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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

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Breakable Heaven (pt. I) - p.l. dubois

As promised, here’s the first part of Breakable Heaven! I’m really excited for this one, there’s so many things I can’t wait for you all to read. This chapter is more setup and background, but I promise it’s all worth it! I’d love it if you reblogged (helps me know people like my work!) or pop into my inbox and let me know what you think! I read all the tags :)

part I part ii part iii part iv

June 4 (thurs)

Laurel clipped her pager back onto her scrubs, leaning over the counter of the nurses’ station. “You ready to go grab lunch?” She had just finished changing the bandages and administering pain medication for a little boy who was recovering from a heart surgery, and was looking forward to getting off her feet for a few minutes. The PICU floor was quiet, only about half of the rooms being filled, and there were no pressing matters that required her attention. If something drastic changed in the next half an hour, she always had her pager.

Madeline looked up from her chair, where she was finishing up filling in a patient’s chart. “Sounds good,” she said, letting their charge nurse know that they were headed down. Madeline Peltier had been one of the first people to introduce themselves to Laurel when she started; having only been on the unit for two weeks herself, she was still getting a handle on the reins and was more than willing to show Laurel around.

Madeline was also one of the few on the floor who was just as comfortable in English as she was in French. French had been Laurel’s foreign language through college, but she was made rudely aware upon her move to Montréal that the pronunciation and slang of Canadian French was very different from the Standard French of Madame Anderson’s rural Minnesota classroom. Her grasp of the language was good enough to take the Québec nursing licensure exam — which wasn’t even offered in English — but the spoken dialect was proving much more difficult to pick up. They walked down to the cafeteria, on the second floor, grabbing some sandwiches before swiping their ID badges for the employee discount.

“I still think they should give us free food,” Madeline said moodily, unscrewing her water bottle and taking a sip.

Laurel laughed. “When hell freezes over, maybe. Doctor’s lounge usually has some pretty nice stuff set out, or at least that’s what they say. Pity our cards don’t let us in, I’m not above identity theft.” Madeline snorted into her sandwich.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Madeline asked a few minutes later, starting to peel an orange.

“Uh, not much?” Laurel said. “Getting my papers together to resign my lease in a few weeks, grocery shopping, but nothing big. It’s been a long few shifts this week and I’m mostly just looking forward to taking it easy. Why?”

“If you’re up to it,” Madeline shrugged, “Patrice and I are going out for dinner Saturday night and we’d love for you to join us.” Patrice was Madeline’s long-time boyfriend, they started dating in university and had been together ever since.

Laurel rolled her eyes. “Madeline, thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to keep being your third wheel.”

Madeline let out a conspiratorial grin. Oh no, Laurel thought. This can’t be good. “As it would so happen,” she said, “you wouldn’t be third wheeling. One of Patrice’s friends is back in the city for a few months, and I think you two might hit it off,” she sing-songed. Madeline had been trying to set her up from practically the moment they met; whether it was someone from her gym, one of the critical care fellows, or apparently, her boyfriend’s childhood friend. They were always nice guys, but nothing had ever stuck for more than a date or two.

---

Twelve hour shifts meant that, at least on work days, there was no way Laurel was going to have the emotional or physical capacity to make herself a real dinner. She’d order in occasionally, but it more common to just pull together something quick like a frozen pizza or grab whatever leftovers she could find in the fridge. Yesterday’s chicken and rice it was, then. Sticking it in the microwave, Laurel opened the door to her balcony, letting Piper out to use the bathroom. Piper was an eight-month-old chocolate lab, the love of her life who she had adopted just after the new year. Laurel had always grown up with dogs; back in Minnesota she had Jackson and Lucy, and she had been missing them more than a little bit since moving to Canada. Piper was incredible. Intelligent, loyal, and so friendly that even her neighbor’s notoriously picky five-year-old son had taken a shine to her. She wolfed down her food, grabbed Piper’s leash and her water bottle, and headed out the door.

June 5 (fri)

The intricacies of language were hard. And, somehow, learning the intricacies of a language you already knew was even harder. Laurel was trying her damndest to pick up Québecois French as fast as humanly possible, but while she could conjugate l’imparfait in her sleep, the accent and vocabulary were what was really throwing her off. But she intended on making a life in Montréal, and staying as long as she could, so there really wasn’t any option but to hit the books. Immersion worked for some people, and thank God she knew the medical terminology to communicate with her patients and their families, but it wasn’t quite the same when she was struggling through telling the mechanic her car needed an oil change. In a perfect world she’d have someone to help her one-on-one, but she didn’t want to ask Madeline for that big of a favor. And while she made decent money at the hospital — she could afford her own apartment and had a little left over every month to put into savings — it was nowhere near enough to pay for a tutor. So Duolingo, and podcasts, and Youtube lessons it was.

Letting out a groan, Laurel leaned her head into her hands, shutting her laptop. She wasn’t going to make any progress being this frustrated. She bent down to scratch Piper, whose favorite spot for naps was a blanket right beside Laurel’s desk, between the ears, pulling her leash and collar off of their book by her bedroom door. Piper’s ears perked up, and soon enough she was running around the apartment wagging her tail as fast as it could go, a slightly exasperated but nevertheless laughing Laurel following. She finally managed to clip on her leash; at fifty pounds, Piper still had a little bit of growing left to do, but she had already proven she was more than capable of bending the will of a full-grown and otherwise capable 23-year-old woman.

She had discovered Parc Saint-François-d’Assise a few weeks after adopting Piper, and had thanked her lucky stars for finding a dog park so close to her apartment. Having a schedule like hers meant that she couldn’t always get her to a weekly training or obedience class — plus, the French that she did know certainly didn’t include ‘heel’ — so the time spent socializing was well-appreciated. It was only a fifteen minute walk, and Piper was good enough on a leash that she only stopped once to bark at a squirrel in one of the many birch trees that lined the street. The park was an acre or two, small enough that she could see all the way across and keep an eye on Piper as she let her off-leash, but big enough that there was more than enough room for all the animals. It wasn’t particularly crowded that Friday; Laurel was confused for a moment before she remembered that most people were busy at 11 AM on a weekday. There were a few families, with kids out for the summer from school, and a man playing in the far corner with his two small dogs, but not much else.

Laurel leaned down, unclipping the leash from Piper’s collar, and gave the chocolate lab a scratch on the head. “Have fun, girl!” Piper never needed much encouragement, and took off running almost before Laurel had even wrapped up her leash. Rolling her eyes and laughing, she picked up her phone. A text from Allison, one of her only friends in the city aside from Madeline, inviting her out for her birthday next week. Madeline, giving her the address for the restaurant the next night. The Duolingo owl, threatening her with bodily harm if she didn’t log her language progress for the day. She was so engrossed in checking her email that she didn’t hear the shout for her to look out, or the two bulldogs barreling towards her at full speed, until they had knocked her off her feet and she landed straight on her ass.

“Desolé. Vas-tu bien?” The man asked, holding out a hand and helping her up. Laurel nodded, brushing the dirt off her jeans.

“Ouais, ouais. Pas de problème, pas de mal. Ils sont chiens, non?”

He chuckled, patting the smaller of the two bulldogs, which had decided to take a break from accosting passers-by to get petted. “C’est vrai.” They talked for another minute or two before saying goodbye, but she could have sworn it was an hour.

Walking Piper home half an hour later, Laurel was struck with two realizations. The mystery man — bulldog dad, as she had started calling him in her internal monologue — had very possibly the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen in her life, and she’d be cursing herself for the next week for not getting his number.

June 6 (sat)

Saturday meant Laurel had a day off, but more importantly, Saturday meant she didn’t have to set her alarm for 5:30 and could actually wake up at a semi-normal hour. Her internal clock didn’t wake her up until half past seven; even then, it was Piper’s soft barks that finally got her up, throwing on a pait of shorts, and leading her out to the courtyard down the hallway to use the bathroom before coming back to her apartment and throwing open the fridge doors. No 7 AM shift meant that she mercifully had enough time to make a proper breakfast. On shift days, there never seemed to be enough time to actually sit down and eat, and Laurel usually ended up just having a quick bowl of cereal or some overnight oats and making a protein shake to drink on the drive over. Eggs, bread, yogurt, a peach she had picked up from the farmer’s market.

After the bread was done toasting and her tea was finished steeping, she gingerly carried the food out to the balcony, placing it on the table as Piper trotted out behind her. Laurel crunched her toast with one hand as she flipped the pages of a book with the other, a Shirley Chisholm biography that Victoria, her best friend from high school, had recommended her. It was almost an hour later when she finally found a good place to stop. As much as she may have liked to just camp out on her balcony all day and blow through the rest of the book, her pantry was crying out for a grocery run and she was running desperately low on ice cream.

---

The dinner reservation was at 7, and by 6:30 Laurel was almost ready to leave. Her blue skirt fanned out on the couch as she sat killing time on her phone, tapping the floor nervously with the same pair of block heels that she’d worn to her university graduation. The restaurant wasn’t far from her apartment building, so a few minutes later, she decided to go, leaving Piper with a pat on the head and plenty of food in her bowl. Laurel laughed to herself on the way over, her eyes flickering over the skyline as she walked alongside the St. Lawrence River.

It’s like what she had told Madeline over and over again, every time she tried to set her up on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She wasn’t actively looking for a relationship but wouldn’t be opposed to it. Whatever happens, happens. Biting her lip, Laurel decided that even if she didn’t hit it off with whatever guy Madeline was trying to set her up, even if things go horribly wrong and he’s the exact opposite of what she’s looking for in a partner, she’ll get a free meal and, hopefully, a new friend.

Laurel hadn’t been told much about her blind date, or anything, really. She didn’t even know his name. From what she had been able to figure out, he was from the area but didn’t work in Canada most of the year — so maybe he was in business? All Madeline told her was that he was tall, attractive, and had a dog. Or was it two? She honestly couldn’t remember. She trusted her and Patrice’s judgement, so if he had gotten their stamp of approval, it was good enough for her. She grabbed her phone out of her bag as she neared the restaurant, letting Madeline know she was almost there and asking where to meet her. She told the hostess she was meeting some friends, and Madeline walked around the corner less than a minute later. “Hi, love!” she said, reaching out and wrapping Laurel in a warm hug. “We’re over this way.” Laurel followed her around the corner and past the bar to a four-seater against the wall. She slid into the seat closest to the wall, leaving a space empty.

“He should be back in a minute, just ran to the bathroom,” Patrice said, nodding towards the vacant seat and referring to her mystery man. A minute passed, Laurel scanning the wine list, before Madeline threw her hand up in greeting.

“Salut, PL!” When Laurel looked up, she almost dropped her menu.

“Oh my God!” The stranger — PL’s — eyes widened in recognition. “You’re the bulldog dad!”

He chuckled, rounding the table to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. Left, then right. It had taken Laurel a while to get used to; even going to university in Toronto, cheek kissing was practically obsolete, but that changed very quickly upon her move to Montréal. “I am. Pierre-Luc Dubois, good to meet you properly this time.”

Madeline looked between the two, clearly confused. “You know each other?”

Laurel shook her head. “Not really, no. His dogs ran into me at the park yesterday when I was there with Piper, we talked for a minute or two.”

Pierre nodded in affirmation. “So, Piper. The chocolate lab’s yours then?”

“My pride and joy.”

June 13 (sun)

Over the next week and a half, it became more and more common for Laurel to meet up with the group on the weekend, or one of her off days, or really whenever she had spare time. She had learned that Pierre-Luc was a hockey player, Patrice explaining that they had played atom league together growing up and the friendship had somehow stuck. Come to think of it, he had looked a little familiar. The University of Minnesota Duluth was less than an hour drive from her hometown, and besides being the college that the majority of the 50% of college-bound graduates of her high school went to, it also had one of the best hockey programs in the country. So she knew the sport, followed enough to be informed, and had even become a de facto Maple Leafs fan from her time in Toronto.

Sometimes Madeline and Laurel would bring another friend from the hospital along, sometimes it was just the four of them. Once, a Sunday afternoon coffee meetup turned into just Laurel and Pierre-Luc; Patrice had come down with a bad cold and Madeline was staying behind to look after him. If she was being honest, it was far less awkward than she had anticipated. Pierre had insisted on buying her iced capp, and they had settled in a corner booth, sharing a box of Timbits.

“Patrice mentioned you’re from the U.S., somewhere in the Midwest?” Pierre asked, sipping his coffee.

She nodded. “Cloquet, Minnesota,” Laurel sighed, “where there is exactly one hotel, one high school, and life revolves around the mines.”

Pierre sucked in. “That sounds...interesting,” he said diplomatically.

Laurel laughed. “It’s okay, you don’t have to mince words. The people are nice, if you think like they do, and the scenery is gorgeous, but…” She gathered her thoughts. “It’s not the place you can really dream big, you know?” He nodded. “Neither of my parents went to college, my mom’s a receptionist at the elementary school and my dad works in the mines. I knew by the time I was in high school that I wanted something more. There was just nothing for me there, and I didn’t ever want to feel as trapped and beaten down as some people I know.”

Pierre leaned back in his chair. “Do you go back often?”

“Once a year, maybe twice?” Laurel said, shaking her head. “I’ve only got a few good friends back there, and trust me, they’re much more excited to come to big-city Canada than I would be to go back to a town of 12,000 people.”

“Fair enough.”

Conversation between them flowed easily, so easily that before she knew it, two hours had gone by and he had to leave for a skate. As she walked back to the metro, Laurel couldn’t help but shake the feeling that the two hours she had spent with Pierre had felt more like a date than any she’d been on since moving to Montréal a year ago. But it couldn’t have been a date, because it wasn’t supposed to be. Right?

June 15 (tues)

It was half past seven on Tuesday, and Laurel was just getting home from work. She loved her job, genuinely, but twelve hour shifts were no joke. Spinning her key ring around her finger, she stopped in the mailroom, unlocking her box and fishing out the stack of envelopes that had accumulated in the two days since she’d last checked. Walking over to the elevators, she held the bundle in one hand as the other punched in her button to the third floor. Laurel flipped through the envelopes as the doors opened. Water bill, bank statement, letter from Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada. Hang on. Laurel stopped at the last envelope, running her finger under the flap as she turned her key in the lock, opening the door with her hip and letting it slam shut behind her.

She had applied a little over a month ago for her permanent residency card, which she had been assured by everyone she asked would be a relatively easy and painless process. “You’re a nurse, and a good one. I could use ten of you,” her charge nurse had stated. “You went to school here, you have a Canadian degree and a Canadian license. There’s no reason they would cause you any trouble,” Madeline had said. And she had done her due diligence, double-checked every piece of information, checked off every document on the list. Done everything she was supposed to do. So when she unfolded the paper, the words shocked her.

Denied. Laurel brought her hand shakily up to her mouth as her eyes raced down the letter. No explanation was given, all she was told was that her application had been rejected and she had until September 17, when her work visa expired, to leave the country. The first thing Laurel did was frantically grab her laptop, seeing if there was some way she could apply for a visa extension, but the deadline had passed; she’d have to go back to the consulate in Minneapolis and try to re-apply from there, but her chances weren’t good if she’d already been rejected. The second thing she did was collapse on the floor, Piper nosing herself under her arm, and cry.

June 16 (wed)

When the group met up for lunch the next day, Madeline noticed something was off about Laurel almost immediately. Normally someone who was hyper-focused on the task at hand, she was stirring her straw around in her glass, nibbling at a piece of bread and answering questions shortly if at all. “What’s up?” she asked carefully, catching Laurel’s eye as she tried to busy herself with straightening her napkin. There wasn’t really a way she could get out of answering that one.

“I, uh, I got a letter yesterday,” she said. Pierre and Patrice stopped their conversation. All eyes were on her. “From immigration services. They told me,” her eyes pricked with tears, “they told me my PR application was denied, and I only have until the middle of September before I have to leave.”

“Like, leave the country?” Pierre asked. She nodded. “But can’t you renew your visa or something?”

“No, I looked into everything.” Laurel said in frustration, shaking her head. “There’s not enough time for it to be processed, I’d have to go back and reapply in the States, and even then the chances aren’t great.”

Madeline leaned over, wrapping Laurel up in a hug. “Oh, Laur. I’m so sorry,” she said. “You don’t deserve this.”

“It’s just hard,” Laurel started, “knowing that there’s nothing there for me back home. That’s the whole reason why I came to Canada in the first place, to get away. To get out. I’d have to retake all my licensure exams and find a new job and I don’t want to have to start all over when that’s not at all what I planned for. I thought I’d stay. I thought this was going to be my home”

“I can call my friend who’s a lawyer, see if he’s got any ideas?” Patrice offered.

Laurel smiled weakly “Thanks, Patrice, but I really don’t think they’d be able to do much. I was on the website for hours, and there’s like two ways I wouldn’t be kicked out of the country. And I don’t think I’m going to be able to give birth by September 17,” she said, letting out a watery laugh.

“You’d have to marry someone or something to stay,” Madeline said.

“Yeah, that’s the only other way it was going to happen,” Laurel agreed. “But seeing as how I’m obscenely single, I don’t see that happening…” She trailed off.

“I’d marry you,” Pierre said suddenly, shrugging.

Laurel’s head whipped to her side. “You’d what?”

“I’d marry you. We’re both single, by all accounts you’re an amazing nurse and deserve to stay. We get married, stay ‘together’ for a few years until you get your citizenship, and then tragically inform the citizenship and immigration people that while we tried, it just didn’t work out, and get a divorce. Easy peasy.”

Laurel almost burst out laughing, the idea was so ridiculous. She almost couldn’t wrap her head around what he was offering to do. He couldn’t be serious. Right?

---

Laurel slung her arm over her head, body tangled up in bedsheets. According to her phone, it was well past one. She couldn’t sleep. She had tried rain sounds, counting sheep, drinking a cup of chamomile tea, but nothing was working; she just wasn’t able to still her mind. Honestly, she couldn’t stop thinking about lunch earlier. More specifically, what Pierre had said.

As much of a bad person as it may have made her sound, the more she thought about Pierre’s offer, the more it made sense. He was incredibly attractive, so it wouldn’t be hard to fake a marriage to him for a few years. She really didn’t keep in contact with anyone from back home in Cloquet aside from her family and a few friends from high school, so it’s not like there would really be anyone to blow her cover. And she really, really wanted to stay in Canada. It wasn’t just the scenery, or the general human decency of everyone, or even the universal healthcare that pushed her to stay. She had fallen in love with the people, the city, and didn’t want to go down without a fight.

Rolling over, she grabbed her phone from her nightstand, pulling up Pierre’s contact. Hey, she texted. Laurel immediately cursed herself as the three dots popped up on his side. Hey? She was going to ask this man to marry her and the best she could come up with was hey? He wrote back immediately. Hey. You’re up late, what’s up? Laurel took a deep breath. How serious were you about offering to marry me? His second response was even faster than the first. As a heart attack.

#hockey imagine #hockey writing #pierre luc dubois #hockey smut #nhl imagine #hockey #nhl imagines #nhl smut #hockey imagines #nhl writing #nhl

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purity-town · 3 years

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Little late getting to these -- that's fully the fault of a class project I spent all of Monday/Tuesday and most of Wednesday working on -- but I finished my project and wrote up some long replies to these!

(Apologies for any funny formatting -- I'm trying out the beta for the new post editor!)

Absolutely not.

Nope! There are a few people who do know (other guides Andrew's met before, the Dryad, and I'd imagine the Witch Doctor knows something's up even if he doesn't know why), but none of them live in Purity Town proper, and the Dryad and Witch Doctor aren't the kind to participate in rumors or spread what isn't theirs to share. The old man is also aware just because he and Andrew have talked about their curses, but he's 1) not currently in town and 2) not going to share even if he were.

Most folks don't know much about Andrew in general; Becca probably knows the most out of the townsfolk, knowing a little bit about his family and where he's from (he has some pretty specific skills as a hunter that betray this, but he doesn't talk about his exact town of birth), but no specifics and certainly not time periods.

Andrew is good at keeping things quiet; he has to be.

I would actually appreciate if you didn't post to Pinterest -- usually I'm fine with people reposting with credit (several of the things I've posted to my DeviantArt have found their way to Instagram, for example) but Pinterest has something of a reputation for stolen art (things being reposted from another Pinterest post without credit this time, or credit being hard to view for users not logged in or just viewing through Google). So reposting elsewhere is fine (though if you repost to Reddit or Instagram, tag me at u/Ariibees or @Ariibees)! I'd just prefer my works stay off of Pinterest.

The terminology related to The Guide/Andrew/The Guardian/The World’s Core/The WoF is all confusing because on some level, they’re all the same being. Kind of like trying to talk about Jekyll and Hyde -- same guy, different looks/actions, haha.

For all intents and purposes, references to the WoF being the barrier/core/whatever behind or within which the spirits of light and dark are contained is equivalent to saying “these spirits are held trapped by the magic of the Guardian, who when summoned appears as the WoF.” I do break slightly from the official lore in how the WoF/Guardian/thing holding back these spirits works (mostly because I don’t really like the idea that the Hallow is a “temporary guardian” or whatever), but the basic concept of “these are trapped by [thing that makes up the WoF]” remains unchanged.

If “loony cultist” is a reference to something, I’m so sorry, but I’m lost on it. If you’re just talking about the lunatic cultist in a funny way, then yes, they’re in here as a very plot-significant character!

I had to google what meme you were talking about, but it did make me laugh.

Andrew’s most annoyed by the nickname because people do like to call him Guide, and for someone who’s dedicated his whole life to his role, it can get tiring. He doesn’t really *mind* being called Guide -- it’s fine, that’s what he is and as long as people are respectful of his job he’ll take what he can get -- but at the same time, he’d like for people to stop thinking “Aah! Monster!” or “Weird academic know-it-all” and just...treat him like a normal person sometimes. So he fights to be called Andrew. And...Malik comes along and gives him a nickname that he doesn’t like and doesn’t allow others to use, save for maybe a small group of people of which Malik is not a part. So, not cool, man!

People love to overcomplicate explaining shading/lighting, and if you wanted to you could certainly go on and on about reflections of light off the ground and shading colors and all sorts of things, but as I’m writing this at 1 AM I don’t really care to.

If you really want to get into shading, I see nice ones on DeviantArt or Tumblr from time to time, or you can always watch a YouTube video on it. Really, though, just keep at it, think about how the shadows should look and work, and you'll get better at it eventually and pick up new ideas on how it all works. (And this is coming from someone who is new to making comics and actually started as a painter.)

Purity Town’s shading comes down to this: simplicity. As much as I’d love to spend hours and hours redrawing the panels I don’t like and carefully shading every fold of fabric and painting detailed backgrounds, I’m a full-time college student and will be working full-time over the summer -- I don’t have the time. So, I cut corners: I reuse backgrounds or use brushes (see: bricks, trees, clouds) that make certain details easier, and I try not to obsess too much over panels I’m not fully happy with. Shadows go where they feel right, and light on the opposite side.

For shading, this comes down to making things quick and easy. For these last few pages, character shading/lighting has only been five layers. One hard light layer for the bluer soft shadows, one overlay layer for darker soft shadows, one linear burn layer for hard shadows, one soft light layer for soft lighting, and one overlay layer for hard lighting. I’ll often also make use of glow dodge layers for lighting, or change the color balance or add more hard/soft light layers if there’s a very heavy color filter on the scene (such as a celestial event, blood moon, or outdoors at night).

Using all the different layer types is essentially a cheat code to fancier lighting -- don’t want to use flat black? Boom, hard light or overlay or burn will give you colored shadows. Want to make your light brighter? Glow dodge will make it burn your retinas.

Sorry that this isn’t a very comprehensive guide, but in my mind, shading and lighting is really something that you pick up over time and it’s hard to sit down and write a guide for it without making it into a massive essay on art theory that I don't even know proper terminology for because I'm not an art student. Of course with some googling you’ll find *proper* guides for this sort of thing from art majors and the likes, and those can be super helpful and technical! But for Purity Town, I just sort of go with what feels right and what's easy to replicate.

Firstly, I’m happy to hear you’re liking the comic!

Secondly, those buttons are actually there due to the theme! (For those on mobile who can’t see it, I have the theme set to only display on desktop as I prefer the current mobile layout on phone.) I’m using the simple webcomic theme (a quick Google should tell you how to install it for yourself) -- except I’m not actually using it for the webcomic features; rather, it’s a case of “this is the most simple, nice-looking non-default theme I could find.”

The previous/next buttons are added by the theme with the intent that the blog is being used as a typical webcomic website, with nothing but comic pages being posted. However, I post asks and other art here too, and I do so with the intent that people looking at #Terraria or their dashboards in general will see it. So...I use html formatting to make the first/previous/next/last links, along with an index and chapter-by-chapter viewing (using /tagged/chapter##/chrono) so that no matter where you’re coming from, you can still navigate just the pages!

If you want to add just the previous/next buttons, I can’t really help you -- web development is not my area of study in the slightest. But you can check out the theme that they come from and if you want to install only them, you can surely find a tutorial on it somewhere!

(As a side note, the comments section is not from the theme, it’s from a site called Disqus. I don’t expect many people, if anyone, to leave comments, but since I link back to this site a lot and many folks don’t have Tumblr accounts, it’s an option I like to make available.)

Hiya! My hike was pretty nice; it was a short and easy one, but that was quite appreciated as the trail is unmaintained from November to April, and the trail was covered in fallen trees and quite rocky. Still had fun, though!

And for backgrounds, it depends! For indoors scenes (or outdoors scenes with buildings) I don’t tend to use references, outside of looking up things like “which side of a door is the handle on.” I will, however, integrate real-life textures (see: the quilt and rug in Guide’s house, the wood walls on the building in the background of this week’s page), and paint over paintings from the Terraria wiki.

For outdoors scenes, for simple backgrounds (such as foliage-heavy) ones, I typically don’t need references. I like the difference between detailed, lined indoor/man-made object scenes vs. painted, messy outdoor scenes. But for things like mountains, I do sometimes look up references to help with color choices and the likes.

The town’s layout is a bit strange in that depending on the scene, the background could be drastically different. One side of town faces more mountainside, one side faces the orchards/open hillside, and the other two sides face various degrees of open space and more mountainside/forest. References taken on top of mountains are helpful to get an idea of what degree of foliage I should include between the characters and the sky.

Though this is very specific to the town of Purity -- other towns/villages will have significantly different-looking backgrounds, even the foliage-heavy ones.

That said, what's even more helpful than looking at photos is looking at paintings. Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron is really good for getting an idea of how to draw grasslands and distant mountains, plus Studio Ghibli movies in general!

#purity town #pt asks #terraria #not an update

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ddaehyeon · 4 years

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– ♡; UNGODLY HOUR ; PARK SERIM

pairing: park serim + reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1.7k

summary: an unexpected midnight call caused by the thoughts that clouded serim’s mind.

if all the equations written on your notes were a sea, you’d probably be already drowning in it. the library was silent, only the flipping of the pages mingled with the sound of the pen running by the paper was heard. soft music was enclosed in your ears through the earphones, preventing you from dozing off.

with narrowed eyes, you stared at your homework for a moment. a sigh of defeat leaving your lips right after. staring won’t solve an equation. but you wish it could. you desperately wish it could.

the chair beside you was pulled, a student occupying it right after. he placed his own books on the table and when your eyes met, he gave you a wave. you unplugged the earphones from your ears, a brow raised to the male. “oh, serim? you’ll be studying?”

a soft chuckle was heard from serim which made a smile linger on his countenance as he spoke. “yes, i’ve decided to become a better student.”

“ah, i see. hope you’ll not change your decision after two minutes,” you remarked, returning your focus to your notes as if you were not spacing out earlier before serim arrived.

“thank you so much for the encouragement,” serim said, matching the mockery you provided in your words. “i’ll work hard.”

instead of giving a verbal response, a beam came to your lips. he should be used by now with all the remarks you throw him.

a close friend—it was the title serim had been embracing for the past years. with the two of you meeting on the first day of classes during your freshman year. it went on and on for the next years and now that both of you were in your junior year, close to being inseparable. nearly all classes you enlisted covered the same time slots on his own schedule, making him your classmate for almost all the subjects aside from economics.

another male came to your sight, snapping you out of your thoughts. he pulled the chair adjacent to yours, a small smile visible on his brim. “you’re y/n, right?”

your nod was his cue to take the seat in front of you, his own books settled in front of your messily piled things.

“allen ma, a junior as well. you signed up for integral calculus tutoring sessions, right? i’ll be your tutor.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ☆

as soon as the classes ended, you closed your notebook. everyone else was shuffling out of the room. you took your time to stare at the whiteboard which was filled with lines and symbols written by your professor. pressing your eyes closed, you leaned back to your chair. a mental note of which should be done this evening was made.

“planning to sleep here?” serim asked, placing his things back to his bag before swinging it to his shoulder.

letting go of a sigh, you opened your eyes to look at him. huffing, you eventually stood to arrange your things. “this is not a desirable location to sleep. i'd rather go back to my dorm than sleep here.”

as you were talking the next lecturer entered the room, serim gave the professor a bow which was a gesture that you followed. getting your bag to your shoulder, you nodded your head to the direction of the door. both of you must leave before the next block comes inside for their class.

faint streaks coming from the setting sun came to touch your skin. the hallway was close to being empty, only a few students were around either rushing to go to their next class or leisurely making their way out of the building.

serim and you walked in silence, both drained from the lessons today schedule had brought. the semester was barely halfway the calendar and each passing day, the topics taught were getting harder and harder.

“there’s a new café a few blocks away from the main gate, want to check it?” serim attempted to start a conversation.

nibbling your bottom lip, you tried to make a quick mental browse of the things you have to do. then it hit you. “ah, i need to meet allen.” you pulled your phone out of your pocket to check the time. there was a tutoring session scheduled after the class. with the abysmal grades, you were getting on the past activities, this could be your only redemption. “tutoring sessions.”

a pout w became visible on the lips of your friend, displeased of your answer. “even a quick drop won’t do?”

“i'm afraid i can’t. the tutoring session will start in roughly 15 minutes.” you gave the other an apologetic smile which caused him to drop his shoulders. it was no use of persuading you over this matter anyway. he can ask you to check it with him in other days. “guess i have to go now? have a good evening serim.”

“you too, y/n.”

all serim could do was wave at you as you began to walk your way to the library where the tutoring session would occur.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ☆

“serim, what did he just said?” poking the other with a pen, you tried to catch his attention. the lecture was going rather too fast for your likings; your notebook page which was supposed to be filled with the terminologies had blank spaces in between.

“i don’t know.” serim answered.

earlier this day, he’d been acting a little off. he could have that child-like streak on him where he would just cling to you and be sulky whenever he gets less attention, it was acceptable. the same way he got used to the remarks you’d throw, you also got used to serim’s natural clinginess. but today sure be a different one. the morning greeting he gave was a swift one, holding no actual enthusiasm. and every time you’d ask him what his problem is, he would wave you off.

“let me see your notes then.” quite demanding, you scooted closer to him, your hand reaching for his notebook to check what was written there. it was the only way left for you to get the missed parts from the dictation.

serim snickered at your actions, dragging the notebook away from you as he tried so hard to focus on jotting down the words that endlessly flow out of your professor’s lips. “go ask your tutor about it.”

“go and eat cheeseballs later, your mood is quite unbelievable.” rolling your eyes, you moved away from him. a minimum effort exerted to write the words you could catch up on. every now and then, you would look at the male with a sharp gaze.

maybe serim woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ☆

it was already midnight, that was the only thing you were sure of.

you were not even deep in your sleep when the vibrations coming from your phone which was lazily placed under the comforts of your pillow woke you up.

"so give me a valid explanation as to why you're calling me at an ungodly hour of..." you paused for a moment, trying to catch a glimpse of the time at the wall clock which was barely illuminated. giving up, you looked at your phone instead. the caller's name displayed on the screen, the duration of call running. "... an ungodly hour of 2am." you placed your phone back to your ears. "oh god, serim if this-"

"i have something to tell you." the seriousness laced in his tone made your stomach flip, nervousness came rushing to your body.

"ooooh~" a chuckle was heard from you. it was an attempt to brighten up the mood of the other. "romantic. are you about to profess your undying love for me?"

“yes, i am.”

it was the small thinking that ended up to massive thoughts that hindered him to come to a peaceful evening. branching out each of the sensations he felt when you ended up not giving him much time as you would usually do, serim began asking why. why was he so upset when he usually won’t get upset with it? when you spend your time with your other circles, he was always okay with it. when you decline to go out with him for a detour whenever your classes end, he was alright with it. but with another person placed in the picture, he found himself succumbing to a certain frustration—something that wants to get more of your attention.

“wait, what?” it was the only reply you managed to utter. his words awakening your senses. seriously?

a soft frustrated growl was heard from the other line—more like a whine serim would do whenever he’s embarrassed by something. “sorry for the way i acted today… i was just so lost in my thoughts.” even he wasn’t in front of you, you could already see the regretful pout decorating his lips. “acting with feelings rather than thinking… i'm really sorry, y/n.” a short pause was done by the other, giving him a moment to collect his thoughts and come up with proper words. “i can’t sleep and maybe this is because i dived in the sea of my thoughts, but i can’t find any other reason to explain why i got upset of you declining and spending less time with me. do you like your tutor?”

the question pulled a peal of laughter from your lips. silly how he thought you’d end up having such fondness for a guy you barely interact with.

“come on, it’s taking too much courage for me to word this out.” another whine was heard from him. “don’t laugh at me!”

“sorry, sorry. it’s just i was surprised by your question,” you replied, in between faint chuckles. you breathed in, trying to stop yourself from laughing. “well, i don’t. please, i just met him.”

serim sighed in relief. “that’s all i need to know. now, i can sleep,” he uttered, his tone merrier.

“i thought you’re going to conf—”

once again, he interrupted you. his words probably will be the one leaving you awake for the next few hours. “i like you, y/n.”

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ masterlist ☆ request ☆

#cravity #serim #cravity imagines #serim imagines #cravity drabbles #serim drabbles #cravity scenarios #serim scenarios #cravity fluff #serim fluff #cravity oneshots #serim oneshots #cravity serim #park serim #request

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moonstruckbucky · 5 years

Text

Come Over (2/7)

Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.

Pairing: Neighbor!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Chapter Warnings: None

Notes: Thank you everybody for the amazing feedback on the first chapter! I don’t think I’ve ever had that much response from the get go on a new series. Anyways, this part’s a bit longer. Feedback/comments/reblogs are always appreciated! ♥ P.S. - Not sure how many of you saw my recent post regarding tag lists but I figure I’d mention it here: I am not longer doing tag lists. Honestly the work to payoff ratio is so off there’s no point in my doing them anymore, coupled with the fact that Google docs is unreliable. More than half the people on these lists don’t interact with the stories they’re tagged for anyways, so I’m just not doing tag lists anymore. Please don’t ask me for tags.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Your first day at Stark Industries goes perfectly. Tony is a little ...out there for lack of better terminology, but overall he is the perfect boss—not too needy except in his caffeine addiction. He doesn’t go easy on you, firing off press conferences and meetings and so many other events at you in some funny attempt to get you to slip up. You surprise him by repeating each event, date and time included, in perfect chronological order. Behind his sunglasses, his dark eyebrows raise.

Your lunch is taken at your desk as you fill in your new planner with all the events Tony had given you. Your entire month of September seems to be filled to the brim with meetings you’re required to sit on, presentations of new tech, and luncheons with other big conglomerates in the industry. It’s overwhelming, but you didn’t plunge yourself into massive student debt for easy.

You even get a chance to meet a few of your coworkers when you step out for coffee for both you and Tony. Unsurprisingly, he takes it black with two sugars. A brunette woman and a tall man with glasses stand in front of you in the coffee shop on the bottom floor of the building, and when she notices you, she smiles and turns around to fully face you.

“You must be Tony’s new assistant,” she says. Returning her smile, you nod and throw out a hand.

“Y/N.”

“Wanda. And this is Vis, he works in Finance for Stark Industries.” The tall man smiles too and instead of shaking your hand, he kisses the back of it. Wanda giggles at the surprised look on your face and lightly slaps Vis in the chest.

“Vis, don’t scare the poor girl on her first day.”

The two of them step up to the counter and order, and Wanda waits while you do the same. She pulls you into a light conversation, asking how your first day is going, what it’s like so far working for Tony, where you moved from, and you answer them all easily. Wanda seems to be an easygoing person, one you look forward to getting to know better. Vis is quiet, but he interjects here and there for clarification on some things or to ask you questions of his own.

Wanda works in Marketing for the company, a huge duty in your opinion, but she seems to like the responsibility. She’s funny and sweet, and the three of you get into the elevator together once you all have your coffees. After exchanging numbers and a promise for a night out together soon, you part ways. Tony’s on the phone when you step into his office after knocking lightly with your knuckles, and he waves you in while telling the person on the other line just where he can shove “such a bullshit offer”.

Your face must show your slight shock at Tony’s mannerism because he smirks and accepts the coffee you hold out to him, downing half of it in a single gulp. He jiggles the cup idly.

“Sometimes you gotta play a little hardball. I’m expecting his call back in about, oh, twenty minutes,” he boasts, spinning on his heel to saunter over to the workstation set up in his office. “So, new blood, why me?”

You’re momentarily surprised by the question; most of your day had been spent following Tony around and scribbling down notes, and now you find yourself put on the spot by his suddenly asking about you. Mentally you fumble for an answer, your confidence a little wobbly after the surprise wears off.

“Where else am I going to be part of the greatest technology to ever exist?” is the response you settle on, if only to stroke Tony’s wild ego a bit. He grins cheekily and sips at his coffee.

“I like you,” he mutters, as if to himself.

He asks you a few more personal questions about yourself, questions that weren’t answered in the interview he regrettably, so he says, could not be present for. It feels rather odd having this kind of rapport with your boss, but it definitely doesn’t feel like a bad thing. Your previous employers only cared about your being on time and getting your work done, but Tony seems to take an honest interest in your schooling, your experiences, and where you see yourself headed in the future.

“Yikes,” he yelps when he checks the Stark Watch on his wrist. “I didn’t mean to keep you so long. I’m sure you have some work to finish up before you go home.”

He says it with an apologetic smile behind his sunglasses, and the responding smirk you send him feels natural.

“Of course, Mr. Stark—”

“Ah, ah, Tony, please. Mr. Stark makes me sound old and cynical.”

You snort. “Very well, Tony. If I don’t see you before I leave I’ll see you in the morning for our seven AM meeting with AIMTech.”

Winking quickly, you spin around and head back to your office, humming lowly but happily. Your first day at Stark Industries has gotten much better than expected and it puts a small spring in your step as you head back to your office. Office. You can’t even believe that as a personal assistant you’re entitled to an actual office as opposed to just a desk out in the open. But, from what you could gather from talking to Wanda, working for Stark Industries won’t feel like work at all.

You finish keying in changes and adjustments to Tony’s schedule that you’ve received via email. Fortunately, your meeting the next morning remains unchanged, but you feel secure in staying on top of everything. There’s a comfort and a calmness that comes with strict, almost obsessive organization for you. Things feel complete, in their proper places, and so you spend the last fifteen minutes of your work day organizing and reorganizing your desk in a fashion that seems most efficient and less hectic. Your planner is within easy reach, and your computer calendar is pinned to your taskbar. You feel good, at home here, where you can keep someone else’s life perfectly organized.

You take the subway home, earbuds shoved in your ears and streaming the latest episode to the My Favorite Murder podcast. Your feet are a little sore from your shoes, only slight relief when you shift your weight and readjust your feet inside them. The couch, a blanket, and some tea are desperately calling your name as you step off the subway and walking stiffly back to your apartment building. Your first real day in the city had been spent familiarizing and memorizing the routes to and from work so as not to be late for your first day. Now you know it perfectly and you greet the doorman to your building with a tired smile.

Your day was invigorating, but man, are you exhausted. Now that the pressure to be professional and keep focus is off, you allow your shoulders to drop with a sigh. The rickety elevator doors open with a squeak and you step inside and lean against the cool metal of the back wall.

Bucky is in the hallway when the doors open on your floor, looking like he’d just gotten home from work himself and on the phone. Your steps falter a little at the look on his face; it’s pinched, brows furrowed low over his eyes and jaw muscles jumping. You can’t hear him from the elevator where you wait, his voice is low and hurried and sharp. He’s arguing with someone, that much is obvious.

Carefully you step forward, acting as if you weren’t assessing him and his body language, and busy yourself with unlocking your door.

“Oh, hey.”

You look up and over at Bucky, who has ended his phone call apparently but still holds the device in his hand. His smile is faint, and you give him a small, tired one of your own.

“Hi Bucky. Long day?” He catches the quick glance you give his phone and huffs, shoves it roughly into his pocket as if he wants to forget to conversation that’s just taken place.

“Somethin’ like that. How about you? You look tired, doll.” You swallow at the pet name, the way it rolls off his tongue lighting something warm in your belly. It’s forgotten though when Bucky’s face brightens with realization. “Oh! Today was your first day with Stark wasn’t it? How’d it go?”

“It went very well actually. Tony Stark is...not who I imagined he’d be when I first applied to work for him. He’s better, but he’s definitely way more out there than I’d expected.”

The two of you shoot the shit back and forth for a few minutes longer, Bucky’s previous phone call nearly forgotten until it rings again and his face falls when he checks the caller ID. He wags his phone in the air as it continues to shriek.

“I should take this. Hey, um, maybe this weekend you can tell me all about your first week?” He looks shy when he asks, and it only serves to make your face flush crimson. “O-Only if you want to, that is. I’m sure you’re still trying to get settled in.”

“I’d love to,” you interject before he can go off on a nervous tangent. “Maybe you can come over for coffee and help me assemble some furniture?”

“Sure,” he replies softly and with a grin. He seems to have forgotten about his phone until its ringing shatters the small silence again, and he frowns. “I’ll see you, Y/N.”

“Bye Bucky.” You just get the words out before his door closes and the lock flips.

Sighing, you enter your own apartment and kick the heels off your feet, wiggle your toes to get some feeling back into them. Through the walls of your apartment, you can hear Bucky’s raised voice, though it’s still muffled enough that you can’t make out the words.

Truth is, you’ve heard Bucky arguing a lot the past few days. Despite only been here a week, you’ve come to enjoy having Bucky as a neighbor. He’s a tattoo artist, you’ve learned, which explains sometimes why he’s home or away at weird hours, and you’re not surprised to learn he designed his own tattoos. And aside from the recent conflict that seeps through your conjoined walls, he’s quiet and doesn’t do anything untoward that would have you calling the landlord. He says hi to you when he sees you in the hallway or at the mailbox, asks about your day, and goes on his merry way.

And because of all that you may have developed just a teensy crush on the guy, for which you’ve scolded yourself because how could you possibly like a guy you’ve known, barely, a week?

With a small grunt, you head to the kitchen for a hefty glass of much deserved wine.

Chapter Three

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes neighbor au #neighbor au #neighbor!bucky

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gascon-en-exil · 4 years

Text

Mercilessly Judging the Men of Fòdlan: The Alliance

It’s been a long time coming, over eight months in fact, but now that it may be assumed that the last of the DLC has been released and the fandom as a whole has settled comfortably into its various camps I think there’s no better time than now to answer that burning question: how raunchily, outrageously gay can the male cast of Three Houses possibly be? For those unfamiliar with this fun little series of mine, I’ve been applying my extensive knowledge and experience of gay male sex and hookup culture to the men of Fire Emblem, originally as a way of reckoning with the refusal of the games themselves to provide me with any worthwhile self-insert M/M content. I stand by that premise for FE16 - you all know how absolutely nothing appeals to me about m!Byleth or his prospects on that score - but in the years since my first outing of merciless judgment with Awakening that idea has expanded into something broader, an imaginative modern AU of sorts where all these guys are into men (if not always exclusively) and willing to put themselves out there in the lewd and semi-anonymous world of hookup apps in search of their preferred carnal delights.

A note on organization before we begin, as this material is too long to cram into one post. Excluding Byleth (as Avatars and their spawn always are for this project) there are twenty-one playable male characters in Three Houses. This makes for an even threeway division to preserve the eponymous conceit of the game, but not a particularly neat one. Aligned with the Leicester Alliance I therefore have below the male Deer, Almyran and former Goneril indentured servant Cyril, runaway Alliance noble Balthus, and Alois because his biography states that he’s the son of a merchant family. The Alliance is the nation most associated with successful mercantilism, so there.

The Empire

The Kingdom

Claude

Indecipherable from the start. The alluring shirtless selfie and goofy profile read like a fun and easy lay, but rather than sending nudes he engages in long meandering conversations that last for days or weeks before the first meeting. An expert at drawing people out while revealing almost nothing of himself in return, this takes on more literal dimensions when talk and pictures get more explicit; he’ll respond to dick and ass pics with vaguely positive emojis but deflect repeated requests to send some of his own, but he’s so disarmingly chatty that few guys get angry about this. In-person encounters are similarly frustrating in a way that’s hard to convey, as he’s eager to get his hookups naked and cumming via whatever method expedites the process with as little effort on his part. He’s left more than one satisfied but confused partner wondering some time after their meeting if he’s even really into guys at all, or if he’s playing out some weird service kink or vicarious voyeurism. Whatever the case he’s not much the dating type, not because he’s closeted or non-monogamous but because he has other priorities that don’t mesh well with long-term companionship. A shame too, when he’s become a permanent part of the masturbatory fantasies of many a man with whom he’s had even the briefest of encounters (particularly tops, who see in him a cocky bottom who desperately needs to get wrecked). That’s mostly all it is with him though: just fantasies, quick and dirty and unfulfilling because sex is apparently little more than a means for him to connect with people who may help him reach something bigger. Open-minded about his partners’ kinks, but is extremely touchy about race play; he’s aware that he has an ambiguous look about him, and does not appreciate anyone bringing that up even if the intention is completely innocent.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: your erogenous zones, your fetishes, your guilty pleasures

Favored gift: a lavish dinner, not for the expense but for the pleasure of sharing it

Lorenz

You may not like the hair, or the overwrought floral motif, or the polite but pointed way he pursues dates with the men he’s scoping out, but it’s undeniable that his reputation precedes him as someone who is known and who is worth knowing in the community. He’s not as slutty as that suggests, far from it, but he does enjoy his lunch dates and his inordinately expensive shopping dates and generally being as publicly social as it is humanly possible to be. Has an assortment of fem bottom BFFs on speed dial who are always up to the minute with him on social media, but it turns out he’s more versatile than his age and his...expressive fashion sense might imply. Would absolutely love a boyfriend, but judges all his dates in every aspect and considers least of all the size of their dick or what they know to do with it. It’s unusual for him to run across a guy who’s as well-educated and career-oriented as himself who also meets his admittedly snobbish criteria regarding class, and most of the time when he does they make better friends than marriage candidates. Cannot abide poor manners in or out of bed, and has corresponding expectations about proper condom use and prep (also PreP) and won’t hesitate to interrupt a makeout session with a lecture on not fingering him when he just ate an hour ago and he hasn’t had the chance to use an enema yet. Jock types do little for him, although he does have this one celebrity crush of that sort that he holds dear to his heart precisely because it will never, ever happen (although, he does happen to move in adjacent circles....).

Favored erotic tea time subjects: office sex, hustlers, the tea itself...not like that

Favored gift: his crush’s contact info, also measurements if he can get them

Raphael

His selfies come in two varieties, gym and food, and this perfectly sums him up as a person and a friend and sexual partner. Sociable but not particularly quick-witted, his conversations are filled with emojis and exclamation points and it’s not very long before he’s making invitations to hang out at either his favorite fitness center or one of his many favorite restaurants. Don’t expect much from the latter however, as he favors quantity over quality. Is more or less the perfect boyfriend if you like them big and dumb, and on some level he knows this because he’s clearly comfortable with who he is and the goals he’s set for himself, both in body weight and in life in general. Even nicer, he likes skinny nerds just as much as he likes guys who can hold their own (or even surpass him) during workouts, and he’ll try just about anything once. Not the most skilled at topping or giving head or anything else that demands precision in action, but he’ll always give his best effort anyway. Besides, he makes a great bottom, with enough cushion and stamina to take a really hard pounding and jerk himself to completion in just about the time it takes for him to coax his partner to orgasm. A simple man with simple tastes and an insatiable appetite for food and pleasure and good company, and if it comes to it a sweet and devoted familial sort as well. Doesn’t have much of an imagination for kinks, but the person who shows him how to combine food with sex might be on the receiving end of a marriage proposal right then and there.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: sexy workouts, feeders, power bottoms

Favored gift: food, especially if you get into watching him eat it

Ignatz

Fucking an art student is always a unique experience, and he’s determined not to disappoint. More likely to share pictures of his latest projects than nudes up front, although he welcomes receiving them himself as he’s quick to explain that he draws his influence from all areas of his life. Has a particular fascination with the kind of unintentional eroticism found in certain religious art, which is more likely to be found quietly perplexing than offensive in hookup spaces. Is shy and relatively untested when it comes to sex, and as such he’s a natural fit for tops who love to break in new twinks. Said tops may have to put up with his request to sketch them in the bed or on his sofa afterwards though, because apparently the nude models in his classes just can’t compare to the men who ten minutes prior had their dicks in him. As he gets older and acquires more familiarity with the medium he’ll start to gravitate more toward guys of a similar age and disposition as himself, who can be subjects for his art without the constant demanding to get off. (They still get off with him of course, but he has trouble convincing the less understanding that that’s not his first priority.) Sometimes too he’ll just want someone to cuddle with and tell him that he’s good at what he does and isn’t making any questionable life choices. However, with art being the uncertain career that it is he may find himself one day having to reconcile himself to a sugar daddy to spare him from a mind-numbing day job - or worse, admitting to whatever disapproving relation(s) he’s got that he screwed up his professional prospects and isn’t doing so hot in the dating scene either. Never quite loses his mawkishness in bed, but hopefully he’ll get past his public anxieties with a bit more success. Is not really into the gym bunny types, although they love him to death and he has to admit that all that toned musculature is easy to work with. Keeps the glasses on during sex, or at least until he has an accident with them.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: artistic nudes, sexy statuary, missionary (he likes to watch the top)

Favored gift: a set of professionally done nude selfies, for modeling

Alois

A loving and devoted husband and father, he’s only in the app space because a friend made a joke about them and he just had to check it out. Utterly clueless on the terminology and the rules of etiquette, such as they are, for a place where it’s considered perfectly acceptable to begin conversation with a picture of your erect cock. Needless to say he completely misunderstands the term “daddy” in this context, thinking it naturally applied to him without being aware of all the horny twinks that would be hitting him up as a result. Will eventually be prodded, laughing and blushing the whole time, into taking and sharing some mildly saucy selfies, and the boys go wild for his literal dad bod and hair in just the right places (including on his face; the handlebar variation is a few decades out of date, but that just makes him more endearing in a dorky retro way). It’s not clear initially whether he’s even attracted to men, but after a few months of chatting and swapping pics and perhaps furtively jerking off to the ones he gets he might agree to a discreet encounter or two. Well, they would be discreet if he weren’t always so loud, and if he didn’t always resist everyone’s immediate impulse to shove a dick in his mouth just to get him to shut up by coming up with yet another dumb joke. Doesn’t get much further than the idea of oral anyway, as he’s not the most sexual guy to start with and he can’t quite get past the immature giggling over ass play. Not a bad jerkoff buddy when it’s all said and done provided you can stand all the puns, nor is he all that bad to look at or cuddle with afterwards once he figures out that guys like his hugs too. One can only wonder what his wife thinks of all this.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: (bad) sex jokes, porn, glory holes

Favored gift: links to daddy porn, so he’ll finally figure it out

Cyril

Born into a rough background and forced to get by in some difficult circumstances has left him hardworking to a fault - emphasis on “fault.” His greatest act of teenage rebellion was to be aggressively not rebellious, and he still hasn’t grown out of that mentality as he’s quick to scorn his more carefree and hedonistic peers and wouldn’t even be on the apps at all were he not so privately, guiltily horny all the time. As may be expected this mentality wins him few admirers and even fewer friends, of any age, the more so because he’s inexperienced and still figuring out exactly what he wants from a sexual encounter. Will bottom but has a complex about the implications, but unfortunately most of the guys willing to hook up with him are tops and expect to get it in at least for a little while. Manages better when it comes to swapping head, having experimented with his more adventurous friends in school. His fastidiousness and unusually good eyesight lead him to subconsciously fixate on his partners’ minor bodily blemishes, and since pointing those out never goes over well he’s taking to prefer sex in the dark. He’s absolutely not looking for a daddy and is annoyed at the suggestion, just as much as he’s annoyed by guys who try to turn pillow talk into impromptu therapy sessions regarding his past. Will take a few more years and probably some time away at school to properly find his footing; there’s a no-nonsense if slightly insecure top buried under the fading twinkish exterior, and provided he learns out to mellow out a bit he could be quite popular one day.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: circle jerks, docking, race play (which he feels guilty about)

Favored gift: a cock ring, for those size woes

Balthus

He was on the wrestling team in school and acquired a notable reputation for his strength and skill in a brawl, although it was also at this time that he realized he was getting hard every time he would throw down with another guy. Deflects this with an exaggerated womanizing demeanor and a blank profile announcing only that he’s looking and saving even the headless torso shot - impressive though that shot is - for messaging. Gets handjobs and blowjobs and occasionally tops, all NSA and very discreet, but his internalized insecurities fortunately do not extend to his partners. This is probably because his preferred types are either closeted muscle bros like himself or self-confident young bottoms with no patience to take anything from him except a hard fuck and a thick load. His awkward younger days will be long past him before he learns to open up to anything more than that, and even then it’s unlikely that he’ll be very relationship-minded. Has to be educated by more experienced partners on lube and prepping a bottom, and it’ll take a lot of drinks and a lot of convincing to get him to try eating ass (he will though, eventually). Bottoming himself is out of the question except perhaps with the most dedicated of vers guys, but put him on the mat with another total top and there are good odds that someone’s going to end up penetrated before it’s over. Speaking of odds, is terrible with money and not domestic in the slightest, but he’s got a rich family that he can theoretically fall back on in a pinch. Not really boyfriend material, more like the ideal perpetually naked roommate with wandering eyes and a boundless libido.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: erotic wrestling, dirty talk, praise kink

Favored gift: a harness and matching jockstrap, he’s got a thing for gear

#Fire Emblem #FE16 #Fire Emblem Three Houses

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awesometheydontknowiamhere · 5 years

Text

Knockout

Diego Hargreeves X Plus Sized!Reader

Requested: Oh, yes! Multiple requests in my inbox.

“Any plus size Diego fics coming soon?”

“Can you do another Diego x plus size reader?”

“Could I request a Diego x plus size fic maybe where she’s a badass boxer but she is also kinda insecure when like Diego asks her out maybe thinks it’s a joke or something?”

Summary: You have it all. You’re a revered fighter, have an excellent support system of friends and family and spend most of your evenings with your crush, sweaty and hot on a mat. But when a chance at finding loves knocks on your door in the form of your crush, Diego Hargreeves, will you let him in or shut him out?

A/N: A few things I’d like to mention.

1. There’s a Sylvia Plath quote hiding in here. Let me know if you find it.

2. I absolutely love that so many people requested a plus size reader fic (I have 24 requests out of which 3 were for this)

3. I spent nearly two full hours reading up about boxing terminology, just in case.

4. I recently saw Never Back Down so boxing is all I can think about anyway.

5. I might have changed the request a little bit because the reader suddenly had a life of her own and the story refused to be written in that particular way.

6. All of you, thin, fat, chubby, curvy, super tall, super short, somewhere in between, I love each and every one of you.

7. This could possibly be the prequel to Store Bought Hugs.

Warning: None. Maybe a bit of language.

Diego Hargreeves Taglist: @wh3n-1t-ra1ns-1t-p0urs @imultifandomstuff @w0nder-marie@chloemac86 @theladywholivesonthemoon @hemogobllin@pansexualpaperdragons @gorgeourrific-nerd @purplezebra68 @vividholland@bands-and-shietz @onlydeanandjensen @slither-in-a-half @reblogserpent@missscarlett1802 @lovelyheadrush @mrsdiegohargreeves @mrsdiegohargreeves @katylovescats @vividholland @lilithsweetghost@ynm1505 @siriusjohnpotter @ratfuckb0y @energy-for-fandoms-not-your-shit @writingsbychlo

Words: 1620

You ducked and avoided Diego’s approaching fist, and threw an uppercut which he skillfully dodged. This was routine for the two of you, pairing up together to practice anything from old school boxing to mixed martial arts. Diego needed it to be a good vigilante and have an outlet for his anger, though he wouldn’t admit that to anybody. As for you, you just loved the blood singing through your veins, sheer power flowing through your muscles.

You were quite the fighter in the gym, paralleled only to Diego, and he too, was aware of your repertoire of deadly moves.

Currently, he was trapped in a Peruvian necktie choke.

“Give it up, Hargreeves. You know you’re not going to last longer,” you said as you tightened the hold.

He remained silent. A smart move, considering he only had a limited air supply.

“Either you tap out or you break the fuck out of it. The clock’s ticking,” you said.

A few seconds passed and you tightened your hold on him, using the strength in your arms.

People were often deceived by your size. Nobody could believe your agility and strength as an MMA fighter until they saw you in action, thanks to your plus sized body. Quite a lot of spectators had trouble comprehending your skill but little did they know that you could knock an opponent out in a minute flat (you were known in the MMA circles for doing that thrice).

You hear a grunt followed by a tap on the mat and you immediately release the man, helping him onto his back.

“Hey, breathe. Long, deep breaths,” you said, burying the concern in your voice.

He simply nodded and you gave him a moment to adjust, rubbing his chest, trying not to feel him up under the thin, sweat- soaked t-shirt.

“Damn, baby. You are vicious,” he said as he sat up.

You smirked and both of you rose up, headed towards the water coolers.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Only if you promise to actually put up a fucking fight,” you said, laughing.

He draped his arm around your shoulders and your heart skipped a beat.

“I do it so that you don’t cry yourself to sleep Y/N,” he said.

He walked you to the door like always and waved goodbye.

You walked the rest of the way home feeling warmth in your heart as you tried to hold on to the memory of his arm touching your bare shoulder a little longer.

Your crush on Diego wasn’t new. You fell for his nocuous moves and dirty, dry sense of humor. And when you caught a glimpse of him changing into a tank top one evening, there was no turning back.

Each night before bed you replayed your practice with him, trying not to combust from the sheer emotion you felt when you thought of his hands on your body. The moments where he pinned you to the mat and you waited several moments before you got out of his hold.

The next day at practice Diego was late. You quickly warmed up and picked up a pair of battle ropes. You bent your knees and got into position, visualizing the motion in your head and replicating it with your hands. You dropped the ropes and began walking over to the bench, to give yourself a minute as well as wait for Diego to show up.

You halted to a stop, surprised to see him leaning against a stationary pole with his arms crossed across his chest.

“Hargreeves, what are you doing? Are you seriously standing here and checking out these girls as they work out?”

The corners of his mouth turned.

“I was watching you.”

A charged moment passed and you got a hold of your sensibilities.

“Yuck, does that line ever work?”

He tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“It’s not a line,” Diego whispered and walked towards the mat, ready for your paired practice fights.

A couple hours passed and Diego emerged victorious, courtesy the new fluttering in your heart since his comment.

He helped you pack your gym bag, his caramel arms flexing with each move. You stood there, silent and observing, swooning a little and falling for him a little more.

“Come on, I will walk you home,” Diego kindly offered.

You snapped out of your reverie.

“Diego, really, it’s fine. I can walk two blocks by myself, thank you very much,” your voice a smidge sarcastic.

“Don’t be like that Y/N, I want to walk you home. And I think a bit of fresh air will do me some good,” he said, toeing the floor.

You immediately felt a pang of guilt. You knew he lived in the gym, in the cold basement. His desire for fresh air was understandable and you were hardly going to say no to a walk with him. Despite of what you had said earlier, you agreed and he swung his arm around you and both of you walked out into the street.

Thirty minutes and a quick detour to a smoothie shack later, you arrived at your building.

“Thanks for walking me home, Hargreeves,” you said.

“Thanks for letting me,” he replied with a smile.

He handed you your gym bag, your fingers brushing briefly against each other.

You wished him a good night and turned towards the door. As you took a step towards it you felt a warm hand around your wrist, leaving your hand outstretched between your bodies.

You turned to face him and he stepped closer, his hand dropping to yours.

Your heart was neatly lodged in your throat as you took in the proximity of your bodies.

“Y/N,” he said.

“Diego,” your said, your voice barely a whisper.

“I’d like to take you out, Y/N, on a proper date. Roses, moonlight, the whole deal,” he said.

He registered the alarm on your face before you could comprehend it.

“Or anything else. Whatever you want, babe. We could go to boxing match and cheer or take another walk,” he said in a single breath, words gushing out.

You closed your eyes for a moment and reopened them and stepped back, giving yourself a little space to think.

“Diego, why? Is this your idea of practical joke? Why are you asking me out, because that would actually imply that you like me and why on earth would you like me?” you asked becoming increasingly agitated.

“Why do you think I like you?” he quirked his eyebrow, the scar glistening under the city lights.

He stepped closer taking both of your hands in his.

“You are you. Unapologetically and unabashedly you. Very few people do this anymore. It’s too risky. First of all, it’s a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It’s much easier to be somebody else or nobody at all. And you own every single part of that.”

You were stunned, speechless even. All your words had scrambled out onto the street after his declaration.

“And well. You kick my ass at MMA so that’s also incredibly hot,” he said with a chuckle making you laugh with him.

“You’re being awefully quiet. Please, say yes. I promise you won’t regret it.”

You smiled up at him, getting lost in you dark eyes framed by the scars on his face.

You leaned into him, your lips an inch away from his ear.

“Pick me up at 8 on Friday,” you said, placing a chaste kiss on his scruffy cheek, before running off into your building.

You rushed up the flight of stairs and ran into your apartment, looking out the window.

“Don’t you dare be late, Hargreeves. I have stockpile of chokes you haven’t even heard of,” you scream out into the street with a laugh.

“Wouldn’t even dream of it,” he yelled back.

He waved and blew you a kiss and then disappeared into the street.

You relaxed into your couch, replaying the conversation in your head, your stomach populous with butterflies.

You sighed a romance novel sigh.

Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

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enaasteria · 6 years

Text

Lost and Found // Baekhyun

// Prompt Request—“Have you seen my hoodie?” // Requested by—@baekyung // Artist AU, Soulmate AU, attempt at fluff but probably more aligned to angst

A/N: It was supposed to be a drabble but it turned into this monster. I’m very sorry.

“You’re staring at him again,” my seat mate, Mari, teases. She pokes me with an unused paintbrush before packing up the rest of her supplies at the end of class. It breaks me out of my reverie and I massage the slight throbbing in my arm, playing off her scrutiny of where my eyes may have wandered.

“We’re supposed to look at him.”

“Yeah, while we’re painting his figure. I’m not sure if that includes when he dresses and undresses.”

“I—I—wa—I wasn’t staring at him undress—was I?” I ask, almost mortified at the thought of being so pathetically obvious in how besotted I am over this semester’s male model, Byun Baekhyun.

“If laser eyes existed in this world, you would’ve burned two holes into his chest.”

“I wasn’t staring at his chest.”

“Oh? Was it his—

I lunge forward, almost dropping my art supply bin, to stop her from verbally embarrassing me more so than she already has as one by one the students exit the classroom. “I wasn’t.”

“Fine, fine. You weren’t, but who would blame you if you did,” she says with a wave of her hand while she waits for me to finish packing up. “He is, after all, rather aesthetically pleasing.”

“More than aesthetically pleasing.”

“Oh?”

I look at her, realizing I divulged more than what I usually do in terms of my infatuation for Baekhyun. It was harmless intrigue in the beginning. I saw him through the eyes of a painter because he was unbelievably beautiful. His soft cheeks, the strawberry toned hair ruffling over his eyes, the benevolent grin seemingly etched into his face. It was as if there was a light exuding from him—a type of warmth I tried to capture with my paintbrushes every day. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I think you and I both know exactly what you meant.”

The comment makes me grimace because there’s no denying I like him. Down to the very essence, I like him in a way I can’t explain within words, in drawings, or even fathom how I’ve never felt my heartstrings tug for another in a way it does for Baekhyun.

As much as I wish for a little more from the very man I paint from on a daily basis, I realize how futile these inner desires truly are. Because it’s all I can do. I can only look at him. I can only draw him and the single thought continually spreads a debilitating ache throughout every part of my soul.

Mari watches as my expression reaches the fine line of acceptance and hurt and places a supportive hand on my shoulder. “He could be, you know. He could be your—”

I stop her before she voices it—the dreaded ‘soulmate’ terminology of which we all live and abide by. In our world, there’s a person we’re meant to be with. They’re our match in every possible way and while I do harbor feelings for Baekhyun in the acutest kind, I realize the chance of him being that person made out to be my other half is zero to none. “He’s not.”

“He could be.”

“The universe has never and would never be so kind.”

“You never know.” She changes her pitch, turning it into a rather singsongy tune as we exit the drawing room.

We make our way down the hallway with our art portfolio cases hanging on our shoulders and from the corner of my eye, I see her bite her bottom lip. She’s toying with whether to voice out the obvious because whenever she tries to mention the word soulmate to me, immediately following will be a discussion about my birthday—my 20th birthday to be exact and one which will happen at the stroke of midnight.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

“Is anyone ever ready to find out who their soulmate is on their 20th birthday?”

There’s a slight shock to her face as she hears me say the word I usually avoid. And it’s because I have a hard time admitting how the word scares me. I’m horrifically afraid what I’ll feel for my soulmate will never amount to the way I feel for Baekhyun.

I let out a sigh and push away the apprehension, figuring I’ll deal with it when it comes. But as a good friend should, she empathizes with my worries and connects her free arm within mine. “I definitely wasn’t ready.”

“Yet, you won’t tell me how it happens so I can prepare myself.”

She scoffs as her eyes crinkle at the edges, perhaps remembering how she found out who her fated person was all those months ago. “It’s because I don’t know how to explain it. You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you. What about your parents? Did they say anything?”

“Yeah—but it only made me more confused.”

“What did they say?”

“They called it—lost and found.”

For a while, I tried interpreting their meaning. I wondered if it meant physically losing something with my soulmate finding and returning it or if it was just a metaphor beyond my comprehension. In the end, all I was left with was a whole new set of unanswered questions. Though, I don’t get a chance to hear Mari’s take on it as a familiar voice calls out my name.

The sound instantly stills my heart as I’ve memorized his pitch and tone as much as I’ve memorized the details of his body from head to toe. I’m frozen in footing as my grip on Mari tightens. She doesn’t let go as we both see Baekhyun jog up to where we’re standing.

“Hey—” he starts off and per his norm, his smile is already tugging at the far corners of his mouth.

I’m not sure where the courage is coming from but my mouth responds on its own (albeit it’s just a single greeting and to my defense, it is one word more than what I’ve said to him all year). “Hi.”

Mari untangles herself from my grasp. It doesn’t take a genius to know she’s about to abandon me within the matter of seconds so I’ll suffer through this sudden interaction alone. “I have to catch the bus, but I’ll see you next class. Happy birthday and let me know how it goes tonight—okay?”

I mentally plead her to stay but all she gives back are sly winks and unexplainable eyebrow raises. What’s a little more alarming other than her leaving me to fend for myself is the fact she mentioned my birthday for Baekhyun to hear.

My free hand reaches up to my forehead, scratching an imaginary itch and hope he doesn’t read too heavily into any of it. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. It’s nothing serious but Professor Moon mentioned you might be able to help me.” He looks hopeful and I do my best not to get lost in his blinding presence.

It’s hard enough being in the same room with him while painting his male form but it’s a whole other issue trying to concentrate on holding a proper conversation with him. With the former, at least I had a legitimate reason to only look at him. This is worlds different and is by far, a suffering I never thought I’d have to endure. “Yeah, of course. What is it?”

“Please don’t laugh,” he begins and my heart plummets as I see his eyes shine in the most innocent way. “I usually wear a certain hoodie to your painting class.”

“Right—the sapphire blue one with the white logo design running across the chest,” I say it all without thinking until the cold terror washes down my body. I only memorized that hoodie because it’s the outfit he wore the first time I met him and he’s worn it every day since. But voicing that little fact makes me out to be a strange person and the feeling of wanting to run into a ditch and live there for all of time comes in full force. “I—I me—I mean—artist’s eyes, you know. I notice a lot of details.”

He cranes his neck while his gaze roams about my face. It’s a small little action but one I make note of due to this being the closest I’ve ever stood next to him. I pray he doesn’t sense anything off and to my relief, he doesn’t question or dive deeper into my odd remark.

Instead, his stare goes on for a second too long before something clicks within him and he speaks again. “Yeah, that’s the one. I must’ve left it behind or misplaced it. I asked Professor Moon if she’s seen it around the classroom but she didn’t. She suggested I ask you since you work in the Art Department office and there’s a lost and found box. I was wondering if you’ve seen my hoodie there by any chance?”

“No, I’m sorry. I haven’t,” I say with a shake of my head.

Baekhyun’s lips press together into a pout and it’s the saddest look I’ve ever witnessed on him. The melancholy expression doesn’t suit him and I go through every possible method to think and come up with a way to help him.

“But we can go check—the office, I mean. We can check the office. I only work three days out of the week so someone might’ve turned it in.”

“I wouldn’t want to bother you if you had plans—

“It’s ok. I don’t mind,” I say because if there was a choice between going home to an empty apartment or having a few more minutes with Baekhyun, I would choose him time and time again. “I didn’t make any plans so—” My voice fades into a whisper at the end as I urge him to follow me to the art office one building over.

I try to make it a quick walk but it seems Baekhyun has other ideas as his pace is much slower than mine. He digs his lithe fingers into his jean pockets as he takes one foot after another down the outdoor steps.

When he reaches the sidewalk, he brings up the very words I love to avoid. “So, your birthday is tonight.” He watches as I writhe about in imaginary pain. It causes a low chuckle to escape from his chest while he waits for my answer.

“Unfortunately, it is.”

“Not a fan of birthdays?”

“Not a fan of this birthday,” I correct.

“Ah—that one.”

I take quick glances at him and find it more of a surprise seeing him return my gaze. But since his attractive face is difficult for me to handle in large doses, I turn my main focus towards the pavement below. “Did you have yours already?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Oh. So you know then—” I swallow and find the sudden lump situated at the base of my throat making it hard for me to breathe. “You know who your soulmate is.”

“Mhmm. I know who she is.”

“Does she know—that you’re her soulmate?” The bitter words feel like salt on my wounds but I’m not even sure why I’m asking. The only plausible result waiting for me at the finish line is more angst and agony. Maybe a part of me wants to know in hopes it’ll make tonight a little bit more bearable—solidifying into stone how I was right in thinking Baekhyun wasn’t my soulmate after all.

Baekhyun shakes his head, his locks tousling over his almond eyes. “No, not yet. I’m trying my best to keep myself from getting too close to her until she does find out.”

“Why?”

“Not sure. I have this irrational fear she won’t like me so for now, I’m staying away and just hoping for the best.”

“Hope.” I breathe out the one word and find so much familiarity in it because it’s exactly how I feel when I look at Baekhyun.

I hope even when I realize it’s hopeless to do so.

Tucking a few strands of loose hair behind my ear, I give him a sad smile before we reach the building. I change the topic since this might be the only time I’ll ever have a conversation with him in our lives and I’d rather it not be so dreary and bleak.

“I’m sure she’ll like you—especially in that hoodie,” I placate and sincerely wish she loves him for the remarkable person he is inside and out.

When we finally arrive to the art office, I set my art portfolio case down by the door and ask Baekhyun to wait. I feel the weight of his gaze watching my every movement and it becomes a little nerve-wracking to just walk in front of him. I dig around in the storage closest before finding the tattered cardboard box but when I bring it out, I’m unable to hide my disappointment. It doesn’t go unnoticed as his expression mirrors my own.

“It’s not in there, is it?” he asks.

“No, it isn’t. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m thankful for you trying.” He shrugs his shoulders and the frown once on his face dissipates as quickly as it came. “You know, I actually considered it my good luck charm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Not to be super cheesy or anything but my life changed the day I was wearing it so it became something I was attached to. I even went to the lengths of writing my name and phone number inside on the label tag just in case I somehow lost it—which, clearly, I ended up doing anyway.”

“I know the feeling. It happened with my sketchbook.”

Baekhyun shifts his weight and bites down on the inner flesh of his mouth as if keeping himself from smiling too hard. I blink to try and understand it but no viable answer comes to mind. He clears his throat and brushes his index over his nose a few times before asking, “Sketchbook?”

“It wasn’t really a good luck charm as it was more of something bringing me joy. I would draw in it every time I felt down.”

“What did you draw in it?”

My hand naturally draws up to my chest, trying to alleviate some of the tension because what I drew in that notebook was endless portraits of him. Every page was lined to the details of only him. His face. His hands. Even the tiny little mole housed on his ear. “Pictures—of someone.” I avoid saying him in fear of coming off more peculiar than I already am and laugh it off. “But it’s gone missing just like your hoodie. I’m sure it’ll turn up though.”

“I do too.” He stands up straight, shuffling a bit in his stance and I fear the times come to part ways.

I realize I’ll still see Baekhyun in class. I’ll still get to draw him but I know once midnight comes around, what I feel inside might change and I’m unsure if it’ll be for better or worse.

“Thanks again for trying—I really mean it,” he says.

“Wish I could’ve helped more. If I see it, I’ll let you know.”

“Promise?”

“Absolutely.”

He ends our conversation with his signature smile but before he's out of view, Baekhyun turns around and quickly walks back to me. He angles down slightly to my height. It’s close enough to the point where I can see every speck and glint designed into his umber eyes and count every lash perfectly placed on his lids. He displays the same kindness and light which drew me in from the very beginning while he speaks. “The tag.”

“The tag?”

He nods slowly and just as carefully as the words leaving his lips. “Just in case, when you do see it, the tag inside the hoodie will read—Byun Baekhyun.” He spells out every beautiful letter to his name and it feels as if he’s engraving them into my heart and mind. He does the same thing he did earlier when we were in front of the classroom. His eyes wash over me, from my brows to my nose, even to the sides of my face. He takes it all in. “And I hope,” he whispers, “I hope—you won’t be disappointed tonight.”

His sentiment stays with me.

It remains etched in the lining of my skin after he leaves and even when I reach my home. It replays over and over in my head and like my parents, he’s given me more questions than answers. But I can’t dwell on it as the hours and minutes dwindle down to midnight. The dread of what’s to come makes its unsettling way into my stomach as the twist and turns provide no comfort.

I watch as the clock counts down into the seconds and my place of refuge has always been the image of Baekhyun. Leaning back against the headboard of my bed, I close my eyes and think of him. His joy, his light. His very existence. I picture it all and if I was asked how I wanted to spend my 20th birthday, this would be it. It would be picturing him and thinking of him.

With no expectation or hope, I feel the next day unfold and sense the slightest change in the air. It’s minuscule. It’s so small that it’s barely discernible as the faintest breeze washes over me. I slowly open my eyes and feel my heart thrum against the bones of my chest.

Because what’s placed before me at the foot of my bed is a familiar sapphire blue hoodie. The garment is folded and tucked securely inside a knotted red bow and for a while, I let it sit there. I’m scared to touch it, frightened to even know what it could mean. I never dreamed of this outcome. I tried my hardest never to hope for it or wholly wish for it since the chances of it being true was near impossible.

I will my hands to unwrap the ribbon and search for the one affirmation to make me believe it’s real—as real as the words he spoke. I search for the tag as my fingers brush over the small piece of fabric.

And written on it in his handwriting is word for word, letter for letter—

Byun Baekhyun.

#baekhyun scenario #baekhyun drabble #exo scenario #exo scenarios #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun #byun baekhyun #exo #exo k #enaasteria #drabble game #kpop scenario #kpop imagine #kpop scenarios #baekhyun fluff #is it really fluff tho LMAO

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phoenotopia · 5 years

Text

2019 March Update

"ZOOM!" ... the sound of a passing deadline...

The end of March has come and I'm checking in as promised. We've accomplished a lot in the past 4 months. We did complete the final dungeon, its bosses, as well as the optional "forbidden forest" dungeon and its secret town. Unfortunately, we didn't reach so lofty a height as having completed the entire game. Sorry if I got everyone's hopes up!

So what's left to do? An odd ~20 something leftover rooms to be completed (the game will number around 600 level files total). One optional end-game boss for completionists. And then a LOT of dialogue & cutscene writing and playtesting.

Then comes the outside development stuff : getting an ESRB rating, trademarking the game's title, getting a website up, speaking to my contact about possible promotions, reaching out to journalists, and so on. Since this is my first commercial title, there's a lot of uncharted territory that I can't accurately gauge how long it might take.

Still, the finish line appears very close - I'm eyeing it hungrily - but like a dying beast in its last death throes, I suspect the game will manage to surprise me with unforeseen developments. So rather than give a date again, I'll just say we're intently focused on it. Please bear with us a while longer!

==== PICTURES ====

Here are some snapshots of the past months' progress. To avoid being too spoilerific, I'll keep the shots mainly to areas that are most similar to the flash game. The really new areas will be a surprise.

(Harpies like to live in high places)

(Arcs have now become "Trolls" to draw on their mythical ability to turn into stone)

(Some harpies will aid the player given the right incentive)

(The Spa returns. Swimming in it will restore health)

(A secluded fishing spot)

(battle in a terrarium)

(a place beyond comprehension)

==== MUSIC ====

Will and I regularly discuss which songs to bring back, redo, or upgrade. Lots of circumstances can affect the final pick. In one interesting case, Will wanted to replace a song, but I wanted the original because I'd gotten a lot of emails from fans asking about it. In the case of the Monster's Twilight Village, we still liked the base melody and went for an upgrade. The new version of the song is 4x the original's length! Hard to believe the flash game made do with just a 30 second loop. Give a listen to the improved Twilight Village Theme.

==== WRITING ====

(Compare the old pumpkin muffin description vs the new)

One of the new shifts in development is that I'm writing a lot more. This time around, I'm putting more care and time into it. In a fast case scenario, an item flavor text just takes 5 minutes. In the worst case scenario, bridled by writer's block, an item flavor text can take half an hour! There's only so many ways you can describe raw meat of varying sizes. I'll try to find some trivia that can add to the world in some way, and I'll research the proper terminology and ingredients. For instance, did you know that common ingredients in Dog biscuits are bran, bone meal, and fat? You did? Well, expect to find that bit of trivia again in the upcoming Dog Biscuit's description!

(There's a satisfaction in describing an item well. The best descriptions are not too short, not too long... they're betterer)

==== THE LUNAR ARTIFACTS ====

Since the adventure sends Gale through a bunch of old ruins, it seemed sensical to have Gale find old artifacts and relics. These artifacts would give insight into their builders' history and culture. As these artifacts accumulated, we wanted to do more with the artifacts than just have the player dump them at the nearest recycler. So the Quest naturally evolved to involve Antique collectors.

If an artifact is submitted to Astrid, the Antique Collector, she'll add it her shelf. Submit enough unique Artifacts and you may even get a nice reward! Astrid will also share her thoughts on each artifact, divulging more of their history and culture.

(brilliant deduction skills)

NOTE: the above image is a gif. if it doesn’t play, view it on imgur)

==== LAST NAMING CONTEST ====

Since the cast of enemies is now completely rounded out we can also proceed with the final naming contest! (For enemies that I will reveal anyway). The cast of enemies up for naming are actually all robots!

First up is the Borg. A highly intelligent enemy encountered in the final dungeon, capable of wielding laser swords, grenade launchers, and eye beams. As mentioned before, its placeholder name is a bit of a misnomer, since "cyborg" and "borg" imply a human element. These enemies are all mechanical!

Next up are 9 other robots! In quick spitfire fashion, here is their image, their current placeholder(?) name, and their description.

I've had difficulty naming these robots, and I didn't understand why until the whole cast was assembled. There's clearly a relation between some of them, but the family tree gets messy. Some are distant cousins while others seem like fraternal twins. So here are the notable relations between them:

The smart turret and the scrapper have identical shooting behaviors. They even shoot the same bullets. The difference being that one is stationary while the other can move.

Both Flying Mine, Rollo Mine, and Scrapper have spherical shapes. They also all emit a damaging explosion, with the Rollomine packing additional TNT & shrapnel.

Tank bots and Saw bots have similar chassis and can only move on rails.

The Beam Drone could be viewed as a more advanced version of the scrapper.

So how to name these robots? Should the Scrapper be named as a set with the turret? A companion of the Mines? As the inferior prototype to the Beam Drone? OR, should they have wildly different names with no attempt to relate them at all?

I look forward hearing what you guys come up with! Like before, naming entries can be submitted to the reddit thread (LINK) or privately to email ( [email protected] )

==== FAN ART====

This update's fan arts are all brought to you by Cody G!

(The first foray into a dungeon. It's always neat when you can map an art directly to an area from the game!)

(A nice heartwarming scene between Billy and Gale. I always like night scenes!)

The latest piece is quite exciting since I think it might be the first fanart that shows the new reboot and not the flash game. Enemies like the female Ouroboros bandit and Dragon Snare are new additions. Dragon Snares are quite terrifying when viewed outside a 2D perspective! Thanks Cody!

The next update will come end of May. Til then!

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the-asia-trip · 5 years

Text

Days 12-15: Taiwan

In a way, this trip has been on a slowly increasing scale of travel difficulty for me. Japan, while still foreign, is like a warm blanket—familiar, safe, and clean. Korea is one or two steps beyond Japan. Still safe, but less familiar. Taiwan is three steps out. It's still very safe, but, for lack of a better word, it's also China. Wild, chaotic, exotic China.

Hordes of scooters weave through every street, big impenetrable Chinese characters dominate every sign (though there's still English secondary signage everywhere you really need it), and everything is considerably less spotless and immaculate than Korea, let alone Japan. To speak in Dungeons and Dragons character alignment terminology: if Japan is Lawful Good, and Korea is Lawful Neutral, Taiwan is Chaotic Good. There's still that East Asian order ethos, but noticeably less than the first two countries I visited on the trip.

None of this is an insult, mind you. It's also jaw-droppingly scenic, filled with fantastic food and incredibly friendly people.

On Tuesday, after finishing my last entry here, I hopped on the subway out of Seoul. About an hour later, I arrived at Incheon International Airport.

Incheon deserves special mention here. I didn't get a good look around when I arrived there last Friday night, but it's a really really surreal place—ultramodern, and dripping with the trappings of the international set. In Terminal 2, there's a three-story Chanel store and a three-story Gucci store right next to it. There's every conceivable designer boutique, at least 4 duty-free cosmetics stores, 3 liquor stores, 2 tobacco stores, and 2 nondescript "fashion" stores that sell clothing from brands not prestigious enough to warrant their own storefronts (but pricey enough to benefit from duty-free savings). For actual airport souvenirs, though, it's not much. For my 4 days in Korea, the best I could manage was a fridge magnet. Note to self: buy souvenirs outside next time.

After some kimchi stew and an impossibly small $8 airport beer, I boarded my flight to Taiwan. It took about 2 hours, during which time I watched about 70 minutes of Quentin Tarantino's "Once Upon A Time in Hollywood" on a hilariously low-resolution seatback display. My seatmate was a middle-aged Russian woman with two brand-new iPhones who drank five glasses of white wine and bought three sticks of Burberry lipstick from the duty-free cart.

After clearing customs, I hopped on a city bus into Taipei proper. The buses in Taiwan also deserve special mention here for being one of the most chaotic elements of the whole experience. Inexplicably well-appointed with little frilly lace window curtains and headrests, and consistently driven with a style I can only describe as "New York Cabbie on speed," they're an experience in their own right.

The trip to my hotel took about an hour, at which point it was well past midnight. After a requisite post-airport shower, I fell fast asleep.

I'm staying at the CitizenM Taipei on this leg of the trip, a part of a larger chain of hotels that I've stayed at before in New York. It's one of those trendy hotel chains marketed towards young people that tries painfully hard to be cool with every aspect of their branding. Still, their actual hotel rooms are very nice and well-appointed.

The next morning, after coffee, some scallion pancakes, and Taiwanese sausages, I headed over to Xiangshan. Located on the other side of the city, it's a hiking trail that offers unrestricted views of Taiwan's most internationally-famous attraction, Taipei 101. While taking some photos at the top of the trail, I struck up a conversation with a local—a girl about my age who currently lives in London, back here for two weeks visiting family. We talked for about half an hour, exchanged information, and went our separate ways.

After the hike, I headed back into the center of town and hopped on a train out to Jiufen. One of Taiwan's most photogenic locales, it bears a striking resemblance to the Spirit World from "Spirited Away," one of the best/most influential anime movies of all time, and a personal favorite of mine. The train only got me most of the way there, so I had to transfer to a bus in Ruifang, a little village about 3/4 of the way between Taipei and Juifen's iconic old town.

A highlight of the walk through Ruifang—at one point, I passed an elderly Chinese man sitting on a bench. He gave me a thumbs-up, I gave him a thumbs-up back, and he smiled and said, "good!"

One more chaotic bus ride through a series of winding mountain roads later, I arrived in Jiufen. After almost 20 years of being associated with one of the most popular movies of all time, it's more than a little touristy, but a whole lot of fun. The photos to follow will do it more justice than I probably can here. If you like stunning jungle mountain scenery, charming small-town vibes, and excellent food, it's a must-see.

A nice thing about visiting Taiwan right now: for some reason, all Mainland Chinese people are banned from visiting the island by the Communist Party until next year. As locals tell it, I basically have the place to myself.

Also, for about two weeks in advance, rain was predicted for three of my four days here. Obviously, on paper, Taiwan is the most outdoorsy leg of this trip, which is why I spent my first day so actively outside when the weather proved sunny.

In an extreme stroke of luck, though, it was clear and sunny the whole time I was there.

On my second day, I took full advantage of this. After more scallion pancakes and coffee, I hopped on a train out of Taipei Main Station headed out of the city, this time to Tamsui, another small town located north of the city.

One thing I didn't know about Taiwan prior to this trip: it used to be a territory of the Dutch East India Company during the 16th century. One of the most tangible remnants of this period is still on display in Tamsui, a colonial fort known as Fort San Domingo (the Dutch took it over from the Spanish, some of the first Europeans to reach the island during the European Age of Exploration). The Chinese locals know the fort by another name: 紅毛城. In English, this translates roughly to "fort of the red-headed ones," which I'm still getting a big kick out of. Apparently the Dutch were the first redheads the Taiwanese had ever seen, and the nickname "Ang Mo" (literally "red hair," or sometimes more derogatorily, "red fur,") stuck for some time after that as a catch-all term for Europeans in many parts of Southeast Asia.

While there's a decent amount of foreigners in Taipei, I definitely felt like the odd Ang Mo out in Tamsui, wading through street markets and ducking out of the way of scooters. It's an amazing place, filled with life and chaotic energy in a way few places I've ever seen are.

Later that day, I returned to Taipei to check off one of the obvious must-sees of any Taiwan visit: Taipei 101. Formerly the tallest structure on earth, and now the 11th tallest behind a variety of Mainland Chinese and Gulf State money laundering projects, it's truly a sight to behold. From the 89th floor, you get an unrestricted panoramic view of the whole of the Taipei metro area and a glimpse into the building's highly sophisticated internal stabilization system. Because Taiwan is prone to earthquakes, the 101 is borderline over-engineered against any conceivable emergency. It's allegedly one of the most stable structures on the planet.

After a beer at the top floor lounge, I headed over the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial. The leader of the Kuomintang and father of the Republic of China, he's a very very very big deal here. His memorial is every bit the equal to monuments like the Lincoln Memorial and is guarded by a group of very very very very serious Taiwanese soldiers. There's a guard-changing ceremony a few times a day that I was lucky enough to catch the end of during my visit. Video will follow.

After that, I met up with my new friend from yesterday and a few of her local friends for dinner. Naturally, the best way to try the best food in a foreign place is to make friends with locals.

The next morning, I crossed the final box off my Taiwan list: the National Palace Museum. When the government of the Republic of China fled the mainland in the 40s, they took most of China's artistic and cultural heritage with them from the Forbidden City in Beijing: over 70,000 items now stored in a sprawling gallery just outside Taipei. It's considered to be one of (if not the) finest collections of Chinese art on the planet, and it's where I spent most of my last full day in Taiwan. Pictures will follow and again will do more justice than I ever could. The sheer extent of China's history is really and truly staggering. The second oldest civilization on the planet, and the oldest continuous one, with a mind-blowing amount of art and culture to show for it.

After the museum, I went back into town for a lunch of pork belly with buns, Dan Dan noodles, and fried pork dumplings. They're big on pork here. The other part of the whole "thousands of years of history" thing? The food. Unbelievable.

I got even more of that aspect of Taiwan's culture later that night when I went back out with my new Taiwanese friend to one of Taipei's famous night markets. Another "chaotic in the best possible way" experience, you can get everything from knockoff designer socks to steaming bowls of beef tendon stew there. By the end of the night, I had both.

This morning, I got up at around 9:30 and had my last helping of local scallion pancakes for the foreseeable future. I checked out around 11, and one chaotic Taiwanese Citybus ride later I was at the airport. More pork and rice, a beer, a three-hour flight, and I find myself at Hotel Nikko Narita, the last stop on my trip, for a quick overnight before my flight home. Expect more in the coming days in terms of a cohesive "final thoughts" piece. But for now, here's a few things I'm already feeling very clearly:

There's a power that comes with solo travel. A sense of self-assurance and understanding you really don't get from many other experiences. You're spending a lot of time with yourself. For some people, the thought of that is terrifying. Especially on the other side of the world. For me, though, it's energizing and self-actualizing in a way few other things could ever possibly be.

What else. Travel. Of all the places I visited on this trip, Japan is still quite easily my favorite, and I'd still love to live here someday. But I'm not in any rush, and I certainly won't be coming home with the same misplaced urge to return immediately that I had after my last trip.

Two weeks really remains the ticket for this kind of trip. I've been away long enough that traveling almost feels like my routine at this point, pretentious as that may read. It's nice to be able to spend enough time doing something that you're able to drop the mindset of normal day-to-day life for a while, and do Big Thinks About Life Stuff. However, as I've said in previous posts, I think I'd need a concrete reason to be here to stay any longer. After almost 16 very full days on the other side of the world, thousands of miles away from my own, I'm actually very ready to come home. I miss my friends and family (you, reading this, probably), and after 2 weeks of near-nonstop movement, the creature comforts of my apartment will be mighty nice.

For now, thank you all for following me. I'm honored to have shared this incredible experience with you.

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thunclerpuff · 6 years

Text

the warehouse club

I do not know what this is. Yes, it started as a Sleepover Club AU. Yes, don’t expect it to be anything but shameless teenage fluff. The boys are all around 16 or 17, I don’t know I don’t care. This is set in the fictional city of Crescent Bay, in Australia, and I dared to put in exactly one (1) aussie slang word and I’ve probably used it wrong. It’s not betaed, it’s barely edited, and I’m not a native speaker. Still. It’s 6k of teenage fluff.

(underage teenage drinking and a little of slut-shaming terminology but nobody is really getting judged, it’s just Loki being a jealous bitch. also for some reason Loki is Frigga and Odin’s son and Thor is not and he goes grocery shopping alone. the original plan was to him to live with legal guardian Heimdall but? no word is spoken about it in the text. he’s probably just a con-man). .

It was casual Friday at school, which meant no uniform, which meant most of the kids took the opportunity to show off and try to get laid. Loki was above all that.

He slipped in the first outfit he put his hands over, a pair of cut off jeans and an emerald green shirt casually folded at the end of his bed. That he had felt like putting up a little fashion show the night before and didn’t put his clothes away, it was only a lucky coincidence. He screamed to his mom he was heading out, put a earbud in, and walked down the beach to gather his subjects.

He met Volstagg in front of Fandral's house, rang the bell, rounded the corner to get Sif, then got back to Fandral just as he got out of the door. “How do I look?” he asked- they all ignored him, turned on their heels and went back the way they had come.

It was, all in all, a wonderful morning: the sea breeze was fresh and crunchy, hungry seagulls where causing havoc at the kiosk, and Loki's messy bun was almost perfectly concealing the fact he hadn't took a proper shower in four days. A volleyball flew right over in Fandral's face, even, leaving him butt deep in the sand.

They were still all laughing, Fandral pouting and refusing to jump back on his feet, when a thundering voice interrupted them. Loki turned to the beach volley field, wind blowing in his face and the sun in his eyes, just to see a rather large black silhouette against the blue sky. Thor Borson. Of course.

His stomach did a somersault.

“Sorry, mate, Nebula has a mean smash. Are you hurt?”

Revolting.

Loki watched as Thor hoisted Fandral up, somehow smashing him against his unnecessarily naked chest.

He watched in disgust as Thor giggled like not even a twelve year old reading too many maganizes about having power over boys would. He took three steps back, turned to Sif, said something Loki really didn't pay attention to, sweat trailing down his throat, and just like that he run away, once again a black cut out in the sun.

“Ridiculous.” Loki suggested, and suddenly everyone was watching him.

“What?” he asked, utterly unimpressed. “Flirting like that with Fandral? A slut for the attention.”

They all shared a quick look deciding on who got the first round dissing Loki, and Loki braced himself with disinterest.

“He was being nice.” Volstagg laughed.

“It's kind of sad you think being nice is flirting.” Fandral added.

“Well, wanting to get into his pants is probably the only way someone would force themselves to be nice to Loki.” Sif rounded up.

“Hey.” Loki softly protested against his will. Sif slammed a hand on his back.

“Besides, Fandral will take just about anything regardless from motivation.”

Fandral didn't even try to defend his dignity. He simply sighed and glanced at the field, where Thor was putting on the horrid school shirt.

“What can one say? He's charming.”

“And strong, the muscles aren't for show. He gave Rogers a run for his money. The other day-”

Loki rolled his eyes and started walking on the beach again.

Incredible how some muscles and an arguably pretty face could turn everyone to mush.

“One-” Sif mused from atop the table. Loki knew something was coming, and he would not react to it. “Could argue you're jealous.”

“Jealous?” Loki very elegantly squeaked. “I'm not jealous. I'm the opposite of jealous.”

“What's the opposite of jealous?” Fandral asked, his body twisted on the bench to try and ogle the small basketball field.

Thor was playing. He was truly terrible at it. At least he seemed to be having fun.

“I don't know.” Sif answered. “Let's ask.”

Loki didn't have the time to blink.

“Hey Thor!” she shouted, and he turned just to get the ball smashed on his head.

He recovered quickly. He moved his ridiculous and out of style hair out of the way and smiled at Sif.

Show off. Pretentious. Over-aware of his so-called good looks.

Loki was so preoccupied insulting him in his mind he almost forgot Sif was going to ruin them all.

“What's the opposite of jealous?” she shouted.

Loki stood perfectly still as he contemplated murder.

Thor seemed to think about it for a second.

“Indifferent?” he asked, before Valkyrie threw him the ball once more and he caught it midair with only one hand.

Giant hands. Too long fingers. Overabundance of rings to, once again, peacock his way around.

“Well, this does seal the deal.” Volstagg laughed behind his third club sandwich. “Since you're the opposite of indifferent.”

Sif and Fandral laughed too and Loki wondered, as he did at least fourteen times a day, why he insisted hanging out with such bullies.

He was not jealous of Thor.

He simply refused to worship him like the entire school had started doing two days after he had showed up, obscenely tanned for someone coming straight out of the British inland. Loki bet he had gone tanning just to blend in. He would have bet money on a fake Australian accent too, if he thought Thor capable of such intellectual finesse. That, and Sif had disclosed the fact he was apparently a born and raised Aussie coming back home after three years among the poms.

Loki had avoided another rampage over the word pom, as he felt personally victimized by it and he had just managed to make them all forget it got on his British nerves.

Still, there was nothing objectively wrong with Thor. He was passably good looking if you had the hots for the hunk-on-steroid type, had a full beard at sixteen that he kept as a little bit more than a stubble, sometimes wore square glasses that made him look like he was trying really hard and Loki was reasonably sure were fake, and went to school in his uniform even during casual Fridays.

He also cheated on tests regularly. Point in case.

“Utterly unimaginative.” Malekit said, dropping Loki's essay on his desk like he was slapping him across the face. “You'd be better off sticking to numbers, mister Odinson.”

Well, Loki would have. If they would just let him ignore the whole literature class, which was mostly made of completely subjective interpretations of bad and outdated books, he would have been out of there ages ago.

He didn't say so just because Sif hit him on his shin.

He didn't loudly protest to that abuse because Malekit had just handed Thor's essay back to him, and Loki was outraged.

“Decent job, mister Borson.”

Thor beamed, and now Loki knew he must have been shit at blowjobs too, because there was no way he had got a decent out of Malekit if not by blowing him, and yet he had not even earned a good, so he must have done a barely sufficient job.

He told so to his friends during lunch break.

“How are you so familiar with Malekit blowjobs grading system?” Volstagg asked.

“I do recall him getting a passable, once.” Sif smirked.

“You're all going to hell.” Loki shut his locker close and jumped when he found Thor on the other side of it.

“What?” he asked.

“Need to ask your friends if they're down for a volley match in the evening.” stupid smile and stupid glasses on.

“Sure.” Sif answered.

“I'm a little rusty, but I'm in.” Fandral betrayed him.

“Kidding? Always down for some beach volley.” Volstagg flat out stabbed him.

“Want to be our referee?” Thor asked to him once again, and before Loki could answer, the three backstabbers murdered him in a choir of nos, sacrificing their decency and elegance too.

He rose his eyebrows at all of them. Savages. Monkeys. Spoilers of fun.

“No.” Sif said categorically. “He's not getting anywhere near a position of power in which he has to tell right from wrong and can go unquestioned. That's all he shouldn't be doing in life.”

Thor seemed confused, but he smiled again, and Loki told himself to remember to check if steroids had any effect over the activity rate of facial muscles.

“Well, come to watch?”

“I could play.” he told, and Volstagg laughed. “What? I'm an excellent setter.”

“For the first ten minutes, before you remember you're a lazy twink and just stand there doing nothing.”

“Fandral is a lazy twink too.”

“A functioning one.” Fandral flat out winked at him.

“He can come and hand over powerade.” Sif shrugged.

“Beg your pardon?” Loki asked.

She surely wasn't thinking he would do that.

“Great. See you at five on the beach?” Thor asked, looking straight at Loki.

Show. Off.

Too bad it wasn't going to happen, never in a million years.

Loki took a sip of powerade as Sif smashed the ball over the net with the kind of loud sound Loki would imagine a jet breaking the sound barrier would produce.

Unluckily for her, Thor seemed a natural at receiving.

His forearms had gradually became so red he looked sunburned. Not that Loki was looking at his arms, but it was difficult to avoid a spare glance when they were proving to be the star player of the game.

Not that Volstagg was slacking off on the other side of the net, and Fandral was perpetually rolling in the sand catching any stray ball.

It was taking forever for either team to score a point. Thor, Valkyrie and Nebula were ahead for the time being, but it was a two points margin.

Would have Loki been the referee he would have made the game more spicy, but alas they were all too worried over his superior volley knowledge. He was the son of a twice Olympic beach-volleyball player after all. He had made his mother proud before he decided he was more apt to live the theater life.

Not that the only notion of a three on three beach volley match didn't still destroy his soul. At this point he was almost considering getting a heat stroke on purpose, just to avoid looking at the bastardization of a noble sport.

Nebula scored the last point ages later, and finally Loki had something to do, namely refusing to give out bottles at whoever walked up to him.

“You could get your ass up, you know?” Sif nudged his shoulder with her feet.

“Why reward you with such a view when you're playing like shit.”

A bottle flew over his head and he looked up to see Valkyrie squaring her shoulder, doing that thing with her head and neck that made her look like a cobra ready to strike.

“You're playing like you want to kill someone. There's no grace or purpose. No technique.” he explained, matter of fact.

“Than get up and show us your technique.” Nebula growled.

Well, he had not considered being challenged.

He truly had no will to move his ass, or get sweaty.

“I only play by Olympic rules.”

“Than so be it.” Valkyrie settled. “Me and Nebula versus you and whoever you choose.”

Loki opened his mouth to find another excuse, but Thor jogged to them wiping his forehead with his tank top.

“You set, I spike?” Thor asked, crouching to get the powerade bottle out of Loki's hands.

Loki watched as he drank, the sun filtering trough the bottle in pretty blues and pinks.

“One set to 17.” Loki resolved, standing up and doing his hair up. What a waste of good beach waves. “If you suck, I dump you and Sif takes over.”

“And if you're the one who sucks?”

Loki was not impressed. He didn't take his eyes away from him as he settled in the field.

Nebula had the ball in hand and decided that was enough to decide who was on service first, and Loki was about to protest, but Thor run over to him and moved him away from his spot.

“The ladies start, I have to receive.” he smiled.

“Uh.” Loki answered, blinking.

When Thor flawlessly received the serve, Loki was not ready. He managed to decently set the ball nonetheless. Thor titled his head at him after spiking, and Loki ignored him and focused on the ball.

His second set was flawless, and Thor hit the ball just right. Nebula growled when she fell over, butt in the sand, but Valkyrie had already run to get it, and suddenly the ball was back to them and Loki decided it was to be a two-time attack, and Thor's spike was again a work of violent graceful art, and yet, yet, they didn't score.

He should have made it one set to 7.

The girls scored first, Loki still had to understand how.

He shared a look with Thor as he got up from the sand, wiping at his mouth with his hand, and Loki felt Thor's bloodthirsty smirk between his gut and lower regions.

They scored next.

Loki was exhausted. They had won 27 to 25. He couldn't feel his bones, and he might have just found the way to get himself a heatstroke.

Fandral gave him a high five and rather embarrassingly Loki's balance got lost somewhere and soon enough his back was plastered to Thor's sweaty tank top and it was utterly disgusting.

Thor put a hand on his neck and Loki leaned in just a bit.

“Your pulse is racing. Are you thirsty?” Thor asked in that husky voice of his, and Loki mumbled something back before a faint cramp got the best of his left leg.

“Okay, you need to cool down. Is there somewhere close by we can go? It's probably heat exhaustion.”

They all looked at each other very quickly, and then at Loki.

Loki shook his head.

“There's the warehouse, three minutes from here.”

Traitors.

“Great. Can you walk? You can lean on me.”

Loki looked up.

“I know how to deal with heath exhaustion.”

“And I'm very happy about it. Can you walk?”

Loki squinted at him.

“I really don't like you.”

“Well, I like you.” Oh. “And I'd like you not to die because I had you playing beach volley. You were outstanding, anyway.”

Thor took his absolute lack of attempts of getting away from his body as a confirmation he needed help, and moved to get Loki's arm over his neck, and kept him close with a hand curling around his ribs.

“I know. You weren't half bad either.”

“Half bad? He's magnificent. Mate, you should consider going professional.”

Loki closed his eyes and stopped listening. He was either doing that or walking. Not that Thor couldn't apparently carry his weight like he was a twelve year old girl.

He was vaguely aware of goodbyes with Nebula and Valkyrie and of a cold bottle put in his hand, and of holding it up to his forehead, and of walking the familiar steps to the warehouse.

He wondered if the heat exhaustion was turning into a flat out heat stroke when wind hit them the right way and Thor's scent got sharper, and he thought he smelled good, all beachy and sweaty and male. He smelled stormy, somehow.

Loki couldn't believe they actually had brought Thor to the warehouse.

Or that they had let him stay after he had dropped Loki on one of the beach loungers they had decorated their hideout with.

Or that they had offered him a beer and let him sit on the swing (Loki was somewhat amazed the swingset seemed to fit him and hold him up as he rolled backn and forth on the heels of his feet).

The warehouse was sacred. It had once been the sewing laboratory of Fandral's parents before they moved to a bigger business, and it had gone forgotten until Loki had found out such a thing existed. They had cleaned it, redecorated it, installed air ventilation, dropped colorful fans everywhere, put potted plants all around, and annoyed all the Crescent Bay residents to exhaustion to collect pieces of mismatched old furniture.

It had turned out beautifully. And now Thor was spoiling it with his alien presence.

Loki glared at him, a lukewarm wet towel on his forehead and another on his chest, under his armpits. Thor smiled at him when he turned away from Sif to get his beer off the ground.

He stood up and brought the beer to Loki after taking a sip.

Loki sat up, discarding the towels and crossing his legs. He had not meant to do it to make room for Thor, but that was his interpretation, for he sat down where Loki's leg had been. And where they still belonged.

He stretched his legs over Thor's lap and got the beer from his hand. Thor's cool hand was soon just over Loki's knee, just casually sitting there, and Loki ignored it.

He ignored it too when Thor started brushing his thumb over his cooling down but still heated skin.

“What's the fear lotto?” he asked, probably as a part of the conversation they were having and that had not pierced Loki's brain.

“Nothing.” he said, as Fandral answered. “We each write down something we're afraid to do this week, or just really don't want to do, but we really should do, and the last one picked, we do together.”

Loki almost threw him the bottle, but he wasn't a savage. He threw him a towel.

Sif intercepted it and threw it back.

“If you think it's lame, you can say it. We all think it is.” she added to Thor, and he smiled, getting the beer back from Loki's fingers.

“No, I think it's sweet.”

“Yeah, same thing.” Sif said.

“We've been doing it since we were twelve.” Volstagg explained. “It usually ends up in nothing productive done and much more mischief that what was originally planned.”

“Go figure.” Thor said, tilting the bottle toward Loki. “Are you all childhood friends?” he asked before Loki could defend his honor.

“All but the British weasel.” Sif. “He just turned up one day and started bossing us around.”

“Well, you did look like you were in desperate need of leadership.”

Thor laughed, a low chuckle that was all chest and male, and Loki almost smiled back under the insults coming from his friends.

He could use it, someone to share a little bubble with after his friends refused to recognize his genius.

Someone. Not Thor, of course.

Thor was still looking and Loki needed to escape it but he couldn't without getting up and he was still feeling a little bit dizzy. Oh, well, he supposed there was one way to get away.

“Let Thor play instead of me. I'm off to sleep.” he announced in a flourish before scooting over until his head fit on the sloucher, his tights over Thor's.

He fell asleep just as Sif passed a piece of paper in Thor's hand and they chuckled about something.

Thor had a nice laugh.

“I saw Fandral at the market today.”

Loki answered something but it was muffled by the popsicle in his mouth. What, he really didn't know either. He took an overly sharp turn down Yoshi's waterfalls and paused the game boy not to suffocate around the ice and have it all melting down his hand.

“He was with a new guy? Thor? Such a nice boy, you haven't mentioned him.”

“Yes, I did.” he said, licking at the stick and then his fingers and okay, maybe playing Mario Kart as he ate a popsicle hadn't been one of his best ideas. “The floozy who cheats at tests? That's him.”

Frigga stopped pulling cereal boxes out of the grocery bags and stared straight at him.

“I thought you said he was average looking yet everyone slobbed over him because he was, quoting, an absolute slut.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I might not have enough information to dispute the slut part, but surely I need to call your optometrist if you think the guy is average looking.”

“Mom, ew.”

“Just being objective, he would made an excellent trophy son. He has great hair.” Loki glared. “Besides, Fandral seem to really like him, shouldn't you be a littler nicer to him?”

“Because?” he asked, getting up from the couch. “It's not like they're dating or anything.”

Not that it would have mattered. If anything, Loki would have been more justified in finding his every fault: it was a friend's duty.

He put the popsicle in his mouth again and rummaged trough the bags to find the chocolate covered caramel waffles.

He noticed then his mother hadn't answered.

“What?” he asked, slowly, popsicle in hand and waffles in the other. “They are not.”

“Sure. I mean, I only saw them once, I must have got the wrong impression.”

“You must.” he said, biting into the last bit of melted ice.

He left the stick on the table and went back to his DS. He had a race to win.

Fandral and Thor were not dating.

First of all, Thor was obviously straight and playing the guy up for laughter and self-importance. Loki was insulted somebody would think him genuinely attracted to a guy.

Second of all, Fandral was incapable of keeping his mouth shut, and if they were a thing the whole town would know.

Third of all, they simply were not, because Loki said so.

Still, he had to be sure, and to be sure he needed to ask.

“So, coming with me to the raise-founding dance?” he asked Fandral at his locker.

“Can't. Bringing Thor. We're going with Val and Nebula-”

Loki blocked him out. He didn't want to hear a word about their stupid double date or whatever it was, and really he was shocked Fandral had not told him he wasn't up to friendly handjobs in the dark anymore and had simply went off and ditched him and started dating Thor Borson.

Loki needed to save Fandral from this disaster in the making.

He munched on his salad, watching Steve Rogers helping Thor throwing a three pointer.

Thor was so obviously fucking with him too. The flirting was borderline disgusting. Thor was borderline disgusting, leading on well meaning bi boys that way.

And even if he really was interested in boys, it still didn't change the fact he was such a slut and poor little Fandral was set to have his heart destroyed.

It was all in the way Thor walked, all hips forward and shoulders back. And the way he touched people's backs all the time, just between their shoulder blades. And Loki didn't even want to start with his lips.

“Will you stop?” Sif asked from his left.

“Stop what?” Loki asked.

“Daydreaming about graphic porn starring Thor and your sorry self. At least be discreet about it.”

Loki was so offended he stopped chewing.

“Beg your pardon?” he asked, voice a little cracked, around the remains of lettuce in his mouth.

Sif glared at him with disappointment hidden in her eyes, and Loki coul only blink.

Suddenly it was casual Friday again, and Thor actually put on casual clothes.

A stupid inappropriate tank top with sleeves cut down to his lower ribs that were one nip-slip away from indecency. Some ridicolous mid thight black shorts covered in big flowers in muted colors. Fucking boat shoes. The hipster glasses.

He looked like he was begging for someone to drag him in a closet and manhandle him and no. This was Sif masterful plan at work: infiltrating horrible pictures in his head such as Thor naked under him just to test his hornyness and challenge him. Just to see how low could he stoop once again. To see if he had grown after the horrible Bucky Barnes debacle.

In Loki's defence, Barnes had took very little convincing to blow him, and it wasn't like Fandral was going to do anything with his silent crush anyway.

Still, he had promised he wouldn't do it again, and he trusted Sif to send him to intense care if he attempted that again.

Loki had to bleach the cursed image(s) from his head and return to his state of vague dislike for Thor Borson, and back to his plan to save Fandral the heartache.

Even if.

Wait a second.

Loki dropped his pen on the desk and it resonated in the busy silence of the text-taking class.

Malekit looked at him with a look that said I'm grading you down for this, but Loki didn't care, for he had a vision. And for his literature grades were shit anyway and there was no point in trying to save them from drowning when the best they could ever do was floating like sad little sea buoys.

It was easy, really.

Seduce Thor so subtly nobody would know he was doing it, and then go cry to Fandral that Thor had made his move on him like the slut he was, and that Fandral really deserved better.

It was genius.

Not even Sif could beat him up for making out with Thor, if Thor was the offender, and Loki was not opposed to Sif beating people up if those people were not him.

He doodled another suicidal stickmen on the side of his paper, this one strangling himself with a flower crown. He now had a plan.

“Oh.” he mouthed, his mouth a perfect o, when he spotted Thor down the aisle of the supermarket. “Thor. What a coincidence.”

Or not, since he knew from his mother that Thor went grocery shopping at the same time she did.

Thor was once again wearing his hideous flower shorts. No glasses.

Loki was almost disappointed.

“Loki? Is you mother okay?” Thor asked, and Loki blinked.

“Sorry?”

“I always meet your mother around here and since you're here instead of her-”

“Oh, that. No, she's fine, I just wanted to help out. Besides-” he got closer to Thor, who was luckily close to the candy aisle, and reached from something on the shelf. “If I come, I can get treats.” he smiled, looking up at Thor and breathing his glorious stormy scent. It was missing some sweat to be perfect, but- no.

He refused to breath in.

“I didn't know you liked aniseed.” Thor commented, and Loki looked at the package he had in his hand.

He considered getting along with what his carelessness and given him, but what better occasion for planting doubts in Thor's head if not correcting himself? Letting him see how affected Loki was and how ready to be taken if he simply- he dropped the aniseed lollies and got the lime ones, still not his favorites but at least a step up.

“My bad.” he smiled, not inching back.

Thor didn't either.

In fact, he looked at him intently.

Slut.

Loki smiled, and Thor smiled back.

This was going to be so easy.

“Sorry boys, could I-” Loki glared at the old lady strolling down the aisle pointing at the lollies behind them.

“Wait for you turn.” he muttered under his breath as Thor laughed and dragged Loki away from his elbow.

That stupid hands. Large and gentle and cool even if Thor's palms were sweating. The metal of his cheap rings was freeze burning Loki's skin, perpetually on the verge of a sunburn. Loki needed them off of him now.

“Are you in a rush?” Thor asked, still holding him too close.

“It depends. What are you offering me?” Loki asked, buying time. Half of his brain was telling him he was forgetting something he was supposed to do.

“To get to the cash and then go to the bonfire Nebula and her sister are planning. I'm supposed to help with the preparation.”

Oh. The bonfire.

“Oh. The bonfire.”

“Yeah. You were invited?”

“Don't sound so surprised. And yes, it's a homecoming thing graduated students do. Hogunn is coming. Actually, I'm afraid I was supposed to be at the warehouse-” he held up his own arm to maneuver it and spy on Thor's watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“Oh.” Thor said, so small and low Loki's eyes snapped back on him.

“I'll catch you at the bonfire?” Loki asked, and Thor's mouth quirked up a little.

“Sure.”

He reached up to put a stray strand of hair behind Loki's ear.

Loki's stomach dropped low. Too low.

Thor's eyes was the kind of blue Loki liked in the sky- clear and susceptible to weather changes.

They seemed to be cloudy. Like he was thinking really hard at something he didn't know if he should or could do.

The damn eyes dropped to Loki's lips.

Oh.

Plan aborted.

Too risky.

Must avoid human contact with Thor Borson.

Hypocrisy would not carry him far enough this time, not when the crush he had been ignoring so well he wasn't aware he had, was now apparently getting out of hand. And really, really, it was actually Fandral who stole Thor from him because even if he was too dense to catch on his own awe for more-than-average looking Thor and his stupid glasses and boat shoes, his friends weren't. They were supposed to know better.

Now that he thought about it, they all did catch on, and repeatedly teased him about it, including Fandral, so it was reasonable to conclude Fandral had simply decided to ignore Loki's feelings and score regardless, thus concluding Fandral was a terrible person and deserved to be cheated on.

Not in any way that involved Loki, thought. He was still pretty convinced Thor was a slut, a flirt at minimum, and he would not be running toward that when he laughed at Thor's stupid jokes in class and got lost gazing in his eyes and he apparently thought of cuddling with him after slow crazy hot sex between Loki's kitsch but very silky galaxy sheets.

He realized how hard he was staring at Thor's lips only when said lips pressed against his in the middle of the supermarket aisle and suddenly he was tasting the storm and Thor's hand was on his neck, his rings digging into Loki's soft skin.

Loki moaned and stepped closer, his tongue pushing at Thor's lips just as Thor was stepping back.

“Sif is going to kill me.” were Loki first, unplanned words.

“For being late?” Thor chuckled and pressed a butterfly kiss on Loki's lips. “Isn't that a tiny bit drastic?”

“No, not for that. I mean, for that too, but. It's more for the making out with Fandral's crush thing, act two. Or three, if you count Darcy, but she got me high before making out and I'm not really interested in girls.”

Thor didn't seem bothered by the rambling uttered between soft kisses.

“Fandral doesn't have a crush on me.”

“Aren't the two of you-” Loki licked at the corner of Thor's mouth.“Hanging out?”

“No.”

Ah, here he was, showing his casual sluttiness.

“But does Fandral know?” Loki asked, knowingly.

“Pretty sure.”

Loki squinted and squeezed on Thor's bicep just because he could.

“But you're going to the dance together.”

Something flickered in Thor's eyes.

“Ah, yes. Nebula and Val are going together and I didn't want to be the third wheel.”

“But.” Loki said, but he got caught off by another chaste kiss, long and sweet and one that would have been absolutely perfect if only Loki wasn't getting half-hard in his pants and had no more mental dams in place to keep his visions of Thor and sheets and nakedness under control.

“Okay.” he said. “I need to go.”

“Me too.”

They kissed some more.

“See you tonight?” Thor asked.

“If you bring your glasses you'll probably see me alright.” he joked.

Thor frowned a little, puffy mouth quirked up at the corners.

“I have lenses on. I'll see you either way.”

“Yeah, I know. I was just saying.”

“I'll put them on if you like them.”

Thor kissed the tip of his nose.

“I don't. They're hideous. The beard, the hair, the glasses? Too much.” he said, sincerely.

“Ah-ah.” Thor mocked him, and cupped his face with both hands and kissed him and Loki forced Thor's mouth open because he really, really couldn't help himself.

He was a man of vice.

“See you tonight.” Thor husked on his lips like he was telling it himself.

“See you tonight.”

Loki bit Thor's lower lip for good measure.

Thor had to stop him with a flat palm on his chest from jumping on him.

At least Thor laughed, and even if he was laughing at him, it was a good look.

Thor had put his glasses on. The little shit.

Loki wanted to take everything off of him but those.

He had no idea how he didn't jump him as soon as he spotted him talking with Jane Foster and Darcy near the bonfire. Apparently, he had more self-control he gave himself credit for.

Look at him, the floozy, he thought to himself. Flexing every five seconds for no discernible reason, pointing at stars in the sky, touching everyone's back, scrunching his nose as he chuckled.

And they all had no idea. Absolutely no idea he was making out in a supermarket with Loki just a few hours before.

Knowledge made him feel powerful.

“You're lucky he's so nice.” Volstagg said. “Looking at a boy like that will get you in troubles one day.”

Just as he said it, Thor turned and saw Loki, and Loki cursed Hogunn with all he had because really? He needed to come back to visit the one day Loki could get some?

“I'll correct myself. You're lucky he wants you in a horizontal position too. The rest holds true.”

Loki elbowed him and then snitched his beer from his hands, before walking up to Thor. He met him halfway.

“Hey.” he flirted, sipping at his beer, with a careful mix of I slept with you and you want it to happen again and I'm never going to sleep with you but you want to. Not that he wanted Thor to pick up either of those sentiments, but Thor seemed more intent at watching his mouth around the bottle than not his eyes or the tilt of his head.

He wanted everyone else to pick up, and to let them all go crazy doubting.

“Hey.” Thor said, and just as Loki let the bottle go with a pop, he took Loki's head in his hand and bent his neck down to kiss him.

Oh.

Well, let them all go crazy knowing Thor was off the market.

Because he was.

Probably.

Because he wanted to be. Or he wouldn't have ruined his game in front of half the school.

It made sense.

Maybe.

“What are you thinking about?” Thor laughed on his lips, and Loki curled his fingers at the small of Thor's back, raising his shirt to slip his pinkie under it and get a taste of the soft, strong fabric of Thor's back.

Thor's fuzzy short hair stood up at the touch and Loki opened his mouth with little to no decency.

Thor chuckled again and put a stop to a potentially destructive situation by inching a breath away.

Loki sneaked his whole hand under Thor's shirt and pawed at Thor's back, feeling muscles and softness and dimples.

“I think we're being disgusting.” Thor told him, a last small kiss at the corner of Loki's lips.

Loki meowed in protest, but he let Thor wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He slipped his hand in the back pocket of that hideous pair of shorts.

“I knew faking a dubious relationship with Fandral would have worked, but I didn't think it would have took so little time.” Volstagg boomed from one the logs around the bonfire.

Fandral, sitting next to him, smiled. “He must be really smitten.”

“Look at him, he's smiling. It's creepy.” Sif ordered from her spot on the sand.

“I beg your pardon?” Loki asked, surely not smiling anymore.

He looked up to look at Thor, who had apparently not stopped looking at him.

“Remember when I took your place in the fear lotto?”

“Yeah, but-”

“I might have mentioned I needed to win someone over.”

Loki blinked.

Than blinked again.

Fandral going grocery shopping suddenly sounded like a clear clue something was going on.

Not to mention Nebula and Valkyrie going together when Nebula was dating that weird kid with wide eyes that went around touching everyone.

And he had mentioned a couple of times how annoying it was Thor wore his uniform even on casual Fridays.

“You set me up?” he asked. “I'm impressed.”

“Yeah, well, I did wing it in the end.” Thor laughed. “We had estimated it would have took until the ball for you to show your cards.”

“You could have just asked me to the ball.”

“Would have you said yes? Just like that?” Thor questioned, his face scrunching, and Loki clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

“Well. I've been- not indifferent.”

“The last time someone asked you out it was Quill.”

Oh, yeah. Quill.

Loki had been a bit not indifferent back then too, and Quill had picked something up and asked him out, and if he remembered correctly, Loki had toyed with him, rolling in his new found powers until he had got bored and said something very mean and very unnecessary.

Point taken.

Still, the Quill situation was not even close to Thor.

Mostly because this was Thor, and he smelled good, and he kissed Loki like it was the only thing in the world that mattered, and made corny jokes about stars and pulled off floral shorts, slutty tank tops and boat shoes.

And probably did not blow Malekit to get a decent grade. He did seem like he would at least be worth an above average.

He would have to investigate the matter.

“Still. I like the clandestine approach.”

“Even if I ruined it and made out with you in a supermarket?”

“Especially since you ruined it and made out with me in a supermarket. Don't go stealing my thunder in causing mischief, sir. I could become vicious.”

Thor laughed fondly and kissed him again, and Loki melted into it, and really, being a jealous bitch had payed off in the end.

“I wonder-” Hogun deep voice got to his hears as Loki nuzzled against Thor's soft jaw under the light sting of his beard. “why do I still hang out with you kids when I visit.”

#thorki #thorki fic #i really have no excuse for this #it's shameless self-indulget nonsense #*

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onlylovekpop · 7 years

Text

Hero | Jeon Jung Kook | One-Shot

jungkook (bts) + you (reader) word count: 5,326 warnings: this is purely netflix and chill graphic smut with kookie and it’s a mix of playful to hot and heavy there’s nothing too risky it’s mostly vanilla but there is fingering, oral sex, dirty talk, etc... a/n: forgive me father i have sinned this is my first jungkook smut oneshot and it took forever to finish i have no idea why hehe anyway this fic is meant to be a fun time so sit back and enjoy i also named the dog Fish because of a jungkook drabble i wrote here

The phone buzzed in your pocket yet again. Fighting back a smile, you cautiously lowered your eyes and tapped at the screen, hiding the phone alongside your thigh beneath the table of the conference room.

The text read, Netflix and chill?

You wanted to snort with amusement. Leave it to your boyfriend to pester you while you were in the middle of a very important board meeting. He was so… predictable.

You eagerly texted back, You are my hero, and received a number of excited and suggestive emojis in record time.

Ever since you moved in with your partner of nearly two years, life had taken quite a different tone than before. It was comforting to return home after a long day of corporate grind to a person who seemed to always be ecstatic to see you.

That was Jungkook. Though the two of you were also proud parents to 75lbs of golden delight named Fish.

After another hour of monotonous droning, the meeting wrapped and you were finally free to leave, noting the clock and the darkness falling outside.

“Damn it,” you groaned under you breath, gathering your binders and barely managing to pull your purse to the crook of your arm as you barreled through the door.

As you drove home, the phone rang and you answered hurriedly, “Babe, I’m so sorry. The meeting ran late and I’m on my way now.”

“This is why men created microwaves,” Jungkook crooned, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll warm up the food when you get here.”

“You made me food?” you asked, voice piquing with interest.

“I ordered you food,” he clarified shamelessly. “But I can throw on an apron real quick if that does it for you.”

You chortled. “Is this an attempt at seducing me?”

His response was deliberately slow and he lingered on the word for longer than was necessary, “Maybe...”

“But you know we sleep in the same bed now.”

“I still like seducing you. It’s fun for me,” Jungkook murmured flirtatiously.

You felt a warmth gather across your cheeks and you switched the phone to your other ear before whispering, “I hope you’re on top of your game, because I’ve had a long day.”

“Challenge accepted.”

A few minutes later, the sight of your townhouse was a welcome sight and you pulled the car into the garage before crawling out tiredly. The moment you stepped down, you were reminded of how badly your feet ached and you kicked off your high heels with loathing.

Your Golden Retriever, the aforementioned Fish, proceeded to greet you in typical dog fashion by ramming his cold nose into your crotch. You’d been mother to this creature long enough to grab his face at just the right moment and squished his cheeks together, kissing his brow and rubbing his ears.

“Honey, I’m home,” you called out, shutting the garage door behind you and flocking to the kitchen.

Before you got there, you crossed through the living room and stopped still, gawking at a massive pile of blankets and cushions in front of the fireplace.

“I’ve missed something, haven’t I?” you mumbled to yourself.

Jungkook appeared from the kitchen, sporting an apron over his tight-fitting sweater, and announced, “Good evening, boss lady. Make anyone cry today?”

You grinned and approached him for a chaste kiss, smarting, “Sadly, no. But tomorrow is another day.”

“Uh, no,” Jungkook scolded, unamused. “It’s Saturday. You’re off. I double-checked.”

“Darn,” you sighed, feigning disappointment. Then, you asked excitedly, “How was the studio today?”

“It went well,” Jungkook told you levelly since he knew you were itching for spoilers, returning to the kitchen and preparing the takeout he had ordered. “The next album will be solid.”

“You’re modest,” you chided. “It will be lit as hell.”

Jungkook wiggled his eyebrows and asked mischievously, “Will you dance naked through the house again?”

“No, that’s reserved for ‘Fire’ and ‘Fire’ only,” was your retort.

Jungkook grinned and pecked a kiss on your temple, giving your butt a pat and instructing, “Alright, woman, wind down a bit. Put some comfy clothes on.”

“I thought maybe you could help me with that,” you cooed.

Jungkook stopped, lifting his brows suspiciously. “I would love to help with that. Skipping dinner, are we?”

“For now,” you sighed, vague.

Jungkook swiftly removed his frilly apron and tossed it dramatically into the kitchen.

You chortled at the gesture and began pulling off your jewelry, stepping toward the couch and suddenly reminded it was inundated with blankets. Turning to your boyfriend, you asked, “What is this?”

“Netflix and chill, remember?”

“Ah,” you hummed, giggling. Grabbing the corner, you lifted enough of the sheet to peer inside, noticing he had gone so far as to put the air mattress within and covered it with your favorite red silk sheets.

Jungkook had known it was going to be a rough day for you at work and he lived for sweet gestures. He was the strong, silent type. Not so much using his words to express how he felt about you and the relationship the two of you had built together; Jungkook preferred actions that spoke much louder than words ever could.

You stood straight, facing him and teasing, “Right next to a fireplace, babe? What would the landlord say?”

He scowled, but it was insincere, and an adorable look of frustration crossed Jungkook’s face when he barked, “Woman, get in the blanket castle.”

Your brow furrowed with confusion. “Isn’t the proper terminology a fort?”

“No, I specifically designed it this way. It is, in fact, a castle,” your boyfriend told you matter-of-factly.

“Whatever you say, golden maknae,” you droned, taunting him with a wag of your hips.

Jungkook snickered and approached, taking your hand and leading you inside. You were attempting to hide just how much you were enjoying this. You felt like a kid again and when Jungkook gently shoved you on to the air mattress, causing you to bounce on the silky sheets, you laughed uncontrollably.

“Admit it, it’s awesome,” Jungkook exclaimed, settling on his stomach next to you.

“It’s so fucking awesome,” you told him, reaching up to let down your hair. “Have I mentioned you’re my hero?”

“Once or twice,” he gleamed.

You opened your mouth to continue the banter, but Jungkook quickly moved behind you, pushing your hands away as you proceeded to undo the bun on your head.

A subtle moan fell from your lips the moment your hair was free. Your scalp ached from having your locks up all day. Jungkook teased your hair free with his fingers, combing through your strands and massaging your head as you closed your eyes.

“Wow, I didn’t realize how much I needed that,” you hummed a moment later, practically falling to sleep as Jungkook played with your locks.

He said nothing, but continued his ministrations, noticing the way your body relaxed from its tension. When you started to drift off, Jungkook pulled all of your hair into his fist and tugged your head back gently, whispering, “Can I have a kiss?”

You puckered your lips just in time for his to collide with yours. Another innocent, chaste kiss. You loved those and he honestly lived for them.

Jungkook grabbed your waist, rolling you on to your back and stealing yet another kiss. He eyed you up and down before murmuring, “You’re so tense.”

“I worked hard today,” you sighed, rubbing your brow.

“Mm,” he hummed, suddenly abandoning your lips and moving southward.

You didn’t protest when he neared your feet, taking one in his hands and proceeding to massage your aching sole until you moaned lowly in your throat. His strong hands knew just the right amount of pressure to exert, never pushing hard enough to hurt you, but easily working out the knots in your muscles.

“I am the princess of this castle,” you blurted a moment later, splaying your arms at your sides and letting yourself sink into the air mattress.

“Yes, you are,” Jungkook replied, moving his attention to your other foot.

When you started to drift off again, Jungkook tickled his fingertips across the bridge of your toes and your reflexes nearly made you kick him. You giggled and squirmed, lifting your head to see him smiling with amusement.

Jungkook crawled back up your body, falling down against your side and propping his head on his hand. His free palm settled on your stomach.

“We should probably turn on the Netflix,” he murmured under his breath.

He didn’t sound very convincing. Especially since the moment he had spoken, Jungkook began stroking his hand up and down your waist.

Your eyes were glued to his, noticing the flush of his cheeks with the way the blankets trapped the warmth generated between your bodies.

It was about to heat up inside the blanket castle.

“The what?” you squeaked.

Jungkook snorted, brushing his hand up and down, up and down. With each pass, he started moving farther up until his palm rubbed across your breasts.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered lowly, leaning forward to steal a kiss.

The friction from his hand was winding you up. Your body trembled with his caresses.

“Touch me,” you breathed, almost inaudibly.

He snickered and the sound was sinful. “I am touching you.”

“Touch me more,” you panted. “Touch me everywhere.”

He kissed you again and said, “I will.”

You shuddered with delight.

Jungkook kissed your lips before hovering back down to your legs. You stared up at the canopy the blankets made, breath bated with anticipation of what the night held in store. Your boyfriend reached beneath your dress and seized the waistband of your pantyhose, pulling them down until he could free them from your legs and feet.

Then, he began kissing his way up your thighs.

It took all of your restraint not to rip the dress over your head and get on with it, but you didn’t want to rob Jungkook of the opportunity. The sound of his kisses on your legs were loud and wet and made you shiver with arousal.

“Jungkook,” you whimpered, grabbing a handful of the sheets to steady yourself as he began sucking on your inner thigh.

“Mm?” was all you heard.

The air mattress undulated beneath you as Jungkook lowered himself, pushing his arms to hook around your hips. You reached to grip his thick forearms and dropped your head back when his face vanished underneath your dress.

Jungkook pressed his lips to your clothed entrance for an open-mouthed kiss and immediately came back up for air to growl, “Someone is wet.”

“I’m guessing it’s me?” you retorted, voice cracking.

Jungkook chuckled and released your hips, moving to hover above you. He slid an arm under your head, while settling on his knees between your legs.

To your surprise, you suddenly felt his free hand on your breast, palming and squeezing while he kissed you slowly. Drawn out passes of his tongue coupled with the collision of teeth at a glacial pace made your core heat up by a thousand degrees. You didn’t realize you were gripping his sweater so tightly until your knuckles began to ache.

“Come on,” Jungkook coaxed firmly. “Be a good girl and spread your legs for me.”

You obeyed without a word, bending your knees and parting your thighs as wide as you could in your current position.

“Let me make you feel good,” he whispered into your mouth, hand drifting from your breast to slip beneath your dress.

A gasp caught in your throat as he pressed his fingers to your clothed entrance, teasing you momentarily before lifting to slip into the waistband of your panties. The moment he found your bare core, you could hear his fingers coating themselves with your arousal and you moaned into his kisses.

Your body was beyond tense from stress, but undeniably screaming for something to relieve the tension that you only stiffened more.

“Relax, baby,” he sighed. “You’re mine.”

You swallowed his words as his tongue danced with yours.

His middle finger slid into your heat and crooked upward, coaxing you to rock your hips in tandem with the motion of his hand. The sound that followed from your mouth was lewd, to say the least, and it registered in Jungkook’s pants.

When he added another finger, you gripped his hair and kissed him with all your might, sliding your tongue between his teeth and filling his mouth with the way you whispered his name. Jungkook pumped his fingers ever so slowly, building you to a distant peak and stroking you to madness. You rolled your hips for more, but he gave you just enough to make you crazy.

“Harder,” you demanded, but when you received no response, you added an innocent, “Please?”

“You’re not gonna come on my fingers,” Jungkook broke from your kisses long enough to say. “I’m just preparing you for my cock.”

“Oh,” you replied, your thighs clamping on his hand involuntarily at the thought.

Jungkook felt the added pressure of your muscles on his fist and smiled smugly, withdrawing his fingers and adding, “Okay, we need to have a word. If it’s too much and you want me to stop right away, say Jimin.”

Your eyes widened and you squeaked, “Jimin?”

“Yeah.”

You rolled your eyes and droned, “Okay, we really need to meet with a therapist because I think you have a lot of emotionally unresolved issues with Chim-Chim.”

Jungkook narrowed his gaze and grumbled, “Be quiet.”

“Yes, master,” you smarted, biting your lip to fight a smile with the way he glared at you in annoyance.

Jungkook grabbed the hem of your dress and began pushing it upward. You lifted your body until the garment was pulled over your head and tossed aside. Your boyfriend took a long, lascivious look at the lacy bra and underwear set you were sporting and his eyebrows lifted.

“You wore this sexy shit to work?” he questioned in disbelief.

To which you answered, “Yes, it makes me feel badass and confident.”

“Yeah, I imagine it would. You look like a goddess.”

You cupped your chest and wiggled for effect, singing, “Why, thank you. Now get it off me, please.”

“In a minute,” Jungkook growled like a man starved, shoving his face into your breasts. The bra did its job of pushing your boobs into perky position, cleavage practically reaching up to your throat.

You giggled as he littered playful kisses along the swell of your boobs.

Jungkook pulled back momentarily to tell you, “You are sexy as fuck.”

“You know, I remember back when you were shy and terrified of sexy time,” you said, reminiscent. You were reminded of his adorable, bashful smile and the way crimson was permanently painted across his cheeks. But that innocent boy was definitely gone now.

Jungkook snorted. “That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Jungkook kissed your nose and said, “I know you inside and out, baby.”

“Obviously,” you agreed with a long sigh. “You’re the only one who has ever been inside me.”

Jungkook chuckled with pleasure at the reminder and whispered, “And you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved.”

“Awe, Kookie,” you sang, grabbing his face and pulling him down for a kiss. When you’d had your fill, you broke away and growled, “Now, fuck me.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Jungkook sang, sitting up between your legs and pulling off his sweater with haste.

You sank your teeth into your lip as you stared hungrily at the muscular curves of his body. Crossing your ankles behind his back as he began to undo his belt, you raked your tongue across your teeth.

Jungkook glowered playfully and whispered, “Stop doing that.”

Overlapping your arms behind your head as you lounged beneath him, you tilted your head coyly and asked, “Doing what?”

“Eye-fucking me.”

You giggled. “I’ll never stop and I dare you to try and make me.”

Jungkook tugged down his pants and let his hard cock spring into view. Your mouth watered at the sight and a small whimper of appreciation lingered in the back of your throat.

“Nothing to say now?” Jungkook taunted, grabbing your legs and holding them up alongside his hips.

You swallowed and panted, “Every time I see that thing, you don’t wanna know what happens to me downstairs.”

Jungkook laughed loudly at that. Then, he shook his head and quipped, “I think I have a front row seat to what’s happening.”

Biting into his bottom lip, Jungkook leaned forward and hooked his hips in an angle to rub his cock right between your folds. At first, you moaned quietly, then you felt nothing short of annoyance when his length didn’t slide inside and fill you.

You quickly fussed at him, sitting up and reaching for his member to guide it into you, but Jungkook all too easily slipped a hand between your breasts and forced you back. When you opened your mouth to argue, the head of his cock pushed directly against your clit.

“Fuck,” you groaned, realizing sweat was borderline pouring down your neck. The blankets surrounding you may as well have served as an oven.

“I love feeling how wet you always get for this dick,” Jungkook growled, more so to himself.

You gulped down a mouthful of saliva and listened to the sound of your arousal soaking around his erection. Jungkook was getting off on it, you just knew he was, and that was why he was taking his sweet time.

Suddenly, Jungkook was on you, smashing his lips on yours and tangling a hand in your hair. Still, he jerked his hips slowly, letting his length rub against your entrance but never actually entering. Your walls pulsed and you pleaded with him to take what was his, begging him to sheath himself to the hilt.

You cried out in surprise when Jungkook whipped you around none too gently. On your hands and knees, Jungkook crowded your back, barring his arm across your chest to allow his fingers to hold your throat while his free hand steered his member into your entrance.

"Oh," you moaned at getting what you wanted, winching your eyes closed as your mouth fell open.

Jungkook sucked in a hard breath and exhaled shakily against your neck as your pussy swallowed his cock, tightening on every last inch of him. When he finally bottomed out, both of you moaned in unison.

It was times like these you were viscerally reminded how much bigger Jungkook was in comparison to you and his muscles felt like iron against your skin. The first thrust was slow, tentative, meant to ensure you had stretched around his girth before he could pick up the pace. The next was a little rougher, making you let out a short groan when his pelvis smacked into your ass.

Satisfied your body was accepting him, Jungkook began bouncing you back to meet his cock, coiling his burly arms around your waist to keep you from escaping. You bit your lip and stifled any noises, focusing on taking his thick member at a steady pace. Heat was gathering in the pit of your stomach, coaxed by his movements and you couldn’t wait until it all unraveled.

Growing hotter with every passing second between the sheets, you lifted your hands and struggled to unclasp your bra while he continued to grind himself into you. Jungkook released you temporarily to remove the last piece of clothing you wore, leaving you naked against him.

With your breasts out in the open, Jungkook grabbed one of your mounds and held you in place to buck his hips harshly into you, impaling you on his cock and groaning lowly at the feel of you clenching on him.

At a particularly hard thrust, you chuckled irritably and hissed, "Mm, fuck you."

Jungkook snickered darkly and you felt the heat of his breath on your shoulder, followed by a few scalding, open-mouthed kisses that echoed in your ears. "Fuck me?" Jungkook questioned, cocking an eyebrow with amusement.

You nodded, lowering your head as you rocked forward from the steering of his broad hands. Gripping the sheets beneath you, you spread your thighs a little farther and balanced on your knees, arching your back and lifting your ass higher in the air.

Jungkook shifted behind you, grasping your waist and drilling into you as he clenched his jaw.

Any restraint at keeping quiet was steadily being robbed from you as his cock pounded in and out of your pussy. You bit your lip again and pressed your eyes closed, focused on holding the position as Jungkook set out to fuck your brains out.

A few words you didn't catch suddenly spilled out of his mouth followed by, "Listen to you."

He was referring to the sound of your soaked walls welcoming him back with every thrust. At that, your mouth opened and you moaned his name shakily.

Jungkook shivered at the wanton tone of your voice and planted his hand between your shoulder blades, shoving you face-first into the air mattress. For a moment, you bounced, struggling to regain equilibrium, and your eyes widened in surprise. Then, you felt the weight of your boyfriend's body overtop yours and you practically purred.

“You take this thick cock so well,” he whispered, nipping at the shell of your ear.

You cried out in a mix of pleasure and disbelief as Jungkook wedged an arm under your hips and shoved himself balls-deep in your heat hard enough to jar you on the bed. The head of his cock kissed your cervix with every thrust and Jungkook eased into a steady pace that rocked your world. You could already feel how sore you would be when morning came.

When he angled his hips and stroked your sweet spot, you lifted your head sharply and rasped, “There, Jungkook. Fuck yes, there.”

Your partner said nothing, but propped himself on his fists above you and snapped his pelvis into your ass, sending a resounding slap through the room. You gave him a prompt warning that you were about to come and Jungkook grabbed the bends of your elbows, leaving you with a sense of helplessness as he fucked you into the mattress.

“I… I’m gonna,” you started, but didn’t finish.

Jungkook sucked in a sharp breath as your walls kneaded his cock, clamping down on his length in waves. His grasp on your arms grew rougher as you struggled underneath him, howling through your climax. You pulled your thighs closer to him as humanly possible, shaking uncontrollably while your toes curled.

“Good girl,” Jungkook cooed under his breath, drawing out his pace to something gentler and even deeper. He wanted you to feel every inch of him while your core pulsed.

“Fuck,” you groaned, going limp on the mattress. You turned your head to the side, allowing Jungkook to bend down and crash his lips on yours. “You didn’t come,” you questioned a moment later.

Jungkook shook his head and teased, “When have I ever come that fast?”

You rolled your eyes and growled, “I wanna ride you. Get on your back.”

He smirked and tugged your bottom lip between his teeth. “As you wish,” Jungkook sang, pulling out of you and flopping down at your side.

Still shaking from the first round, you lifted to your hands and knees and crawled over him, taking a long, hungry glance at his length standing at attention. It curved toward his abs and you didn’t hesitate to grip his girth and steer it into you as you straddled his hips.

You hissed through grit teeth as he settled deep in your swollen cunt.

For a moment, you were giddy at the idea of riding your boyfriend and fucking out what was left of your stress, but instead, Jungkook coiled his arms around you and began thrusting his hips up into you.

You now fully understood his choosing of the air mattress. It was all too easy for him to buck his length into your heat with little effort. Meanwhile, you were slightly annoyed that despite being on top, your boyfriend had all of the leverage.

As you took initiative and picked up speed, Jungkook squeezed your hips and his mouth formed into a hard line, enduring your pace and bidding himself not to blow his load too soon. When you felt his rhythm stutter, you smacked both palms on his broad, firm chest and snatched the lead.

Jungkook no longer steered you with his grasp, but instead held onto you for dear life. Each time you lifted above him only to slam back down, the collision of your ass hitting the tops of his thighs sent a reverberating thud through the air.

You sank your nails into his flesh as you squeezed his pecs, using him for balance as you bounced up and down his length, moaning his name on occasion when his length sheathed hard and deep inside you.

Jungkook, on the other hand, couldn’t hold himself back anymore. His mouth shot open and he let out little raspy groans while you fucked him, tipping his head back and closing his eyes before glancing down to watch your pussy swallow his cock.

“How’s this?” you asked arrogantly, raking your nails across his chest and down his abs before teasing his nipples with the pads of your fingers.

“Mmph,” he huffed after you lowered yourself harshly on him, tensing your inner muscles tightly around his length.

You glanced down at him with pride, feeling a shiver up your spine at the sight of him underneath you. Jungkook looked so damn good at your mercy.

“Ride that cock,” Jungkook growled, shakily whimpering when you instantly obliged him. His eyes promptly opened and your gazes met, all the while you hovered over him and bounced your ass to let his dick slide back and forth.

Jungkook grasped your butt with both hands and rolled you into him, clenching his jaws and holding his breath.

You recognized the signs and chuckled devilishly, asking, “Are you gonna come?”

Your boyfriend nodded rapidly as he squeezed your ass.

You foolishly taunted, “Already?”

The tone of your voice was what insulted him. Fire flashed in his irises and you were quickly reminded how hot your surroundings were at the moment. Sweat beaded from every surface of your skin, pooling down between your thighs where your body connected with his.

In a heartbeat, Jungkook wrapped his arms around you and flipped you to your back, chest to chest with his mouth brushing over your lips. You cried out in surprise while he grasped your thighs and hauled them higher up his waist, smacking your flesh when you let your leg fall to the mattress.

“I didn’t mean it, Kookie,” you pleaded, blinking at him in an attempt of appearing demure.

Jungkook scoffed and drove his cock into you with a vengeance, hissing, “Oh, yes. You did.”

You swallowed to wet your dry throat and opened your mouth to argue.

Jungkook pulled your arms against your sides and caged his on the outside, trapping you under him and pounding into you at a brutal pace. You chanted his name like a prayer and merely lay there helplessly, looping your legs through his and feeling the strength of his muscles.

“Fuck me,” you engaged him between gasps for air. Sweat traveled down Jungkook’s skin and dripped onto your own flesh, the two of you slick with moisture against each other.

While Jungkook drilled into your cunt, you winched your eyes closed and took everything he gave you, feeling the heat in your core boiling over once again. Jungkook’s lips were on your damp throat, occasionally kissing you while the sounds you made spurned him on.

A few incoherent words fell from your mouth as you climaxed beneath him, a dull ring pounding in your ears like an alarm as you shuddered under his weight. Jungkook watched your undoing with pleasure, tensing his hold around you to keep you entirely at his mercy.

Warmth spread from your toes to your head and you clamped your thighs on his hips on instinct. The seconds seem to linger as you were suspended in mind-numbing pleasure before the sensation finally began to ebb away. You drifted back down from your high and couldn’t tell where you ended and Jungkook began.

Your sensitive nipples rubbed against Jungkook’s chest as he throttled into you, making your eyes roll with overstimulation. He panted for breath, releasing tiny gasps against your throat as his own high ripped through him. You managed to free your arms from his hold as he shook uncontrollably on top of you and raked your nails up his back, carding your fingers into his soaked hair.

Jungkook emptied himself into you, filling you with his hot release before collapsing like dead weight on your chest. You smiled softly with satisfaction and proceeded to massage your knuckles up and down his spine, feeling his labored breaths blending with your own.

You lay there motionless for what felt like hours. There wasn’t a way to describe how time slowed and revolved around you and Jungkook. You wanted to stay like this forever, intertwined and locked with him.

Finally, Jungkook lifted his head and you opened your eyes, noting the flush of crimson across his cheeks and resisting the urge to kiss him a million times over.

“When I joked about making someone cry today,” Jungkook stammered, out of breath. “I didn’t mean me.”

You laughed openly at that, the motion making your breasts flutter against his chest. With a snort, you taunted, “I can’t help it I make you come so hard.”

Jungkook grinned and let out a raspy chuckle, shaking his head with amusement. Then, darkness pooled into his eyes and he whispered, “I can’t get the sound of you riding the soul out of me out of my damn head.”

“And don’t you ever forget it,” you retorted, reaching up to run a hand through your disheveled hair.

Jungkook lowered his head and kissed your throat, sucking on your skin briefly - not long enough to leave a mark. “I hope you have bad days more often,” he joked, insincere.

“Ha-ha, fuck you.”

He chortled and suddenly changed the subject, “I should put all the blankets and shit away. I can turn on the Netflix and I can warm up the food...”

“You know you’re still inside me, right?” you interjected, dropping your arms limply at your sides.

Considering your well-being was his primary concern, Jungkook panicked and asked, “Why, are you uncomfortable?”

Shaking your head, you droned, “You’re already talking about cleaning.”

“No, it just came to mind.”

“Do you always remember your to-do list after an orgasm?”

His nose wrinkled as a smile traveled up to his eyes. “My brain goes into peak performance afterwards apparently.”

You giggled, then your expression shifted.

“What?” Jungkook asked worriedly at the look on your face.

“It’s very quiet,” you murmured.

Nonchalant, Jungkook bobbed his head. “And?”

“Quiet is not normal in this house, Jungkook,” you reminded softly. “Where is our son?”

“Ugh, he always interrupts us during sex and always sticks his cold nose…” Jungkook trailed, rising up on his elbows as he finally heard the faint noises in the kitchen.

Your lips parted in a grin just as Jungkook kissed you hurriedly, apologizing as he withdrew his softened length from your folds. Scrambling to his feet and falling unceremoniously over the air mattress, Jungkook proceeded to exit the blanket castle while butt-naked, screaming, “Fish! Fish-ie, where are you? Don’t do it, Fish!”

Covering your mouth as you laughed, you listened to the thundering of footsteps while your boyfriend barreled into the kitchen and shouted in horror, “Jeon Fish-cake, what the hell have you done?!”

Fish had eaten the entire dinner for two and by the energetic wag of his fluffy tail, saw absolutely nothing wrong with that.

For more oneshots, click here for the masterlist.

Author’s Note: This fiction is written and owned by me. I monitor my work diligently and will take measures to protect my writing if it is stolen or plagiarized.

#oneshots #jungkook #bts #jungkook smut #bangtan smut #bts smut #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #bangtan scenarios

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katbot · 6 years

Text

Logic, Bushes, and my first rolled cigarette.

This is a the sequel to Rescheduling, Accents, and American pride. I nab a second date with N, the Ameriboo.

“actually can we do nine?”

“Nine is fine. I’ll head to the library then head down to you around 8:30. I’ll pick a cheap bar”

“ace! see you then”

I crush a set of logical reasoning questions and give myself a break when the next section is Logic Games.

Around 8:45, I finish my make-up and head down to Christopher. I know every bar in this area and want to pick one that fits my vibe.... without charging $10+ for a pint.

I feel like Goldilocks. This bar’s too crowded. This bar’s too dive-y. This bar’s too bougie!

I’m in between Shade or Triona’s.

The first— a faux-dive with 15 dollar cocktails but cheap beers. Triona’s, a sports bar with cheap beers but water downed mixed drinks.

When he texts me he’ll be late, I treat myself to cheeky cocktail at Shade.

I grab my favourite window seat and pull out my workbook. Logic games can’t beat me with a cocktail in hand! I’m 100% wrong and end up spending most of my time texting my date for next week— a freelance guitarist from Greenpoint.

N catches me off guard. He slips into the chair across the table with a cheery, “Hiya!”

“Hey!” I wrap up my books & phone conversation like a guilty child.

“How was LA?”

We pop into the conversation like old friends. I’m delighted when he’s chill with staying at Shade for another round. I insist he add his beer to my tab to avoid the hassle of opening his own.

We exchange week events and he shares pictures of LA beaches. It’s beautiful, but I could never see myself out there. Like most New Yorkers— I can’t drive. He tells me about his hour-long bus ride to the centre of town and I silently thank my immigrant parents for picking the right coast.

We shuffle next door to Triona’s. When I begin to order a drink, he grabs me by the shoulder and insist he buy the next drink.

He’s staring me down. His brown hair has turned less floof and more mane.

“I-uhh. I-I’m going to get liquor. Get the next round.”

I’m not rich by any means, but I remember his poor comment from last week and feel bad. The fact that I freely throw my card at bartenders means most of my dispensable income (gladly) goes to booze. Booze that’s mostly pricey gin.

“What are you getting? Vodka?”

His intensity is throwing me off guard.

“No — gin.”

“Niceeee,” he coos. His UK appreciation overtakes his intensity, but it rolls back when I correct his pairing assumption.

“And soda?? What are you mental??”

He gives me shit until the bartender comes over then, ask for my preferred gin before ordering.

He opens a tab. We're in it for the long run!

I’ve got a smug blush on when we settle into a side table. The conversation flows well; he tells me he’ll be gone till mid-May, for stop back home to England.

We match pints to pints once I finish my gin. Alternating rounds depending on whose too lazy to get up.

At one point his phone chimes, and he groans. “Ugh. Sorry. It’s my program. It just crashed.”

It’s the reason he was late today. It’s a bunch of coding shit that vaguely ties into politics, but he surprisingly explains it in an uncomplicated way. I’m impressed and can actually make sense of it.

“So... if it’s just that one digit that’s off...can’t you just replace it with the proper unit?? How long will it take?” I speak slowly to not fuck up the basic terminology and…. because I’m entering the tipsy territory.

He nods. And we he tells me it’ll take a few minutes I insist he do it right away.

We squabble until I put my foot down. “Promise you, I’m not offended. You're gonna be behind tomorrow. It's not worth it."

He begrudging pulls out his laptop, opens up the terminal, apologizing the entire time through. “So sorry.” He repeats, typing away like a mad man.

“Literally no stress.” And I mean it. I’m definitely tipsy and check on my #boysquad.

“Date going well?”

“Yeah! Hardly feels like a date though. Def friendzoned myself. ”

“Make a move!!!”

I scoff and put my phone away just has N slides his laptop away.

“Already?!”

“Already! Thank you! Next pint on me?”

He begins to prep a cigarette when I mention it’s a skill I never developed. He props paper and tobacco in front of me and starts a How-to lesson. It’s an awful cigarette that he ends up reshaping.

“Not so bad for the first time. Shall we pop off now?”

It’s an amazing cigarette. I’m not just saying that because I (kind of) rolled it.

In-between drags, he gives me his UK number. “Yknow....in case you want to talk to me while I’m abroad.”

“Uh...okay sure.” I ash my cigarette and save the number as Nx2.

When we head inside, I suddenly realize I’m tired of the scenery.

“Hey, do you wanna head to another bar? Grab one last pint?”

“Yeah. That sounds chill.”

We’re standing up to close our tabs, when he reaches for my hand and pulls me over for a kiss.

It catches me off guard and I pull away with a, “Whoa. I—“

“Oh god. I’m sorry. I thought you wanted—“

“No. I— I do. I think you’re really hot. I just wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t think you were into it.”

“Oh no. You’re super cute. I’m definitely into it.”

I laugh and excuse myself to the bathroom, where I text the #boysquad — “wow I think this dude wants to fuck me???”

When I get out, N’s smoking outside the bar. “So. Bar??” The plumes of smoke obscure his face.

“Yeah. It’s just a bit late now. I’m afraid they’ll last call us quickly.”

“Well, there some bars in Bushwick still open.”

I laugh. Imagine me going to Brooklyn?

“Or we can go back to mine and have a few cocktails?” He leans and begins kissing me.

I laugh again, “Listen. I think you’re really hot. And I really want to fuck you. I just...didn’t expect this. I thought we were doing the more friends thing. THIS is great but the thing is....I haven’t shaved in months.”

He stares at me, genuinely confused and after a beat says, “…So?”

“No no," I waving my hands frantically. "You don’t understand. I literally mean MONTHS."

He's still staring at me dead pan, a stream of smoke jets out of the corner of his mouth.

"So, would you be down to fuck me in like a month when you’re back from England?”

This time he laughs, holding my hand he answers.

“Yes, I’d be down to fuck you in May.... but I’m also down to fuck you now.”

He leans in and kisses me again. I shake my head and step away.

“You don’t understand. It’s like a Kate Bush bush.”

He replies instantly,

“I love Kate Bush.”

---

The lights on Williamsburg bridge are illuminating N’s hand on my thigh. My hands are folded together in plain sight. I don't mind the tiny PDA but the cab’s stern glances into the rear-view mirror are making me uncomfortable.

It isn't until the safety of Bushwick's darkness that I reach over for his hand. He squeezes it tight and I like that he's not trying to fuck in this cab.

We pull up to his apartment and he pays for it fully, despite my (admittedly half arsed) offer to split.

Holding hands, he unlocks the front door, and we silently walk up the staircase. It's one of those buildings where people leave their shoes outside the door.

The apartment is cool. Spacious and lofted. There's a tube map on the wall that makes me smile.

He makes one greyhound & one Tim Collins while I’m in the restroom.

His room is cute. It’s reminds me of my own. I observe the pictures has I pulled off my jeans. They're a bunch of him and his friends. They're holding beers and smiling hard in most of them.

We fuck for hours. I’m surprised and grateful his refractory period is so short.

I'm so used to a one and done session, I have a back to back orgasm that makes me go cross eyed.

After the fourth time, I start to get dress when he sharply ask where I’m going. “It’s so late. Of course you’re staying. I wouldn’t let you go home at this time, it's too dangerous.”

I’m thrown off. Most of my sex life has been me getting kicked out at 4am, and his random dude wants me to stay? I'm embarrassed for myself and successfully play off my dressing as "just underwear lounging."

I can't believe he buys it.

After, cigarettes and chatting. We settle into bed. He’s outrageously cuddly. He wraps his entire body around me, and plays with hair.

I’m thrown off by the intimacy. I’ve never had anyone’s fingers through my hair.

I’m so turned on….

After the fifth time, we actually settle into bed. Octopus’d together, we both knock out quickly.

I wake up before my alarm goes off. I’ve got to get in early to change into my spare work clothes.

N greets me with a groggy “Mornin’? Off to work?”

He’s still stupidly cute and I regret not calling out the night before. I scramble around the room, cursing myself out for not following my organised protocol.

This is what happens when you haven’t heard sex in nearly two years.

God— why is it so hard to put jeans on???

I give him a kiss on his forehead and he wishes me a great day.

I can hear his roommate rustling to leave, I’ve got to get out of here now.

The ride to work is quick, once I battle the streets of Bushwick for a piping hot coffee & BEC.

I text my groupchat the universal emoji of "I just got laid."

The chat explodes.

One friend replies, "Well. God damn. I never thought I'd see the day Tess gets laid."

Gee. Thanks guys.

It’s 8:30 by the time I sneak into my office. I’m tired and dehydrated but successfully on time. I sport a stupid smile on my face that evolves into a stupid grin when N text me around noon.

When I finally get home I run a bath, schedule STD testing in four weeks, and fall asleep with union jacks on my mind.

Lessons learned:

> Gelling with someone doesn’t inherently mean you’re friendzoned. You may just gel well from the start.

> I can do the casual sex thing!!!

> Rolled cigarettes might be my new vice.

Rating: 8.5

App: OKC

#KDD

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