly, persons who lived far from the centers of Christian or Muslim power where Jewish subordination was forged are nonetheless well aware of what was supposed to be included in modernity’s gift basket. They recognize what they’ve “lost” as acutely as anyone else.

“The Germans,” the old saying goes, “will never forgive the Jews for Auschwitz.” And not just the Germans. Many people deeply resent the Jews for what Auschwitz took away from them—the easy knowledge that their vantage point was elevated over and superior to that of the Jews, the entitlement to be able to talk about Jews without having to listen to Jews. The desire to neuter the Holocaust is a desire to return to that old state of affairs. And so it shouldn’t surprise anyone that Jews exhibit a special ferocity over the meaning of “genocide.” As noted above, the controversy of this MBL language has in large part played out in terms of whether it is even proper for Jews to register an objection. Are we valid contributors to the conversation? Are we equal players in this struggle? This is no coincidence. When people charge the Jewish state with genocide, part of what they are doing—with varying degrees of explicitness—is telling Jews “this concept which obliged us to listen to you no longer can underwrite that duty.” And in that brave old world, they can return to the baseline that had existed for thousands of years—where it was unthinkable, outrageous, blasphemous, for a Jew to have the temerity to contest a non-Jewish articulation of Jewish experience."

#Genocide

[mdhwrites]

Can you explain to me how the Titan enforces Christian Fundamentalism?

The Titan makes the only crime Belos committed be that he was a false prophet. Luz is beyond reproach though because she is a true prophet and a true believer. She is then sent to murder a men, blessed with holy power and strength in her convictions, by that God... And we are supposed to cheer.

This isn't even much of an exaggeration or dramatization. The Titan's answer to Luz's fears about justifying horrible acts in the name of protecting others is essentially this. That Belos' true crime wasn't in wanting to kill, oppress or lie. It's that he did it for selfish, self aggrandizing reasons. That if he'd simply been honest and earnest, he might feel a little bad for a mistake or two here or there, like the Titan is about the Collector, but he would have been entirely justified in his genocide. Just like they are beyond approach for wanting this man dead.

As the show says "He wants to be a hero and have the power," but then Luz comes in, trying to have a badass one liner for her return and even says "Darn it, I still can't think of what to say" which isn't even a reference to an earlier part of the show (I don't think at least). It implies Luz waited to come back when it would be the most dramatic and when she was most ready to look the part of the hero. She even references Azura, the FICTIONAL HERO, in her last speech and goes back to the catchphrase she wanted for a hero just nuking a bitch. She TOOOOTALLY doesn't care about being a hero though and because of that, she's all good to be doing all of this. That's what the Titan claimed at least.

Worse yet is that we only really have the Titan's word for glory and power being all Belos cared about. The fucker spent CENTURIES on the Isles. He deformed his body and probably doesn't believe he'll go to Heaven anymore with how much magic he had to internalize in order to pursue the goal of genocide. Even when alone, with no one to prove anything to, he still talks about saving souls and just needing to survive to do this. He's okay with dying afterwards because he DOESN'T care about the glory. Literally the only time he seems to give a shit about other people's approval and the status this might get him is the Witch Hunter General lines and you know what, I don't think it's entirely unfair for him to hope to get some recognition out of four hundred years of work, even if that work was pure evil. You could maybe say Philip's journal shows a hero complex but A: that still doesn't make his belief in protecting others a lie, just means that he has an ego about it, and B: is from hundreds of years ago and he literally abandoned the journal eventually. Abandoned his own heroic tale. By the finale... His intentions are pure. At bare minimum, that's how they are framed by the show itself with his desperation to do this, even at the cost of ending himself. So why does he deserve to die by the show's logic?

Well... He doesn't. He doesn't even deserve to be stopped because his faith is earnest. Except... It's not the right faith, is it? Belos doesn't believe in magic. Doesn't believe in the Titan. He is a blasphemer and false prophet. But now Luz has actually spoken with the Titan, been friends with his son and spread her ideals across the Isles, ideals which are strictly not the Isle's ways but that do theoretically make the basis of the Titan claiming she's a good witch (which is also referencing Azura potentially). The literal first person we meet on the Isles doesn't give a shit about things like lying, cheating, etc. and the early episodes give the impression that no one here does. That Belos doesn't force conformity on that matter even, making it so that these baseline morals that Luz disagrees with are earnest and honest. And yet, none of them are allowed to stay that way. They all enter her fold and listen to explicitly her morality. A morality that happens to line up with Christian morals and that the Titan seems to approve of.

And again, that's not interpretation. The finale actually straight up confirms this isn't the Isle's morality and REVELS in that fact. Belos begs for his life, saying they are not murderers, scoundrels and killers. That their culture demands better of them because they're human. Luz doesn't disagree... But she also doesn't do the act herself (unless you want to say she brought on the rain, but then you have her boiling a man to death which is just HORRIFYING.) Then, in a moment we're supposed to cheer for, Luz's closest connections with the Isles, and Raine tacked on, show up, proudly say they're not better than murderers, and stomp the fucker out. Not a quick mercy killing like a blast of magic or a magic scream might have done. Not the eviscerating explosion Luz had to do as a part of stopping him. No, instead, they brutally stomp out a defenseless, dying man before Raine literally says, "That was satisfying."

Our. Heroes.

And don't get me wrong: Belos needed to die. Thematically it's correct and narratively it's correct. The problem is how the show frames this final conflict. It literally asks if it's okay to kill him. What is a reasonable justification for murder. For even wanting another person to die. For a lot of kids, this might be the first time they hear ANY nuance on this topic. So what is the lesson imparted? Is it that sometimes force is necessary but we should only do it when we are certain that more lives will be lost otherwise and that there is no other option? That'd be a great way to show the Titan actually learned something from his mistake with the Collector. Is it that we can't show tolerance to the intolerant because they will only ever take and destroy? Refute an argument that modern racists use to allow hate speech and actions against others. Is it the simple fact that because Luz actually fears being monstrous, she won't end up the same way because that fear and hesitation will never let her commit the sort of genocide that Belos desires? Or heck, say they aren't racist without saying the word by going "We judge him for his actions and the cruelties he has committed, not by the cruelties of a people or the circumstances of their birth." All of which would be varying degrees of fine morality wise and are genuinely ways good people cope with having to commit horrific violence.

No. Instead, it's just that one did it while excusing it with lies while Luz will do it with pure faith in her heart. You... You do know that the VAST majority of Christians literally use this as a way to dismiss bad actors in the church itself? "He doesn't represent all Christians! He didn't actually hold the faith!" Do you think every brimstone and fire preacher is just a complete liar and not a SINGLE one of them genuinely believes what they preach? Because I'm sorry to break it to you but even as far back as the fucking Crusades, while sure the leaders were corrupt, secular men, most of the soldiers were genuinely god fearing people, terrified for their souls and seeking this as their only form of penance, especially as they saw it as protecting Christianity. It's one of the reasons they were able to do so much damage because the goal for the common soldier wasn't conquest or national pride. It was to murder the other culture who had taken sacred land. They believed earnestly... So were they justified in the massacres of civilians that they committed?

And this is without getting into how we have literally a Holy Trinity of the father (the Titan's corpse), the son (King, who is exceptionally self sacrificing eventually), and the holy ghost, in a very literal sense. Or how about the glyphs being called the Titan's Language and given to Luz to empower her? How invoking simply his words grants one exceptional power? The Hexside Squad in the finale use glyphs, half of them for the first time, to supplement their powers while dead exhausted and it doesn't seem to just be able to help them, it is still keeping them close to their normal power level and potentially energizing them with how not tired they appear to be while doing this. Almost like they're prayers, pulling on the power of a higher being.

But those elements don't matter. For the sake of the Titan supporting Christian Fundamentalism, all that matters is that he puts faith above what is morally correct. That you can excuse any action so long as you are genuine in the belief that you are doing it for the right reasons. Eda could be making this same argument and it would still be wrong and morally reprehensible.

It's literally "The ends justify the means," and how is that your final lesson, for your main character, in a KID'S SHOW? Let alone when that is EXACTLY the argument Belos, THE VILLAIN, has always made. Not just with wiping out witches but with petrification, lying to Lilith, manipulating Hunter, etc. etc. That it was all justified for his grand, 'good' ends.

I already stated arguments that could have been made, that wouldn't have taken much more time to do (if any), that would fix this so don't you DARE even consider bringing up the shortening with this. It is one scene that does the vast majority of this. Arguably, like five lines tops. Five lines that destroy the morality of your very show and any chance at saying Christian Fundamentalism is wrong.

All because its last message wasn't that prophets should be questioned. Only that there are prophets to listen to explicitly and that you should avoid false prophets... Somehow. Maybe just ask if they like anime I guess?

======+++++======

This was first written before I saw the finale, then I tried to make minor adjustments because of the better absorption of events but ended up rewriting the whole thing because I wanted to better focus on just the hypocrisy and god awful morals than talking about if the Titan counted as God or god.

Also, just for those curious: I was raised on Christian morals and did go to church when I was VERY young. My faith nowadays is that I consider there to be comfort in there being a higher power but that I do not care what form they take, nor do I really like organized religion as while it brings comfort and community to many, it also is all too easy to corrupt with personal greed and anger. I've been told the closest label to this is agnostic.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

#the owl house criticism #toh critical #toh #the owl house #the titan toh

[1moreff-creator]

An Analysis and Theories of The Purge March…

(By someone who knows very little about Milgram)

Hello Milgram people! First time posting an analysis about it, mainly because I only started getting into it like two days ago. I kept seeing it get mentioned in my dash and I thought "yeah these characters look mentally ill enough to be interesting I'll check this out." And wow, this thing is awesome!

Even though I'm missing massive amounts of critical information (I haven’t even watched all the MVs for the other characters yet), I still want to talk about my thoughts on the newest MV, Amane's "The Purge March". I'm sorry if a lot of what I say has been said before, I tried my best to research other opionions before defining my own, but I still know very little compared to others. Hope you can take something away from here anyways!

CW: Cults and indoctrination, child abuse, torture, waterboarding, electrocution, violence and murder, animal death.

Basic Rundown & Lyrics

Introduction

The video takes place in three main settings: the titular march, the place with the cat, and Amane's apartment/home.

Hold on, you may say. Can we be sure that's Amane's home and not some other place? Well, I believe so, based on this little sign here.

This translation was taken from Napkin's analysis on the MV, which was massively helpful and I recommend you check out yourself!

In case you forgot, Amane's full name is Amane Momose; that's her father on that picture. When combined with the context that Amane walked into the apartment on her own and with a small smile, it really makes it look like that is her home. Adittionally, a leaked storyboard from Milgram Premium apparently says the hand holding the taser belongs to Amane's mother, and I believe this is the case. Not because of the storyboard, as I don't usually trust that type of meta evidence, but because of some stuff I'll get to later.

Anyways, back to the video. We open with the march, alongside this lyrics:

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! It’s the beginning of a most wonderful day However, there are blasphemers and silent by-standers, who would have it otherwise We must not give into them, they are the ones that should be judged With pure, unsullied body and soul, let us preach all that is true and right

This sets up the main theme of the song: it's about how the cult Amane is in sees the concept of punishment and justice. Those who go against the cult, must be judged, they must be punished. I think it's worth noting that this part not only calls out "blasphemers", but also "silent by-standers". Amane's cult not only condemns """harmful""" actions, but also inaction. There is one part of the MV which I think manifests this, I'll get to it.

Flags and Ordainments

Then, we see four flags corresponding to each of the cult's... uh...

Okay, so, as a refresher. There's this four characters, right? From left to right, Yuri, Gozake, Riyone, and Gachata.

Certain theories claim these are cult leaders, and certain others claim they are just mascots or even deities and not real people. I believe the latter, but of course all theories are valid. I'll explain my reasoning later (take a shot), but for now, I need to establish what I believe.

Anyways, we see flags representing each of them attached to lyrics which are connected to them, indicating some of the cult’s ordainments.

’Tis ordained, thou shall follow thine destiny [Riyone] ’Tis ordained, thou shall discard vulgarity [Gozake] ’Tis ordained, thou shall deliver unto those thou believest in [Yuri] ’Tis ordained, thou shall stay thine course, then perish [Gachata]

Here's what I think they mean:

>Riyone, who has bandaids for ears, represents the cult's belief in medicine. Essentially, they denounce it, and their accepted MO is to only pray for the injured instead of healing them medically. So when Riyone 'says' "thou shall follow thine destiny", it's saying "accept your fate/situation, don't try to change your destiny". This is why we don't see Riyone doing anything other than punishing Amane in the first trial MV; the only thing you're meant to do in relation to Riyone and medicine is pray.

>Gozake has possibly the vaguest ordainment, that being “thou shall discard vulgarity.” Since it’s described as a monk in “Magic”, I believe this means to discard unnecessary, vulgar things, and only accept the things the cult accepts. There is indication that the cult denounces these type of trivial things, from some of Amane’s interrogation questions from trial one.

Q1: Do you have any special skills?

A: Nothing that I can call a talent. Perhaps studying. I do well in my Japanese class.

Q5: When you go to an amusement park, what do you like to ride?

A: That is a place I should not go to.

Q11: What kind of meat do you like?

A: I don’t eat meat.

Q14: Do you listen to music?

A: Not really, to songs that are highly entertaining.

Amusement parks are somewhere she shouldn’t go to, presumably because it’s considered vulgar. Perhaps she says she doesn’t have a talent because she’s not allowed to engage in a lot of activities. It’s certainly possible she doesn’t eat meat out of preference, but it could also be due to religious beliefs. And she only listens to songs which are “highly entertaining”, provided I’m reading that right because it’s worded a bit weird. The reason I bring that up is that we see Gozake teaching her to sing in “Magic”, which relates it to music. While that’s likely metaphorical, it’s possible the cult’s “songs” are the highly entertaining ones, and the rest are vulgar.

Worth noting for "The Purge March" though, Gozake’s flag is on the floor before being waved. It's pretty clear Amane holds some contempt against Gozake and/or his punishments.

I believe it’s because it is Gozake’s ordainment, “thou shall discard vulgarity”, that Amane most disagrees with internally and the one she’s most likely to break. I mean, obviously, she’s a child, she’s going to want to do all sorts of trivial, “vulgar” things for fun, that’s just what kids do. We even see a version her fumble with this flag later, implying she has broken this ordainment before.

This fits a lot of the lines in “Magic”.

Dear wise one, Am I worthy? Is it ok to spoil myself?

Spoiling herself here likely means doing things she wants to do, but which are considered “vulgar” by the cult. Her interrogation questions also imply it.

Q3: If you were allowed to do anything, what would you want to do?

A: Nothing really. I am not lacking anything.

Q17: What would you do if the world ends tomorrow?

A: If everything ends? Then, I might do all sorts of things I have never done before.

Notice how there are things she wants to do if the world ends, but she doesn’t want to do them now. That is because now, she’s still under the threat of consequence, the “vulgar” things she does can be punished. But if the world ends, then she can just do whatever.

>Yuri is meant to represent solidarity and generosity within the cult, as a sort of tactic to make all its members willing to help and lend resources to the cult. We see him collecting money in "Magic", as the animals "deliver unto those they believe in". That's why his clothes are all patchwork, as if to imply the cult is in need of money.

>Gachata represents order and obedience, that's what "thou shall stay thine course, then perish" means. I don't think I need to explain how that's connected to cults. It's styled after an alarm clock, as they represent a regularity of action, a "schedule". An alarm clock tells you when it's time to wake up and work, just like Gachata.

The Purpose of Punishment

We then see a version of Amane fumble with Gozake's flag as this lyric plays:

The “It can’t be helped”, from the scum who can’t be helped

There's something extremely important in this line. "The scum who can't be helped" are those who say "it can't be helped". In other words, acceptance of mistakes, blasphemy, etc, is the most unforgivable crime in the eyes of the cult. That's why "Leader Amane" slams her baton on the ground, causing this "helpless Amane" to sink, with this line.

That makes them doubtlessly, clearly, absolutely, unequivocally, beyond any doubt, GUILTY

The thing that makes them guilty is the sentiment that "it can't be helped".

What does that mean? It means that something is only forgivable if one acknowledges that it can be fixed. Giving up on improvement, claiming "it can't be helped", is unacceptable. And this is why punishment is so important. If someone doesn't accept punishment, they're claiming their faults cannot be helped by it, which makes them guilty.

(Also yes guilty is in caps because Amane was voted guilty in the first trial I think)

What's important, though, is that because of this scene, Amane is not "scum who can't be helped" in her eyes. Because she's both the one judging and the one being judged, that means she understands the value of her own punishment-

IN THE CULT'S EYES. I gotta clarify that sometimes I will speak from the perspective of the cult to make things clearer, but I do not agree with anything they do or believe, obviously.

So Amane believes she should be punished if she does something wrong, though obviously usually she isn't the one punishing herself. The punishment we see happen then is Amane being drowned, which is the punishment related to Gozake as we see in "Magic". Electrocution is connected to Riyone, physical blows to Yuri and verbal abuse to Gachata, please don't question it too much. Rain starts falling as she sinks, but clears after she's fully under and drowning, revealing a rainbow.

This rainbow shows up later a few times, and... frankly, it's hard to know exactly what the hell it means? But I think it represents the twisted and frankly horrifying view the cult has on punishment: even in the rain, which would be the pain of punishment, there is the bright light of improvement shining through it, being the rainbow. Even though Amane is suffering from drowning, she'll grow and improve from it. That is honestly disgusting to write but well here we are.

The lyrics here are:

I disavow you, eyes corrupted must be crushed So nary a sound can be uttered a second time, I’ll crush your throat too

Essentially, those who go against the cult must be silenced, their views disavowed (eyes crushed).

Then, we see Gozake's flag fading into the background as Amane sinks further. After that, we cut to real life, to Amane being waterboarded.

(Btw, I'm using "waterboarding" because it's faster than "controlled drowning", even though I'm not entirely clear if waterboarding is the right term for what she suffers through)

The lyrics are:

After you cry, repent, and kneel, it’s now your turn to say that hopeless “I’m sorry” x2

Amane claims it will soon be "your" turn to apologize and be punished, the "you" likely being her murder victim. How is Gozake related? Well, I believe that's alluding to an aspect of Amane's murder. In fact, this scene might be just a few minutes before her kill, as I believe she killed her victim after suffering from "Gozake's" punishment. I'll get there.

The Cat Incident

(Not the Kazui MV drop, the other one)

We then see what happened for Amane to be punished: she healed a cat. And the cult hates medicine. She gets spotted by a man and a small girl.

See the rainbow? That's because getting caught will lead to punishment, which will lead to improvement. I want you to know I actually feel disgusting writing that, but those are the beliefs of the cult.

Note the girl is holding a balloon with a symbol which is very similar to the symbol on multi-Amane's flags later, so these two likely belong to the cult as well. And since she's wearing the same uniform as Amane, they likely go to the same school, which may be ran by the cult.

I’ll talk about the balloon a bit more later, but for now, who are these two? I said I don’t believe the mascots are cult leaders, so it can’t be them. See, I actually believe they’re simply other average cult members, with nothing special at all about them. This is because the girl, and thus presumably the man with her, never enter Amane’s apartment.

See how that sign with 403 is above the door to the apartment? The balloon stops in front of it, but then goes away. (It's hard to show this with just images but trust me). By the way the string is positioned, it’s clear the girl is still pulling it. Thus we can conclude the girl never went in, and because of that (and the fact the girl has slightly different hair than Amane so she does exist), I believe the man merely told Amane’s mother what he saw, but left before Amane went home. Thus, I find it unlikely this man holds any more importance.

Why is he snitching, though? Well, it goes back to the cult’s beliefs of punishment. If something is wrong, it must be corrected. Remember, “silent by-standers” are just as bad as blasphemers in their eyes. So he wants Amane’s mom to do something about it.

(Btw, I don’t think the cat was a test necessarily, but the fact it’s collared and then gets killed could be an argument for that interpretation)

Oh, and for the uninitiated, I’m saying Amane’s mom because of one of her trial one interrogation questions:

Q: Is there anyone you hold in high esteem?

A: My father. My father has been on a journey for a while, but that is something very honorable.

So, only her mother is in the house.

The lyrics of the scene are relatively straightforward.

If you become a bad girl, monsters will come out. This is the magic that stops that from happening

Then the four “‘tis ordained” things again. Amane broke one of the rules by healing the cat, so she has to be punished, because her actions could cause bad things (monsters to come out). Again, in the cult’s eyes.

After this, we see Amane arrive at her home, where someone, perhaps her mother, is waiting with a taser. Electrocution is Ryone’s punishment, remember. Which makes me think it’s possible the cult specifically assigns each punishment to the ordainment of the mascot. So, because Amane broke Riyone’s ordainment about destiny, she gets electrocuted. That’s a bit half-baked as a possibility, but I think it’s worth mentioning.

The whole thing happens alongside the same “unequivocally GUILTY” line from before, again alluding to Amane receiving punishment.

(Btw, does anyone know what the note behind Amane’s head in that scene says? It fires off alarm bells for me, but my Japanese is null, so)

Amane’s Magical Girl Transformation

Then, we see Amane return to the place of the cat, except its collar is broken and the napkin Amane had used to heal it bloodied next to it, implying the cat died. Amane is obviously heartbroken, and looks up at her umbrella, before we cut to the march again.

There’s quite a few things to note. For one, notice the real Amane has a bruise on her forehead, implying she was hit, and thus received Yuri’s punishment. Assumedly she was also verbally assaulted during the ordeal, Gachata’s punishment so as to complete the set, but it’s sorta impossible to tell.

However, the lyrics are important. It’s stuff we’ve heard before:

I disavow you, eyes corrupted must be crushed So nary a sound can be uttered a second time, I’ll crush your throat too

With “I’ll crush your throat too” notably playing as the transition to the march completes.

But what is she disavowing? Well, think about it. The cult members are not meant to interfere with destiny, with life and death, as per Riyone’s ordainment. That means that while they’re not allowed to heal things, they’re also presumably forbidden from killing them. Though maybe I’m expecting too much logical consistency from a cult but you know. In any case, than means Amane disavows this act, and decides whoever killed the cat, must be punished.

The baton has already been connected to punishment when March Leader Amane slammed it down and caused the other Amane to sink. Which, with this context, we can presume the Drowned Amane to represent Amane before she was punished for healing the cat or some other “offense”.

But the baton is also representative of Amane’s murder weapon, as we’ll see later. And yet, it is also being related in this scene to an umbrella. Why?

Well, it’s simple. Umbrella’s represent protection, in particular protection from the rain which has been related with punishment through this MV. So, to protect herself, Amane punishes others. She does this because, since the cult idolizes punishment, their poster-child (as Amane has been implied to maybe be) should also deal out punishment.

In summary, when Amane sees a wrong, she wishes to correct it because it’s what the cult would want from her, and if she does what the cult would want from her, then she won’t be punished herself.

Q7: Do you like yourself?

A: I have never considered it from the perspective of love and hate, but I do think I am a good child.

…This kid worries me. Severely.

The idea that Amane will punish whoever killed the cat is reinstated in the following lines. As a swarm of Amane’s rushes forward with big grins, proudly holding the flag of the cult and its beliefs, the one with the baton walks forward with conviction. Look at the lyrics.

I don’t need it any more, if you’re going to break your vow Here and now, it’s my turn to tear you apart So there is no second time, I’ll give back the judgment that you gave to me

You wanna know why the swarm of Amanes are so happy? Because now she’s the one who get to punish, instead of being the punished. This is… an unfortunately common reaction to abuse.

It’s important to keep in mind what I said before; the Amanes are still holding the cult’s flag. They’re still acting on the cult’s beliefs. Notice how she specifically says the purpose of returning the punishment is “so there is no second time”, which fits what I’ve been talking about regarding punishment in the cult being to discourage repeat offenses.

Well, she’s following the cults beliefs… in theory. It was pointed out by iris-drawing-stuff in this post that Amane’s eyes have a shade of purple which is not associated with the cult, possibly implying she’s also acting on her own desires, but still rationalizes them through her cult’s twisted logic. The punishment she gave out is death, which sorta goes against the whole “follow thine destiny” logic I said earlier, and more pressingly, doesn’t really fit any of the four established punishment methods of the mascots. Well, I guess Yuri if you squint, but it still isn’t supposed to kill presumably. So she’s not actually entirely going by what the cult says when she kills her victim.

… This kid really worries me.

But hold on. Didn’t I say the symbol of the flags is actually different from the balloon? Is that significant? Well, I think it could be. It could represent how Amane’s views on her cult were changed by the punishment she received after healing the cat.

Think about it. The balloon’s symbol is more simplistic, and is on, well, a balloon. Something childish, something which offers simple bliss without anything wrong about it, and something fragile. I believe this represents how Amane viewed her cult before the cat incident. It was just a nice little thing that brought joy and didn’t require any more thought; it’s a more simplistic viewing, that’s why the symbol is more simplistic. Any small punishments, like Gachata’s finger-flick at the start of “Magic”, aren’t anything to write home about. Obviously I think she’s downplaying the extent of the abuse, but in her mind it wasn’t a big deal.

(That and I imagine the cult doesn’t feel like spending much money on more detailed balloons of all things)

However, this simplistic view “stays at the door” the day of the cat incident, as the other girl never enters the house. This is because after this, Amane’s view on the cult becomes more complex.

And that’s why we then see the symbol on the following flags. Flags are certainly something more mature, and the design is more complex. It is no longer simply colors on a balloon, it represents a fully formed ideology. After the incident with the cat, Amane began understanding the “””value”””” of punishment her cult pushes, and so wishes to begins to act accordingly.

Have I gone insane? Buddy, I was already insane before this, this is nothing new.

Amane’s Justice

Anyways, keeping in theme with the idea that she’s acting on the ideals of her cult, we see her twirling her baton of punishment in front of the four mascots, the rainbow of change after punishment firmly in the background.

It’s important to note, she is firmly planted on the mascots’ side, fighting in their behalf, which is part of what makes me believe she didn’t kill a cult leader as some theories state, but obvs that’s an opinion. The lyrics here are more of the same, Amane is the one punishing now.

After you cry, repent, and kneel, it’s now your turn to say that hopeless “I’m sorry” x2

However, something interesting happens right after. The lyric:

You’re sorry? I don’t care! Please, go ahead and die already

-plays as the baton she’s holding becomes stained with blood, indicating her intent to kill.

This is what separates Amane’s desires from the cult’s. The cult would want her to keep the victim alive as long as they can learn from their punishment and fix what’s wrong, but Amane killed her victim, which sorta goes against that. She’s a child, traumatized and hurt and at her limit, obviously her mind is trying to justify anything that would get her suffering to definitively stop. She explains the reasoning right after.

Remember MY cries, MY repents, MY words of “I’m sorry” that I said to you?

She said sorry, she wanted to repent and change, but her abuser(s) never stopped, so why should she? She should be allowed to go all the way, ignore her abuser(s) pleas of sorry and deal out whatever punishment she thinks fits their crime, right?!

At this time, the video transitions from the march to reality, the baton turning back into the umbrella for protection.

However, two things remain the same: the rainbow of punishment, and the look on Amane’s eyes, showing her excitement. This is to show that her wish to punish her abuser(s) isn’t merely a fantasy, but extends to reality as well.

And that gets us to the final (or, second to last I guess,) shot.

Let’s talk about this.

A Theory on a Murder

Let’s start at the beginning.

The Victim’s Identity

So, I’ll kill the suspense. I think Amane killed her mom. The most direct evidence I have for this is a combination of two of her trial one interrogation questions.

Q13: Who do you want to meet right now? A: My father. I want him to praise me for working hard.

So as far as Amane is aware, her father is alive. However:

Q9: Tell me what your family consists of. A: It was my father, my mother, and I.

Past tense. Peculiar.

That’s obviously a pretty big one, but there’s a bit more. As the lyrics imply, the person Amane killed was someone who had previously “punished” her. But as I also pointed out, it seems unlikely that it was a cult leader, as she is facing away from the mascots when she declares her murderous intent.

Cult Leader Theory runs into a contradiction under this interpretation (and it’s important to clarify, other interpretations are obviously valid, I’m just talking about how I see the MV). If the only people abusing Amane are the cult leaders, then she shouldn’t be facing away from them when she begins her crusade of punishment, and if someone other than the cult leaders is punishing her, then why are the punishment methods each related to one leader?

This is what leads me to believe the alternative: that the mascots are merely fictional characters who represent some of the cult’s ideals. Under that theory, it is Amane’s mother who punishes her, using a combination of all the methods associated to each mascot. And thus, it is her who dies.

There’s another thing that solidifies this belief in my eyes, but for that, we have to explain:

Murder Method

(Now this is more my comfort zone <- Top ten things to never say about murder IRL)

I’m not entirely clear how important exact method is usually, but I swear, this is interesting. If nothing else out of curiosity.

Based on that scene we have of the murder, we can observe the following things.

>There is only one door with the light still on.

>Going from this door to the corpse, there is a trail of water puddles. Since the bigger puddles are closer to the door with the light, it can be assumed it’s the door to the bathroom.

>The corpse lays on a room at the end of the hall, presumably opposite to the entrance (note the shoes at the bottom of our perspective). I will call this room, quite aptly, the murder room.

Now, some of you may take issue with that. Based on the card Amane holds up in her ‘inmate segment’ of “Undercover”, it looks as if her victim died in the bathroom.

(Apologies for the quality)

Those images are meant to represent the room or general area where the murder (or “murder” depending on who you’re talking about) took place.

Here's the issue, though. The corpse doesn’t appear to have been dragged, as there are no bloodstains outside the murder room. So the room on the card is most likely the murder room, which brings up issues for the bathroom idea. Like how several elements near the door to the bathroom don’t match what we see around the murder room (no, the floor wiper-looking thing alone doesn’t count, nothing else comes close to matching), how the floor would be nonsensical because why are we putting a wooden floor on a bathroom, there apparently being a door behind the curtains, among other stuff.

I don’t know what the murder room is, necessarily, but it doesn’t seem to be the bathroom. Probably not a kitchen either since there’s cooking utensils on a sink in the hallway. My bet’s on a dining/living room of some kind, which… has a sink for some reason, but it’s practically impossible to tell.

>The time is around 5:00, based on the clock we see (though admittedly I find it weirdly hard to tell). This isn’t important, but pointing it out makes me feel smart, and attentive! It almost looks like I know what I’m doing!

>We have a kill-shot from “Undercover”, meaning we know something like this happened.

As you can see, Amane’s victim was beaten with some kind of… stick? Pole? Cylinder? It doesn’t matter too much what exactly it is, so you can say anything from a metal pipe, an actual baton, an Inconvenient Cylinder of Unknown Purpose (ICUP)… I’m just gonna go with umbrella, because even though I question its efficacy as a murder weapon, it fits thematically and is at worst a fun headcanon.

So, uh, what do we do with this?

Prelude; Water Puddles and Gozake

Gozake is likely connected to the murder in some way. That’s because the “Old Amane”, the one concerned with “vulgar” things who hasn’t started punishing others’ wrongs, dies underwater and reaching for his flag. This is her transformation into perfection in the cult’s eyes, which involves punishing others and thus the murder of her mother. Thus, it can be concluded Gozake has some connection to the murder. I’ve already established why I don’t think he’s the victim or even a real person, so we have to find some other way to connect him.

And I think the water puddles make the possible connection quite clear. I think those puddles come from Amane herself, and she was likely waterboarded right before she killed her mother. As waterboarding is the method connected to Gazoke, this explains the connection.

Amane in the Bathroom

(Amane flying solo~ /ref)

Of course, I still think it was Amane’s mother dealing out the punishment. But if you think about it, why would Amane’s mother let her walk out from the bathroom when she was still soaking wet, especially onto a wooden floor? Well, that’s where the next part comes in. I believe there was a moment where Amane was left alone in the bathroom after being waterboarded.

Apart from that line of reasoning, which is my strongest piece of evidence for this, I want to draw attention to the fact someone came out of the bathroom, but left the light on. Since that’s not the case with any of the other rooms, it makes me think Amane herself was the last to leave that room, as her mother may not like leaving unneeded lights on.

But that’s sorta weak. In truth, I like this possibility because I think it can explain one thing in particular: Amane’s silhouette scene in “Undercover.”

It’s important to note these scenes always include the prisoners in some way or another, so it’s be weird for Amane to break the trend. Thus, this is likely Amane.

But what are we looking at? The water sorta looks like rain more than a simple shower head, and it certainly doesn’t look like waterboarding. However, the floor sorta looks like bathroom tiles, so we can’t rule out the possibility.

In fact, I actually do think this is in/near the shower. But as I said, it doesn’t look intense enough for waterboarding, and Amane is face-up on her back instead of the kneeling position we see her in during the other shower scene.

That’s why I think this is directly after a waterboarding session, not during. In particular, it would be the moment Amane’s mother leaves her alone in the bathroom. While the girl usually kneels during her torture, she may afterwards collapse on the floor and roll over from pain and exhaustion. Or something. And her mother… left the shower head on… for some reason? Maybe she went to look for a towel to dry up Amane? Maybe she needed something else and this is actually mid-session? Or maybe the rain’s metaphorical. Point is, I think this makes the most sense.

But if you’re not convinced by that, there is actually something else about the murder which makes me think Amane being left alone in the bathroom is what most likely happened.

A Matter of Position

Here's the thing. You can see the victim's hand peeking out from the door. Now, it looks like the hand is palm-down, which doesn't quite seem to fit the "Undercover" kill-shot, but that's actually simple to explain.

The "Undercover" kill-shot is likely taken moments before the victim's death, as Amane is holding the weapon in the air. But what if we extend "moments" to "seconds"? Well, I think it's possible Amane's mom managed to push her off briefly, getting a moment to turn around to turn and try to crawl away. Obviously Amane recovered quickly and managed to kill her anyways, but this little scuffle would explain how the hell her hand ended up palm down. It's the simplest explanation in my mind.

Amane's position isn't weird either. No matter what happened, she could have just stepped away from the body before taking a moment to look at it.

The weird thing, though, is the fact that we can see the victim's hand at all.

See, based on the "Undercover" shot, it seems like the victim must have had their back to the door before they fell to the floor. If you think about it, it would be really hard for them to end up with their hand there otherwise. However, if they had their back to the door, then Amane must have been facing the door as per the kill-shot.

This would be easier to explain if I had...

If I had visuals...

You know, like a- like a diagram.

(You thought you could escape my murder diagrams?! You fool!)

Why is this important? Well, because this means that, unless there was some crazy scuffle in that room (unlikely, as any actual fight would be near impossible for Amane to win), Amane was in the room before her mother entered. Obviously, this sort of only makes sense if Amane was left alone in the bathroom for a moment. Here's sort of the series of events I'm envisioning.

Does this make sense? How crazy am I going here?

Well, I think it follows. This is sorta what the evidence seems to be pointing at.

But it raises one big question. Why is Amane going to the murder room, then? If her mom is on the other side of the apartment, and she wants to kill her, what is she doing?

Well, I believe she's looking for a weapon. The blunt object seems like a possibility, but something like that could probably be improvised with almost anything, it wouldn't require going to that room in particular. No, I think Amane's actually looking for something more specific.

The Second Murder Weapon, and the "Magic" Kill-shot

Have you ever pondered how weird it is that “Magic” seems to have no allusion to Amane’s murder, at all? All the other trial one MVs have at least a reference to it, even if it’s as short as Mahiru’s look of horror in the final frame of her MV. But “Magic” doesn’t seem to have anything like that at first glance.

Well, here’s the thing. Now that we know a bit more, it’s easier to tell what time the kill-shot would have to happen. And it goes back to the wand Amane receives at the end of “Magic”.

As you know, when Amane receives this wand, she becomes the “perfect poster-child” of the cult, at least in her head. This is represented by an entire magical girl transformation sequence.

But when does that happen? If you’ve been paying attention, the transformation from “the regular Amane” to “perfect poster-child” Amane happens when she begins to understand and carry out the cult’s doctrine of punishment; when she kills her mother. In fact, you can even see in the frame we have of the murder, Amane is shown not in her real uniform, but in the March Leader clothes, showing her transformation is no longer a fantasy, but has become reality. Not literally, obviously, but metaphorically. She has become what she considers the ideal cult member.

So it’s fair to say then, that when Amane undergoes the same transformation in “Magic”, what we’re seeing is the time Amane killed her mother. And this transformation happens when she picks up the wand.

If this interpretation is right, then the wand is directly linked to the murder. And there is a very, very interesting detail about this wand.

Judges, jurors, and executioners. That’s a lightning bolt.

It’s not a wand. It’s the taser.

I mean, they could have chosen literally any other symbol to put there, right? A star, a heart, the clouds of the cult’s logo, even a rainbow. But no, it’s a thunderbolt. And it’s not even limited to just the wand, either. Notice how lightning strikes behind her right after she picks up the wand, and how her socks are styled in a lightning pattern.

(Don’t mind the blue in the background: that may look like a water puddle, but it’s always there, so I don’t think it means anything)

Now, to be clear, her socks are always like that in “Magic”, but the point stands. It’s a motif that repeats quite a few times, and yet, it’s nowhere to be seen in “The Purge March”.

Well, aside from the electricity of the taser.

I believe this is because “The Purge March” places more emphasis on the baton as the weapon, but there’s the thing. The baton and the wand aren’t the same thing. Not only is the baton longer, it has absolutely no allusions to thunder or electricity whatsoever. But since they’re both connected to the murder, I believe they’re both different murder weapons. The baton is the blunt object which actually killed the victim, and the wand is the taser.

That would explain how Amane was able to overpower an adult. She first incapacitated her mother with the taser, then started beating her with the "baton". It would also explain why she went into the murder room on her own. She was looking for the taser.

This is "Magic"'s kill-shot, I think. She points the wand at the screen, in a way which sorta looks vaguely like holding a taser, while these lyrics play.

I take an oath! I can only become a better girl!

And we've established what being a good girl is in the eyes of the cult, someone who punishes evil.

Q4: Do you think that your family is proud of you? A: Of course. No daughter is as exemplary as I.

Isn't that a concerning sentence.

Add this to the list of reasons I don't think she killed a cult leader. At the end of "Magic", after this shot, we see her among the four mascots with no indication any of them are hurt.

"Magic" underplays violence a lot, but I think for the murder, that takes the form of hiding the mother from view entirely, behind the camera.

So, a summary of how I think the murder went down.

Closing Argument wait wrong series

-After seeing the cat has died, Amane decided her mother should be punished as per the cult's beliefs. But she isn't looking to get forgiveness out of her mother; Amane was never forgiven, so her mother wouldn't be either.

-However, she wasn't able to get to the plan right away. Her mother was angry at her some nonsensical reason and waterboarded her before she could do anything.

-At one point, her mother left the bathroom, leaving the water running. Amane rolls over on the floor in pain and exhaustion, which is what we see in the silhouette scene in "Undercover".

-After catching her breath, Amane stands and leaves. She needs to look for the taser her mother usually used to punish her. She goes the other way her mother went, into the dininig/living room/bedroom/whatever it is, and picks it up.

-Her mother noticed the water puddles leading to the murder room, and followed Amane in. When she did, she saw her rummaging around somewhere she shouldn't have been, so she rushed further into the room to stop her.

-Too late. Amane had picked up the taser, and now turned to shock her. Her mother was incapacitated instantly, falling to the floor and writhing in pain.

-Amane grabbed an umbrella/baton/convenient cylinder and started beating her mother with it. This is the "Undercover" kill-shot. Even though her mother plead for forgiveness, Amane wouldn't listen, the same way her mother hadn’t listened to her pleas of forgiveness.

-The mother managed to briefly push Amane off, and tried to crawl away. But Amane quickly recovered and kept going until her mother was fully dead.

-Amane stepped off her mother's corpse, stepping over her and turning to look at it. By dealing out punishment, she has become the perfect follower for the cult. The March Leader.

What did we learn?

Well, uh, not much. Apart from morbid curiosity, there isn't much to gain from murder method usually. But there's still a few observations we can gleam.

For one, the whole thing with Gozake and its connection to the murder because of the waterboard thing, and possibly the "Undercover" silhouette scene. But if I'm right about the taser thing, then that means Amane's murder was more well-thought out than we had believed. Something like going to pick up the taser isn't exactly something that comes from a heat of the moment decision. She went in not just with an intent to kill, but an actual plan. Combined with an evidently high pain tolerance, seeing as she did all this right after being tortured, this poses her as quite a dangerous character.

Basically, I think it’s silly to say Shidou wouldn’t be killed by this kid. Y'all we might be fucked.

Verdict

(Oh yeah this is a thing we have to do)

First, I want to clarify: I do not have all the information here, so you probably shouldn't listen to me. Again, I've been here two days. But still, I think voting innocent is the... uh, better answer.

I'm gonna be real, I don't think either of the options are good here. A guilty verdict would make her significantly more volatile, because as we've seen, Amane reacts violently to being hurt. She's also not going to listen to us, since she's claimed she won't listen to the voices. I don't think she's telling the complete truth there, but the sentiment is likely true, she will not be swayed by just us. But an innocent verdict would validate the cult's beliefs of idolizing punishment, which would encourage her to attack Shidou.

But here's the thing. If she doesn't listen to us on guilty verdicts, it's possible she won't care too much about us validating the cult's beliefs. I think the act of forgiving her and showing we're not trying to hurt her is probably the best way we have right now of trying to reach her.

The only argument for guilty would be trying to get the physical restraints on her so she doesn't kill anyone, but I'm not sure we should trust that aspect of the first trial guilty verdicts to apply very well to this situation. If I'm right about her murder method, it would actually probably be pretty difficult to stop her I think, and as far as I'm aware there's not even confirmation the same rules from the first trial will apply again (I might be wrong about that). Frankly, I think as long as we can secure an inno on Kazui, we'll be safe from actual murder so long as we're able to keep Amane as predictable as possible. A guilty verdict would make her more unpredictable, I think, so an inno verdict would be better?

Frankly, I don't know. I think we're fucked either way. All the verdicts of the first trial, not just hers, have led us to quite the mess, but it was never going to go any different way. Shit was always going to get wild.

So here's my final conclusion: since I don't think the verdict can be trusted to properly help the group one way or another, we should vote to help Amane, the only one we know we can reach with this vote. And right now, she needs an innocent verdict.

Also I am insanely biased this kid needs help I'm not guiltying her. Call that part of the Milgram experiment ig.

Conclusion

The Purge March gives us better insight into the actual beliefs of the cult, mainly in relation to their views of punishment and reform. We also got a more detailed look at Amane’s murder, and the motivations behind what she did. Overall, while neither voting option seems great at the moment, that’s because they are unlikely to help with the tensions in the group. That means we’re going to have to vote for Amane, and the only way we’re going to make progress with her is by voting innocent. At least, that’s my view.

This was fun! I look forward to diving into the other MVs and going insane over them too, but for now I wanted to start with this one since it’s the most recent one and the one which actually piqued my interest enough to check out Milgram. If you made it this far into my insane ramblings, then… may kami-sama have mercy on your soul. Take care!

(Oh also tagging @sunlit-haru because he asked nicely)

#milgram #milgram project #amane momose #the purge march #milgram theory #hello milgramers i seek to go insane #is this how i do it? #this things wild i love it #i am so incredibly lost #it’s great

[angelwithdemonictendencies]

i'd sigh in bliss, even while drowning, if only it was your hand holding me under; your kiss is the most violent death i've ever known.

qh43 x reader: let's take this bitter tension on the water, shall we?

(warnings: blasphemous filth, unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), fingering, hair pulling (have you guys seen his hair, recently?), choking (it's really been too long. too many nice guys), talking (he brings out the best in me), tears (or the worst idk), lots and lots and lots of miscommunication and tension and being kinda mean, obviously i'm forgetting things but all my usual stuff.  please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: thank you for waiting, my favorites. i give you qh43 x doll (on deck). this idea has taken me a long time to flesh out, with lots of work and outlining and such, so i really hope you enjoy. i told myself it was going to be short and it ended up being 16.5k, because i have no self control. i guess i was just in the mood to write angst-filled argument after angst-filled argument, given all the sweet boy content i've been putting out recently (don't worry, that will be back soon enough). and qh43 is my go-to for the sad stuff, for the fights and kisses in the rain (literally, this time). can you tell i was listening to taylor's is it really over? way too much and thought... what if it wasn't? over, that is? obviously, none of this makes any logistical sense, you guys know this. thank you for reading anyways. let's see, what else? loving the nico slut headcanon i'm committing to. also love a good mt19 gap-tooth takeover (is he not the perfect cruise ship fling?). and luke is here, too, for all the people telling me to write for him. i'm sorry, i know the miscommunication trope is frustrating and the one-bed trope is cliche. please, for the love of god, take this as a sign to be clear with people about how you feel. life is too short. i have like one billion baby stories started right now, so we will see for which inspiration proves most fruitful. will it be golf pro cc22 x bevcart girl? geology ta js1 x classics ta? the tj17 one i've been trying to finish forever? none of the above? we'll see. pretty, pretty please, tell me what you think. go canucks (dare i say cup-bound), tell your snakes i love them. until next time. love, always).

as much as you wanted to be completely and purely excited for this little excursion, as much as you wanted this to be a truly undiluted celebration of your best friend's wedding next weekend, something was standing in your way.

"c'mon," the bride-to-be, savannah, said, standing on the pier next to you as you gazed out at the obscenely massive cruise ship, its numerous windows like the eyes of a spider, much too many and much too close together, "you've worked so hard, babe." she gave you a tight side-hug, which you returned. "you've made this whole process so easy, hm? let loose for a weekend, and then, i promise, you can go right back to being the militant maid of honor you are."

you let out a short laugh, let your shoulders settle back into place. "thanks for this weekend, sav," you said. "it's gonna be great." she was right, of course, in some ways, and wrong in others.

you had worked hard, very, very hard, because you cared about savannah, loved her like a sister, and you wanted her wedding to be one of dreams. you liked jack, her fiance, a lot, too, and you liked them together, saw how they brought out the best in each other.

it had been months of making sure everything during the planning process went over smoothly, of being there for savannah when the world felt like it was ending, when the pressure of a wedding felt like it was insurmountable.

when bridesmaids had a little too much to say about their dresses, or when family members had a little too much to say about their hotel arrangements, or when savannah herself had a little too much to say about how it just had to be perfect, you were there, mitigating the worries and stressors and potential problems.

it had been a rewarding but draining couple of months.

savannah had seen that, had appreciated you even more because of it, so her and jack had planned this mini-vacation as a thank you for both of their wedding parties. the big day was next week, so this was supposed to be a final relaxing deep breath before the inevitable whirlwind of white lace and dress shoes and pink flowers.

and it would be relaxing, you were sure of it, you wouldn't let it not be, if only because your best friend wanted it to be so adamantly. it would be a perfect weekend vacation, the perfect cruise getaway, the perfect source of pre-wedding bliss.

it would be, it would be all of these things, as long as you stayed as far away from quinn hughes as was humanly possible.

the brother of the groom, the best man, your counterpart in the wedding, whom you had been fairly successful in avoiding whenever possible, all things considered. you'd been in the same friend group for years, after all, since the end of college. years of averted glances, charged comments that you pretended to ignore, of memories that left your cheeks hot and anger hotter.

you hadn't had a major blowout with him yet, and you were confident enough in your self-control to believe you wouldn't start now. you'd never been confined on a boat with him before, though, hadn't been stuck in a room with him without an escape plan, so that would present a new challenge.

what was every day in the periphery of quinn, though, if not a new challenge? a challenge more devastatingly taxing with each passing moment?

as you and your best friend boarded the ship together, you hoped that you could postpone seeing him for as long as possible. maybe if you stayed in your room the whole weekend, you wouldn't have to see him at all. wouldn't that be fun?

savannah dropped her stuff and told you she was going to find jack, leaving you to unpack your things and enjoy some moments of silence before what would surely be a tornado of a weekend.

unfortunately, as you folded your clothes and organized them in drawers, your mind wandered, with nothing to focus on but your anxieties. your anxiety, personified, in a broad, shaggy-haired, soft-featured best man.

you sighed, as you often did when you thought of quinn, because no, it hadn't always been this way. there had been a single, lovely, dreamy night during which the two of you hadn't hated each other. quite the opposite, actually.

it felt sort of unfair that, even now, years later, he could still evoke such a visceral feeling in you, a kind of hatred you felt in your stomach, a kind of shame that rattled through your skull, a regret that set your chest ablaze. and as much as it pained you to think it, it felt sort of unfair that savannah was getting married to jack, because you had known quinn first. it had been you and quinn, first.

it had been you and quinn, both of you at the just-off-campus bar alone, waiting for your respective friends to show up. you had spotted him across the room, his pretty face made so angelic by the hazy neon light. he had spotted you too, had been so unapologetic about letting his gaze settle in the pockets of your exposed collarbones, then flickering up to meet your careful eyes slowly, heatedly.

it had been you and quinn, in a back booth, once he'd bought you a beer and motioned for you to join him, a precise but easy tilt of his head in invitation. on that waxy bench seat, as time passed, you grew much closer together than you could have made a real excuse for, until the outside of your thigh was pressed up against his, until he angled his shoulder back so you could lean your side on his chest, until there was really no question as to where the night was going to go. where it was going to end.

until he rewrote the script you'd assumed into place, too, because when you talked with him for that hour or so, drinks practically forgotten on the table, friends absolutely forgotten, he wasn't like the one-night-onlys you'd had in the past.

he was pretty, sure, almost embarrassingly so, but he spoke to you so gently, with such care, it stunned you.

when he asked you about your day, you were shocked to find completely genuineness in his gaze.

when you asked about his friends, when they were showing up, you couldn't help but feel a little endeared by his short laugh. "athletes," he told you, then, "most unreliable people on the planet, doll, swear it."

it had been you and quinn, basically melting into each other, in that booth, and it had been you and quinn, at his place, after. when you'd discovered that he tasted like something citrusy, maybe grapefruit, from whatever he'd been drinking, when you'd felt his rough hands on your face, your hips, when his voice had grown low and husky and brutal, barely pausing for even a moment when he pushed into you for the first time, so overwhelmingly deep and hard.

he'd been so gentle, yet undeniable, so tender, but he'd said things that now made you blush.

he'd been the best fuck of your life, somehow also the kind of person you'd truly, genuinely, been able to see yourself developing a relationship with. you'd thought he was a once in a lifetime kind of person.

you'd left his place early that morning to get to class, kissed his shoulder softly in goodbye while he slept soundly.

little did you know that, that next night, savannah would meet jack, who was out with quinn. as such, savannah would introduce you to jack.

"this is my brother, quinn," jack would say to you, eventually, and your eyes would soften at the sight of him as you turned.

you would open your mouth to say something along the lines of oh, we've already met, but then quinn would extend a hand to you.

"nice to meet you," he'd say, stony, cold, and you'd narrow your eyes, search his gaze for anything humorous, come up empty. surely he remembered you, right? it was almost worse to imagine that he did remember, that he just didn't want his brother to know about you. it was almost worse to imagine that he thought you were something to be hidden.

so you'd swallow a breath that felt like a forbidden pill, stare at his outstretched hand with something like disgust.

"yeah, you too," you'd bite out, your hands remaining at your sides, hoping his empty hand felt awkward enough to hurt. "really nice."

so, as much as it had been you and quinn, starry-eyed in a back booth, as much as it had been you and quinn, tangled up in each other as your eyelids grew heavy with sleep, as much as it had been you and quinn, first -

it had also been you, embarrassed and ashamed, and quinn, expressionless and indifferent.

so, what did that night really matter, however life-altering you had thought it to be? he obviously didn't feel the same way. you obviously meant nothing to him.

you had thought that to be a very disappointing end to a chapter. you were ready to move on, but, of course, savannah and jack only grew closer. of course, your friend groups merged. of course, it seemed like you couldn't go more than a few days without an especially painful reminder of exactly how much you weren't wanted, exactly how mistaken you had been.

it had been several years now, and you'd gotten a little better at hiding your feelings, sure, but you wouldn't describe your relationship with quinn as civil. certainly not amicable.

you were both known to have an especially short temper when it came to the other, to become inexplicable hot-headed in their presence. still, no one, not even savannah, you assumed not even jack, knew exactly why. they just assumed you didn't get along. that you were just completely incompatible as people, probably.

now, you took a deep breath, putting the last of your clothes away, zipping up your suitcase and stowing it under your bed. you wouldn't let him ruin this trip for you, you decided in a moment. you would be kind, and lovely, and you'd enjoy the time with your best friends. everything was going to be fine. everything was going to be perfect.

this was the mindset you were carrying with you when you finally made to join everyone else on the deck for a welcome happy hour.

you quickly spotted your group, immediately locking eyes with your other best friend, lexi, who must have just arrived.

she squealed and pulled you in for a hug. "it's been too long," she whined, and you laughed.

"i missed you," you said, and you meant it. for the longest time, it had been you, savannah, and lexi, a trio for the majority of your time at university. guys came and went (for the most part), your circle expanded into friends from classes and clubs and sororities and such, but the three of you were inseparable.

it still felt weird that you didn't get to see them every day, with all of you at different places, some working, some in school. it felt weird that the real world still spun even if you three weren't cackling on the way into a lecture, whispering about lacrosse boy when he walked into a party, whining about midterms in the dining hall. it felt weird to grow up.

"i want to hear about school," you said as you pulled away from her embrace. "tell me everything."

"what, no hug for me, eh?"

you rolled your eyes, immediately recognizing that overconfident voice as jack's best friend.

"hello, nico," you said, sugary-sweet, mustering up a smile. "how's daddy's money treating you?" you didn't like nico, not really, found that he hadn't changed at all since school.

nico wasn't like quinn, though, he never took what you said in a heavy way. he just laughed, and his eyes shone with it. "business is thriving, thanks for asking," he said.

"so humble," came quinn's grumbly voice, somewhere on the line between light-hearted fun and genuine disapproval. you wondered briefly if nico had any more luck reading quinn than you did.

"oh, that's what they say," nico responded, running a hand through his longer dark hair. "the humblest around."

you caught up with lexi about medical school, learned it was somehow even more draining than she expected.

"i wouldn't be able to tell for a second," you assured her, gesturing to your face. "you look insanely well-rested. glowing, practically."

lexi waved you off, but she looked pleased. "don't lie," she chastised, "i wake up everyday and look like i got run over by a truck."

she told you about her classes, and her classmates, and her professors, and you listened intently, always interested to hear about situations you had no experience in.

"sounds hectic," you said, finally, blowing out a breath.

"eh, you know how it is," she responded with a shrug. just then, luke, jack's younger brother, arrived, looking especially disheveled, but you knew him well enough by now to understand that was just how he looked.

he was greeted with hugs and handshakes by everyone.

"you're so big, now," you said, almost teasingly, as you pulled him in for a hug.

he swatted at you, good-naturedly. "lay off, would you?" he said, but when he smiled it was genuine. "not a baby."

you knocked your hip against his, anyways. "happy you're here," you told him.

out of all of jack's groomsmen, you supposed luke was the clear frontrunner for your favorite. nico, the narcissistic playboy, was out of the running, and so was quinn, for obvious reasons.

even without those two, though, you'd developed a soft spot for the youngest of the hugheses. he was a couple of years your junior, but surprisingly mature and well-spoken. he was into football, like you were, too, and had invited you to join his fantasy league before he even knew you that well. now, years later, he came to you for girl advice and you thought of him as the younger brother you never had.

"me, too," luke responded, his eyes alight. when you looked away from him, however, you felt another gaze on your side like a blistering burn, were barely surprised to find quinn's rocky eyes on your side, somewhere between your hip and waist.

his attention sparked something dangerously flammable inside of you, an anger that felt like being coated in lighter fluid.

if quinn had been beautiful the day you'd met him, he was devastating, now, having aged in a subtle way that only enhanced his features, made his jaw sharper, cheekbones more prominent. his hair was a soft shag of brown, curling onto his forehead, at the nape of his neck, the tops of his ears. he'd filled out a bit, too, wider in the chest, softer in the middle. if you had to describe to someone your type, you figured you'd get maybe ten seconds in before realizing you were just describing quinn.

now, his eyes met yours in a clash of flame and ancient rock, immovable and disastrous.

coward, you seemed to say without words, mean, rude, coward.

and, as always, he seemed to say absolutely nothing.

you were being kind, though, you were being lovely, so you just rolled your eyes and made to join savannah and lexi as they chatted by the bar.

the sun set over the distant sky line, making the sea ripple purple and orange as music played from the deck, as more and more people seemed to gather, as drinks flowed easier and voices grew louder.

you caught up with luke about his last year of school, listened to nico talk about his last girlfriend (who he insisted was really, truly crazy, as he had claimed about the last girl, and the one before that), asked jack about how work was going and savannah how her cats were doing. you were including everyone, you were being a wonderful maid of honor, you were being kind and lovely, all while quinn remained oddly quiet, talking only when directly addressed, every now and then looking at you with an intensity that made you dizzy.

what are you doing? you wanted to scream at him, you're not allowed to look at me!

he didn't seem to particularly care about your unspoken wishes, anyways, though you supposed he never had. he just took small sips from his fruity cocktail, and you pretended not to notice how it made his pouty lips more pink, like he was wearing a shimmery gloss. you hated yourself for the way your stomach flipped at the sight.

"so, how's your week been, q?" luke asked him, eventually, taunting him with a smile. "awfully quiet over there. what're you hiding?"

and you shouldn't have done it, it was not very lovely and kind of you, but you gave a light scoff at this. because you knew just how good quinn was a hiding things. people, even.

of course, he noticed. he seemed to notice just about everything, when it came to you, ever the perceptive observer. it was something you'd adored about him, for a night.

"what?" quinn bit out, and he wasn't looking at luke, instead looking directly at you. "got something to say, doll?"

you felt your eye twitch, only just barely, because out of all of his mannerisms and actions that drove you absolutely crazy, this one might be your least favorite. how, after all this time, he still rarely called you anything but doll.

how, now, it was said with such condescending distaste, when it had once been 'm dyin' to kiss you, doll, murmured in a bedroom doorframe. when it had once been give me one more, doll, hm? be good for me, hot against your temple.

"nothing, quinn," you said, with a smile that felt more similar to baring teeth, his name some malicious hex. "don't worry about it."

there was a brief pause charged with meaning, his slate-like eyes boring into yours.

you were the first to look away, to look down at your hand before he finally answered luke's question, went into some noncommittal explanation about work.

eventually, somehow, the conversation veered towards wedding dates.

"wait," savannah said, pausing as if having trouble understanding. "you're telling me that out of all of you, both wedding parties, the only one with a plus-one is luke? and it's not even a date?"

"mackie still counts," luke said, shrugging. "no one said we weren't allowed to bring friends."

"regardless," savannah said, exasperated. "how did this happen?"

nico grinned. "not all of us can be so easily tied down, sav," he said with a wink, to which you and lexi groaned.

"oh, what?" nico retorted, looking at the two of you, "if it really matters, i'll bring a date. hell, i'll bring four dates."

you shook your head vigorously. "do not bring four dates. please do not bring four dates."

"do not make our wedding an episode of the bachelor, nico," savannah warned. "but you guys should bring someone!" her eyes grew wide with excitement. "you could even find someone on the boat!"

lexi whistled.

"do we really want a bunch of strangers at our wedding?" jack mused, joking.

"oh, hush," savannah said, laying a hand on his forearm.

he smiled. "you're right," he conceded, "not like this lot could find dates anyways."

the only people who seemed especially opposed to jack's judgement were nico and lexi.

you just shrugged. you didn't really want to bring a date to the wedding, because you didn't have a serious boyfriend, right now, and you didn't want to invite someone you weren't serious about. you could find a date, sure, it wouldn't be too hard, but that would just be another person to entertain for a night during which you were already going to be pulled in a million different directions.

"okay, so lex and nico are going to find dates," savannah said, then turned to you, "what about you?"

"i'm good, sav," you said, plainly, cordially, with a smile that she returned. you knew that she just wanted you to be happy, and that it probably hurt her to imagine you lonely.

"or you, quinn?" savannah continued.

you fixed your eyes on him, too, as did the rest of the table. as much as you maybe shouldn't have been, you were straining to hear his answer.

"yeah, didn't you say you were thinking of bringing someone? what was her name, again?" jack asked, snapping his fingers as if trying to summon his memory.

terrible envy bubbled through your veins, thick and green, at the mention of quinn wanting someone who wasn't you. at the reminder that he was fully capable of wanting someone, he just hadn't wanted you.

quinn's eyes flashed with something dangerous. "i never told you i was thinking of bringing someone," he told his brother, sounding almost annoyed, his tone sharp.

jack's half-smile told you he knew something you didn't. "my bad," he said, "must've forgotten."

quinn's full mouth twitched to the side, almost undetectable, but of course you noticed. he looked almost angry that jack had suggested that he bring a date. there was the faintest pink across his nose, too, as if he was almost embarrassed.

something heavy settled in your chest, made your throat tight, because you knew what it was like to be embarrassed in a group. to want something so adamantly and have it go the other way in front of your eyes.

as if pulled by some magnetic force, some power fueled by history and shed tears, quinn's eyes briefly met yours, like you were the calm in some hurricane, like you tethered him to the world. for a second, you remembered just what it felt like to be his. just how consuming it was.

but you weren't his, you reminded yourself. so, of course, the anger followed, along with a bloodthirsty self-loathing at your momentary protection of him, your fleeting feelings of sympathy.

you weren't his, and yet he was looking at you now like he was begging you to do something.

"you know what, sav?" you said, although you were looking right at quinn, "changed my mind. think i'll bring a date, actually."

it was quinn's turn to scoff, which had rage rolling in your head like high tide. "yeah, right," he said. "you haven't been with someone in years, doll."

you furrowed your brow, because that just wasn't true, flat out. did quinn actually think you hadn't been with guys since you'd had him?

lexi was the one to laugh. "what're you on about, quinn?" she said. "what planet have you been living on?"

"you think i call you up as soon as i scratch another notch in my bedpost?" you asked, incredulous. "course i've been with guys."

a million emotions rumbled through his eyes like a slow-building earthquake, which made realization spark in your head.

"unless," you started, "unless you haven't been with-"

"i'll bet that you don't end the weekend with a date, then," quinn said, cutting you off as you'd gotten dangerously close to saying something incriminating, something he didn't want others to know.

it took no convincing from you to agree to his bet, even if nico and luke were nudging you on. "you're on," you said, your voice lower than you anticipated.

he hummed, ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, cocked his head in a way that made your nerves spring to life. "and what do i get when i win?"

he said the words like he knew exactly how you'd take them. in a way that made everything else fade away, for a moment, made you forget your audience of friends, made the music lull to a halt in your ears, made the massive deck of this boat feel altogether too small.

"what do you want?" you asked, almost blushed at how rough your voice sounded, promptly cleared your throat again.

his heavy gaze dropped to your mouth, making warning sirens blare in your head. making you so, so angry.

"decide the terms later," jack said, obviously done with this topic, which really only concerned you and quinn, "deal or no deal?"

quinn extended a hand to you in answer, which you stared at for a second, suddenly delirious with deja vu. remembering when he had last went looking for a handshake.

this time, though, you took it, squeezed it so tight you hoped it hurt, although he didn't even wince, held eye contact with you the entire time.

"eager to lose, eh, doll?" he asked, his eyes shining.

"you know me," you said, then, "just so eager." knowing exactly how he would take it. in a way that had his eyes glazing over, just a bit, perhaps had phantom breaths of please, quinn, give me all of it echoing in his mind.

and so your weekend getaway began with a wager.

still, you didn't want your heightening anger towards quinn to take over your vacation, so, the following day, you went about your way as you had been planning on.

you ate breakfast with lexi, explored the boat with sav and luke, finally settled down to read by the pool in the late afternoon.

the sun was bright and big in the sky, so you untied the straps of your swimsuit, so as to avoid tan lines. time passed as you flipped pages, engrossed in your book, until you felt the heat on your body like a scratchy sweater.

at some point, you felt a figure next to you, a big body with a face you couldn't see until you brought a hand up to shield your eyes.

the man blocking the sun from you was a little jarring in his beauty, you realized. handsome in a very different way than what you were usually attracted to. he had curly, curly hair, almost red in the light, a symmetrical face, a prominent gap in his two front teeth that you had the sneaking suspicion he used to his advantage.

he had you smiling up at him, nonetheless. "can i help you, handsome?" you asked.

his mouth quirked at your words as his features settled into a theatrical expression. "you're sweet, princess, but i was actually hoping to help you."

you hummed, bent one knee up until the sole of your foot rested flat on your lounge chair. "were you, now?" maybe this whole finding a wedding date business was going to be even easier than you initially thought.

the handsome stranger squatted down until his hips rested back on his heels, until he was eye level with you. like he didn't want to look down at you. like you were even lovelier head on. he raised a wide hand to one side of his mouth, as if telling you some great secret at a cafeteria lunch table. "just wanted to warn you that your straps are untied," he whispered, gesturing with his other hand to his own shoulders. his smirk told you that he knew it was intentional.

you made no move to retie them, let out a small laugh. "my knight in shining armor, hm?"

his shoulders rose and fell in a telling chuckle. "either that or i just wanted an excuse to come over here," he said. "'m matthew."

"'m flattered, matthew," you said, then gave him your own name. "you don't seem like a guy who needs an excuse, though."

his smirk grew wide. "what do i seem like, then, princess?"

you tilted your head to the side, thought for a moment. "don't know," you admitted, "got the smile of a charmer, though, give you that."

matthew appeared about to respond, but was cut off by the approach of a figure to the other side of your chair, standing at full height, looking down at you and your new acquaintance.

a figure you'd know in the dark, a presence you'd sense while unconscious. quinn drew both of your attention, but said nothing. you pursed your lips.

"what's up, man?" said matthew, maybe a little unsure, in a tone that sort of felt like he was making fun of quinn. "all good?" he didn't push back up to his full height, which you found hilarious and endearing. how he didn't seem even the tiniest bit threatened by quinn, when it was so painfully obvious that he was trying so hard to appear threatening.

you peered up at him, found his blatant discomfort and indecision especially unsettling. "what do you want, quinn?" you asked, annoyance creeping into your voice like moss on a damp rock.

"you know this guy?" matthew said, his grin that of a class clown.

"do you know this guy, doll?" quinn retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, and you rolled your eyes, set your book down beside you.

"quinn, this is matthew," you said, gesturing between the two of them. "matthew, quinn."

quinn didn't move, but matthew's smile grew taunting as he extended his hand out for a handshake.

a handshake that quinn just stared at, briefly, did not make a move to reciprocate, his gaze so solid, relentlessly cold. you could have slapped him, if you didn't have an audience.

matthew just laughed, retracted his hand, finally stood up. "well, i guess i'll be seeing you around, princess," he said, looking right at you.

"until then, matthew," you responded, an easy smile on your face.

he gave you one last charismatic smile before looking to quinn again. "you've been a treat, quinn," he said, little more than a chuckle, raising a hand in goodbye before turning and walking away.

when he was out of ear shot, you looked up at quinn, ignoring the way the sun lit up the high points of his face. "so," you began, dangling one leg off of your chair, pulling the other up to your chest. "when did you officially lose your goddamn mind?"

he scrunched his mouth to the side as if tasting something sour. "haven't gone crazy," he said, basically a grumble, "thought he was bothering you."

you laughed, genuinely, from your stomach.

"what?" he said, and it was sharp, heavy.

"babe, is this guy bothering you?" you said, imitating a comically deep masculine voice before returning to your usual tone. you retied the straps of your swimsuit, not looking at him. "get real. since when do you give a fuck about me?"

he didn't answer, just shifted on his feet slightly, which made the muscles of his thighs tense. you could feel his anger building, looming like some poisonous cloud around the two of you. he was flushed, and you had a feeling it was some lethal combination of embarrassment and fury. it made his eyes almost glow, made his shoulders clench with strain.

"jesus, don't hurt yourself," you said, eyeing the tension that radiated from his body. "not a good look on you."

this made him intimidating, somehow, made the difference in height between the two of you feel substantial, significant. "really, doll?" he said, with a bite that you could taste. history made its stinging presence known between the two of you, made the air sizzle. "don't like me like this?"

you wanted to punch him the stomach, made him hunch over, bring him to your level so he didn't feel so high and mighty. who was he, now, to hint at your history? when he had denied it so grossly before?

you were not the one in the wrong here, you remembered, he was the one who had approached you.

"no," you said, through clenched teeth, "no, quinn, i don't like you jealous."

this seemed to set his anger loose, as you had expected it to, his fists now tight at his sides. "i am not jealous," he said, slowly, almost scarily. "maybe if you weren't showing yourself off like a-"

you stood up, then, your pulse in your ears, your heart in your throat. you laid a warning hand on his chest, the closest you'd been in a long time. "oh, you aren't really about to call me a slut, are you, quinn?" you warned, like a storm siren.

his gaze shot down to your hand before returning to your unwavering eyes again.

"are you?" you pressed, with the strength of practiced patience. he still said nothing, which made you want to pound your fists on his chest, get him to say something, anything. how tired and frustrated you were of his silence. "where do you get off playing tough-guy savior, anyways?" you continued. "you've got no say in who i talk to, just because you've been celibate, apparently, which is absolutely insane-"

"'m not playing anything," was his short response, which had you fuming.

"you're no tough guy, quinn," you said, "you're a coward."

your eyes widened when his smoldered, as he brought a hand up to your face, swiped his warm thumb across your jawline. you would have smacked his hand away, you swore it, but you were lost for a moment, drowning in the touch you'd craved for longer than you cared to admit. "and you're desperate, doll," he breathed, like some terrible caress, "where does that leave us?"

his words barreled through you like a battering ram, cruel and sadistic. because what were you most ashamed of, if not seeming desperate to his indifferent? what were you questioning most, if not where that left you?

it had been you and quinn, first. could you truly say it had ever been over?

he dropped his hand from your face, leaving you cold, lacking, all over again. leaving your breath coming out a little bit short, your lips slightly parted. because as much as his words cut through you like a dagger to the chest, he said them with such softness, such warmth.

making it so painfully clear in your mind just how much you still wanted him, even if he drove you mad. even if he was exactly the reason behind so many of your fears.

"i hate you," you said, but of course you didn't mean it.

"i hate you," he said, but of course he was lying.

your body and mind were still buzzing, practically alight, that night, when sav and jack decided your whole group should go out, try the ship's nightclub on for a few hours.

and you probably would have politely declined, in any other scenario. you didn't go out that much now, not like you did in school, at least. in recent history, you'd found yourself much more attracted to a night in on the couch than a bass-boosted speaker in your ear. however, you supposed, you wouldn't be able to really relax tonight, anyways, not when your blood felt hot in your body, when your fingertips felt as if they were laced with electrical currents.

you felt almost ill with energy, crazed with some awful mixture of shame and desire and annoyance and disgust.

and you sort of hated yourself for how practically demented quinn's touch made you feel, how deranged his undivided attention made you.

it was so, so unfair, and you wished it wouldn't be true. but it was, so you figured you might as well use this energy while you had it, might as well lean heavily into this version of yourself. this version of yourself, whose emotions were blown up, heightened to a magnificent level.

this you, who felt embarrassment like rosy handcuffs around her wrists, who felt want like a leaden crown, satisfaction like a bubbly drink, displeasure like a hand around your neck. who felt danger and challenge like some intoxicating drug.

it was this you who pulled on a tight, short dress, who spent a few more minutes than usual lining and glossing your lips. maybe it wasn't the most level-headed you'd ever been, sure, but you couldn't remember the last time you'd felt so utterly alive.

"holy shit," lexi said when she opened her door, found you waiting to walk down with her, "you look insane."

you smiled. "good insane or insane insane?"

lexi grabbed her small bag and shut the door behind her. "oh, please," she said, waving you off. "almost forgot that you're workin' with all that," she added, which made you laugh.

once the two of you made your way inside, you looked around for your friends, quickly spotted luke sitting at a table with sav and jack.

sav whistled at the two of you as you approached. "holy smokes," she said.

"oh, stop it," lexi teased, making to sit down next to her.

you just leaned on the side of luke's stool, knocked your shoulder into his. "past your bedtime, eh?" you joked.

he rolled his eyes, smiled. "what brings you out of your cave?" he mused. he knew how much it took for you to venture from your room.

you just shrugged. "what if i just wanted to see you?"

he gave a disbelieving shake of his head before tilting it up to look at you head on. "heard you and q had quite the blowout at the pool."

you narrowed your eyes. "wouldn't call it a blowout," you said, and you meant it, because you could have done so much worse. "who told you that, anyways?"

he scoffed. "who do you think?"

you scrunched up your face. you knew how close quinn and luke were, but, somehow, it still surprised you that he had told anyone about what had happened at the pool. it felt weird that, after refusing to acknowledge what had happened between you, he'd tell luke anything about you.

it made you wonder just how much he had disclosed, if luke knew much more than he was letting on.

"what did he tell you?" you asked, curiosity overtaking any of your discipline.

the youngest hughes just gave you a big grin, though, like he'd caught you in something. "i forget," he said, and you hit him lightly on the arm.

you turned your attention back to the table. "where's nico?" you asked, as he was the only one from the group you hadn't really seen that day. you didn't ask where quinn was, even though you really, really wanted to know. was he even here? did he stay in his room, like you had wanted to?

jack gestured vaguely. "haven't seen him since we got here."

"'s probably pretty busy," sav added, "i think the last time i saw him he was up to three wedding dates."

lexi groaned while you hid your face in luke's shoulder for a second.

you sighed, then pushed yourself out of your lean.

"where're you going?" luke asked you.

"to save the feminine population of this cruise ship from hurricane nico," you answered, before patting the top of his head and making for the bar.

the music was louder, away from the tables and closer to the dance floor, crowded with people in bold colors and daring cuts.

you leaned forward on the counter, raised a hand to catch the bartender's attention. the man with the platinum buzzcut nodded to you to signal that he'd be right there.

"how'd you escape your keeper?" a goofy voice said from beside you, and you recognized the confident tone before you even turned.

"good to see you again, matthew," you said, peering up at him with an easy smile. "and i have my ways."

"i don't doubt that, princess, i don't doubt that," he conceded, his grin revealing that gap between his front teeth.

"thanks for waiting," the bartender said, now in front of you two, adjusting his black bowtie. "to drink?"

"two of whatever she's having," matthew said.

"vodka soda, please," you clarified, opening your mouth to protest when matthew wouldn't let you pay.

"let me get this one, hm?" he asked, and he was so steady you knew he wouldn't budge.

you blew out a breath like you were annoyed, but the thought was sweet. "fine," you said, "just this once. thank you."

"anytime," was his immediately reply as the bartender dropped the two glasses in front of each of you.

"thank you," you said to the blonde, eyes searching for his name tag, "elias."

he gave a curt nod in response before being summoned by another patron.

you turned, now leaned your back against the bar counter, crossed an ankle over the other as you again looked at matthew.

"did i mention how beautiful you look?" he said, a lazy smirk on his face, telling you he'd used this line before. it brought a delighted flush to your cheeks, nonetheless.

"that one's a heater," you said, "bet it works on all the girls." you took a sip from your cold glass, found it strong and sharp.

"not all of 'em, apparently," he said, and you let out a laugh.

you chatted pleasantly with matthew for a while, your mission to find nico long forgotten.

fortunately, at some point, you were surprised to see nico himself approach the two of you where you stood, his gait as overconfident as his expression.

"who's this guy?" matthew whispered, his breath hot by your ear as he leaned down. you shivered, could feel his sly smile.

"a clown," you whispered back.

matthew hummed. "you seem to know a lot of those, eh, princess?"

and it shocked you, sort of, how part of you jumped to defend quinn. how part of you wanted to explain to matthew, however stupidly, that quinn wasn't a clown, he wasn't dumb, he wasn't like nico.

what did it matter if this almost stranger thought quinn was an idiot? hadn't he made a fool of himself just today?

"hey, nico," you said, when he was close enough. "meant to look for you." your side glance had you locking eyes with matthew again, warm and inviting. "got distracted."

"no worries at all, no worries at all," nico responded, "i've just been sent over by a certain quinn hughes to see what was going on here, but, as he should have known, i am no errand boy." he gave matthew a knowing look. "and you seem like a great guy." nico's mouth gave an impressed sort of scrunch. "good face, too."

"i like this guy much more," matthew said, elbowing you gently, although you were having a bit of a hard time focusing.

because you'd warned quinn about leaving you be, warned him that he had absolutely and completely forfeited any opinion to be had about your life. and yet, just hours later, apparently, he hadn't learned his lesson.

"where is he?" you bit out, and you had a feeling your smile looked menacing. at least menacing enough to make nico do a double take. "eh, over there," he said, motioning over to the dance floor.

sure enough, your eyes caught on quinn's broad figure, practically indistinguishable from the one close to him, the girl he was dancing with. you rolled your eyes, turned to matthew with sympathy.

he seemed to be anticipating your words, if his slightly disappointed sigh was anything to go by. "well, the keeper calls," he joked, and his easy-going smile made you feel almost sick.

because here was this lovely person, right in front of you, so obvious about his attraction to you. and yet, you were walking away from him. the very thought made anger thrum within you.

"i'm sorry," you said, and it was genuine.

matthew gave a one-shouldered shrug. "don't be," he said, "i'm lucky i even got to see you in that dress." he winked at you before turning to walk away.

you were silent for a moment, blinking.

nico, who'd you'd forgotten had even been there, blew out a breath. "hell," he said, shaking his head, "that guy was a smoke."

"how many dates are you at?" you said, your eyeline still firmly on quinn, on the beautiful blonde girl he was dancing with. you stirred your halfway empty drink.

nico shrugged. "lost track," he said, "why? wanna borrow one?"

"maybe later," you said, then pushed yourself from the counter and began to make your way across the room.

the walk felt much longer than it was, as if a chasm had opened up between you and quinn, jagged rocks lining the walls, some treacherous river running through your legs, drenching your heels.

the walk felt longer than it was, but then you were in front of quinn, and the beautiful girl.

you tapped her on the shoulder, first. "could you move to the side for a second, babe?" you asked, completely apologetic. "don't wanna ruin your dress."

her features scrunched in confusion, but she stepped to the side, as you'd asked. you shot her a grateful look before turning to face quinn, meeting his eye.

you were almost shocked to find warmth, there, so unlike the stony coldness you'd expected from him.

still, you just gave him a facetious smile, short, snarky, before tossing the remnants of your drink at him.

it hit him square in the face, better aimed than you could have hoped. liquid dripped from the strong slope of his nose, down his jaw, soaking his white button down near the collar.

the blonde gasped, brought a hand to her mouth in shock.

you turned briefly to her. "'m sorry for the interruption," you said, genuinely. "you look gorgeous."

as quinn ran a slow hand down his face, wiping alcohol from his forehead, cheeks, you hummed and began to walk away, your stride satisfied as you made for the exit.

you dropped your glass on a table, walked through the doorway, onto the deck of the ship, the darkness of the night, sudden quiet a welcomed change of pace.

you had only just taken a breath when you felt a grip on your wrist, firm but not painful.

"just fuck off, won't you, quinn?" you said, just about done for the night. he just pulled you aside, boxed you against the railing on the deck, the noise of the sea in harmony with the faded beat of the club's mix.

you were so, so, done. you hadn't really wanted to come out, anyways, and then, when you were finally having a good time, he had to go and ruin it, send nico over to check in on you, like you needed some kind of babysitter.

he scoffed, a sound that felt beautiful in your ears, somehow. "think you can just walk away, after a stunt like that?" he said the words like they meant something deeper than just their surface meaning, but you couldn't, for the life of you, figure it out.

you blew out a breath, met his gaze directly.

you probably should have known by now that if there was one word to describe quinn, it was unfair.

unfair, how, drenched in a drink you tossed at him, he still looked this pretty. his hair damp, evident that he had run his hands through it. his features almost enhanced by the liquid that shone on them, his shirt practically sheer, now, drawing attention to his broad chest, corded shoulders. unfair.

maybe you had been wrong. maybe you couldn't handle this weekend. you'd been able to escape him before, for years, always had an easy out during gatherings with friends, always had something else to focus on.

he was everywhere here. he was unavoidable. he was inside your head, whispering in your ear. he was a phantom grapefruit taste on your tongue.

here, you were basically back in his bed, two years ago, back in that bar booth. here, you were surrounded by him.

"you sent nico to spy on me," you said, each word pronounced perfectly clear. you clenched your fists tight as if to restrain them. "how many times do i need to tell you, quinn? who i fuck is none of your business!"

he let out a noise that was half-growl. "you wanted him?" he asked, low and loaded, so painfully so it made your stomach drop.

"what does it matter?" you said. "i can't even speak to someone on this boat, apparently, without you breathing down my neck!"

"it matters," was his reply, spoken so softly, with a cutting bite. "it matters, doll."

you narrowed your eyes, searched his face for some clue. droplets of liquid still clung to his lashes, making his gaze impossibly beautiful.

"it shouldn't," you said, careful. "i'm desperate, remember?" your eyes widened in false despair. "don't you remember, quinn?"

his gaze dropped momentarily to your mouth, hung there just long enough for you to notice. "i remember," he said, so gently it shocked you. like he wasn't just talking about today.

the sea air suddenly felt hot, despite the windy chill. you were acutely aware of how close he was to you, his arms on either side of your waist, boxing you against the railing, his bent knee just barely grazing yours. the warmth of him like a radiator, the smell of him overwhelming.

"enough with the overprotective act," you demanded, willing any shake from your voice. "it has to stop, quinn, i can't do it."

"you can't do it?" he asked, calculated, incredulous. "you can't do it?"

you let out an exasperated huff. "what are you saying?" you pleaded. "jesus, fuck, quinn, all you do is stare and stare and stare and say nothing!"

"what am i supposed to say?" he said, gesturing vaguely around. "what could i ever say to you?"

"maybe try something true!" you said. "give that a shot!" your volume was much too loud, and there were probably people around, but you didn't really care, couldn't even register their presence. as always, with him, no one else seemed to matter, to even exist.

you could feel his chest rise and fall against yours for a moment, a pause so thick it almost felt suffocating. "it hurts to look at you," he said, finally.

and it would have been mean, would have been some cheap shot at calling you ugly, if his voice hadn't broken halfway through. if it hadn't seemed to be the hurt that was really the point.

his arms at your sides felt like something scandalous.

"and yet all you do is stare," you said, almost drowsily. "must be doin' a whole lot of hurting, over there."

something that felt like truth rose and fell between the two of you, light as the salty breeze, dark as the deep water below.

"does it hurt, now?" you breathed, your face so close to his as you peered up at him through your lashes.

his exhale felt like a million words, all jumbled up, offered up to you on a silver platter. he looked almost haggard. "so much, doll," he practically whined, and you wanted to taste his confession on your tongue, wanted to know what his honesty felt like on your lips. if it would feel the same as it did those years ago, if it would feel better.

you raised a careful, delicate hand to his damp face, brushed your fingertips along his hairline, slowly, almost mesmerized. he looked so beautiful, then, the faint light of the deck in contrast with the night making his face angelic in a terrible sort of way. "tell me you hate me," you said, little more than a whisper.

he gave an almost undetectable shake of his head, a rogue lock of hair curling into his face. "i can't," he said, soft, pulled into a trance by your ghost of a touch.

his full lips were so close to yours, and you angled your head slightly to made room for him, wanted all of him just so badly-

"no!" came a loud protesting voice that you immediately recognized as savannah. "do not throw her overboard!"

the two of you bolted apart from each other, a few feet between you, now. your pulse was still a pounding thud in your head, though, your body a sack of candy conversation hearts in all of its deliriousness.

you supposed it would look fairly suspicious, quinn so close to you, his hands so close to you, against the railing of the ship. maybe it did look like he was going to toss you over the edge. you could have laughed at how ridiculous the reality was.

savannah now stood in front of the two of you. you couldn't look at quinn, deathly afraid of what you would find if you did.

"what the hell was that, in there?" savannah demanded, gesturing wildly to where she had come from. she fixed her eyes on you. "since when are you a drink-thrower?"

you mumbled something like since a few minutes ago, i guess.

she huffed, turned to quinn. "and i hear you're sending nico on errands to do your dirty work for you?"

quinn looked at his feet, shifted his weight slightly. "wouldn't call it dirty work," he grumbled.

your best friend took a deep breath. "i understand that you guys don't really get along," she said, evenly.

quinn's gaze shot to you for a second, but you didn't return his attentive stare. you have no idea, you wanted to tell savannah.

"and i guess i should have known better than to trap you guys on a boat for a weekend, but you're adults! and the wedding is in less than a week," she continued, not angry but obviously frustrated. "i'm the one who's supposed to have a meltdown on wedding day, okay? not you two."

"sorry, sav," you said, and you felt bad, really.

she waved her hand. "it's my fault, too," she said, "just, i don't know, sleep this off and tomorrow you'll be able to get off this boat. think we're docking for a few hours, or something."

you sighed, snuck one last look at quinn like a last bite of a shared dessert. evidence of emotion just barely hid under his casual mask, evidence of being affected by you.

"i'll do better, okay?" you said, just to savannah, as you passed her, pulled her in for a quick hug in apology. "i promise."

she hugged you back. "i know it's not just you," she whispered into you ear. "and i trust you."

you nodded, squeezed her a last time before making the trek back up to your room. you passed jack, waiting just off to the side, keeping an eye on savannah, presumably.

"goodnight," you said to him, giving him a feeble wave.

he offered you a smile. "don't tell him i said this," he whispered, "that was one of the best things i've seen in my life."

you rolled your eyes at him as he bid you a returning goodnight.

you spotted lexi, sitting at a table just outside of the club entrance, your eyes widening when you recognized the blonde in her lap as the girl quinn had been dancing with. you smiled, slightly. they looked lost in conversation. they looked good together.

as you turned the corner to the stairwell, you almost jumped, then brought a hand to your heart, let out an alarmed exhale before recognizing nico, making out with a girl against the stair railing in an almost violent way.

you tried to squeeze past the two of them, eventually giving him a light shove. "move, nico," you whisper-yelled at him.

when you finally got past him and up the stairs, you were only a few steps from your door, finally closing yourself back into your room, exhaling a heavy breath, slipping off your heels.

you didn't quite make it to your bed, instead opting to fold a leg underneath you on the floor, lean back against the side of the mattress.

you weren't really sure why you suddenly felt that undeniable pressure on your waterline, that heat at the edges of your face that signaled coming tears.

the breeze through your window was a calming chill as you ran your palms up and down your thighs, trying to bring your breathing back to normal.

it felt like your heart was ten times its normal size, like it was so heavy it was sinking down into your stomach, like an anchor into the ocean waves.

your mind was a flurried rainstorm of quinn's hand on your wrist, his arms by your sides, his chest through his button down. his parted lips, so close to yours, his eyes, so unlike the fixed iciness you'd grown used to from him.

tell me you hate me, you'd asked him, practically begged him, your tone a sinful sort of plea.

i can't, he'd answered, like your request for the truth was some binding promise, like your pure want was some altar-laid sacrifice.

you went to sleep that night jittery, dreamed of slate eyes and stolen touches, glances that meant something stark.

of course, the next day, the last full day of the cruise, your energy had not dissipated. it left you just as uncertain and edgy as ever, because now, you wondered what quinn would do when he saw you.

more probable than not, you knew, he would do nothing. he would probably pretend like, just last night, he hadn't been about to kiss you, like he hadn't confessed to something monumental.

he would probably revert right back to staring, staring, staring, and nothing more. he might even revert back to hating you, for all you knew.

and then there was the part of you, a scary, maybe delusional part of you, that believed that maybe last night had changed something. that maybe he would do more than just look, that maybe you'd do more than just fight, that maybe this time would be different.

oh, how you wanted it to be different.

it had been you and quinn, first. how you wanted it to be you and quinn, now.

at the very least, you thought, as you got ready to leave, you'd have a way out, this time. you were finally getting off the boat, going to the beach for a few hours.

if he got to be too much, you could just walk away, this time, like you had grown used to in the past.

it was this positive outlook that you clung to as you made your way off of the boat, meeting up with luke on the stairs.

"and where were you last night?" you asked, after greeting him, raising a questioning brow.

he gave a playful eye roll. "no where as exciting as you," he said, teasing. "almost getting tossed overboard, and all."

you smacked him lightly on the back of the head. "i did not almost get thrown overboard," you clarified, "i was having a civilized discussion with your brother."

luke hummed. "were you?" he asked, "not quite what i heard."

"when did you become such a gossip, hm?" you pestered, stepping off onto the dock, exhaling with slight relief at the feeling of solid ground underneath your feet.

he shrugged. "people tell me stuff," he said, simply. he didn't have to clarify who people were.

you narrowed your eyes. "how much stuff?"

luke met your gaze, and there was an understanding there that scared you. "enough," he said.

you looked at your feet as you stepped onto the sand, found it warm, calming. "oh, great," you mumbled. you could only imagine what quinn must have said about you. how desperate and deluded you were, how you had gotten so attached to him after a single night, how you'd suddenly grown so malicious towards him as soon as he didn't return your feelings. your head hung, just a bit, because you hated to think that luke, someone you trusted and cared about so much, would think this of you, just from hearing it from quinn. "shocked that you even hang out with me, then, honestly."

you could feel luke's gaze on you like the sun. he cleared his throat, making you look up at him. "think, uh," he began, scratching the back of his neck in a nervous sort of habit. "think maybe you should just talk to him."

you laughed, spotting savannah and jack setting up an umbrella further down the beach. "because that's worked so well for us," you joked, but your heart jumped in your throat. because, oh, how easy it felt to refer to yourself and quinn as an us.

luke just shrugged. "it's worked better than the alternative," he said, putting his towel down before making to help jack with beach chairs.

his words stuck with you, suspended in your mind, for a moment, because he was right. you realized, however painfully, that you would prefer a screaming match with quinn by the pool to silent staring across the room at a gathering with your friends.

you'd take an excruciating argument with him over feigned, false civility any day of the week.

there you stood, your feet in the sand, looking out at the water, and you finally understood that you'd take all of the ugly, all of the hurt, all of the cold, if only it'd give you all of him.

"uh, you good?" sav said, giving you a confused look as she registered your quiet stillness.

you shook yourself from your mind, smiled at her. "all good," you said, and it was true.

lexi joined with the blonde from the night before in tow, whom she announced as erin.

you gave erin a guilty smile when you introduced yourself. "sorry again about last night," you said.

erin waved you off. "don't worry about it," she said, "that was the most dramatic night out i've had in forever."

she set up her towel next to you and lexi, and you quickly found how easy she was to talk to.

nico ambled his way down, at some point, eyes hidden behind massive sunglasses, a baseball cap on his head, a giant hoodie on despite the heat.

jack laughed when he got close enough. "the feds onto you, or something?" he said, referring to nico's ridiculous getup.

nico's pretty face contorted into a scowl. "i'm never drinking again," was his rough reply as he sat down on a towel, practically hissing at the bright light of the sun.

"yeah, right," you laughed. "you said that last time."

"fuck off," nico grumbled, hanging his head between his bent legs.

"oh, don't be mean, nico," savannah said, "it's not our fault you can't hold your tequila."

luke's face scrunched up is distaste. "you were drinking tequila last night?" he asked, "when did you join delta gamma?"

nico made to protest, but you didn't hear it, not really, because you were distracted.

your attention had strayed to where quinn now stood, right beside luke's chair. his approach had been silent, practically stealthy, but he was here, and he was looking at you.

the conversation around you seemed to fade away, to dip down deep below the gentle waves that lapped at the shoreline.

it was still a shock to your system every time you saw him, even though you'd known each other for so long. maybe it was an even greater shock, now, because you weren't quite used to seeing so much of him, of getting so much of him, on back to back to back days.

after being practically starved of him, or at least of his true emotions, this weekend had felt like being drowned in him, held under the water by your throat until your vision swam and your chest was on the edge of exploding.

it didn't help that the way he looked, now, in broad daylight, was so brutally stunning that it stole your breath.

he looked almost weary, the shadows of his face defined and sharp, his jaw rough with stubble. maybe he'd tossed and turned all night, as you had? maybe he'd dreamed of you, too?

your languished gaze caught slowly on his bare arms, returned reluctantly back to his face. he appeared to be just barely on the cusp of, well, something, spurred on by your obvious attention, something alight in his eyes that made your stomach flip.

you felt your cheeks grow hot, bit your lip, slightly. when he was looking at you, like this, you could all but hear his firm rasp in your ear, feel his callused hand tug at your hair.

you looked away, down at your hands, afraid that your eyes were giving too much away, afraid that he could somehow tell exactly what you were thinking, exactly what memories his presence was bringing to mind.

everything felt overheated, and not just because of the sun.

time passed at an agonizing pace. hours during which you could sense when he was looking at you, could feel his stare like a bullet to the heart. during which you would occasionally look back, meet his heated, cryptic eyes, silently beg him to do something, to do anything.

but, for hours, he didn't, and you grew angrier, more fiery with every passing second.

of course he would do nothing, you tried to rationalize, this was quinn you were talking about. this was quinn, in front of all of his friends, so of course he would pretend like you were barely there.

the hurt of it all made you feel almost seasick, woozy and disbelieving, mentally grasping wildly for something to grab on to.

the hurt of him made you seasick, the whole of him made you lovesick, but what did it matter, you thought. at what point were you not just dizzy over him?

"i'm going for a walk," you said, abruptly, getting up and mumbling some affirmation when sav reminded you the boat was leaving soon, so you should hurry back.

the sand shifting under your feet, the pleasant chill of the water at your ankles, you wanted it to calm you down, you wanted your escape plan to calm you down, like it had so many times in the past.

that's what you'd said all weekend, wasn't it? that it had been so hard to be around quinn without a clear way out?

you wanted to scream, felt heat prick behind your eyes, because here you were, walking away, and it didn't feel any easier. you didn't feel any relief, any satisfaction.

he was back there, and you were here, and it didn't look like last night had changed anything, for him. it didn't look like you were as life-altering a person as he was, for you.

the thought made slow, hot tears finally, finally break through. you blinked hard as you continued to walk, the pressure in your head painful, scorching droplets hanging onto your throat before falling to the sand below.

you had no idea how long you had been walking, how long you'd been crying, but eventually, you looked up, and realized it was actually getting darker. the sun was much lower in the sky, the wind a bit quicker. clouds had began to creep in, making it grey and ominous.

great, you thought, rain on your impossibly long walk back was exactly what you needed.

you stilled, looked down at your feet, let out a deep, heavy breath, watched the water twist and pool around your ankles. maybe you could just stay like this forever. maybe your body would eventually decompose into the damp sand and smooth pebbles, turn into something beautiful.

"jesus, doll, there you are."

your head whipped back as you turned around, found a slightly out of breath quinn now in front of you. you blinked at him, your lips shut. was this some trick of the storm? what was he doing here? how dare he follow you?

your eyes didn't leave his, as you watched his gaze visibly soften so beautifully when he took in your face.

it must have been bad, you thought, evidence of crying for however long all over you. your cheeks must have been splotchy, your lashes clumped together, your lips puffy, eyes red.

this vision of you seemed to sober him, to make his heightened breathing cool down to something more composed.

he exhaled, braved a step closer to you, now only a foot apart. his gaze dripped down you in a way that had you wanting to just sink into the earth. "doll," he began, almost a warning, "you been crying?"

you didn't say anything, for a second, didn't indulge his obvious question with a response.

"what are you doing here?" you said, eventually, but it came out like a statement, a whisper, as you messily wiped your face with the back of your hand.

he had the gall to blink back at you, as if confused, that sorry softness still drenching his face, his posture. "you'd been gone for a while," he began, "the boat was leaving, and i just-"

"do you just want to fight, again?" you asked, your blood growing hotter with each second he was here, so close to you. you hated how wobbly your voice sounded, how resigned you already seemed to be. you peered up at him, felt your heart crack in two. "do you know your lines, yet, quinn?"

"i don't want to fight," he said, and conflict burned bright across his gaze, indecision.

"should i start or you?" you pressed, ignoring his admission, "how many times do i have to make a fool of myself before i finally stop expecting you to act like i matter?"

his breath was sharp in silence. the wind whipped your hair around your face, sticking to your tear-stained cheeks.

"of course you matter," he said, almost incredulous, like the whole idea of thinking otherwise was ridiculous.

your laugh was bitter, mean. "oh, of course," you bit out. "of course, right? how could i not be able to tell? you say you don't hate me, but you won't even talk to me in front of our friends," you swung you arms about in gesture. "jesus fuck, quinn, you almost kissed me, last night, and today it's right back to whatever bullshit we've been pulling for the last two years." you looked away from him, so overwhelmed with emotion. "it wasn't me who ruined this whole thing."

"you think i ruined it?" something equally terrifying and lovely melted across his eyes.

you scoffed. "it wasn't me who pretended like we'd never met," you snarked. you could almost sense a well of feeling rumbling through him like a cresting wave.

"you left!" he finally rasped, the most emotion you'd seen from him, maybe ever, his voice echoing in your head as the wind continued its assault, as small raindrops began to fall. "you left, doll, okay? i thought that night was special, but i woke up alone," he said, and it was so gravelly, sad, you felt it in your teeth.

you blinked, watched his chest rise and fall in heaving breaths. how could that be true? it dawned on you that you barely remembered much of what you did that morning, having focused so intently, for so long, on him. was it possible this whole thing was a misunderstanding?

"so you pretend not to know me?" you pressed, rain cold on your legs, your face, an icy contrast to the hot tears that had stopped flowing.

he gave a resigned gesture, blew out a breath. "i was embarrassed!" he said, "i am embarrassed, okay, doll? it's fucking embarrassing to be so into someone and then have them leave without saying goodbye, alright?"

your split heart thumped despite its brittle ache. there was a pause as you both registered just what the other had just admitted to.

both of you were soaked, now, rain dripping down your faces, but you didn't feel cold. you felt as if every inch of your skin was on fire, like your heart was trying to claw its way out of your chest.

you didn't know what to say. he had laid all his cards on the table, right in front of you, given you the honesty you'd been begging him for.

"and, you know, you wanted to kiss me, too, last night," quinn said, finally, defensive, hot, a thermometer approaching the highest temperature. as if the fact made it easier on him, somehow, as if it was a thread tying him to the earth, keeping him from floating away. "it wasn't just me."

you groaned through clenched teeth, a guttural sound. "of course i did! of course i want to kiss you!" you almost yelled, laying a tight fist on his solid chest, just barely holding back from slamming it into him.

his eyes were a forest fire, then, as your choice of words registered, a pause heavier than rock between you.

"wanted or want, doll?" he asked, and it was a breath, a whine, a plea as he allowed himself to wrap a heavy arm around your waist, pull you closer to him, until you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face. the closest he'd been, dizzyingly close, like a dream.

you realized your mistake even in your dazed state, how he'd said you'd wanted to kiss him the night before. how you said you want to.

you could have easily laughed him off, said it was a tenses slip-up. you unfurled your fist, instead, laid your palm flat against his chest, perhaps imagined his heart beating in your grip.

he had been so honest with you, after all, had finally told you the truth. the least you could do was return the favor.

"want," you all but whispered, gazing up at him through raindrops and vulnerability.

what was and what could be melted away in a single moment.

he was a blur of relief and desperate motion. "thank fuck," was his murmured groan as he took the side of your face in a rough hand and guided your lips to his in a kiss that felt like a feat of nature one million times more impressive than the storm that blew around you.

it had been years of countless petty fights and cruel misunderstandings, of bitter jealousy and longing gazes, of deifying the last time you'd had quinn, like this. and yet, still, it was so much better than you remembered. he was.

the way he clutched at your hip like he couldn't bear to let you go, not anymore, not this time. the way his hand on your face was so firm, but so gentle. that undeniable faint grapefruit taste, so completely him.

how you melted into his chest, wrapped your arms around his neck, just wanting him closer, closer, just wanting him so close that you'd never be apart again.

you whimpered against his mouth when his teeth pulled lightly at your bottom lip, like some punishment for all you'd put him though. you just rooted your hand in his hair, now soaking wet, tugged at the curls near his neck, in your own kind of retaliation, until he gave a choked moan of his own.

that's for what you did to me, the soft sensation of pain screamed at both of you.

but his chapped lips moved with such intention against yours, like he wanted to swallow down all of the tears you'd cried over him. your body against his felt so right, so warm and comfortable even in the wet and cold weather.

but this is for what you are to me, was the ultimate response, communicated wordlessly through your kiss, through his.

at some point, you both pulled away, only just slightly, your forehead leaning against his as you both caught your breath, so elevated. his stony eyes were so molten, so clear and telling, as he traced his thumb down your jaw, finally wrapped both arms around your back and clasped his hands.

the silence was so beautiful, for a while.

"did the boat really leave?" you asked, dazed, finally, your voice low, husky.

quinn just nodded. "jack said they'll reimburse us for the night if we stay at the inn downtown," he explained, looking around to locate the road, the civilization that existed outside of your perfect bubble. his eyes found you again, something like mirth hidden in there, somewhere. "probably should get out of the rain."

your swollen mouth quirked up in a half-smile as you nodded your agreement, let him hold your hand in his as you made the short walk to the inn jack had been referring to.

you checked in together, ignoring a slightly confused look from the person at the desk, probably at the fault of your rain-drenched appearances. quinn made to grab some overnight necessities at the supermarket next door, kindly letting you take a warm shower while he did so.

when you opened the door to your room, you quickly realized that there was only one bed to share between the two of you. your stomach rolled at the thought, at the pressure that would exist, or not exist, when he returned. at the question of how far you were going to take this. your heart hurt at just how far you'd take it, take him, if he'd let you.

the thought vibrated through you as you let the warm water wash away the day's wear from your skin, eventually wrapping yourself up in a towel.

you hadn't realized how late it was, the quick storm messing with your conception of passing time. it was almost nine by the time quinn got back.

he closed the door behind himself, and the clicking noise that followed felt like something serious as he turned to face you, set the bag of things he had gotten on the dresser.

he cleared his throat as his gaze caught haphazardly on your bare shoulders, the slope of your neck, then finally registering the bed that you were sitting on, the singularity of it. he flushed down to his collar, making butterflies flutter to life in your chest.

he eventually averted his gaze enough to maintain a glimpse of dignity, opening the bathroom door. "got some stuff for you in there, doll," he called, gently, over his shoulder before he shut the door behind him, seemingly to take a shower himself.

you tried not to blush, because you were too old for that, too mature. you exhaled, tried to convince yourself that you would be fine no matter what happened, tonight. you'd kissed, sure, and there seemed to be an air of lightness, of understanding between you, but that didn't necessarily mean you were entirely past all of your issues. that didn't mean quinn wanted to move as fast as you did.

you distracted yourself by going through the bag on the dresser, trying to put together some semblance of your nighttime routine. the clothing options, understandably, must not have been plentiful. you smiled, laughed lightly as you pulled out the tshirt he'd gotten for you to change into, which was one of those touristy ones that read the person who bought me this shirt loves me very much!

and it was obviously because there had been no other options, but a piece of you clung to the sentiment, dug your nails into the flesh of it so hard it began to bleed.

regardless, you got ready to go to sleep, pretended to ignore when you heard the shower head turn off, the bathroom door eventually open, averted your gaze and forced away your blush upon quinn's reappearance.

the air of the room felt almost metallic, tangible, like it was rattling around the space instead of flowing.

you knew it was partially due to the way he looked, now, damp and flushed from the warm water, his chest bare and broad, a towel slung low on his hips. you swallowed, looked up at the ceiling, as if there was something very interesting up there. as if there was anything more captivating to you than him.

he pulled on the cheap clothes he'd gotten for himself, went through the motions of his own little routine, all while you pretended to be on your phone, scrolling through apps but not retaining even a bit of information.

"good if i turn the light out?" he eventually asked, soft, to which you nodded, consenting to the darkness that followed, the rustling of comforters and sheets as he joined you on the bed.

you set your phone down, tried to close your eyes, but you couldn't relax, not with him just so, so close, not with so much that you still wanted to do. not with years of complete lack weighing on you, not with the memory of his lips on yours so beautifully fresh in your mind.

you were turned away from him, a bit of space between you, but you could somehow feel that he was awake, too, that he was just as aware of the energy and expectation that coated the two of you like a watery film.

the texture of the inn's cheap sheets felt grating and terrible against your hot skin, made you restless, rubbing your legs together against the other slowly, fussing with your pillow, tediously careful to not make contact with him.

"doll," was quinn's inevitable comment, more of a warning, a statement, spoken low and rough, rumbling through you.

you didn't turn to face him, but stilled. "sorry," you mumbled, your cheeks warm.

"what's wrong?" you could basically feel the words on your back, the heat from his breath, his body.

you exhaled, still refusing to face him head-on, knew you'd be done for if you did. "nothing's wrong," you whispered.

he hummed, almost like this was amusing to him. "can feel you thinkin' from here," he said, soft. "tell me."

the pause before you spoke was solid, weighted. "just don't want to go back what we were before," you said, and it was the tone of a beggar, so honest in want. "just want this time to be different."

then he reached his arms out, wrapped them around your middle, pulled you back against his soft frame. you swore you must have exhaled a thousand anxieties as you melted into him, shifted your hips back against him.

"i want that, too," he admitted, and you could barely stop your smile as you finally turned to face him, undeniably beautiful even in the darkness.

"really?" you asked, not caring for a second how pathetic it sounded, how glutted with hope, almost childlike.

you felt his nod more than saw it as his grip around you tightened, his hands firmly grasping the flesh of your hips as you reached up, traced your fingers along the edge of his jaw.

"i'm sorry i left," you breathed, and you could feel his chest contract at your apology. "i never wanted to hurt you."

"i'm sorry, too," he said, "'m sorry i acted like you didn't matter to me, doll." his tone dripped with meaning. "'m sorry i lied."

your mouth quirked. "done a lot of lying, haven't we?" you mused. it was honestly impressive, how long you'd both kept up the charade.

he mumbled some affirmation that you felt against your forehead, the heat of it making you rub your calves together, again. "still nervous?" he asked.

you peered up at him. "not nervous," you clarified, "i just-"

you exhaled, lowered your gaze, almost stumbled over your words, because how could you tell him exactly what you thought?

how could you say all i've wanted for years is for you to touch me like you did that night?

somehow, maybe because he was feeling something similar, he seemed to know exactly where your head was, exactly the dilemma that existed in your mind.

"ask me," he said, hard, firm, "ask me, doll. know i like you desperate."

you whimpered, because his words could have been a taunt, had been a taunt before, but not this time.

because you were desperate, only for him. and he wanted you anyways.

"i need you, quinn," you whined, gathering his shirt in a clenched fist, "fuck, i need you so bad."

that was enough, though you supposed the truth had always been enough, for the two of you.

it was enough for his lips to crash against yours for the second time, that night, this time so soft, no longer fueled by anger or revenge but by something lovelier, slow burning, something you felt in your feet.

your lips parted almost immediately in a soft moan, making space for him as his hand braced the back of your neck, holding you tight as he shifted you so that he was on top of you, the weight and solidity of him almost oppressive, if not exactly what you'd been craving for so long.

he kissed you hard, adoring, like he wanted the outline of your mouth imprinted on his forever, as his other hand traced down the side of your body, eventually stilling to push your searching hips into the mattress.

"be good, doll," he murmured against your jaw, leaving messy kisses down your neck that had your throat feeling tight.

"can't," you whined, grasping for the curls at the nape of his neck, lifting your hips again to try to get some kind of friction against his lap. "can't, baby, been waiting so long." you tugged at his hair as his hand rested heavily on your inner thigh. "been wantin' you forever."

he let out a groan, finally moved his broad hand to tug your clothes aside, run his fingers through your folds. "yeah?" you could feel him smile against your neck as your breathing picked up, as he just barely grazed your clit, making you squirm. "been thinkin' 'bout me?" he asked. "'bout the last time i fucked you?"

you whimpered, nodded feverishly, because you had been thinking about it. a day rarely went by that you didn't think about it. it felt like something mythical that it didn't have to be just a memory anymore, that he didn't have to be your haunted house. that he could be here, with you, like this.

he pushed a thick finger into you, urging a strained sound from your throat. "'s okay," he cooed, watching you adjust to the pressure, the sensation.

he began a steady pace, adding another finger, making the slick sound of you seem to echo off the thin walls of the inn, making you wonder briefly if there was someone staying in the room next door. such a concern was quickly overwhelmed, though, as you got used to the stretch of his fingers, began to hunger for something else.

"know 've been dreamin' 'bout you, don't you?" he asked, moving his fingers faster, "fuck, got me all worked up, all those times, doll." his smirk grew arrogant. "so mean of you."

you clutched at his tense forearm. "''m sorry, quinn," you begged, rough and wild, "please, baby, please fuck me."

he slowed his pace, let you paw at his clothes before helping move them out of the way. "ask so pretty for me," he praised, spitting into his hand, pumping himself up and down, so hard and hot against you as he lined himself up, his voice dipping down even lower, somehow, like he was speaking only to himself, as if in a dream. "been dyin' to fuck you."

you whined when he began to push into you, the stretch dizzying, making your vision swim, your chest tighten. you grabbed a fistful of a sheet with one hand, the other arm grasping for him, eventually looping around his neck, your nails digging into the tense muscles of his shoulders.

his exhale was a shudder, one you felt so deeply, so intimately, one that told you that he was feeling a similar way to you - like you were being pulled between memory and reality, what was and what would be.

the pressure felt impossible as he bottomed out, let you adjust to him. "you're, fuck," you bit out, squeezing your eyes shut, "'re bigger than i remember."

someone else probably would have smirked, said something self-satisfying, but he didn't, seemingly too lost in the feeling of you around him, of having you, like this. "open your eyes, doll," he said, strained.

you gave a slight shake of your head in protest, knowing exactly what your refusal would do to him, knowing exactly the roughness it would bring out as he began to fuck into you, slow and deep, so overwhelming and perfect you could have cried.

"don't be a brat," he ordered.

a greedy smile fell across your lips when you felt his warm palm on your throat, his hand squeezing just barely, just enough feel him, everywhere. you opened your eyes, met his dark gaze, felt yourself clench down so tightly around him.

his rhythm grew brutal. "still like that, do you, doll?" he groaned, to which you whined at the insinuation that he remembered every detail of that night the way you did. that he had remembered what you liked and didn't like so vividly, even now.

"more, baby," you pleaded, feeling your head grow fuzzy with pleasure, that pressure inside of you so extreme, heat bursting through your waterline like you were about to cry. "fuck, quinn, need you harder."

"yeah?" he rasped, releasing your neck and bringing his hands down to tease your clit, making your back arch up off of the mattress, your hips jolting. "'f you needed a good fuck, doll, should've just asked."

you whimpered at his words, so cruel, but they pushed you impossibly closer, regardless, as he placed a wide palm on your lower stomach, intensifying the sensation. "i needed it," you babbled, feeling the wet feeling of hot tears on your cheeks but not really registering anything besides him, "needed your cock, baby."

he groaned, looked up for a second as if praying. maybe he was. maybe this was something worth praying for. "can feel you close, doll," he said, his thrusts growing wild, his face flushed with exertion, "give me it, hm?"

"'m gonna cum," you breathed, not recognizing your husk of a voice as you rooted your hand in his hair.

"cum on my cock," he said, a plea, "fuck, doll, been so perfect for me, waited so good."

you came apart at his words, your vision growing dimmer even in darkness, your thighs tensing as you felt your high trigger his own orgasm, warm and wet, his rough groan louder than even the storm-heightening waves outside, somehow more powerful.

his heavy body collapsed atop yours, both of you damp with sweat, your hair sticking to your tear-stained face, his soft curls to the back of his neck. you could feel every exhale against your chest, every twitch of his muscles in your bones.

at some point, he rolled off of you, pulled you against him, so, so tight, like letting you go would be something unforgivable. his arms around you felt like a million apologies, like something solid underneath you, finally, after being seasick and dizzy for so, so long.

he traced a drowsy thumb under your eyes, collecting the remnants of tears you'd barely noticed you'd shed.

"that good, eh?" he rasped, and you could hear his smile.

you rolled your eyes, couldn't stop your own grin as you playfully slapped him on the chest, relished in his low laugh against your hand, into your hair. "hey, can i ask you something?" you said, propping yourself up on your elbow.

"'course," he said, and that alone felt like something too lovely to be true.

"will you be my date to the wedding?" you asked, and your smile grew wider at his obvious conflict of interest. "even though it means you'll lose our bet?"

he groaned, rubbed a hand over his face. "fine," he said, his eyes flashing in the dark, "but only 'cause you look so pretty like this."

you gave a light noise of excitement in celebration, leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "and for my prize i choose," you said, trailing off, thinking, tapping a finger to your mouth in contemplation before pointing it at quinn. "you."

his gentle smile was something surreal as he pulled you even closer to him, your cheek against his chest. "done," he breathed, and when he pressed his lips to the top of your head, it was something right.

when you finally reconvened with your friends the next day at the port, savannah approached you first, pulling you in for a hug.

"i'm so sorry," she said, "i wanted to stay and wait for you, but quinn said he was going to go by himself, and then luke said i shouldn't-"

"it's okay," you said, "it all worked out. we're here now, safe and sound."

savannah's brow quirked. "you seem awfully chipper," she observed, taking a step back as if to get the full picture.

you smiled at her, and you could feel quinn smile too, next to you, your stomach flipping when he looped a hand around your waist and pulled you to him, his grip strong and sure.

sav's eyes went wide, lexi laughed. nico whispered something to jack, luke gave an exaggerated fist pump.

"well," savannah said, "took you long enough, jesus."

"wait," you said, slowly, "you knew?"

she waved you off. "of course i knew, i'm your best friend."

you gestured around to the group. "who else knew?"

lexi raised her hand as if in a classroom. you nodded, invited her to speak up. "like knew that you guys fucked a couple years ago?" she clarified, "or knew that you guys secretly were super obsessed with each other?"

"because the answer to both of those questions is yes," nico piped up from the back.

quinn was silent, his low laugh against your neck as he clasped his arms around your front, pulled you back against him.

you turned your neck to look up at him. "did you tell them?" you asked.

"i told someone who probably told them," he mused.

you fixed your gaze on luke. "you absolute drama queen," you scolded, though you were smiling.

luke put his hands up in the air in surrender. "not my fault," he said, "we would have figured it out, anyways. not like you two were doing a good job of hiding anything."

"he's got a point," quinn whispered just behind your ear.

you sighed. "fine," you conceded. "i forgive you. and i forgive all of you for abandoning me in some random seaside town."

nico huffed. "yeah, really slummin' it, eh?" he asked, "you were at a bed and breakfast for a night with your pretty-much boyfriend. relax."

quinn pinched your hip, which made you smile. "so, where are we dropping nico off?" you asked, "might i suggest a deserted island?"

"finally gets the guy she wants and suddenly she's got jokes," nico muttered.

you felt quinn smile against your neck, and you smiled, too.

the wedding, the next weekend, was exactly the beautiful occasion you knew it would be, with only the most predictable of issues and the most simple of solutions.

you walked down the aisle with quinn, whose touch on your waist lingered right before you split apart to stand on opposite sides of the altar. when you both stilled, you shared a soft smile that felt like home.

lexi walked next, arm and arm with nico. erin was somewhere in the pews, as her and lex had really hit it off, and you were pretty sure about four girls here were under the impression that they were nico's one and only date.

luke walked by himself, a ring-bearer and flower-girl, of sorts, his tie a little too loose, his suit jacket too wide in the shoulders. his friend-date, mackie, you remembered, gave an emphatic cheer when luke tripped over the carpeted aisle, stumbling on his feet.

finally, sav walked down, looking just so beautiful, alight and glowing with the sort of beauty that comes with being a kind person surrounded by those you love.

it was a beautiful ceremony.

the reception was distinct in its energy, heightened by an open bar and big dance floor.

you danced with your best friends, smiled as you watched jack and sav enjoy dances together, laughed as nico tried to juggle his several dates.

"might not have been the best idea, eh?" you asked him, once, when he passed you and luke on the dance floor.

he made a pft sound, waved you off. "i can handle it," he said, his eyes suddenly filling with alarm, "but if you see the redhead, warn me."

you danced goofily with luke for a bit, giggling at his awkward moves, mimicking them in an exaggerated way.

when the songs grew slower, lazily, you felt a hand on the small of your back that you'd know anywhere, that you'd known even in absence.

"mind if i cut in, lukey?" he asked, and you rolled your eyes at his funny wording, but luke complied with a smile, and then it was the two of you, quinn's hands around your waist, yours looped around his neck, your fingers playing softly with his hair.

"you look really pretty, tonight," you said to him, unable to hide your smile, and it was true. his unruly hair, sharp features, full lips, it was distracting. that, combined with his pressed pants and the fact that a few buttons had come undone from his shirt over the course of the night. "everyone's jealous of me, i bet."

you'd tell him a thousand times to see the way his gaze softened, the way a faint pink blush bloomed across the bridge of his nose. "thank you, doll," he said, genuineness evident in his voice, soft. "'re too good to me, yeah?"

you laughed, at this, felt it light up your face. "makin' up for lost time," you teased.

he pulled you so close to him, then, until his embrace was basically a swaying hug, a tired excuse for a dance. "got all the time in the world," he said, low, only for you, against your temple, and it felt like rebuilding a world from devastation. it felt like beginning, like living. it felt like him.

it had been you and quinn, first. it had been you and quinn, the coward and the fool, in the middle, however violently.

and, finally, it was you and quinn, now. now, and forever.

fin.

#hockey #hockey smut #nhl #smut #jack hughes #jack hughes smut #nhl smut #quinn hughes #trevor zegras smut #jack hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes imagine #luke hughes #nico hischier #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk smut #matthew tkachuk #mackie samoskevich

[slavicafire]

hi! thanks so much for all the resources you share here. i'm starting to reconnect with my culture and your blog has been so nice for finding info about slavic folklore! i have a question, and i know it can be personal so it's okay if u don't wanna answer, but what are some practical things you do with slavic spirits&deities? do you journal, meditate, or make spells and charms and use candles more? that type of stuff 😊 cause i am not sure where to really start

there are two important things to know as we get into this. one: what I do vastly depends on who it is I'm dealing with - and what I want. it'll be different depending on the deity or spirit, and it will be different whether the act is one of gratitude, devotion, recognition or demand - and it is something you will probably organically come into in your own practice, too. two: while what I do in my practice is most definitely not a good starting point (for many reasons), the underlying drive of it is something I share happily and openly. and that is the thrill.

this isn't science, one absolute truth, a neat list of prettily categorised ingredients and methods and associations and meanings and recipes that have an inherent and irrefutable worth and are more true or relevant than what any other person does or believes in. the main framework should be seeking, understanding, and experiencing the thrill - do what feels good, do what excites you, do what you feel expands you as a person. for some that's reading books and solving sudoku, and for others it's spiritual endeavours. it is art, and craft, and hope - and thrill. no absolutes and no clean truths.

but! there's still plenty to talk about in terms for practical tips to begin, of course: I would definitely start with recognising exactly what sort of act it is that you want to engage in - ask yourself what you want out of it, how do you want to feel, what do you want to say through it - and plan the activities in line with that, combined with understanding of who it is that you want to offer this act to. purpose is crucial - even if it very basic, like simply the need to express yourself, to ask for help, or just not feel alone. doing things just to do them will quickly drain your inspiration and start feeling silly, so always find the exact purpose why you're doing something, no matter how simple or small that purpose might be.

purpose will help you identify the tools, too: a demand or thanks require an offering, one of material or time or feeling. recognition and gratitude will require connection or meditation or action. if your act is multipurpose, so should be the means through which you go about it - a ritual can have many tools and many layers, and be as complex as you fancy in the given moment.

think of the other end of this act - the spirit, deity, ancestor, any sort of being in whichever way you see it or understand it - and think what sort of tools, actions, and outcomes they would want to see. bluntly - and sweetly blasphemously - put yourself in the place of the god you pray to or the spirit you seek. if you were in their place, what would you want to see? what would you want to hear, or be promised, or be given? what would be meaningful?

when I want to show my devotion to Death Mother, let us say, I go to a graveyard: I read the necrologies at the gate to honour the recently departed buried there, with their names and ages and sons and daughters; I walk the length of the place to have time for contemplation, and I clean a forgotten grave or pick up trash lying around; when I want to thank her, I make an offering - of food or blood or time or emotion. there's rarely incense and sage or crystals charging in the light of the moon - because these are not tools that bring me thrill, nor do I find the act of using them fulfilling. I seek to understand my purpose and challenge myself with finding the thrill and expanding myself in the most satisfying way I can afford at the given moment.

so those acts will have to be varied - and personal, intimate, ever-changing, ever-challenging - and the thrill is in the journey and the experience, much less the outcome or some absolute truth. build your own calendar of celebrations and rituals, your own framework of beliefs, your own offerings and spells and songs. you have all the time in the world - take joy and pleasure in discovering what you find truly thrilling in your practice.

and best of luck.

#beginnings #<- which is also a useful tag of mine to go through if you haven't had the chance to do so yet

[illneverrecover]

static voice pt 2 | kth (M)

➛pairing: Demon Taehyung x Fallen Angel Reader (ft. bff Angel Jin) ➛summary: It's been weeks since his healing, and yet you still have a lingering demon house guest - something your best friend isn't going to let you ignore. However, with more time that passes, you realize... do you even want him to leave? ➛genre: Angel/Demon!AU, fluff, humor, eventual smut ➛word count: 3741 ➛rating: 18+ for this installment, please check each part for rating as there will be smut ➛warnings: cursing, some quick descriptions of violence, some heavy petting. ➛notes: Demon Taehyung demanded a full story line, and here we are. Shout out to static voice anon who started this whole thing by sending a simple ask -- you have no idea how much your encouragement means! And as always, sending love to @allbutmemorywillfade who sent in the original prompt which lead to the creation of these sweet dinguses, and who has been nothing but supportive & kind. You're too good to me 🖤 This is rough edited and unbeta'd bc I have no patience whatsoever. ➛song: Mine - Sleep Token & I Can See You - Taylor Swift ➛tagging: @jimins-ass-eater, @quinnkoo, @thatlongspringnight​

It’s Sunday morning, and there is currently a demon folding laundry on your bed.

Everything about that sentence should be blasphemous, and yet, it’s become normal. Well, normal for you. Certainly not normal for any other Fallen you’ve ever known. 

Taehyung’s brow furrows as he concentrates, sorting the mass of clothes first into piles before making way to fold each piece. His hands are precise, fingers lining up each seam as he works, eyes only leaving his work to dart towards the TV playing something in the background. He liked having something on for noise, he had explained, and who were you to question someone willing to fold your clothes?

Jin would say that your use of that argument is what led to having a demon for a roommate in the first place, which is exactly why you keep these kinds of thoughts to yourself - you didn’t ask for that kind of negativity. 

Not that there was any downside that you could see. Sure, you hadn’t asked Taehyung what his plan was yet, but you also hadn’t needed to. He was the epitome of a perfect house guest, slotting into your life easily and effortlessly. He was considerate, always offering to assist with any healings that he could; from triaging those who showed up at the door, to talking with them softly while you worked, easing their anxieties with a few kind words. And in those difficult sessions where there was nothing for him to do, he offered what he could - his presence, his reassurance.

It made you feel safe, knowing that he was on your side, no matter what you opened your door to. 

“Does this need a hanger, or am I supposed to fold this?” 

Taehyung holds the garment pinched between his fingers, eyes peering up to meet yours. It’s a black silky dress, mostly held together with string and a prayer, and you know for a fact it was something you hadn’t worn recently - let alone put in the wash. 

Heat creeps up your neck, and you fight the embarrassing urge to rip the fabric out of his hands and throw it out the window. The demon blinks at you with wide blue eyes, and you wonder not for the first time if he’s fucking with you. 

The other thing about Taehyung is that he’s impossible to read. His ability to go from the aloof affectionate demon who cuddles with your cat to the flirty winky man who drops innuendos in your kitchen leaves your head spinning. Worst of all - at least, to you - is that nothing has happened since that night at your place four weeks ago. Other than a few lingering glances that leave you questioning, Taehyung has made no more comments about his desires, which you try not to think about. Even if it’s driving you crazy. 

“That needs a hanger - though I have no idea how that ended up with the laundry, I haven’t worn it in ages.”

It was something you had purchased on a spontaneous whim, back when you had first become Fallen. It had made you feel sexy, powerful; and you had nowhere to wear it, so it had lived its life mostly stuffed in the back of your closet. 

“Oh, I put it there,” Taehyung says, nonchalantly, as if he’s discussing the weather. “I was going through your closet to see if there were some things you could donate to that shifter that you healed two nights ago and found it crumpled on the floor. It was too beautiful to leave in that condition.”

Fighting the urge to sigh, you instead fix him with a glare. 

“Oh? So you were aware it needed a hanger,” you grumble, though there’s no heat in your tone. “And what am I supposed to do with it now? It’s not very practical to wear for healing,” scoffing, you nod towards the dress. 

“I disagree,” Taehyung sniffs, placing the garment on the hanger before laying it down on the bed delicately, smoothing it over with a palm. “I think the sight of you in that dress could be healing in more ways than you could imagine.” 

Suddenly, the air in the room was stifling and you forget how words work, instead just blankly staring at the demon on your bed. He looks up at you, the slightest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips, and before you can formulate a response, a loud sound interrupts from the other room. 

“HEY! Lucky, you asshole, I’m trying to walk!” Jin yells, clearly fighting a battle with the cat in the foyer of the apartment. “Where is everyone, anyway?”

“In here!” you call out, moving to grab the dress off the bed and put it in the closet before the angel sees. You’re not sure why you feel the need to hide it from him, but the last thing you need is him doing something to embarrass you - especially after Taehyung managed to fluster you so thoroughly. 

Jin bumps the door open with his hip, his arms full of plastic bags, various groceries sticking out of each. “These are the groceries I owe you after eating all your last ones,” he announces, eyes scanning the scene he’s walked into. “I want it to be known for the record.”

“Hi, Jin!” your demon roommate greets, moving to stand. “Want me to put these away for you? I was just finishing up laundry.”

Jin’s gaze slides over to you, and you do your best to ignore the pointed question he was daggering into your skull, instead answering for him. “That would be great, Tae. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Tae,” Jin echos, sliding the bags easily into the blonde’s arms. “We’ll  meet you out there in a second.” 

You’re about to mouth off about how Jin isn’t your father and he doesn’t get to order anyone around, least of all you- but Taehyung is already acquiescing, leaving the bedroom with the soft click of the door.

“So, he folds your laundry for you now, too? What’s next, he gets your dry cleaning? On Wednesdays, are you going to drink wine and do face masks?”

Tsking, you cross your arms. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jin. We both know I don’t have dry cleaning, and face masks are part of Smut and Skincare Sundays.”

This time, the angel doesn’t hide his annoyance in his glare.

“Come on, you know what I mean. I get why you haven’t kicked him out, but…” he sighs, plopping himself on the edge of your mattress. “What are you doing? What is he doing? What’s the end goal here?”

It’s what you’ve been asking yourself these last few weeks, and yet you’re no closer to coming to answer now than you were before. All you know is that you enjoy having him around, and something about the unreadable lanky demon being nearby gives you a sense of peace you haven’t felt since before becoming a Fallen. A feeling of comfort, of safety - and you’re terrified of losing it. 

“I don’t know, Jin. I just know that I don’t mind having him around,” you avoid his eyes, instead rounding the bed to finish putting away the clothes. “It’s nice having help with the healings, especially with the late night calls. You know I don’t like being alone here.”

You leave the other piece unsaid - that you don’t like being alone, at all. That Taehyung’s warm, infectious laughter and mischievous charm added light back into your once dark, monotonous days. That it felt like he belonged there - but that you have no idea how he feels, at all. 

The silence is heavy, as if Jin could read your mind, but if he does he doesn’t say anything, instead letting loose a breath. “Yeah, I know. I get it. I’m not trying to be a hard ass or anything, but I am trying to look out for you.” 

“I know.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,”

“I know that, too.”

“At least promise me you’ll talk to him about what his plans are? If he intends on staying here indefinitely, or…” Jin pauses then, as if he doesn’t want to even go down the route. “Whatever. But promise me you’ll discuss it?”

He reaches out then, stopping you in your tracks until you meet his eyes. There’s no longer any annoyance there, just genuine concern, but for some reason that doesn’t make you feel any more at ease. 

“Yes, Dad,” you tease, shaking your hand free with a grin. “I promise I’ll talk to him. But it’s certainly not going to be in front of you, so it’ll have to wait for tonight.” 

“Fair enough,” Jin moves to stand, reaching for your door. “Just make it soon, okay?”

He closes the door behind him, and you hear his voice joining Taehyung’s in the kitchen, giving you a moment to collect your thoughts. Why are you so scared to talk to Taehyung? It has nothing to do with his status as a demon, something you barely noticed outside of his beauty; you could tell he was a genuine being, regardless of his beginnings. And he’s easy enough to talk to, has been nothing but a perfect gentleman of a roommate. 

It’s easy to tell yourself that it’s because it’ll be an awkward conversation, one that has the potential to make him feel awkward as well, something that you don’t want in the least. But if you’re honest - truly, deeply honest - it’s because you’re scared that he will leave, and you’re not sure that you want that at all, anymore. 

Actually, you know you don’t want that anymore.

The answer seems simple enough, then - have the discussion, ask him to stay. 

But why does the thought of asking him make you feel like you’re swallowing glass?

“You better come out here if you want to help pick dinner!” Jin yells, and shakes you from your thoughts. 

Joining them in the kitchen, you see they made quick work of putting away the groceries, leaving the counters clear with the exception of a few paper take-out menus. 

“Grocery shopping exhausts me,” Jin explains, nodding towards the array of menus. “It’s my treat, just let me know what sounds good and I’ll go pick it up. I promised Tae I’d stay for a movie.” 

After settling on a local Thai place, Jin calls in the order before heading out, demanding that you both are on movie selection duty in his absence. 

Plopping yourself onto the couch, Taehyung joins you, sitting side by side so close that your thighs are pressed together. Ignoring the building heat his proximity brings, you quickly grab the remote, scrolling through various streaming options trying to settle on something that you’d all like. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Taehyung interrupts, voice low.

“Of course.”

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like if things were different?”

Tearing your eyes from the TV, you focus on his ethereal face illuminated in the flickering light of the screen, on the intensity in his eyes. He looks distant; his gaze still bright, but more serious than usual, more lost. 

“What do you mean, Tae?”

He sighs, a mixture of resignation and something more. “I mean, what if I wasn’t a demon? What if I hadn’t been injured, or it had happened in another district with a different healer? What if you hadn’t Fallen? Would our paths still have crossed?”

His eyes are a bright cerulean blaze, more solemn than you’ve ever seen him before, and it has you frozen in place. It feels like he’s asking you something much bigger, much more vulnerable than he’s letting on, and it makes your throat tighten. 

Meeting his stare, you reach for him, taking one of his hands into your own. “I believe that some connections are meant to happen, regardless of the circumstances,” you reply, hoping he could hear the sincerity in your tone. “We could have made different decisions, but ultimately, our souls found each other and brought us together.” 

It’s then you realize just how close you are, how close his face is to your own, how his body is pressed up against every inch of your side. The intimacy of your words and your bodies has you feeling exposed, and yet you can’t seem to pull away. 

Taehyung’s gaze meets yours, his eyes shimmering with emotion. “You really think that? That some connections are destined?”

“Of course I do,” you nod, and his answering smile is almost blinding. Sliding his hand away from yours, he instead launches into a hug, pulling you to his chest. 

“Thank you for saying that. You really have a way with words, you know,” Taehyung murmurs, nuzzling his face into your neck. “You have no idea how much peace your presence brings me, Angel. It’s something that I thought I’d lost forever.” 

His words have your heart squeezing painfully in your chest, your tongue thick with the things you want to say. You’re even more affirmed in your decision to ask him to stay, pulling out of his embrace to do just that, when a loud knock at the door startles you both. 

“Hello? Is this where the Fallen healer lives?” a male voice calls out, one you don’t recognize. “Please, I just need some healing - are you home? Hello?”

Moving to open the door, you wait until you hear Taehyung follow in step behind you before answering. Leaving the chain lock in place, you open the door enough to peer into the hall. “Yes, how can I help?” 

A demon stands there – the tiny horns barely visible in his dark hair – black like his wrinkled suit. He was dressed like he either just left some sleazy bar or was on the way to one, though based on the stale whisky scent emanating from him, you’d guess both. 

He gives a low whistle, eyeing you up and down in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Damn, they didn’t mention how pretty you are, just that you were the closest healer. If I wasn’t so hungover, I might try to shoot my shot, but at the present, I-” 

“Nevermind, I’m not home,” you deadpan, moving to close the door, when the demon's foot stops it from shutting completely. 

“Please, wait! I’m sorry, you’re right, that was rude of me–” he starts frantically, clearly not wanting you to leave. “Listen, I’m just really, painfully hungover, and I have a big meeting I have to get to with some guys that I do not want to piss off and I was hoping you could help me out a bit. I just need a little healing, and then I’ll be out of your hair.” His hands wring together, and you notice how much his teeth are working his bottom lip, the tinges of his fear evident despite his bravado.

Glaring at him, you sigh heavily before peering over your shoulder to lock eyes with Taehyung. If all he needed was a little hangover cure, it should be simple enough of a healing without taking too much of your energy, and then he could be on his way. Easy enough. When your demon gives you a reassuring nod, you turn back to the stranger. 

“Fine, a quick healing, and then you leave me alone.” 

“Yes, of course! Thank you, seriously,” he continues, pausing as you unlatch the chain and open the door to let him inside. “I really appreciate it.” 

Standing in the entryway, it’s once he closes the door behind himself that the stranger finally notices Taehyung, eyes narrowing. “What’s another demon doing here?”

“He helps me,” you reply, giving the same simple answer you give anytime the question is asked by a creature looking for your services. At the end of the day, it’s none of their business who he is and why he is with you, and the less information given, the better. “We’ll do the healing down the hall.”

Moving to get your supplies, you go to show him to your workspace but he’s still paused, glaring at Taehyung. 

“What, he helps you, you help him, that kinda thing?” he sneers, speaking to you but still only looking at Tae. “Can’t say I blame him, you really are a looker. I bet you’re really fun to play with.”

Temper snapping at his words, you spin on your heel to point to the door. “That’s it, you’re done. Get out.” 

Before the demon can utter a reply, Taehyung is in his face, as if he was waiting for your unspoken signal to spring into action. Holding him in place with a fist in his suit jacket collar, he shakes the demon once, walking him backwards toward the door. “You heard her. Leave now, and do not return.” 

“Come on! Can’t you take a little joke?” the asshole shouts, any pretense of niceties fully falling away. “It’s just a quick healing, you sensitive bitch!” 

You can feel the change in the atmosphere when Taehyung tenses, his form seemingly trembling with restraint as his pupils blow out until his eyes are black. “You’re going to regret that,” he murmurs, a sinister smirk on his lips.

A bright light has you covering your eyes, slowly blinking until you can make out the form of Jin, his wings fully spread and an angelic dagger in tow.  The Thai food was still in bags in his other hand, Jin clearly returning from his trip only to walk into a different kind of battle.

Dropping the bags by the door, he saunters into the room.

“He’s right, you will regret that,” Jin says, voice even, “but you’re going to have to deal with me now, instead.” 

Plucking the demon out of Taehyung’s hold, Jin tugs him into a headlock, placing the blade at the bottom of his throat before turning toward the door. “Taehyung, why don’t you make sure our girl here is all taken care of while I take care of the trash, will you?” 

He waits for Taehyung’s nod, and then Jin looks at you. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you affirm, stepping closer to Taehyung. 

“I’ll come check on you guys later.” He nods, and then he’s out the door, a bright light streaming through the cracks as it closes. 

And then, it’s just the two of you.

Taehyung immediately springs into action, arms sliding around your shoulders as he guides you to the couch, draping a blanket around you once you settle. Despite your assurances that you’re fine, he continues his task, moving next into the kitchen to put the take out in the oven to keep warm before putting the kettle on for tea. Finally, he searches through the newly stocked pantry for a sugary snack, something that will appeal to your sweet tooth. 

“What sounds better, sour gummy bears, or those nerd cluster things?”

“Sour gummy bears, please,”

Soon, the coffee table before you has a cup of hot honey lavender tea and a little bowl of sour gummies, and Taehyung is settling beside you, reaching for the remote to find something to put on TV. You feel cozy snuggled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around you and your overly affectionate demon beside you, and it’s then that you realize just how comforted you really feel.

Effortlessly, without you realizing, Taehyung knew what to do to soothe you, knew the actions that would bring you peace after something stressful had happened. He didn’t need to be asked, or told – just sprang into action to support you, asking for nothing in return. There was only one other person who had done that for you, even before becoming Fallen, and that was Jin. 

The thought has your heart thrumming in your chest.

Pressing play on some vampire show, he then leans back on the couch, pulling you with him until you’re resting cuddled into his chest. “Is this okay?” he asks, eyes questioning. “If it’s too much, I can go get some pillows instead.”

It’s his thoughtfulness that finally breaks you, has tears welling in your eyes as you stare into his depthless gaze.  You can’t hold it back anymore, the question you were going to ask, and you blurt it out before you can doubt yourself. 

“Taehyung, will you live with me?”

 His eyes widen in surprise, and you feel your stomach drop, scrambling to explain. “I don’t know what your plans are, or how long you wanted to stay here… But I’ve come to realize that I really, really like having you around, and I don’t want you to go. So I wanted to ask, would you stay here with me?”

The surprise in his gaze fades, leaving behind wonderment, adoration. 

“You want me to stay?”

Not trusting your voice, this time, you just nod, giving him a watery smile.

Taehyung scoops you up, practically pulling you into his lap and  immediately wrapping you into a big hug, squeezing you so hard your lungs fight for air. “Yes! Yes, I’d love to stay with you.” 

A deep chuckle reverberates in his chest, and you can’t help but join in, his laughter and joy infectious as he crushes you. “No one has ever asked me to stay before.” 

You go to pull away, to move back to your spot on the couch and to continue this conversation, but Taehyung’s arms lock you in place, holding you to him. 

Brow furrowing,  you go to question him, but then his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is electric, sizzling down your spine and through your veins until you’re dizzy, until you’re consumed in nothing but the feeling of him and his mouth moving against yours. You’re drunk with it, on the precipice, and when his tongue licks at the seam of your lips, you let him tumble into your mouth, salvation be damned. 

“Well, what do we have going on here?”

Jin's voice startles you both, interrupting the kiss. Breathing heavy, you go to slide off Taehyung’s lap, but he is having none of it; instead tucking you in closer and giving the angel a proud grin. Rolling your eyes, you stay put, working to get your heart back to a normal rate. 

“I would say I’m surprised about the whole kissing thing, but I’m not,” he continues, moving fully into the living room to face you both. “However, could you tell me why in the hell you were both glowing?”

#taehyung x reader #taehyung fanfic #demon taehyung #demon au #taehyung scenario #bts fanfic #kth fics #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #my writing #fic: static voice pt 2 #fic: sv #overly affectionate demon

[italeean]

A stick(L)y situation

Kaveh invites Cyno and Tighnari to his place after the delicious lunch at Pardis Dhyai... better yet, he invites them to Alhaitham's place

A/N: Hellooo!! How're you doing? 🥰 Just as I promised, the fic is coming out today and I hope it's as awesome as the characters I got to write for!! This is a request for one of those followers that was here from day 1 and has always supported my writing and has encouraged me during the times in which I lacked inspiration 🌸 Non ci sono parole per dirti quanto apprezzo il tuo sostegno 💚🤍❤️ (there are no words to tell you how much I appreciate your support)

DISCLAIMER: This is a tickle fic, if it's not to your taste I don't suggest you read it

"I still don't understand what this is all about..." Alhaitham mumbled as he prepared his Sabz Meat Stew with such a grumpy expression that the bad mood could be felt in the whole kitchen. "I told you already!" Kaveh's voice resonated louder than necessary "Cyno and Tighnari invited us to celebrate Collei's academic progress, it's nice to invite them back."

"Oh so invited them to MY place without telling me about it until two hours before their arrjval?" The Acting Grand Sage said with such a sharp sarcasm that could've cut through titanium. "Well... I knew you'd say no... and I live here too, so it's kinda our place now! Even if no one knows I actually live here... b-but I'm older anyway so you gotta listen to your senior..!"

The younger man let out a dry laugh at Kaveh's nervous tone. If that was meant to be authoritative, he couldn't imagine how he handled nasty clients. "I suppose it's too late to cancel the invitation anyway, so you better finish that Fatteh quickly and set up the table. What are you even doing? It's food, not a model of your buildings."

"Ugh you..! Cooking is a form of art, and the presentation is essential when you serve something to a guest!" The blonde exclaimed with such indignation that one would've thought Alhaitham had just said something blasphemous. "Whatever... food is supposed to be digested and decomposed, I don't see why the effort should be worth it..."

A knock interrupted the philosophical debate about how the food should be served. Kaveh quickly fixed his hair and went to the door. "Welcome guys! Alhaitham was so nice to offer his own place to have this dinner!" He exclaimed with such a rigid tone that Alhaitham internally facepalmed.

A great way to not let them understand that the two of them were roomies...

Fortunately, the Archons were on the architect's side and he managed to quickly change topic. "Oh? Where's Collei?" Tighnari sighed "A friend of her had invited her to Mondstadt to celebrate her progress some time ago and she forgot to tell us... but she made some Pita Pockets for us to make us forgive her." The fennec fox handed a cute package full of Pita Pockets made like only Collei was able to do.

"Oh well... that's a shame, but I'm glad she got the opportunity to travel again and that she made such a nice and caring friend!" Kaveh said cheerfully. "Oh yeah, that Sucrose girl seems really nice, although she's a little shy... actually really shy..." the dark-haired guy added.

"That probably makes her the perfect match for Collei though..." Cyno thought out loud, "although her deck is no match for Collei's one... for example, have you seen how she deploys..." After ten minutes of rambling, Tighnari managed to stop the long haired guy's monolog about the smartest way to play TCG.

"Anyway," Kaveh continued "celebrating Collei's progress without Collei doesn't make much sense... so we should totally make another dinner! I'm sure Alhaitham would be delighted to have us here again to bring life to this place!"

Alhaitham sighed, already annoyed by all that noise and all that chattering. He breathed deeply and tried to put on his usual poker face. It was just a dinner after all... a couple of hours and they'd be gone...

Four hours had passed, it was 11 pm, and a very grumpy Alhaitham was sitting on his couch witnessing the match between Kaveh and Cyno to decide the TCG champion.

Kaveh was destroyed in three quick rounds, which made the Scribe let out the first chuckle of that evening. The older student, on the other hand, pouted at that humiliation. In his defense, Cyno had brought a special liquor from the Desert and he had gone a little overboard with drinking, so he wasn't exactly in top shape when he dueled against the King of Invokations.

"Shut up Alhaitham! This isn't funny..! I just had bad cards and bad luck with the dices..!" The blonde tried to justify himself, although that didn't affect the smug smile that was adorning Cyno's face. "Please, even a Sumpter Beast would've played a better match..." the silver-haired man replied without hesitation. Even Tighnari had to chuckle at that comparison, the idea of a blond and fancy Sumpter Beast sounded hilarious.

Kaveh became red in the face and squinted his eyes at his (secret) roommate. He was just a little tipsy, so he was sober enough to have control over his thoughts, actions and movements. "You wanna laugh, you brat? I'll give you something to laugh about!!" His hands found the Scribe's hips and they squeezed roughly and mercilessly.

Tighnari and Cyno looked at the scene with a dumbfounded expression while Alhaitham kicked the air with his legs, doing his best to hold back his laughter.

"You didn't even smile throughout the whole dinner and the first laugh you have is at your senior?? This will teach you some manners!" The blonde gestured his friends to join him, and surprisingly they looked at each other and actually did.

"Yeah, you absolutely need to laugh more. It's good for your health, you know?" The fennec fox grinned as his hands latched on the Acting Grand Sage's knees and squeezed gently but firmly.

"Well..." Cyno's voice behind him made Alhaitham jump, "it seems like you're in a rather... stickly situation..." Everyone sighed... better yet, Alhaitham would have if he hadn't been busy holding back his laughter. "Do you get it? People usually say 'you're in a sticky situation' so I put the word 'sticky' and 'tickly' together"

After the lack of reaction, Cyno gave up on explaining his joke and let his wiggling fingers descend on his friend's neck. A snort came out of the Acting Grand Sage's mouth, although he didn't really have the composure of an Acting Grand Sage in that moment, and the dam finally broke.

Low pitched giggles came out in a stream as the poor Scribe squirmed and tried in vain to get away from the six evil hands that were gently and playfully tormenting him. "Thihihis ihihis childihihihish!!" He whined between his giggles, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"That's what you get for laughing at your senior!" Kaveh yelled proudly while he poked all over his poor roommate's torso. Tighnari chuckled "I wonder what happens if I get behind here..." His nimble fingers sneaked behind his knees and scribbled relentlessly, making the silver-haired man go into another fit of cackles.

"Thihihis ihis thehe lahahahast timehe Ihihi invihihite yohohou herehehe!!" Everyone let out a fake gasp "You don't mean it..!" The architect exclaimed, now fully in his drama queen mode, "I didn't wanna do this, but you left me no choice. Behold my final ace up my sleeve guys!!"

After that probably ridiculous battle scream, probably dictated by the liquor, Kaveh sneaked his hands behind his roommate's back, targeting the back of his ribs. The shriek that left Alhaitham's lips didn't even sound like it could come from him, but Tighnari and Cyno quickly recovered from the surprise and followed the blonde's lead.

With six hands all targeting his most sensitive spot, it took less than a minute to make Alhaitham's body go limp. His laughter got completely silent and even a tear formed in the corner of his eye. The three friends took it as their signal to stop, which they did.

After the young Scribe recovered from the merciless tickle attack and the embarrassment, Kaveh looked at him smugly once more and said in a proud tone "Now that you got something better to laugh about than your senior, wanna play another round of TCG?"

Cyno immediately agreed, and he quickly convinced Tighnari with a pair of wide puppy dog eyes, and Alhaitham ended up joining too.

Although he'd never say it out loud, he was sure he'd invite the guys and Collei one more time for a nice dinner and a night of genuine, lighthearted fun.

#genshin impact tickle #lee!alhaitham #ticklish!alhaitham #ler!kaveh #ler!tighnari #ler!cyno #tickle fic #tickle

[earhartsplane]

I am not trying to ruffle any feathers, but I have to say this before Season 2 comes out, so I can act smug when I’m right. Here is my number one prediction for Good Omens Season 2:

There won’t be a voice-over.

Now hang on. I know it’s a controversial opinion. Let me explain.

I have noticed that virtually every adaptation of Terry Pratchett’s books has some sort of voice over, either diagetic (like Going Postal, where it’s part of the framing device) or non-diagetic (Hogfather). And I get it ! If you’ve read any of the Discworld book and have this weird brain quirk where a part of you is always thinking about how this would translate on screen, you’ve probably noticed two things:

1. There’s visual humour in text form. How ? This man was a genius and a will be missed forever.

2. There’s so much that just can’t be translated on a purely visual level. The footnotes! Should we just leave the footnotes out ? They’re so great! They add so much to the world in general. There are running jokes that only appear in the footnotes ! Should we just accept that it won’t make it to screen ?

Yes. I’m sorry, but yes. Some things will be lost. Maybe you can integrate one of these jokes as recurring background events ? A lot of people are not going to notice though. There’s an expectation that the reader will read all of the words, while the viewer may not see all that’s happening on screen (although, to be fair, you will be noticing new puns on every re-read for years in the case of the Discworld).

(In comparison, adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s work are less prone to voice over. If I remember correctly, Coraline didn’t have one. Sandman starts with a bit of voice-over from the main character, but nothing more after that. I don’t remember any in American Gods. MirrorMask has left me nothing but the memory of a fever dream, so I can’t be sure. )

This is not to say that the voice-over in season one was pointless. It establishes the tone, to start with. If you remember, the opening narration is about the age of the Earth, in which we learn that it was created on the 21st of October, 4004 B.C., and therefore learn its star sign. It’s a good way to show that yes, there are angels in this, and demons, and the garden of Eden, and if you want to think too hard about this, they’ve got you covered. But if you think that these depictions are either blasphemous or religious propaganda, it might be a good time to learn to take a step back (and a joke, in my personal opinion).

But there are definitely instances of narration that would never have happened if season 1 wasn’t a book adaptation. I am thoroughly convinced that Dog’s experimentation with chasing and being chased by cats would have been screen only. Maybe a scene. Maybe something happening in he background. Who knows.

And here’s the thing. Season 2 isn’t the adaptation of a novel. I remember a tweet by Neil Gaiman about how he and Pratchett had a sequel plotted out, but even that isn’t season 2. According to the same, tweet, Season 2 is how we get there.

My number 2 prediction is that there will be a an intense heist scene during which Sadie and Dottie both try to steal some incriminating letters unbeknownst to each other.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #special spoilers

[possibilistfanfiction]

WN prompt: glass

even your faith has been shaken; your prayers harnessed into something painful and powerful, something that had been used to harm people you've grown to love.

but, still — there are more things in this universe and the next than you'll ever be able to understand. you believe in good, still, after everything; faith.

you set aside time in your day to pray — gratitude and consecration, as best you can. the cathedral still fills you with reverence, grand and sweeping and beautiful. usually, you're alone, when you come in the middle of the day, but today you open the door silently and pause.

ava and beatrice are sitting together, silently, in a pew in the middle of the space. beatrice has her head on ava's shoulder, her hair loose and light, and she must say something because ava's shoulders shake with quiet laughter; she kisses beatrice's forehead.

they've been back at cat's cradle for a few days — mother superion, it's good to see you, beatrice had said, still so formal, when she'd gotten back, ava's hand on the small of her back like a lifeline, like a tether, and you'd waited a moment before taking her into your arms and hugging her tight — the best of all of you.

the afternoon sun lilts through the stained glass, now, beatrice's arm around ava's back, resting on the back of the pew. she sits up, a little, so she can look at ava, and runs her thumb along the space between ava's shoulder blades, a little absentmindedly, like she does it all the time. they're both in sweaters as the weather gets cooler.

you clear your throat to let them know you're there, although there's a part of you that doesn't want to interrupt: ava had come back for beatrice, that much you're sure of.

but they both turn and smile, blues and yellows washing over their skin like the night sky, beautiful. you wish things were different; you wish they could've just stayed in california and been young and in love, where you could visit and reprimand beatrice for having one too many glasses of wine and act surprised when they tell you they're engaged one day; you wish that you weren't sending them both off on what feels, a little, like some kind of holy suicide mission — again.

but ava smiles, and beatrice inclines her head in your direction, a quiet sense of duty on her shoulders, visible.

'we're not doing anything blasphemous,' ava says.

you share a look with beatrice, who is blushing but rolls her eyes. you sigh a long suffering sigh because you must, but, really, you wouldn't have cared so much if they were.

'i am here to pray.'

'we can leave you to it,' beatrice says, tugging a little on ava's hand as she stands up. 'we were just, well —'

'— hiding,' ava says, laughs brightly. 'we were hiding from the new recruits.'

'they're — they are a little intense,' beatrice says, 'wanting to talk to ava.'

'they're incompetent,' you say, which is kind of true but you can also understand wanting to know about a girl-god who came back from hell, or heaven, or something different entirely, to her love, to fight a holy war for it.

beatrice stifles a laugh and ava grins.

'it's fine,' ava says. 'bea's just jealous she's not also a celebrity.'

'oh, absolutely not,' beatrice says. 'my nightmare.'

'sure, sure.'

'okay,' you say, 'i am going to pray now. you're welcome to stay or leave, whichever you want.'

'we'll see you at dinner,' beatrice says.

'you can take it in my office, if you'd like.'

ava fist bumps and beatrice laughs. 'oh, thank god.'

#wn #warrior nun fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #honestly mother superion being deeply fond of ava (reluctant) & deeply fond of bea (enthusiastic) is... such a good arc lol