#{ his breath like winter || queue }

[mpxarawn]

The Death of Dreams ||

@morpheusxmp

Arawn had recently officially gone on break. He'd found a reliable, dependable former student to take over his English classes, and Athena had taken on his presidential duties as a vice-president. Everything was properly set up and under control, so Arawn could take the well deserved break. He'd worked as the professor of English Literature for the past 6 years now, and spent simultaneous two years on the council, and recently had taken over as president almost two years ago. The break was well needed, since the God found himself stressed and suffering an identity crisis since his credentials had been put into question.

He was glad to have the free time to rest and de-stress. It was a slightly warmer day and the God had found himself comfortable on a bench in the park. He watched his two dogs run around off leash, while he just sat back comfortably with a cup of coffee and a book by his side. He stood out, as he always did, with blonde hair heavily curled and pinned up around the side, both hands heavily ringed and laced boots, paired with his usual trench coat. He gazed out ahead at the trees around, rather enjoying the life around.

He popped open the book he'd recently acquired. As much as the God praised the classics, sometimes, he just wanted to read a good dark fantasy novel. The God let himself zone out as he began reading, engrossed in the novel, as his dogs settled next to his feet, taing a break fro their running around.

One of the dogs, a white Shepherd dog (Rocco), let out a bark when he'd heard unfamiliar footsteps. The death god simply absent-mindedly petted the dog.

[venomnyx]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LOGAN X PASTRY CHEF READER HEADCANON😭😭

oh this is cute! kinda ran with this idea! also how perfect was this divider skdufhlskdfh

Logan Howlett x Pastry Chef!Reader HC's wc: 550

divider credit: @saradika-graphics / here -> Logan doesn't have a sweet tooth, and You Are Sweet. Almost... too sweet for Logan. He just wanted to stop for a coffee and a bite to eat— a simple transaction. He ordered an Americano, got stumped on what pastry to try, and took your recommendation of a pain au chocolate. Classic, buttery. He eats in, crowded off by the window, a sad look on his face. You try and figure him out from the counter, as you often do with customers, but he grabs your intrigue a little stronger. -> He pops by semi-frequently as you're a local shop. Doesn't trust the coffee pot back at Wade and Al's and wants something quick and easy. You recognise him quickly, learn his order off by heart, and even get his coffee started as soon as he joins the queue. -> You always invite him to try your latest pastries. He declines at first as he prefers to stick with what he's used to, but you let him try free of charge! Besides, how can he deny those eyes, softened with plea? With how you offer so sweetly?

-> Not really a sugar kind of guy, but he starts to develop a taste for it just to see you smile. Just to see you blush when he says he likes it. It makes his insides feel buttery in a way he hasn't let himself indulge in feeling for years. It very quickly stops being a "quick and easy" visit, now rather "long and difficult" for a man who hasn't addressed his feelings in years.

-> Leaves bigger tips than he can afford. Doesn't tell Wade about your shop, wants to keep this small space to himself. He feels like it's the only place he can hide away and breathe. -> Kinda knows he's in deep shit when you start to draw smiley faces, hearts and other illustrations on his coffee cup, and he likes it. Gives him that honey-syrup drop of dopamine. He loves that cute yellow apron on you. He's more disheartened than he expected himself to be when your shop is closed for maintenance/you're away for any reason.

-> He starts to hang around for when you close, especially when it starts to get darker earlier in the winter months. Chats to you when you clean the tables, and keeps his eye on the fishier-looking guys outside. It's a rougher part of the city, after all, and he wants to make sure you're safe. Offers to walk you home, and starts to make a routine out of it. He just about dies when you kiss his cheek goodbye.

-> You leave your number on his coffee cup one day, refusing to meet his eye. He goes out of his way to buy a phone just so he can contact you, and you stay up all night texting. You are so sweet, too sweet, for Logan. He feels guilty for liking you. But he can't stay away— he's hooked on your sugar, literally and figuratively.

-> Your walks home start to become longer and slower. Deep conversations woven between free coffees and leftover pastries. A kiss like cappuccino foam and caramel syrup, a contrasting warmth to the bitter winter. A fire in the hearth of his chest that was once cold and barren. -> Safe to say he's got a sweet tooth now.

[mpxarawn]

tw: discussions of death and methods of dying

Ah, there it was. The question that had been hanging thick in the air, finally out. The death god raised his own tea cup, taking a sip of the tea, gazing at Ezra over the cup. Arawn pondered for a moment how he should respond. He was used to heavy, uneasy, painful. "I don't believe things are pre-determined. fate and free will isn't my area of expertise. I just know everything ends. Everyone ends up in the same situations," Arawn stated.

As his precious student fidgeted with the rings on their hand, Arawn quietly pondered the other's situation. As Ezra spoke, the god noted everything and set all the thoughts into his heart. He wished he could help the other more. He placed a heavily ringed hand on Ezra's back, lending the weight as a sort of comfort. "Death is a fascinating mistress. Even I cannot begin to understand everything. Coming close to death and then being released only to then remain shackled to the cruel mistress, is a truly scary thought. You were let go for a reason. You just have to find that reason, and I can't help with that. That is something that stays close to the heart," the God offered as a comfort.

A heavy confession left Ezra and Arawn's gaze followed the citrine ring. The God picked it up off the floor. "Don't worry about work or grades. Your health comes first and there are many people who care about you and would be sad if...something did happen to you." he said. The Celt analyzed the citrine ring before putting it in Ezra's palm. "I like the citrine stone. Natural citrine is known for grounding emotions, bringing creativity and imagination to the front. It also transforms negative thoughts and feelings to positive ones." he stated.

"Surround yourself with good things, Ezra, and everything will be just fine," the God stated.

tw: discussions of death, and methods of dying

"Shouldn't I be allowed to decide for myself?"

Those words had rolled off of Ezra's tongue before their lips could catch them. But the damage was done. The words were out there. Lingering in the air like a rotten smell. Heavy. Uneasy.

The student sighed, staring at their hands as they nervously fidgeted with one of the rings on their finger. "It's hard to stop thinking about Death. Especially when I came so close to them. It makes me wonder why they gave me another chance... I get the first time. It was really not my fault. So I do get why they sent me back," Ezra started, not looking up from their hands, "I just really hoped they didn't. I wouldn't be in this mess," the poet mumbled quietly and almost inaudibly.

"I can't sleep, my grades are slipping, I don't like going to work anymore... I feel like no one cares about me... if things keep going like this... I won't make it till the new year."

The demigod's citrine ring slipped off their finger. Ezra sighed, tracking ring with the yellow gem as it rolled over the floor. Another heavy confession had left the darkness of their thoughts into the real world in such short amount of time. Maybe that wasn't that surprising. Arawn felt... safe.

[glowinggator]

Prompt: Calling the Lackadaisy characters by their full name

A/N: University has been keeping me busy, and I've been in a bit of a writers block. So in the meantime, take this goofy little thing!

Includes: Rocky Rickaby/Reader Calvin "Freckle" McMurray/Reader Dorian "Zib" Zibowski/Reader Mordecai Heller/Reader Viktor Vasko/Reader Serafine Savoy/Reader Nicodeme "Nico" Savoy/Reader

Rocky Rickaby: 

Rocky's always pleased to hear his name fall from your lips… "Rocky Rickaby…" he loves to occupy your attention, and he's not above doing a silly trick here and there to get you to utter his name like that. But his given name? You can't even finish "Roark" before he's at your feet, begging for forgiveness. Queue the waterworks -- his muse, his winter sunshine, his summer breeze please, please forgive him. For he is naught but a mortal man, riddled with the propensity for mistakes, but is -- Hm?  The maple syrup is in the back of the pantry, yes. Yes, next to the peanut butter. -- is that not the natural state of such mortal endeavors? Surely, such a divine being must take pity on the folly of man!

He doesn't register that you were only playing with him. Or, maybe he's realized and is just committing to the bit. You'll never know. What you do know, however, is that you'll have him at your feet for the next hour or so. 

Calvin McMurray: 

Calvin, Cal, Freckle… Sweetheart, in private. McMurray, when you're teasing. Calvin really gets the gamut of names and nicknames when it comes to you. But when he hears his full name yelled out from the opposite end of the house, he's nothing if not panicked. The past two decades of Irish Catholicism really beats that into you. He rushes to your side, back straight, head down in silent apology for… whatever it is, that he did. 

"...Yes, dear?"

He has to bite his tongue a bit to not bring out any honorifics, but the message comes across just the same. There's only 2 times he uses "dear" as his go to-- 1.) In front of his mother, 2.) After he's done something he shouldn't. 

Decompresses instantaneously when you ask him to open the pickle jar. He exhales quietly, holding his hand out silently for the jar. His heart can't take this sort of thing. Don't do this to the poor man… too often. 

Dorian Zibowski:

Blinks owlishly when he hears his full name shouted out from across the house. If there's any way to sober Zib up… this is it. He's leaping to his feet in an instant, rushing to where you are… and slowing down when he's just out of sight. He smooths his fur and his clothes and takes a deep breath before waltzing calmly into your line of sight. Play it cool. 

"Funny way of pronouncing "Zibowski, doll. Need something?" 

He takes it in stride, but don't be fooled -- he's quaking in his boots, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He feels the weight lifted off his chest when you ask him to grab something from the top shelf, although you'd never know that. He does, however, press a lingering kiss to your temple after he passes the item off to you. Don't read into it too much. 

Mordecai Heller: 

He tears his eyes away from his book, glancing at you from over the rim of his teacup. "Yes?" 

He's truly unaffected. He's introduced by his first and last name all the time, and he was never scolded in such a manner as a child.  If you were looking for some outlandish reaction, all you've got is his quiet attention. And you might want to answer quickly -- he'd really like to finish this chapter tonight. This is quite a grueling read, you know. 

His true name, however, is a different story. But that's for entirely different reasons, and well, you wouldn't  know anything about that. Right? 

Viktor Vasko: 

Yet another one who is unaffected. He looms over you a bit -- which really, isn't unusual for him considering his stature -- humming questioningly.

He's a man of few words, and even fewer reactions. You've really gotta put some emotion in your voice if you want to get any sort of reaction out of him, and even then the most you're likely to get is a raised eyebrow… maybe a bit of a head tilt if you're lucky. And you can really only do this once -- he'll remember your little trick for next time. 

(If you really want to get a reaction out of him, use some sort of petname. He secretly finds them rather sweet, and the right one will force-reset his brain a bit the first few times you use it. )

Seraphine Savoy: 

Seraphine isn't unaffected by the use of her full name… rather, she revels in it. She's always enjoyed the flow of her name, but it always seems to fall from your lips like some goldly golden ichor. To call it heavenly would be a bit of a misnomer -- sinful, mayhaps? It's a difficult feeling to place, but she strides over to you confidently nonetheless. Her lips quirk up as she leans into your personal space.

"Yes, amou?"  

Nicodeme Savoy: 

Truthfully, he isn't the biggest fan of you calling him by his full name. Well, his full first name, anyways. Feels too stuffy, for his liking. But he takes it in stride, waltzing up to you lazily. He rests his arm on your shoulder and leans down to be eye-level with you, eyes half lidded with a grin. He throws your own full name right back at you teasingly. Need something?  Want him to grab something, or open a jar? Hm? 

His grin stretches a bit wider when you pout -- you really thought you'd get him this time, huh? He kisses you chastely, nipping at you softly in jest. Gotta try harder than that to shake him, bebe. 

[mpxarawn]

A Little Bee Told Me....

@maibeemp

The cold weather could be tolerated with a warm cup of black tea and a delicious fruit tart from one of the cafes on campus. Arawn despised cold weather but he did tolerate it. Despite all appearances and how he'd often made his first impression on people, the death god was a gentle old soul with a sweet tooth. It was rare to see the other side of the death god, that made him known as the just ruler of the Otherworld. After the holidays were over, he'd called over his dear niece to surprise her with a gift and to just catch up with her since he'd yet to thank her for the cactus she gifted him.

He sat on the bench outside the main building of the university, next to the still decorated christmas duck. Seeing her coming from afar, the god waved casually, relaxed. His work was all done for the day and he could dedicate the whole day to his dear niece. "I hope you weren't doing anything important, Little Bee," he stated, seeing her. Mai was an absolute delight. Her youthfulness was still as catching as ever and even Arawn found himself warmed simply by her presence.

[mpxarawn]

arawn could understand the struggle. it was why he had gone into teaching at mount phoenix upon his arrival. it had been a shock initially to hear that a death god was an english literature professor, but the celt felt more at home with books, rather than people. in death, he'd noticed that a lot of people felt regret at not having an education of any sort and he also noticed that a good teacher could influence the life path of anyone. the celt sat down at a table once they had stepped inside, pondering what he should say. "Well, Sungjin, please consider this: I'd like to read your work not as a headmaster, but as a professor of literature. Formal education is just that. Formal," he stated.

He motioned with a hand for two cups of tea and the students who worked the cafe brought the cups of tea to the headmaster and his guest. "Regardless of what you choose to share with me, the works will stay with me. They will not be shared with anyone. I like to say that my office is the open book of secrets. Whatever students or friends choose to share with me, that all stays with me," he added.

He took a sip of the tea. "After all, all secrets go to the grave." he stated.

for a moment, sungjin began to wonder why he was approaching the university system at all. true, he had longed for this formal academic validation. it would feel so good to have someone so distinguished read his writing and say anything at all about it, good, bad, ugly, it wouldn't matter. the recognition alone would be mighty and thunderous for him. even this conversation and time spent with the professor was something out of his dreams. would it do any good to be around a bunch of other kids who are just trying to get in and out for that security of a degree? would that let him grow, and mature, become a more fluid and fluent writer? pen and paper were all he knew. letting the words unfurl themselves. would a university class really make that skill more polished?

there was no other way to find out than to do exactly that.

"not many people read the things i write, they're...mine, you know? but i've always wanted to write and work on a university level, and i...think i could pick some that are a little less personal, and emotional. some of it is...a lot."

[rebelliousstories]

Spices

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: Marko x Reader

Fandom: The Lost Boys

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 1,381

Main Masterlist: Here

Lost Boys Masterlist: Here

Summary: Christmas time brings out a variety of smells that Marko’s human girl is more than happy to introduce him too, and even have him introduce her to some.

Consider Donating: Here

Christmas was about being together and sharing. Nothing was easier to share than delicious food and drinks. And when two people come from two different cultures? Oh, now that is a match made in Christmas heaven.

Marko was happily being dragged through the night market the next town over from Santa Carla by his girlfriend one winter’s night. It was a brisk sixty-eight degrees, meaning that she was bundled up ever so cutely. Her customer jacket made by the vampire next to her was holding a hoodie together underneath, and a long sleeve under that. It was not at all difficult for them to find one another considering how eccentric their jackets were, but that was just how they liked it.

“Come on, Marko! The stall is this way.” Her cheerful scream broke free from the ambient noise around them. He continued to follow after her, laughing occasionally as she got more and more excited the closer they got.

The stall she had mentioned was gorgeous. Spices from all over the world sat in large quantities across multiple tables. There were whole spices and herbs, dried and fresh, ground in various grades; it was perfect. It was something that Marko had not seen since being turned. Human food had little effect over him now. His body processed it too quickly to be full from it. And he was pretty sure that, even as weird as the vampire world was, spicing blood was considered odd.

His little human began to peruse the piles for everything that she needed for her own Christmas treats. She was placing normal things into pouches for purchase; cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, rosemary, thyme, oregano, peppercorns, and more. Marko was just enjoying watching her shop, but came to rest along her back with his hands on her waist.

“Hmm… Marko,” he hummed in acknowledgement, “do you think I should get anything else? I have the usuals that I’m low on, but it would be a shame to come here and not try a new spice or two.”

“What are you making this season?”

Her list was rattled off almost too fast for him to keep up with, but he got it eventually. It sounded like the usual menu for this time of year. Roasts, pies, spiced cider, and cookies of different kinds.

“Try that.” He pointed to a pile of what appeared to be dried flowers.

“That’s called Blade Mace. It’s like nutmeg but not as strong. It’s good in savory and sweet dishes when you don’t wanna go too heavy in nutmeg flavoring. Also, get some of that black garlic over there. That’ll change up your roasts in a good way.”

With his suggestions, she made quick work of collecting the items. She made sure to take the time to smell each ingredient and gave her approval with each sniff. Once everything was bagged and ready to go, the couple joined the queue for the checkout. However as they rounded the corner, a specific scent caught Marko’s nose. This was a smell he had not smelled in decades, and was afraid that he would never smell again.

Sitting in a shallow barrel like container, were porcini mushrooms. His eyes grew wide, and his mouth hung open in wonder. The vampire barely registered that his feet were moving him away from his girlfriend, and towards the item that had snatched his attention away. As he allowed his eyes to rake over the mushrooms, and his nostrils to fill with their intoxicating scent, Marko felt a hand through the thick material of his jacket pull his attention back.

“You alright there, ‘Ko,” she softly asked him.

“Yeah,” he breathed a shaky breath, “it’s just… I remember these from when I was a kid. My Nona would use these in our Christmas meals to add this wonderful flavor. Specifically, she used it in a risotto that was served every Christmas feast. It was always my favorite thing on the table and she would make extra so that I could have my own dish of it.” The joy and childlike sparkle in his eyes moved her heart as she listened to her lover.

There was a beat of silence between the two of them. Quiet breathing filled the space, and the line moved again. But she did not care. Reaching for another bag, she grabbed a handful or two of dried mushrooms to take home. The action made the vampire jump out of his skin before looking towards his girlfriend with a confused expression. Tying off the bag, she sent him a wink and a smile as she moved to the end of the line once again.

��Let’s see if I can’t find a recipe for these involving some risotto.” Her teasing smile stunned Marko who just wrapped his arms around her. She giggled as he buried his head into her neck, pressing light kisses to her throat.

“I love you so much, bella.”

The next night, when Marko was able to get away from his brothers, he had made his way up to the steps of her house. His bike was resting outside on the curb. Three knocks was all it took to call her to the door, and the image that greeted him was amazing. She was in an apron that had just a couple of stains from the years. Her hair was up with some strands out, giving her a comfortable appearance. And that smile that stretched across her face? That was the killer for him.

“Marko! Welcome in, sweetheart.” They shared a kiss as he stepped inside, and placed his coat on the back of the couch.

“Smells good, bella.” A symphony of smells greeted him from the kitchen. Marko went to try and help her, but she quickly shooed him towards the dinning room without an explanation.

Sitting at the beautiful wooden table, Marko twiddled his thumbs, and messed with his fingers. Never once had she not let him help her plate or bring food to the table. He did not know whether or not that was a good thing. But the second she started bringing food out, he relaxed a bit.

His favorite roast chicken that she loved to make was joined by various vegetables and mashed potatoes. For all intents and purposes, this was a proper Christmas dinner. Before he could dig in though, Marko’s girlfriend hit him with, “wait one second,” and she disappeared into the kitchen again. When she came backs with a bowl, he did not know what she had. But once she set it down, he was able to see inside.

A simple bowl of risotto. Taking a smell, he could smell those delicious mushrooms that they had gotten the previous night. Before she could properly brace herself, Marko had tackled her to the ground. He had begun pressing lots of kisses to every inch of her skin he could reach.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Marko kept muttering in between each kiss he laid over her face and neck. Eventually he had to lead up as her hands had moved him to allow her to breathe. Her face was flushed and glowing, and her smile was beaming.

“You’re welcome, ‘Ko. Now, do you wanna eat the food that I made before it gets cold?”

The vampire rushed to stand up and helped his girlfriend as well. He took his place once more while she went to make sure everything was off. Marko began to divvy up the food once she got back, and they both settled in to their festive meal. As soon as Marko took a bite of the risotto though? It was all over for him. He legitimately thought he was going to cry over how good it tasted.

“Sweetie, you okay?” Her hand swiped against the droplet that had fallen down the swell of his cheek.

“Yeah, I’m just so- so happy. Bella, this tastes exactly like how I remember,” came his reply. She felt a surge of pride as she rested her hand atop his.

“Well, I can make you this every Christmas from now on.”

“Oh no. Now that I know you can make this, you’re gonna make this way more often. This is gonna be on the table every time now.”

[capquinn]

okay i keep seeing fics and thoughts about how attentive quinn would be towards his partner and it got me thinking…

i feel like it would get to the point where he knows your body and your queues better than you know yourself. start to realize your allergies aren’t allergies? he already bought the meds you need and is making dinner. got your period? no surprise there, he has his own app for you and stocked up on snacks last week.

which brings me to this heheh.

i feel like once you have one or two babies with quinn he knows your pregnancy symptoms like the back of his hand. so much so that he tells YOU you’re pregnant again. and it would just hit him one night laying in bed (you know that man thinks himself to sleep)

I’m gone for him, enjoy my delulu land thoughts

hello????? this is so cute and so husband!quinn coded. i love this trope sm <3

Quinn moved through your world like he’d been born knowing the map of it. His care wasn’t loud or showy — it was quiet, woven into the seams of everyday life. He had a way of catching the things no one else would: the small shift in your posture when you were tired, the pause in your laugh when something was weighing on you. His hands knew the rhythm of your days, reaching for your mug before you could, adjusting the blanket without needing to ask if you were cold. It wasn’t that he studied you; it was more like you existed in a frequency he was always tuned into, effortlessly aware of every note, every shift, every unspoken word.

So, when the subtle changes began to creep in, Quinn noticed before you did.

It started with the small things — too small to put into words, but just noticeable enough for him to store away. The way you sighed a little heavier, your shoulders barely lifting before falling, as though the weight of the day had settled in deeper than usual. Or how you hesitated in doorways, pausing like you’d forgotten what you needed or where you were going, your brows knitting together in quiet thought. And then there was the tiredness, creeping in like a quiet visitor. Some afternoons, he’d find you curled up with Bug during her nap, the two of you tangled in a mess of blankets on the couch, her tiny hand resting on your chest as you dozed. It wasn’t like you, not the you he knew who thrived on filling the hours, always moving, always doing.

At first, he dismissed it. Everyone had their moments, days when energy flagged, when the world felt a little out of sync. But then the bigger, more obvious changes began to take root.

It began with the walk. You, Quinn, and Bug strolled through the neighbourhood on a crisp winter morning, the kind where the air felt fresh but not too biting. Bug was hopping along, gripping Quinn’s hand and jumping over cracks in the pavement. You paused by a lamppost, your gaze snagged on a flyer stapled to the pole. It was for a missing dog, the corners frayed from the cold. The photo — a golden retriever with the sweetest, dopey smile — stared back at you, and your throat tightened inexplicably.

You tried to hide it, quickly swiping at the tears that pricked your eyes, but Quinn noticed instantly. “You okay?” he asked, his brows knitting in concern.

You nodded too quickly, your voice unconvincing. “I’m fine. It’s just…” You trailed off, breathing a shaky laugh as the tears spilled anyway. “The poor dog…”

Quinn stopped in his tracks, gently pulling Bug to his other side so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice warm and steady. “We’ll keep an eye out. Maybe someone’s already found him,” he said softly, though his brows furrowed as he held you. 

You were sentimental, yes, but crying over a lost dog poster wasn’t like you. He kissed the top of your head, the thought lingering as Bug tugged at his hand to keep moving.

A few days later, it happened again. Bug had tripped over a loose stone in the driveway. It wasn’t anything dramatic — just one of those little stumbles kids have a dozen times a day. She scraped her knee, barely even a mark, and at first, she just sat there staring at it, trying to decide if it was worth crying over. Her lips wobbled, her big eyes filling with tears, and then came the wail — not loud, not panicked, just enough to let you know she’d decided it hurt.

Quinn crouched beside her in a heartbeat, his voice gentle and steady. “Hey, Bug, you’re okay,” he murmured, brushing the tiny specks of gravel off her knees. His hand lingered there for a moment, his thumb grazing the fabric as if to check for any real damage. “It’s just a little scrape. Barely even a scratch, see?”

Bug sniffled, her tiny hands clutching at the hem of his shirt as she leaned toward him, and Quinn scooped her up without hesitation. She buried her face against his chest, her little body shuddering with the last remnants of her tears.

You stood a few steps back, frozen in place. It wasn’t the scrape that did it, not really. It was the way her small shoulders shook, the way her face had crumpled like her whole world had been upended. It was her tears — so big and overwhelming for someone so small. Watching her cry felt like something cracking open inside you, and before you could stop yourself, tears pricked at the corners of your own eyes.

Quinn looked up, catching your expression in an instant. His brows furrowed slightly, his concern shifting toward you.

“She’s okay,” he said softly, his voice meant to reassure.

But the sight of him, standing there with Bug tucked safely against his chest, his voice low and calming, only made the ache in your chest sharper. Your hand flew up to your face, brushing quickly at your cheek to catch the tear that escaped, but Quinn noticed anyway. Of course, he noticed.

“Hey,” he said, his tone even gentler now, his eyes searching yours. “What’s going on?”

You tried to smile, but it came out shaky, your voice catching as you whispered, “Nothing, I’m fine. Just—” You swallowed hard, glancing at Bug’s little face as she peeked up at you, her tears already drying. “I’m being silly.”

She blinked at you, her sniffles slowing, her tiny voice soft as she said, “I’m okay, mommy.”

The sweetness of her reassurance undid you completely. Another tear slid down your cheek, and you let out a quiet, shaky laugh, brushing it away as Quinn stepped closer. He didn’t say anything, just wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you into the circle of warmth he and Bug created.

But even as the moment passed, it stayed with him. 

And then came the smell of popcorn.

Family movie night was the kind of weekly tradition that carried a quiet comfort, the kind that made the whole house feel warmer and softer. Bug had already claimed her spot on the couch, clutching her stuffed bear, her little feet kicking in excitement as Quinn rummaged in the kitchen, the air popper humming softly. The scent of fresh popcorn started wafting through the house, buttery and rich, and he could already hear Bug giggling at the first loud pop.

But something was off. 

You were mid-step to the couch, arms full of blankets, when you froze. Your nose crinkled, the kind of subtle movement Quinn might’ve missed if he hadn’t glanced up right then. You turned your head slightly, as if testing the air, and then your hand shot up, waving in front of your face like you could swat the smell away.

“Can you—” you hesitated, your voice uncharacteristically small. “Can you open the windows? Please?”

Quinn, mid-pour as the popcorn spilled into a bowl, paused, confused. “It’s freezing outside,” he said lightly, not in a way meant to argue but more like a question.

“Quinn, please” you said, cutting him off, your voice sharp with desperation. Your face had scrunched up, your hand pressing against your nose as you braced yourself on the back of a chair. “The smell...”

That was all it took. Without another word, he crossed to the window, shoving it open. A gust of cold air rushed in, making him shiver, but he stayed there for a second, staring at you as you sank onto the couch. You were pale, almost a little green, pulling the blanket over you like it could shield you from the lingering scent in the air.

He settled the bowl down, watching you carefully.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft and steady, the way it always was when he was trying to gently coax the truth out of you. There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his tone, just that familiar warmth that made it impossible to brush him off completely.

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, though the tight smile on your face didn’t convince him. “It’s just… the smell of melted butter. It’s so strong tonight.”

His gaze lingered, his brow furrowing. The smell? The smell of buttery popcorn? You’d practically declared it your comfort food not long ago, sneaking bites every time he made a batch before the film had even started, laughing as Bug scolded you for eating hers. He could count on one hand the number of family movie nights where you hadn’t stolen the first handful, claiming quality control. But now? Now, you looked like you couldn’t stand to be in the same room with it.

“You want me to grab you something else? Crackers? Tea?” he offered, trying to fill the silence with solutions, throwing them out suggestions like lifelines.

You shook your head, brushing him off with a small wave. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

But Quinn wasn’t convinced. He sat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as Bug wriggled into his lap, her giggles filling the room. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest, and for a while, it felt like everything was back to normal.

But it wasn’t.

As Bug chattered happily about the movie, Quinn’s mind lingered on you. On the way your face had twisted, the way you recoiled from something you once loved. It wasn’t like you. Not at all. And the longer he held you close, the more certain he became that this wasn’t just a bad reaction to popcorn. It was something more. He just didn’t know what — yet.

But the biggest changes came just a couple of days later, revealing themselves in moments that caught Quinn completely off guard.

It was early in the morning, the kind of stillness that only came before the rest of the house stirred awake. Bug was sound asleep in her room, her soft snores barely audible through the monitor, and the house seemed wrapped in a peaceful hush. The air between you and Quinn felt heavier, charged, but in the best way — soft whispers, shared breaths, and the warmth of his body pressed close.

His hands moved over your skin with practiced tenderness, his touch warm and familiar, every stroke an unspoken declaration of love. His lips followed, pressing soft, languid kisses along your collarbone, trailing a path that left your skin tingling. This was how he loved you — slowly, deeply, making you feel like you were the only person in the world.

But then his lips brushed against your breast, featherlight, as if he was testing how far he could push before the teasing turned into something more. And yet—

“Quinn,” you whimpered, a sharp intake of breath cutting through the stillness as you shifted away from him. “Be gentle.”

He froze instantly, his concern immediate as he lifted his head to look at you. “I am,” he murmured, his voice quiet but tinged with confusion. He searched your face, his hands stilling on your waist as if waiting for you to say more.

You shook your head, swallowing against the lump in your throat. “It just… hurts,” you admitted, the words coming out softer than you intended, almost like you were embarrassed by them.

Quinn’s expression softened, an apology already forming in the tilt of his brow. He leaned in, brushing a kiss to the inside of your breast as though it could somehow make up for the discomfort, but you pulled away again, wincing before his lips even made full contact.

“Quinn, that hurts,” you repeated, a little louder this time, your hand coming up to shield yourself instinctively, a clear sign for him to avoid the area altogether.

His hands dropped to your hips, retreating as he leaned back, his brows knitting together further. He watched you carefully, his gaze full of questions he didn’t ask, giving you space but not pulling away entirely.

Quinn frowned, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soothing motion. “I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet sincerity.

“I know,” you replied quickly, offering him a small smile to reassure him. “It’s just… everything feels so sensitive.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck instead, but he could feel your hesitation, the way your body tensed slightly, as if bracing for more discomfort.

But even as he moved his touch elsewhere, skimming his hands over your back, your thighs, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing. Your reaction was unusual, out of sync with how things normally were between you. He’d always been attuned to your body, your needs, and this? This was different.

Still, when you pulled him closer, guiding him to where you wanted him, he let it go for now.

And it's later that night when everything makes perfect sense.

Quinn crawls into bed later that night, the first thing he notices isn’t the movie playing on Netflix or the cozy way you’re propped up against the pillows. No, his attention zeroes in on the plate balanced on your lap — a plate of pickles, shiny and brined, with a big dollop of peanut butter right in the middle. His movements falter, half under the covers, as his eyes flick between you and the plate, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

You don’t even notice him staring, too distracted by scrolling through movie options. “What?” you ask, glancing over briefly before returning your attention to the TV.

“Who’s that for?” he asks, his voice slow, deliberate, like he’s waiting for the punchline.

“Me,” you reply without missing a beat, your tone distracted. “Why, you want some?”

He’s fully under the covers now, leaning back against the headboard, one brow raised as he studies you. “You hate pickles,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s holding back a smile.

You pause mid-bite, glancing over at him with a small frown. “I don’t hate them,” you argue, tone light but defensive, gesturing to the plate like it proves your point. “They’re just not my go-to snack. But they’re fine.”

His brow furrows deeper, his gaze flicking between you and the plate. “Since when?”

“Since now, I guess,” you shrug, as if it’s not worth discussing. Without missing a beat, you swipe another pickle through the peanut butter and take a bite, chewing like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Quinn doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you. The corner of his mouth twitches again, but this time it’s not amusement—it’s something closer to realization. Something is clicking into place, and as he leans his head back against the pillows, his gaze softens, filled with something you can’t quite place.

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him as you catch the look on his face. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

He leans back against the pillows, shifting as if to settle in, and shrugs, his tone casual—too casual. “No reason,” he says, his voice smooth, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him.

You squint at him, suspicious. “Quinn…”

He shakes his head, lifting the blanket higher around his chest like it’s a shield, his eyes now glued to the TV. “Seriously,” he murmurs, his voice low, distracted. “It’s nothing.”

But you can see the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes, the way his lips press together like he’s holding back a grin. You open your mouth to press him further, but he shifts again, leaning into your side under the blanket as if that’s the end of the conversation.

Later, when the movie ends with a soft hum and the credits roll, the light from the screen flickers faint shadows across the room before everything dims into darkness. The lamp on the nightstand clicks off with a quiet snap, leaving the room bathed in a cosy stillness. The only sound now is Bug’s tiny snores filtering through the baby monitor, soft and steady, her little sighs rising and falling in a rhythm so gentle it could lull anyone to sleep.

You’re curled against Quinn’s side, warm and relaxed, your head resting on his chest, his arm draped around you as his fingers trace absentminded patterns over your back. The weight of the day lingers faintly in the air, softened by the quiet and the comfort of each other’s presence, and it should feel serene, the kind of moment Quinn would normally soak in without question, but not tonight.

His eyes are open, fixed on the ceiling though he isn’t really seeing it. His body is still, though his mind is anything but. It’s racing, piecing together a puzzle he didn’t even realize he was solving until tonight. The pickles and peanut butter. The popcorn. The tears over Bug’s scraped knee. The extra naps curled up on the couch. Each moment replays in his head, flashing brighter with every pass until there’s no way he can chalk it up to coincidence.

Bug’s little snore drifts through the monitor again, and he glances down at you, still nestled against him, your face soft and relaxed. He’s usually content to let moments like this pass unspoken, holding them close without the need to fill the silence. But tonight, the weight of what he’s realised feels too big to ignore.

It’s not nothing. Not even close.

“Baby?” he murmurs, his voice soft, careful not to break the quiet too harshly, trying not to startle you.

You hum softly against him, your head shifting slightly to nuzzle closer against him, your body too close to sleep to fully respond.

His hand stills on your back, and he swallows, the weight of what he’s about to say heavy in the stillness. “I think…” He draws in a breath, steeling himself for how to say it. “I think you’re pregnant.”

Slowly, you lift your head, your eyes meeting his in the dim light filtering through the blinds, your expression a mix of confusion and disbelief.

“What?” you whisper, your voice rough with sleep, your tone teetering between shock and amusement. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Quinn tilts his head down to meet your eyes, his own full of something soft and sure. There’s the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, as though he’s both amused and completely serious all at once. Like he knows how absurd this might sound but believes it wholeheartedly.

“The pickles and peanut butter,” he says simply, his voice calm. “That’s not normal.”

You sit up a little, propping yourself on one elbow, your brow furrowing. “It’s not that weird,” you try to argue, though your voice wavers, betraying your uncertainty. “People eat stuff like that all the time.”

“Not you,” he counters immediately, insistent. His hand moves to rest on your waist, grounding. “You hate pickles. Always have. The only time you’ve ever eaten them was when you were pregnant.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. His statement hangs in the air between you, heavy with meaning, his certainty pressing against your rising disbelief.

“I mean… that’s not…” you start, your voice trailing off as the pieces begin to fall into place in your mind. “That doesn’t mean I’m pregnant,” you insist, but even as you say it, doubt creeps in. Your free hand drifts unconsciously to your stomach, resting there like it might offer some kind of confirmation.

Quinn’s thumb brushes against your side, the touch grounding but gentle, as if he doesn’t want to push you too far, too fast. “Maybe,” he says, his voice soft, like he’s offering you the space to deny it if you want. “But you’ve been tired, more emotional… and now this?” His lips twitch again, the faintest smile playing there, but his eyes stay steady on yours, filled with a quiet conviction.

You blink at him, a laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep in your chest — not from amusement, but disbelief. “Quinn, people eat weird food combos all the time. This doesn’t mean—”

“You really think it’s just a coincidence?” he interrupts gently, his tone more curious than challenging. “Pickles and peanut butter, of all things? That was your thing, baby. With Bug.”

The reminder makes you pause, your brow furrowing deeper as you glance down at where his hand rests on your waist. “That was… different,” you mutter, though the protest sounds weak even to your own ears.

Quinn leans in slightly, his forehead almost brushing yours, the closeness pulling your gaze back to his. His eyes are soft but insistent, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. His face is so steady, so full of quiet certainty, and it makes something flicker in your chest — a suspicion, a possibility, something you hadn’t let yourself consider until now.

“You’re serious,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, the words more of an observation than a question, as if it’s just dawning on you that he isn’t joking. He genuinely believes it.

His hand comes up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “I know you,” he murmurs, his tone as gentle s his touch. “And I’m telling you… you’re pregnant.”

You blink at him, your lips parting slightly, but no real words come out at first. Then, with a quiet laugh that’s half disbelief, half affection, you shake your head and murmur, “how do you always figure me out before I do?”

Quinn’s lips curve into a soft, lopsided smile, the kind that makes your chest ache with how much love it holds. “I pay attention,” he says simply, his hand still cradling your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye.

You lean into his touch, your own hand coming up to rest lightly over his wrist. "And what if you're wrong?"

His chuckle rumbles low and easy in his chest as he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there like he’s trying to pass some of his certainty onto you. "I don’t think I am," he says, his voice gentle, but the confidence behind it makes your pulse hum.

You don’t argue. Instead, you let the quiet between you stretch, the weight of his words settling softly over you. It’s fragile and insistent, nudging at the edges of your disbelief, coaxing you to consider it.

The idea blooms slowly, like a dawning realisation, soft and tentative, but impossible to ignore. It unfolds in layers — the thought of two children filling your home with laughter and chaos, the sight of Bug as a big sister, her tiny hands guiding even tinier ones, her voice full of pride and importance. You can almost hear the way she’d say it, proclaiming herself the helper, the protector, the best big sister in the world. The idea of another little person, someone with Quinn’s soft eyes and quiet strength, someone who might scrunch their nose when they smile, just like he does. Another piece of him, and of you, wrapped up into someone entirely their own. The thought is overwhelming in its sweetness, in the weight of its possibility.

You press closer against Quinn’s chest, your head resting over his heart as his fingers trace those lazy, familiar patterns on your back. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat thrums beneath your ear, grounding you in the moment, as if reminding you that you don’t have to figure it all out right now. And as the quiet fills the room, pierced only by Bug’s little sighs through the monitor, you let yourself imagine it more fully, the beginnings of a smile tugging at your lips.

Maybe — just maybe — he’s right.

[zerobaselove]

zb1 as date ideas, summer edition ♡

pairing: zb1 x reader

genre: fluff

warnings:none i think?? idk ive been staring at this for too long. lowercase intended, not proofread

notes: i am well aware i didn't do a winter one,, or a spring one,, but the winter one is in the drafts and now its may and i just had more inspo for this one so maybe next year LOL. anyways i hope you all like these <3 (bonus points if you can guess the song i'm referencing in jiwoongs LOL)

jiwoong ;

"okay close your eyes," you boyfriend jiwoong said, a smile spread across his face as he reached out to grab your hand, leading you past the closed door reading roof access. you obliged, shutting your eyes as you put your trust in the man, feeling the warm summer breeze hit your face. you had lost track of how many steps you'd taken before being prompted to open your eyes.

it was beautiful.

two chairs and a small table had stood in the normally empty spot by the ledge of the roof, a small blanket folded neatly on one of the seats. string lights were draped along the half wall of the roof top, connecting to the backs of the chairs. a small speaker, softly playing one of your favourite songs, sat on the table alongside two boxes; one with the brand of your favourite restaurant plastered over the side, the other smaller, with a delicate bow placed atop. a present.

"what's all this for, woong?" you questioned, letting go of his hand as you went up to examine the set up a little more. "can't i do nice things for my partner?" he smiled, pulling out one of the chairs, motioning you to sit, "especially when they've just gotten a promotion at their job." he took a seat across from you, admiring the way the warm glow of the string lights illuminated your smiling face.

"you didn't have to do all of this," you insisted, but he merely shook his head. "i wanted to," he grabbed the small present, holding it out to you, "you deserve it, all of this and more."

you grumbled a little more, mumbling a thank you as you opened the box; a ring. "jiwoong, are you-" you started before getting cut off. "i'm not proposing y/n," he chuckled, "not yet at least," you stopped holding your breath, noticing the small engraving on the inside of the ring. 'Even as time goes by, I will always love you.'

you couldn't help but tear up a little as you took in the gift, placing it on your finger, "jiwoong, it's beautiful, thank you." you sniffled, holding back the tears threatening to spill. "if you think that's beautiful," he glanced at his watch, grabbing your hand and leading you to the roof's edge, "then look up."

as if on queue the sky begun exploding in pops of colours all over, decorating the sky like a painting. fireworks. looking over at your boyfriend, the way the fireworks painted his face in shades of oranges and pinks, you couldn't help the feeling swelling up in you, pulling him in for a kiss. "i love you jiwoong, thank you."

"i love you even more."

zhang hao ;

"aren't you coming in?" hao's voice echoed from where he stood between the water and the shore. when your boyfriend suggested a beach date, you thought he meant relaxing on the beach, maybe listening to music or reading. how foolish.

"y/n c'mon!" he yelled, "it's warm and everything!" you shook your head, "i doubt that hao! i'm perfectly fine here!" you insisted, hoping to get back to your book, but it seemed that option was no longer on the table as he stalked up to where you laid on the soft towel. "fine," he mumbled, "i'll just bring you with me then."

he quickly grabbed your arm, your free hand quickly dropping the book as he dragged you closer and closer to the crisp looking water. as soon as your feet touched the rushing wave, a shiver went down your spine. that shiver soon turned into a full body jolt as the water made it's way up your legs, stopping only when you were chest deep in the water.

"fine, fine i'm in." you huffed, "and it is not warm for your information." he laughed at your rather pathetic adjustment to the water, mumbling something about how you'd "get used to it." you would've argued more with the boy if it weren't for the splash of water that just hit your face, thanks to your delightful boyfriend. "zhang hao i'm going to kill you," you nearly shrieked, though you couldn't stop the laughter erupting from your lungs as you chased him through the water.

"can't get me now!" he stuck his tongue out before smiling wide. he was right. you were already neck deep, and thanks to your height difference, he stood far enough out of your grasp that you couldn't grab him, and yet the water was barely touching his shoulders. so you did the only thing you could. payback. you used all your strength to splash water in his direction, effectively soaking the boy, his hair dripping down his forehead.

"you're evil," he chuckled, diving fully underwater this time, long forgoing the idea of keeping his hair nice, only to pop up right beside you, shaking his hair like a wet dog causing you to shriek once more, the two of you bursting into laughter. you both started making your way back to the sandy beach ahead where you volunteered to help the boy dry his hair.

"so, how about popsicles?"

hanbin ;

it took very little to convince your boyfriend hanbin to come with you to the farmer's market being held in your hometown. it was a staple memory of your childhood, coming here as a kid and trying the homemade fudge and petting the little sheep at the petting zoo, sometimes even picking strawberries to make jam with; which you had insisted was on the agenda for the day. when hanbin told you he had never been to anything like it, you knew you had to take him, had to remake those memories with the boy you loved.

"these are gorgeous," you said to the woman sat behind the small table lined with various pieces of jewelry, letting go of hanbin's hand to further inspect a small pendant on a necklace. it was a delicate design, a small outline of a rose on a thin silver chain. "look at this one," you showed the boy next to you. he looked at it and smiled, "it would look great on you, y/n, you should get it." he smiled wide, picturing the dainty accessory along your neck.

you only shook your head a little, "i don't need it," you insisted, "it is really pretty though," you mumbled as you thanked the kind woman as you continued your way through countless stalls. some with bright coloured paintings and fabrics, others with sweet smells that seemed to draw you towards them like a moth to a flame. you had almost made it to the end of the converted barn when hanbin spoke up, "i'm gonna go to the bathroom before we go pick berries, wait here i'll be back." you smiled and nodded at the boy, leaning against the wall of the barn as you awaited his return.

a few moments later, hanbin returned with a wide smile on his face, his hands behind his back, as if he was hiding something. "you didn't go to the bathroom did you?" you questioned, a curious smile tugging at your face as you eyed up the boy, "maybe i didn't," he giggled, pulling out whatever was behind his back, "maybe i was getting my lovely partner the necklace they couldn't stop admiring." he held out the rose necklace, gesturing you to turn around so he could clasp it around your neck.

"hanbin," you whined, a blush rising to your cheeks, and not from the august heat, "you didn't have to."

he shook his head, spinning you back around to admire the way the pendant rested between your collarbones, "a rose for you, one that will never wilt." he placed a kiss to your cheek, "eternal, like my love for you."

matthew ;

"be ready in an hour, we are going on a date :D" you eyed the text on your phone, barely having time to process your boyfriend's antics before you had to be up and getting ready. one quick shower and rushed outfit choice later, you were getting your shoes on as the knock came at the door. opening it to see a smiling matthew standing before you. "so what exactly are we doing?" you questioned, not even noticing the basket in his hand until he raised it in response.

"i thought we could have a little picnic!" he smiled, grabbing your hand with his free hand, "no use in wasting the good weather." he had a point, it was a beautiful day out, and you shouldn't be wasting it inside, like you had planned.

soon enough you two had ended up in the grassy park near your house, setting up under the shade. "you even remembered a blanket!" you smiled wide, sitting down on the soft plaid fabric, watching as your boyfriend sat across from you. "just you wait till you see what else i brought."

he started pulling out what felt like dozens of small containers, all containing your favourite fruits and snacks, some even cut up into cute little shapes like stars and hearts. and last but not least, he had pulled out a mysterious container that seems to make noise when it moved, "what's that one?" you questioned, wondering what else he could've possibly brought. but you couldn't help the smile erupting on your face at the contents of the box.

"oh my god, are we gonna make bracelets?" you beamed, eyeing up the box of goodies; multicoloured beads, small charms, and little circular beads with letters of the alphabet. "you know me so well!"

he chuckled a little at your overjoyed reaction, placing a kiss on your lips, "glad you like it," his gaze turned back to the containers littering the blanket, "let's eat first though, i'm starving." you both laughed as you dug into the countless snacks in front of you.

as the hours passed, the two of you had made a dent in, and put away the snacks, and had made a handful of bracelets and keychains for each other; your personal favourite being the matching initial bracelets you now sported. and now you were enjoying the sunny weather, your head in matthew's lap while he played with your hair.

you didn't notice when the boy had picked up the small oxeye daisy, but as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, gently placing the white flower with it, you couldn't help but giggle at the innocent act.

"there," he smiled, admiring the way it complimented your beauty in a way he couldn't describe, "perfect, just like you."

taerae ;

date nights with taerae had become routine for you two, especially in the summer months when it was warm enough to stay out late, just how you both preferred it. usually you both decided on the dates together, but tonight had been a surprise, your only hint being to dress comfy, and that you did.

so when the two of you pulled up to a drive-in movie theater, you were ecstatic. "i've always wanted to do this taerae, how'd you know?" you beamed as he drove up to an empty spot, backing in so the bed of the truck faced the sizable screen. "wild guess," he chuckled, hopping out of the car to come open your door. you were too busy admiring the setting sun behind the screen that you didn't even notice the blankets and bags of snacks that had seemingly magically appeared out of the backseat.

within minutes, taerae had set up the bed of the truck to look nearly as comfy as your bed. blankets and pillows strewn across , leaving two small areas for you both to sit. you joined him in the back, thanks to a helpful hand to actually get you up there, and got comfy just in time for the title screen to roll. a laugh escaped your lips as the familiar surfing montage played.

"teen beach movie? really?" you gaze him a joking glance, though not complaining about the choice. "don't laugh!" he smiled, lightly hitting you on the arm, "we both know you love this movie, and so do i," the last part was barely above a mumble, as if he didn't want to admit his childish taste. "it's perfect taerae, you're perfect."

the two of you had the night of your lives. between the laughable cheesy lines from the movie, and the catchy hits that you both knew all the words to, it was everything you could've hoped for.

as the two of you packed up the truck and got ready to leave, you couldn't seem to wipe the smile off of your face. "we have to do that again before summer is over," you insisted, grabbing his free hand as the two of you drove towards your home.

"we can come back whenever you want my love, i hear they're playing the sequel next week." the two of you burst into laughter, "sounds like a date."

ricky ;

"what are you wearing to the festival today?" you asked your boyfriend ricky over the phone as you stared at your full closet, unsure of what would be cherry blossom festival attire. his smile was almost audible through the phone, "you'll look pretty in anything y/n, don't stress so much."

you only sighed, looking towards the phone as if he could see your glare, "i'm not stressing, i just wanna coordinate with my stylish and cool boyfriend." you said matter-of-factly. it was no surprise to anyone that your boyfriend typically dressed well, especially for nice occasions, so why wouldn't you want to match him. he only chuckled, "well i'm wearing a white sweater and light green pants, does that help?" you hummed in approval as you grabbed a pair of white flowy pants and a sage green loose button down. it would have to do, you told yourself.

soon enough you heard ricky's car pulling up and you rushed to get a pair of shoes on, remembering to pick a comfortable pair in hopes of the walking you were about to do not killing your feet. "well don't you look stunning," ricky mumbled as he met you at the door, snaking his arms around your waist and hugging you briefly, breathing in the smell of your perfume. "i could say the same to you," you smiled before making your way to the car.

the festival was beautiful. that might even be an understatement. the pale pink flowers were in full bloom and the light breeze blowing some of the petals around only added to the picturesque feel of it all. you couldn't help but admire the blossoming trees as you walked a bit ahead of your boyfriend. he had no complaints though, it gave him an opportunity to take some candid pictures. he needed a new lockscreen anyways.

"ricky! ricky!" you called back to the boy a few feet behind you, "they have a lock bridge, we have to go!" he let out a laugh at your excitement as you grabbed his hand, nearly yanking him towards the small stand selling the colourful locks. you had decided on a bright red one, the colour of love, ricky had insisted as you both grabbed a marker to write your names on the lock. "what's taking so long," you whined at the boy, his face hardened in concentration with the lock and pen still in his hand. you didn't hear a response until a few moments later when he mumbled, announcing his finish,

your eyes scanned over the back of the lock as he handed it back to you, a rose, beautifully drawn along the back surface. the red lock had perfectly filled in the petals colours. "do you ever get tired of being so talented?" you asked, your gaze shifting from the lock to the boy in front of you. he jokingly hushed you as you both made your way to the bridge's railing.

"to forever and always," you smiled, the boy planting a kiss on your temple before repeating your words, "to forever and always."

gyuvin ;

"y/n do you have any more quarters?" your boyfriend begged, pleading with you as you stood in front of about a dozen ducks sat in the water, gazing up at gyuvin. "gyuvin we've been here feeding them for the last 15 minutes, lets go look at some other animals." you insisted, attempting to lure him away from the ducks that weren't even really apart of the zoo's attractions.

after some back and forth, and a couple fun facts about the zoo's panda exhibit that you had researched beforehand, you had convinced the boy to take your hand again as you made your way through the winding paths.

"y/n look!!" gyuvin yelled, drawing the attention of some people passing by, and even some of the creatures within the cages. the urgency made you whip your head around, seeing two ring-tailed lemurs up high inside one of the enclosures, seemingly glaring at the tall and excited boy next to you as they let out a few indescribable noises.

without second thought, gyuvin had started to mimic the noises, or rather attempt to, in an effort to communicate with the creatures, only leading you to shake your head. "i'm just gonna pretend i don't know you," you joked, still not leaving his side. it was cute watching him get so excited over all the little animals, you couldn't lie.

hours passed like this; one of you dragging the other to the wall of an enclosure, excitedly pointing at some animal, even stopping to take some pictures of, or with, the animals when you could. it was only when the sun began it's descent that the two of you decided to call it a day, having looped back around to the beginning of the zoo, marked by a large blue fountain.

"i have a couple coins left," you smiled, rifling through your bag to grab the loose change, "let's make a wish."

"i thought you said you didn't have any quarters left." gyuvin jokingly huffed, hands on his hips, "they're nickels, gyu," you laughed, handing him one of the silver coins, "and besides, those ducks were well fed after you were done with them i can promise you that."

the two of you let silence surround you for a moment as you both wished on the coins, tossing them into the fountain with a content hum. "so what did you wish for?" you asked the boy as you walked out of the park. "if i tell you, it won't come true!" he insisted, unwilling to give up the information.

little did you know, he hadn't wished for anything other than for things to stay as they are right now, to stay by your side. and little did he know, you had wished for the same thing.

gunwook ;

"have you seen the moon tonight?" the text read. leave it to gunwook to know exactly when to text you; your saviour from the sleepless night staring at the ceiling. you typed back a quick reply, "no why?" his response came before you could even shut your phone off. it simply read, "come outside." and so you did. throwing on the nearest pair of shoes, you walked outside, being met with a brisk summer night's breeze and a smiling boy, cheeks illuminated by the streetlight.

"what would you have done if i didn't come out?" you laughed at the boy waiting for you. "i knew you would." he stated simply, waiting for you to reach him before the two of you set off along the road you both grew up on. "full moon." he beamed, pointing at the clearing between the roofs, your line of sight following where he pointed, not quite seeing the moon, only the glow from behind one of the houses.

sensing your struggle, he grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to him, your back nearly pressed to his chest as his hands lightly tilted your head in the right direction, finally seeing the beauty glowing before you. "it's huge!" you exclaimed, louder than you wanted in the silent street, save for the buzz of the streetlights and whirls of wind. he mumbled some agreement as the two of you kept walking to nowhere in particular as you quietly chatted about everything and nothing.

somehow the two of you had ended up at the park nearby, sitting yourselves on the swings as you continued your late night chats. the higher the moon rose in the sky, the less you cared what you were saying, and the more philosophical and somehow nonsensical the conversations got.

you were unsure how long you'd been outside, but at some point the wind had started nipping at your skin and you couldn't stop the shiver that ran down your spine. without words shared, gunwook shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. "no no," you insisted, "keep it, you'll get a cold." he laughed, shaking his head, "i'll be okay i promise," grabbing your hand, he stood up, leaving you to follow suit, "we should head back anyways."

soon enough you ended up back under the streetlight outside your house, not quite ready to say goodbye, but promising to hang out again the next day. gunwook was already a few houses down when you noticed the thick jacket still keeping the wind at bay, "wook!" you called out quietly, just loud enough for him to hear, "what about your jacket?"

"keep it, you look better in it than i do anyways." he smiled, continuing his walking pace, "see you tomorrow y/n!"

yujin ;

"why is it so dark in here," yujin whined, bright green putter in hand as his eyes adjusted to the interior of the glow in the dark mini golf course. "can't glow in the dark without the dark yujinnie." you laughed, setting your ball up for the first shot, narrowly missing the chance of a hole in one as the ball skimmed past the glowing flag.

he groaned at your obvious response, groaning again as the undershot the ball by a good few feet. "how am i supposed to win like this!" his gaze eyeing your ball as you make it in this time, "this isn't fair!"

you couldn't help but laugh at the boy's newfound struggle. "not used to sucking at a sport are you?" a giggle pushed past your lips, "i'm starting to feel real good about our ice cream bet." you said as you watched him miss the mark once more, the ball bouncing off the side of the only obstacle in this stretch of the course. he only grumbled as he finally made the shot, letting out a sigh of relief as he picked up the glowing ball, heading over to the next hole.

the longer you played the better yujin was getting, and the more competitive you both got as you neared the end of the mini golf course. "i'll take cotton candy," he said smugly, having tied up the game by the last hole, "if you win," you clarified, staring him down with a smile as you watched him line up the shot. "i think you mean when i win y/n" he chuckled, taking the shot.

and missing.

the boy dramatically dropped to his knees, causing you to burst into a fit of laughter, ""so what was that again? "don't laugh yet," he insisted, still on the floor on the course, "you have to get it right now or the next shot's mine." "easy peasy." you mumbled, taking your shot and watching it go right into the hole marked with the glowing flag.

you could only faintly make out his sounds of defeat as you jumped up in excitement, "cotton candy sounds great right now doesn't it?" you teased, smiling at the boy as you walked over, offering out your hand.

"yeah yeah," he let out a small laugh, taking you hand as he got up off the ground, "let's go get ice cream."

[mpxarawn]

how disappointing. his goodness effort all in vain. the god could have been disappointed at the run of events, but he genuinely wasn't. it was truly a delight to meet vitas. the young man was refreshing, but arawn couldn't control people's first impressions. he'd already made the impression as a cold and cruel god, and that's how he was viewed in the other's mind.

the celt appeared completely unfazed by the sudden coldness and the lifeless stare directed at him. the amount of times people looked at him like that, he couldn't even count fully. after all, death was a hard thing for people to accept. that was why he'd always made himself seem kind and approachable and polite. because if people saw the oncoming death as a friend, rather than enemy, they seemed to be more accepting of their circumstances. the gaze aimed at him held no happiness, no emotions, and no life. he had seen that stare many many times so he was unshaken.

"very well," he said, in response.

as vitas rambled on that there was only one chance to make a first impression and their first impression had been made, arawn raised a single eyebrow in amusement. unreliable and untrustworthy because of his sudden change? wow, what gall. what audacity. he had to admire the other for that. "your assessment is fair and correct in some way. Our first impression has been made. You think me unreliable and untrustworthy and I find you audacious and refreshing. How fascinating," he said, crossing his arms. Normally, that sot of way of speaking to a God, much a less a Lord of the Underworld, would have the person in trouble, but Arawn liked the blunt honesty.

Of course, he wasn't going to let it slide so easily and so quickly, but a bit of fun wouldn't hurt.

As Vitas left with a comment, Arawn simply smiled to himself. "Have a good walk home. Stay warm, and if you do come explore again, I'd be delighted to show you around!" he exclaimed, unfazed by the other's negativty. there would be plenty of opportunities for combating negativity in the future.

"You didn't," he immediately and honestly responded when the god apologized for scaring him. Vitas had not been frightened, he had not been startled, he just did not approve of the sudden and unanticipated closer proximity of the deity. Vitas was--always--honest; it did not matter if the truth even painted him in a bad light, he did not care how others perceived him, if they liked him or not, none of that mattered to him. At all. And if this god considered himself a sweetheart and polite, that was not how Vitas saw him, because that was not how Arawn had initially presented himself. Too late to go back, unfortunately. They were both stuck with this impression for the rest of eternity.

Lovely to meet Vitas? Delighted to make his acquaintance? Ugh. These were the disgustingly fake courtesy phrases that people uttered on meeting new people because they wanted to be liked, not really meaning it--because Vitas was well aware he was an unpleasant person--he had been told MANY, many times throughout his life. He was a monster, hew knew this, and even other monsters weren't 'happy' to meet another monster. So this was all bullshit, just utter bullshit. To Vitas, Arawn was just trying to blow smoke up his ass because he wanted something and Vitas was having NONE of this behavior. To Vitas, Arawn had ulterior motives, because why the fuck else would he suddenly change his mind and talk to him like this? Why the hell would a fucking GOD apologize to a mere mortal? Even if Vitas WAS considered royalty among his own pantheon, it did not make sense to him that a god from another pantheon would attempt reparations with someone so far beneath him.

Finally, his gaze rose. While his blind eye remained mostly hidden behind a half veil of dark hair, his right eye was fixed in a stare directly at the Celtic God of the Otherworld. That midnight gaze had no emotion, no fear, no anger, no happiness, no life, an unnerving and infinite stare like that of a living doll that could see within and beyond the figure standing before him.

"No, we shall not," he responded with his flat baritone, his speech cold and somewhat mechanical, devoid of emotion. In his pocket, his fingers grazed the screen of his phone, unlocking it, and silently pressed a few icons without retrieving the device, without even looking, with scarcely even moving at all.

"We only have one chance to make a first impression and our first impression has been made. The mask you wear is still a facet of yourself that was worn by you in the moment. Because of your abrupt change, I find you unreliable and untrustworthy." His words were blunt, but delivered again upon an even and dry tone that sounded more robotic than like a living being. Did he just speak to a GOD so frankly? Yes. Did he care? No. He knew he was right.

"Whatever you are expecting from me with your change in behavior and apology, I will not give it to you. I'm tired. I'm going home," he announced quietly, abandoning the remainder of his exploration to continue another day, opting instead to just pivot on his toe and walk back the way he came.

[highonmarvel]

You just let it happen

Bucky Barnes: After witnessing an ostensible but seemingly non violent crime in its outcome, you push it to the back of your mind, but the offender escalates.

An entry for Day 2 of the exciting @sintember challenge! [this is my favourite prompt, I hope you enjoy!]

Prompt: You just let it happen, ft [Biker AU] Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

“Bystander, victim or accomplice, perhaps you shouldn't have let it pass...”

warnings: dubcon!, robbery, violent crime, very mild ‘gore.’ 18+!

It’s not like you lived in the most dangerous of areas, but there’s not really a neighbourhood a reasonable woman would feel comfortable walking in alone after sunset. Despite the relatively warm air, you shiver slightly, pulling your cardigan tighter as you walk at a brisk pace down the cobbled pavement.

There’s only really one spot you’d say was explicitly ‘sketchy,’ for lack of a better term. You’ve heard a few motorcycles rev near a small gas station, but they didn’t really stick around for more than a few minutes every couple of days—you think they know the owner or something, or maybe the owner owes them something, but you’ve never really heard of them being violent—they may just very well be some regular guys who just happen to ride bikes, not every group of guys is a gang. Still, you’ve never been one for walking past more than two men at a time.

You stop in your tracks and sigh as you check your watch. It’s nearly eight, all the grocery stores are definitely closed by now, and you really need to pick some stuff up. You look up the small hill to the garage—there’s only one motorbike parked outside it, it probably doesn’t even belong to one of those guys.

You shield your eyes from the bright lights illuminating the road and gas pumps, but other than the loudness of the neon, it’s silent. The automatic doors slide open and the chill from the air conditioner causes a shiver to run down your spine as you reach to pick up a plastic basket. Unfortunately for you, you don’t notice the scene at the front of the store.

You grab a few things from the aisles, it takes less than five minutes, you anticipate being out of the store before eight strikes, but as you turn the corner to join the queue to pay, you freeze.

A tall man, broad shoulders, with his back turned to you is holding a gun up to the cashier, almost lazily, like he does this often and he’s getting bored of it. You gasp and nearly drop your things. Just as his head turns, you manage to duck behind some shelves, clasping one hand over your mouth, the other on your chest, as if you can somehow control your spiked heart rate by pressing down hard enough.

You hear the man make a curious noise behind you and cock his gun. You shut your eyes as you hear footsteps approach, like you’re a child who lives by ‘If you can’t see them, they can’t see you.’ Heavy boots come to a stop in the row behind you, and you hear a mechanical whirring of some kind. When he turns and the footsteps get lighter and lighter, you nearly want to sigh in relief, but don’t dare make a sound.

You’re not sure how long you’re hidden—realistically it can’t have been more than five minutes (robbers just wanna get in and out, right?) but it feels longer, and the hushed conversation you can barely hear over the blood thumping in your ears seems to last too long for a normal heist.

When you hear the ding of the automatic doors open and then close, you know he’s left. You risk a glance to the counter, where the owner (who’s working as the cashier) is dragging a rag across his sweaty forehead, and looking shaken, understandably so. But you don’t remember hearing the cash register open. Maybe your panic blocked it out, you could hardly hear anything with how harshly you were breathing behind your clammy hand anyway.

Should you say something? What could you do, call the cops? You don’t think he stole anything, he just had a gun, isn’t that some protected amendment in the US? Was a crime even committed? Maybe this could count as harassment, intimidation, but did you really see enough to make that call? The owner doesn’t seem hurt, just stressed out, maybe there’s other stuff going on, nothing to do with what just happened. You don’t even know what the guy looks like, and the owner isn’t making any moves to call the police, he’s not calling anyone at all, so it can’t have been that bad, can it? Maybe that guy didn’t even have a gun, and you were just seeing things because you’re tired. Yeah. Yeah, that all makes sense. It was probably nothing.

Although you’ve talked yourself into believing—realising—that you didn’t really witness anything, you still dart out the door, ignoring your name being called by the man behind the counter and leaving your basket in your hiding spot. When you get home, you shut the door firmly behind you and triple check all the locks.

***

The next day, there’s not a peep of what happened. No one in your neighbourhood seems to have heard anything about it: so you were right, nothing happened at all. Even if the cops weren’t called, you’re sure some gossip would have spread if it was a scene, but it wasn’t. You were right, it was nothing.

You feel a bit better as you go through your day, having tossed and turned the night before about whether you made the right call, but evidently you did: nothing bad happened! That is, until you’re walking home, and yellow tape is lined outside the gas station, cop cars and men with notepads gathered around the scene. You can’t help but walk up, feeling a sense of dread at what you might find.

The owner is laying on the floor in the middle of the parking lot, crimson bleeding from his head. You gasp at the sight and an officer whips around to see you. He shakes his head, tuts and sighs as he flips his notepad to a new page.

“Go home, lady,” he says, but he seems more tired than anything, almost like he was… expecting to find this. “This ain’t a safe place for a dame like you.”

You swallow hard and turn on your heel, trying to maintain a normal pace (that ends up being speedwalking, nearly running) as you near your flat. In the building, you all but fly up the stairs to get to your floor.

Oh, god, should you have said something? You can’t change yesterday, but should you turn back and say something to the cops now? Tell them what you saw, have them question you on why you didn’t say a word to anyone, let alone the authorities?

You’ve closed the door behind you and are safely in your apartment when you finally let a few tears fall. Back against the door, you dig the heels of your palms so harshly onto your eyelids colour blots your blackened vision. Oh god, oh god, oh god, what should you have done? What can you even do about this now? You really don’t know anything! If the security cameras caught something, then it would be okay, right? They’ll find the guy—you only saw him from the back but he wasn’t wearing a balaclava or anything. And if they needed you, they’d be able to find you too, right? If they could identify you on the CCTV. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

The door opens and you fall forward with a shriek. Oh, fuck, you had been so focused on your inner monologue you didn’t lock it.

You fall onto your front but manage to prop yourself up on your forearms, turning over onto your back to look up at the intruder. Your stomach sinks.

You didn’t see his face yesterday but you know this is him; even if his broad shoulders and leather jacket didn’t give it away, under what other circumstances would a man burst into your place shortly after you entered unless he was following you, and what other man would be following you except one who knew something, or knew you knew something.

The lights are off in your apartment, but the hallway ones illuminate his silhouette like he’s an axe murderer standing in your doorway. He raises his gun and you whimper, shutting your eyes and turning your head away.

“I heard you,” he finally speaks in a low voice, slightly gruff.

“I didn’t tell anyone!” you swear, tears spilling out of your eyes. “I didn’t even see anything, I couldn’t even see anything, I swear!” you cry in between deep breaths.

And you’re sure you imagined a snort. You look up in horror, expecting to hear a bullet fly. But you hear… a laugh?

“I’m sorry,” he apologises and straightens his posture. He flips the light switch on and you see his face: his teeth sink into his plump lower lip, and he tries and fails to suppress a smile, “I’m sorry!” he apologises again, this time he laughs out loud, and you realise he’s apologising not for the situation, but that he can’t keep a straight face about it. “Sorry, it’s just—I could hear you, you know.” He steps closer and you back away again, shuffling on your forearms because you’re not sure if your legs will be able to carry you if you tried to stand, let alone run. He lets his brow drop into something like faux concern as he looks down on you with steel blue eyes. “Your pretty little heartbeat,” he murmurs, eyes briefly raking your form. “I can hear it now.”

Okay, you know you’re heart rate’s got to be in the 300s, but he can’t hear it… can he?

He raises a gloved hand, and for a moment you assume he’s going to cock his gun, and you brace yourself, but instead he sighs as he turns it over, looking at the back of the glove, and you furrow your brows in confusion. He twirls the gun and tucks it safely into his waistband so he can use his free hand to reveal… a metal hand? That must have been the mechanical whirring you heard last night. You tilt your head at it as he flexes the fingers, and somehow, this arm seems more dangerous than the gun.

“Relax,” he scoffs when he notices you staring at it as he pulls the glove off his other hand. “It’s not gonna feel good if I’ve got these on, now, is it.” He moves to stand over you, and you’re paralysed by fear. You’re not quite comprehending what he’s getting at until he winks at you. “And you won’t be telling anyone about this either.”

You finally manage to scramble to your feet but stumble back a few paces, your back hitting your bedroom door at the end of the corridor. He stalks towards you and you find it in you to speak again, ignoring how the shakiness to your tone has you seeming like helpless prey cowering in a corner. “You—you need to leave,” you try, as if a criminal is suddenly going to change his ways at a command.

“Come on,” he groans as he fishes his gun back out of his pocket with his right hand, pointing it at your thigh. You still when he finally comes to a stop way too close to you for comfort, or even a little relief. “This isn’t a punishment,” he sighs as he kicks your legs apart, and you grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself. You watch him with wide eyes as he pops his metal fingers into his mouth and smiles at you. “Don’t be difficult, and you’ll see how good this can feel.”

You shut your eyes when you feel the cool metal graze over your folds, slightly covered in saliva. When you tense, he whispers, “Relax.” and presses the gun into your thigh. You reluctantly unclench as he slowly drags his fingers along your folds before pressing his thumb onto your clit, making you gasp and dig your nails into his skin, to which he just hums in delight.

You can’t help the wetness that slowly gathers as he rubs rhythmic circles over your clit, gently dragging his fingers back and forth until they’re coated with slick. You clench again to try to keep him from breaching your entrance. “I know you feel bad,” he coos, but doesn’t let up on his assault, “But just let this happen. Yesterday… you just let it happen.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek when he finally slips a finger inside you, and you involuntarily adjust to him. “There you go, good job,” he praises, ignoring the tear that falls onto his lip. When he slips another finger into you, you cry out and throw your arms over his shoulders, burying your face against him to muffle the quiet moans you can’t control, urging him closer to you, and pressing the metal of the gun harder into your thigh, making an indent you’re sure you’ll see the mark of tomorrow.

You feel your stomach tense as the bubble builds and builds, and when you finally let go, throwing your head back with a frustrated groan, he nuzzles his face into your neck. You feel him smile against you as you push at his shoulders trying to get him off of you, or even just to relent his fingers still dragging in and out of you even as your legs wobble, hardly keeping you up, and your aftershocks start to reach a level of intensity that’s bordering on painful.

“Just let it happen…”

✪

my beloved taglist: @cjand10, @cowboysnbugs, @buckys-wintersoldier

[mpxarawn]

Wordsmith ||

@mpxbrigid

Arawn chose to pay a visit to his fellow pantheon goddess who had joined the teaching staff in the science builldings. He made his way over to the science buildings and admired the sounds coming from the classrooms of chemistry explosions and various. Arawn strolled into her office with a grin. "I missed seeing you around, my dear Brigid!" he exclaimed. Granted this was also an excuse to have her sign her teaching contact as well as a social call.

"I'm surprised, you're teaching health sciences. I would have expected to see you in the arts building," he added, rather amused to see her and even pointing out the fact that she was one of the more artsy gods of the pantheon. Regardless, the death god was delighted to see her, since he couldn't recall when he last saw her even.

[sturn-wrld]

🪼sunsets at the beach

pairing: matt x reader

summary: where matt takes reader to the beach

genre: SMUT!!! if that makes you uncomfortable dni!

warnings: unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy), nicknames (babe, baby)

a/n: day 11 of smutmas. parts of this fix are almost poetical. this one is a little longer than usual i would like to think. idrk.

masterlist

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

hey baby do you want to come to the beach with me?

yeah of course baby :)

i'll be there in 15 love you

love you

as you rushed around for 15 minutes to get ready to go to the beach with your boyfriend matt, you were wondering why he would suddenly want to go to the beach at 5 in the afternoon in the middle of winter. i mean you had an idea but kinda rushed it away because he could just come to your house for that.

you heard a knock on your door. you opened it with overwhelming amount of joy to see your boyfriend. it had been a while since you saw him last and you really just wanted to spend some quality time with him. "matty" you said reaching your arms out for a hug, "baby" he said pulling out the y sound as he hugged you. "you ready to go?" he asked me as we released from our long hug. "yeah, i think so" you said looking around after picking up my bag making sure that i didn't forget anything. "we aren't actually swimming though right? because it's freezing and i don't want to get sick" you said looking at matt wonder in your eyes, he just laughed. "no no no don't worry beautiful i wouldn't do that to you" he said place a piece of hair behind your ear and place his hand on your cheek, caressing it. "okay let's go then" you said walking up to his car.

as you hopped in the car, you connect your phone to the aux and started queueing up some songs. he looked over at you as you reached the first red lights and said, "you are so beautiful" you looked back at him making eye contact before looking away to your lap smiling and blushing. he placed his hand on your thigh, where he drew little circles for the remainder of the drive to the beach causing your panties to become a mess, but you soldiered through it as this was a sweet gesture from your sweet boyfriend.

he parked right above the beach where you could see everything from right by as sunset was at its peak. "wow this is so pretty" you say staring at the beautiful orange and pink tones that a shining band reflecting against the ocean, the remaining sunlight sparking against the blue ocean. "not as pretty as you" you look over at your boyfriend to only look away again flustered.

you looked down at your lap to see out of the corner of your eye, matt's pants starting to tent and his hand making it further and further up your thigh. you now looked directly at his crotch and back up to his face where he now became flustered before looking away. "i'm so sorry baby" he said trying to apologise for having a boner, "it's the first time i'm seeing you in weeks and i stuff it up by getting hard" he said pressing his palms to his face and looking down.

"who said you ruined it" you said while now slowly caressing his hard on. "what" he said his breath hitching in his throat. "i mean we clearly haven't done anything like this in a couple weeks because we've been apart but what if we need it" you said feeling his boner a little rougher. "are you sure your okay with that baby? i don't want you to think we need to just because i'm a horny fucktard" all you did was start to undo his belt as he looked at you, eyes filled with seduction. he continued to pull of his belt and pants until his bottom half was naked and his hard cock was sprung up against his stomach.

you took his dick into your hands as you slowly started run your finger over his tip before starting to fully pump his now fully extended length. his noises were every where. he was whining like you had never heard before. you suddenly took his cock into your mouth, his hands going straight into your hair. "i love you so much gorgeous" he said feeling up your ass making you moan around his cock, making him vibrate and groan even louder. as you started going a bit faster, he started bucking his hips up into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. you felt him twitch meaning he was close to his finish. you started bobbing your head up and down faster to prompt his orgasm. he whined impossibly louder as his loud shot down your throat. you gently took your mouth from around his still hard cock. he grabbed a nearby napkin to wipe the excess cum from his cock and around your mouth.

"get in the back baby" he said sweetly wiping the cum from your mouth as if he isn't about to rearrange all of your internal organs. you obeyed and crawled into the back, him following behind. he crawled on top of you, making out with you, his cock teasing at your clothed centre. you started moaning already. matt noticed your sudden neediness and tried to rush the foreplay section a bit as you were just wrapped around his cock. he pulled off all of his remaining clothes and all of yours before placing himself comfortably in between your legs, rubbing his cock up and down your aching core.

"babe please stop teasing" you said grabbing his shoulders and neck, not being able to bear the mixture of semi pleasure and pain anymore. he started kissing up your stomach and chest until he was aligned with your face. "your wish is my command beautiful" he said pushing his cock into your core. you moaned in response not knowing how long you were going to last with this amount of pleasure. he started thrusting in and out of you at an inhumane pace that caused you to own lifer and louder with each thrust. "are you already close my baby" matt said feeling you clench around him already, a signifier that you were close. "yes baby, you make me feel so good" you practically screamed. "alright hold on for just a little bit for me" he said simultaneously going faster and faster pushing himself towards the edge. "i don't think i can last much longer if your going the fast" you said in a drunken haze almost not sure if your surroundings anymore. "it's okay cum for me now beautiful" with that you released with an unruly moan as he cummed inside of you.

he slowly pulled out of you, positioning your selves so he was slightly underneath you. "look at the sunset baby" you said as the sun had almost passed the horizon, the orange hues now overpowering every other colour"

"it's almost as beautiful as you"

taglist

@its-jennarose @ilovemattsturn @frozenvegitableoil @ermdontmindthisaccount

[undiscoverable-words]

Late Night Talking

II. Diamond

The Diamond of The Season.

Phoebe was sure there was a mistake. She cautiously made her way towards Her Majesty, breath shaking and palms still clammy. She was so worried she might trip that she only watched the floor as she walked. Her mother held onto her arm, looking straight ahead, smiling graciously at the Queen. Once she reached the end, Phoebe allowed herself to look up at the Queen, letting out a low breath, her throat feeling tight. 

The Queen looked on, observing Phoebe in all that she had to offer. There was immediate recognition on Her Majesty’s face as she stared down at the young girl who had requested to marry her nephew the Prince not four months prior. The Queen arched her brow as she watched Miss Pembroke shake like a leaf. 

“My Diamond,” Queen Charlotte announced, smirking as the entire room filled with hushed gasps and Phoebe jolted, staring up at the Queen in a panic. 

Her Majesty was always one for a bit of drama. 

“I told you you would do well, my dear.” Amelia complimented her daughter as they retreated to a recess of the room. 

“I don’t understand,” Phoebe admitted, breathing heavily, wishing she was not currently squeezed by her corset. “I thought– She…” Phoebe swallowed the marble that sat in her throat. 

How could Her Majesty sneer at Phoebe one moment and then grant her the highest honor of the season the next moment. If Phoebe truly was the Diamond, surely she was good enough for Prince Friedrich. Phoebe’s heart lurched and ached at the thought of the prince. She missed him and his sweet smile dearly. 

Once back at their Mayfair house, Amelia was quick to announce to Cecil that their daughter was, in fact, not ruined after all. He showed minimal reaction, other than the surprise Phoebe found in his eyes. 

“Perhaps Her Majesty realized that anyone who caught her nephew’s eye was not to be hastily disregarded.” He offered, clearing his throat. He then looked directly at his daughter, and said with the most stern of tones and expressions, “I still have final say of the man you are to marry, do not forget.” 

Dearest Readers, 

This author would be the first to admit that Miss Pembroke was not a suspected first choice for the title of Diamond for the season, though is Her Majesty the Queen anything if not surprising? Perhaps the new birth signified in Spring applies to Miss Pembroke, where she was previously left for dead in the cold of winter, she now blossoms anew to shine as bright as a Diamond for her debut. 

However, gentle readers, do not take this as a declaration of agreement with Her Majesty. I suspect some deeper reasoning behind the choice to name Miss Pembroke, the sole daughter of Lord Cecil Pembroke, as the season’s Diamond. As I stated in previous seasons, the declaration of a Diamond does not exempt said Debutante from any fall from grace. Perhaps Her Majesty simply wished to hoist Miss Pembroke higher just to watch her fall farther, and more consequently, shatter. While coal under pressure may turn into a diamond, said diamond under pressure may crack.

Whether or not this Diamond should fracture, you know this author waits with bated breath. What an exquisitely invigorating start to the season. Are you on the edges of your seats, Ton? I know I am. 

Lady Whistledown

Phoebe read the newest pamphlet the following morning with her breakfast tea, and felt her eyes well with tears. It all made perfect sense. The Queen was only setting Phoebe up for failure, sure to flounder under the pressure of being a Diamond. The shame and anger Phoebe felt bubble up inside her made her long for the distant memories of France. She pushed them away quickly, as any thought of France only reminded her of Prince Friedrich. 

“Dear, we must be ready for visiting hours! I have no doubt you’ll have a queue of suitors this morning.” Her mother said, startling Phoebe from her macabre thoughts. 

Feeling defeated, Phoebe nodded in agreement, resigned to whatever might come her way this season. Her mother beamed, leading her upstairs to her lady’s maid to help her change into her day dress. While not having much of an opinion on how the day should go, Phoebe was in charge of choosing her attire, and opted for one of her less exciting dresses, pale sage with sheer tulip sleeves and light beading. She decided she would save her new favorites from France for when she found a suitor she specifically wanted to impress. 

Cecil called his daughter into his office, intercepting her on her way to the drawing room. The low lighting within the office made Phoebe uneasy as she was used to a room with more windows allowing for more natural light. Her father sat at his desk, slightly hunched over an array of papers when she came to the door and knocked gently. 

“Daughter.” He greeted, gesturing for her to enter. 

She obliged, walking carefully as if the floor would shatter at her weight. Cecil cleared his throat and looked up from his papers to examine his daughter. 

“You wanted to see me?” She prompted, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. 

“Your mother tells me you are to receive visitors this morning, and I urge you to be the absolute closest you can to perfection. The early stages of your debut are crucial, and if you wish to avoid our agreed upon arrangement for you to seek out a courtship with Colin Bridgerton, I suggest you try your hardest to impress the callers you may have. I will be in after visiting hours are over and I have received a list of your callers to discuss your next move at tomorrow’s ball. Do not promise any dances unless the caller in question ranks higher than a Baron, though I doubt it.” 

Phoebe stood, shrinking at his implications that she was still a lousy prospect for suitors. 

“Why did you want me to pursue Colin– Mr Bridgerton, if you want me to accept nothing less than a Baron? He is a third son, and has no title.” 

“That was before you were named a Diamond.” Cecil explained through gritted teeth, practically spitting at the term Diamond. “Go. We can discuss further after you meet with your prospects, as I said.” He adds, promptly dismissing her from his office. 

Phoebe felt nothing but shame on her way down the stairs to the drawing room. Her father had revoked her of any confidence she might have had, and that was very little already. She arrived at the drawing room just before the clock signaled the top of the hour. Tea and biscuits were set up, readily available. The seating was made ample for the possibility of a hoard of suitors, though Phoebe thought that rather ambitious. Her mother sat by the window, smiling as bright as the morning sun, eager to watch her daughter begin the courting process. 

All but a quarter of an hour passed before the first visitor was announced to Phoebe and her mother. 

“Mr. Bridgerton for Miss Pembroke.” 

Amelia seemed unphased by the coincidental arrival of the man her and her husband had previously selected for Phoebe to encourage. Phoebe, however, was extremely surprised and slightly suspicious of his presence, wondering if her mother and Dowager Bridgerton had corresponded and set up the meeting. 

Colin entered the drawing room with a rather immodest bouquet of chrysanthemums wrapped in a thick ribbon of the signature Bridgerton blue. Phoebe’s demeanor changed to one of warmth at the gesture and she smiled broadly at him as he came farther into the room to present the flowers. 

“For you, Miss Pembroke.” He stated, offering Phoebe the bouquet. 

“Thank you, Co– Mr. Bridgerton.” Phoebe smiled, admiring the flowers. 

She gestured for Colin to sit and he obliged, cautiously glancing at her mama to be sure he wasn’t being untoward. With no objections, Colin adjusted his posture to remain comfortable, and cleared his throat. 

“If I may, Miss Pembroke, you looked rather lovely at your debut. All of us Bridgertons are happy that you’ve returned from your travels and seem to be faring well. And to be named the Diamond, that must be an honor, despite what Whistledown may have said–” Colin went on, causing Phoebe to stifle a giggle. 

“It is good to see you again, as well, Mr. Bridgerton. How was your tour of Europe if I may ask?” 

Colin smiled brightly and began to regale her of his time abroad, getting lost in the descriptions of the many places he explored. Phoebe admired how he looked so enchanted at even the memory of his travels, and she was happy that his trip was more fortunate than her own. 

Having grown up next door to the Bridgertons, Phoebe was well acquainted with the bunch, specifically attached to Colin, Daphne, and Eloise. She felt at ease amongst a familiar face, and enjoyed his conversation for the better part of the hour, completely unaware of her lack of other suitors. 

She felt guilty after the next thought passed through her mind. Colin Bridgerton was far more handsome than she could recall from two seasons before. It made her heart drop at the realization that she had thought something about the man one of her best friends was completely enamored with, but she could not help the way her mind drifted as she watched him speak so spiritedly. She admired the sparkle in his eyes as he told her tales of Greece, and she took note of the dimples near his mouth when he smiled. Phoebe lost herself in admiring the details of her dear friend’s face.

“Pardon me, I seem to have prattled on far too long.” Colin interjects his own line of thought. He clears his throat. “Mother sent me to extend an invitation for tea tomorrow afternoon before the first ball of the season.” He said, meeting her eyes. 

She noticed his were a mixture of brown, green, and grey depending on the light, and had to avert her gaze before she stared. 

“Daph– excuse me, the Duchess of Hastings will be there. She is most excited to see you again.” 

Phoebe smiled as he corrected himself in favor of formality during proper morning calling hours, rather than allow their acquaintance with one another afford them familiarity. 

“I would love to come to tea, please send your mother my thanks, and let her know I will absolutely be there tomorrow. It was great seeing you again after all this time, Colin– I mean, Mr. Bridgerton.” Phoebe corrected, trying to maintain the creeping blush up her neck. 

The pair was not yet ready to forego their previous friendliness as children for the more proper encounters they would now be a part of as young adults of the Ton. 

Colin thanked Lady Pembroke for her hospitality and took his leave. Phoebe and her mother were now alone in the drawing room. Amelia looked at her daughter and smirked. 

“Was that planned, Mama?” Phoebe asked, turning to face her mother by the window. The Chrysanthemums sat, soaking in the sun, and complemented the design of the room. 

“Not one bit, my dear. But you two seemed to get along better than I remember. Perhaps there is something to be said–” 

“He is just an old friend, Mama. Colin Bridgerton is not a serious suitor, he called as a favor to his mother and sisters.” Phoebe interrupted. 

She did not want her mother to imply that there was or ever would be anything between her and Colin Bridgerton. She could not bear the thought of how that would hurt Penelope, whether Colin returned her affections for him or not. 

At dinner, her father made it a point to voice more snide remarks towards his daughter. 

“It was rather quiet this morning, was it not?” He raised an eyebrow and stared her down, silently asking her to challenge him, or to admit defeat. Phoebe could not be sure which. 

“Mr. Bridgerton called on her, darling, isn’t that something?” Amelia said, still convinced this was a sign of fate for the two within the marriage mart. 

“I am to visit with the Bridgertons tomorrow for tea.” Phoebe elaborated, hoping to halt any schemes her parents may try thinking they have secured her a match. 

Cecil grumbled as he cut the slice of roast on his plate. 

“Having only Mr. Bridgerton call does make things uncomplicated.” He said, before the dinner returned to silence.

[sstormyskyess]

wrote some more robot!ghost for @glitterypirateduck's ghost challenge!! i used prompt #81 and pushed robot!ghost in a river >:)

[tiny suggestive warning!]

The sixth month of your service as Ghost's technician was coming to a close, and along with that, autumn was just starting to peter off into winter. The air was colder and the wind bites just a little harder than it did before.

Your breath is visible in the air when you stop to catch it, having exerted yourself on your morning run. Your feet have taken you off base today after deciding to work yourself a little harder. If things went as planned, you would be following the task force off base within the next couple weeks for a longer mission, one where Ghost wouldn't be able to visit as promptly. So, to make sure nothing catastrophic happened with you too far away to address it, you would be going with them.

You wipe the sweat off your forehead as you make a detour into a small cafe on your way back to base, the bell above the door jingling when you push it open. Despite the fact that the little shop was packed for the afternoon rush, things were rather quiet. It was a tad confusing, to be frank.

The cause of this awkward and uncomfortable silence is made clear once you spot a certain hulking man standing next to the front counter, arms crossed over his chest.

You walk over to him with curiosity in your eyes. "Ghost? What are you doing here?" Why would an automaton be in a cafe of all places? Or anywhere that serves food for that matter?

His glowing red LED optics focus on you when he hears your voice and he shrugs in response to your question. "Getting drinks for the others." His voice is plain and deadpanned as usual, explaining himself as though it were obvious and well-known that he served as the task force's personal coffee delivery boy.

You make a little 'oh' noise and glance away from him. Those damn eyes of his continue to send a shiver down your spine every time he stares at you so intently. Expectantly, almost.

The silence is palpable for a few moments before you try to start a more substantial conversation. "So, um... do you do stuff like this often? Getting food for the other guys, I mean."

His voice box makes a low, metallic rumble in response and looks at the queue on the tiny monitor showing what orders were coming out next. "Pretty often. Don't get tired and don't have to work out daily. Got plenty of extra time," he says before glancing over at you and nodding toward the counter. "Might want to get your order in, mate."

Oh. That is what you were here to do, isn't it? You mosey over to the waiter and give them your order, feeling Ghost's eyes on the side of your face while you speak.

When the both of you get your orders--one cup of coffee for yourself and a variety of teas and coffees for the boys--you and Ghost head out together and start on back to base. Conversation flows somewhat easily as you walk as you exchange small stories with each other; most of his consist of various past operations, yours are generally about your clients over the years.

About halfway back, catastrophe strikes.

The two of you are on your merry way when you hear the sound of car horns blaring only a little ways away. All of a sudden, a car is swerving and coming directly toward you. You freeze at the sight and aren't able to react until it's almost too late. Lucky for you, you have a 6'4" automaton bodyguard, one that's able to quickly shove you out of the trajectory the speeding car is taking.

The result is him flying over the guardrail along the side of the river you're walking next to, right into the water.

"Ghost!" You look over the edge, eyes wide in shock. You turn your gaze to the driver of the car that nearly crashed into you. "What is wrong with you?!" You bark at them before trying to find some way down to help Ghost out of the river. You curse under your breath when your search comes up short and resort to climbing over the railing and sliding down the steep drop to the lower walkway.

Luckily, he's already swimming to the side, albeit a bit slow. You take hold of his hand and drag him closer the best you can, helping him onto the concrete footpath.

Now, usually, water wouldn't be an issue for an automaton as advanced as he is, but the fact his chassis was crumpled up by the car hitting him, water was able to get underneath his waterproof outer casing and into his circuits. You call up Price on your phone and he's there to take the both of you back to base within minutes (not before getting the culprits plate numbers and information, though--that person was really going to get it, you already know).

Ghost is stumbling by the time you make it back to your office and get him laying on the workbench to be treated. You have to tell Soap to shut up when he makes a stupid comment about just putting him in a tub full of rice, and he promptly fucks off when he hears the venom in your voice.

You're quick to remove his damaged chest casing and set it to the side. He's instinctively resistant to the action after recently experiencing high levels of trauma, and his hands shoot up to stop you multiple times as you open him up, but eventually he gets too weak to hold you back anymore.

A grimace sets upon your face when you see the water sloshing around in his most fragile parts. Towels first, then you can really take care of him. "I'm gonna wipe you down first, okay? The fabric will probably feel strange or hurt a bit at first, but it's all necessary, okay?" You reassure him while you get the towels out of your tool cabinets. He gives you a strained, glitchy grumble in response.

When you start patting him down, his limbs twitch and he groans softly, his eyes flickering. "Fuckin' hell--" he hisses, his voicebox chopping his words up and his back arching off the table involuntarily. It makes you falter for a bit; it almost sounded like a groan of pleasure instead of pain...

But there's no time to speculate about whether or not your patient was a masochist. Even if your face started to heat up a bit, both from the shame of thinking about him like that and from the inappropriate thoughts passing through your mind. So unprofessional, you scold yourself.

But after that day, you can't get the thoughts out of your head. Yet another thing about that man that captivates you. This was starting to become a problem.

more robot!ghost on the masterlist!!

[mpxarawn]

Arawn enjoyed her energy. It was refreshing and delightful. "You do indeed boost the lovability of your pantheon for sure!" he laughed, also playful. the death god may look scary and intimidating, but his love for sweets overpowered his scary vibes by a lot. "I'm Arawn, delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss?" the god stated with a grin. Since she was giving him snack suggestions, he may as well introduce himself.

He nodded in deep thought as the girl voiced her recommendation and her opinion on the candied hawthorn. "Tart with a tinge of sweet, that sounds interesting. I'm intrigued to try it, and then we can go for other sweets," he stated, carefully stepping towards the vendor and asking for four sticks of the candied hawthorn. He got the sweet sticks and handed the girl two of them, slipping the strawberry tanghulu in his other hand.

"I enjoy sweets and even though this type of festival isn't all that common in my pantheon, I am still quite fascinated by everything," he said.

Yingyue watched the man before him. She was rather sure by the way he talked that he was a god, but she did not see any need to establish that. He had merely been there to help, and it was something she did quite appreciate. Plus, she would never turn down a compliment. She was Jiang Yingyue after all. "Thank you. I really do help boost the lovability of my pantheon." She boasts, though her words were meant more playfully. Everyone she had met so far had been absolutely lovely.

Nodding her head, she smiled. "Yes. But, it is not really as sweet as yours is. More tart with a little sweet. Can really pucker the lips if you get one of the good ones." Yingyue absolutely adored sour treats, and she knew she wanted one now. But, she obliged his question for recommendations. "If you want really sweet, you need to get the grape tanghulu. They sometimes can be a bit sweeter than the strawberry version. Regardless, it is yummy."