#( ;; dove pines )

[the-barefoot-hatter]

As Fidds will find out soon find out, terrordactyls are less gamey but more hallucination-y than pterodactyls. You are what you eat they say~!

-

Party Billiam's Weirdmageddon/Wedding photographer was local film legend Harry Claymore. The slightly edited video became something of a minor cult classic but most critics panned the bizarre choice of love interest, excessive weirdness, and the claim it was a "true story! i swear!!!"

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

obsessed with how Rhaenyra's breakup with Alicent spawned an entire apocalyptic civil war while Larys' breakup with Alicent was him going "oh well she's got a sonclone who'll fuck anything that gets his name right" and moving on with his life.

[thel0botom1zed]

THE ONE AND ONLY BILLFORD! MY FAVORITE SHIP SINCE I COULD REMEMBER!

[fishymom-art]

NOW WHAT? Chapter 20 - Web of Lies

OOOOHHHHHHH!!!!!

[iveriee]

escape.

— tom riddle x gender neutral ! reader

—IN WHICH, you conduct an experiment. how would it feel date everyone's ideal student? he really is a riddle (pun intended) and you mean to solve him.

— toxic and obsessive behaviour. (yandere ) .masturbation (reader's genitalia is not specified). drugging. manipulation. smutty. overly flowery writing. mutual pining ? ?. stalking. dd;dne. murder attempt (?) an open ending lol. 2.4k ish words. angst. reader is a horny shit. not proofread, i just pulled this out of my drafts.

DATING TOM RIDDLE IS STRANGE,

he scares you—he really does.but not for the reasons one would think. he is not a monster with sharp claws that will dig into your flesh or a haunting, grey ghost that will glare at you.  infact, he is rather handsome with his flawless visage—with his high cheekbones, neat, precise black hair, and hazel eyes so dark that they are almost black. he is the kind of person you cannot look in the eyes—divine, pristine, unattainable, adored by the professors, and idolized by his peers.

you are sure he knows it. he knows—he knows that with perfection comes intrigue.  they cannot help but sink—fall, turn into mush, drown. they might aswell have been stabbed in the chest. but even with the hot, fresh blood gushing out of them, they do not question it. who are they to question him? he is beyond perfection—he allures them in and seeps into their bones. they are fish on land and he is water.

but you are guarded. you do not  melt when he smiles that smile of his. you do not blush when he gently takes your hand, his touch tender like the light caress of a feather. you do not feel warmth when his lips brush gently against yours, as if you were a fragile vase that he was trying not to break. it is a facade weaved of pure, soft silk. silk that would sharpen and snarl around you anyday he wanted.

of course, you aren't interested in being choked to death. but you are interested in him. his touches become even lighter and he looks at you so, so gently. his eyes soften when he sees you and you are not sure what he is thinking.  he stares at you almost as if you are an angel— precious.

but there is not merely 'love' in those dark eyes—when you hold his hand with trembling fingers or give him a piece of your treacle tart, his grip tightens and there is something so strange about his gaze. he looks at you with syrupy longing this time. pure longing. as if you are a polished treasure. his eyes grow heavy-lidded but they never leave you; as if you are his entire world and he might aswell sink to his knees and taste and lap at your every inch. he seems to want to devour you anyway.

you do not know how you feel about that.

                                 —

unfortunately, your layers are peeled back aswell and you slip away; you begin to smile whenever you see him—an unplanned burst, a summer flower when the sun kisses it. then, his scent of sandalwood wafts into your nostrils—a terrible, terrible thing, really.

you can smell it when you the sun's golden rays melt into your dormitory and the birds chirp.

you can smell it when the professor's words fly over your head.

you can smell it when your hands flow and you do not know what you are writing with the quill. you smell it everywhere but, it really emerges when you lay on your head on your pillow.  it slips in between your legs and what can you do but kick it out with your fingers?

it is lust then;  you want to fuck him.  and it is mutual aswell then; he wants to fuck you too. or that is what you think.

                  

                             —

it takes time to brindle up the courage but you do. maybe you shouldn't have.

"tom, would you mind fucking me?"

heat blooms in your stomach and it comes with a tight, sick knot of dread. you are scared. merlin, you will never admit it but you are scared. you scared of what he will say—you are scared of his lips curling into a scowl—you are scared to see disgust in his eyes, you are scared to never feel his soft touch again and you are so scared that you cannot speak further. how could you?  your throat is a dry, parched thing. you should've never said it.

his lips part and his eyes are blown wide. it is not comforting to see him shocked. he pauses to consider and the heavy, burning knot in your stomach tightens. you have done it. you have fucking ruined it.

his expression is then still; he does not smile or scoff—impassive, flawless. but this is not the time to admire him. you've made him uncomfortable at the very least and it lodges itself  between your lungs until you cannot breathe. are you so vile that you made the ultimate manipulator speechless?

"of course I will." he finally says, still unsmiling. your lips quiver and you slowly run your fingers across his face. his skin is velvet smooth, unmarred. you feel his warmth bleeding into your fingers and it's spring's kiss. the budding of plush, glistening cherries or the slick, red honeysuckles that flower when the snow softens into the soil.

again, you are a summer flower and he is the sun. he is only saying this because he doesn't want to upset you and you can't help but fall into it. he stirs your fingers away from his face and intertwines them with his own slender ones. "but," he pauses, lips brushing your fingers. "not today."

"why?" you ask. it's a stupid question. you are no one to question his autonomy but then again you do.

"because," he muses, hands slowly falling away from you. "i want our first time to be special and today is not exactly an extraordinary day, is it?".

"oh." you say. "i see."

but you don't. you don't see.

—

the days are restless.  and the nights — god, the nights? they are worse. was it not bad enough already? you think.  they are heavy, slick, and scorching. vicious, maybe. but that is alright. you'd love being viciously fucked — him pushing you beneath him in the bed, ignoring your soft whimpers and cries  and taking what he wants. his head buried between your thighs, your hands pulling harshly on his hair as your eyes roll back and—and—

in short, you ache — ache for him and the only substitute is your hand. even that is turning meagre. you cannot be satisfied with burning, lewd fantasies and a limb. and it is not as if he'll fuck you.

the heat spreads — a blazing scorch that fries your insides and boils your cheeks when you catch a whiff of that familiar sandalwood.

but even that is rare — he avoids you, turns the other way when you're both in the same hallway,  buries himself back into his studies if you ever bump into eachother in the library and pretends as though you are not there. no words are exchanged ever since that 'i see.'

it is a clever trick. and you willingly fall for it.  because maybe, just, maybe,  he is doing this to make you desperate with rotten, depraved longing — to make you want him back. yes, that is the case. he must doing this to make you as equally as stalker-ish as he is.

but you are not that naive. there is always a ghost that haunts your roaring masturbation.  it lingers, a depraved voyeur, and snickers as you wail out his name. it curves and twists and coils and blows into your ears as you clean your mess up with a handkerchief that smells of sandalwood — when will he come back? will  he even come back? did you make him uncomfortable? is he....disgusted?

and after every self-fuck, you shudder violently. how do your cheeks fare now, that his fingers don't trail across them? how are your lips now, that he does not bruise them with kisses? how is your waist, now that he does not wrap his arms around it? and how are you?. how the fuck are you?

you reach for something to hold on but there is nothing. you open your mouth to speak but there is no one. you lean in to kiss but there are no lips. how could you have ever survived his love? how could you have stood still as he gazed so, so heavily upon you? how could you have inhaled the sandalwood? merlin, you don't know because that was not you. who were you?

and, who are you? a summer flower in the sun, maybe. petals pale and withering, red leaves dull and withering — just a crunch beneath someone's feet. dancing in the autumn wind in search of that summer breeze.

—

he is excellent and you hate him for it. you hate his gleaming, polished record of perfection. you hate his poise, how he speaks so eloquently. you hate his disarming smile with dimples on the left. you hate all that because it is not yours, but it was once.

was once, you remind yourself as Slughorn partners you both in potions. does the old geezer know somehow? you think, as you make the pain-staking journey to his seat. it's in the first row, of course. goody-two shoes.

your feet are being prickled with nails, perhaps — because every other step needs another intake of breath. your chest is a heavy, taut band and it is sick — oh so sick that you do not feel your eyes sting. the air hits your cheeks like a violent punch as you sit down. fucking sandalwood.

what will you say? there is so much and yet no words form as your lips part. an apology, maybe. or a confrontation. both do not sound logical and you want something that is — you cannot afford to spill your tears infront of him.

and him? he does not look your way, no, he remains impassive; still, eyes focused on his potion, long slender fingers working with effortless grace. he is beautiful. so, so disgustingly beautiful. the perfect curve of his nose, the way he towers over you, and something else — not quite there —. the phantom of a frown that marrs his lips as you continue to glare at him.

you snap your head away and wonder if he'll grip your face and turn your gaze back towards him and then whisper into you ear that you're all his. you still remember it. that murky look of longing he gave you. it is impossible to describe wholly, too depraved, too deep for words. his eyes, narrowed with aching, never left you. almost as if he was a starved man, hungry and ready to devour.

it makes you tingle.

it will not happen again, you decide midway through mixing your ingredients. so you must do it yourself.

"riddle..?" you say, his last name an unfamiliar pang on your tongue. "did i...did I do something wrong?

he doesn't hear you — atleast that is what you think. of course he wouldn't respond — what were you thinking? there is no reason for him to. you are a stranger; a pathetic creep, a perverse fool. blind. stupid, even.

and maybe you are being a fool again but — that look could not surely not be erased in a matter of days. surely he could not have discarded you like a torn piece of parchment or, more accurately; the pulpy, rotten stem of a summer flower.

but oh he did. he did do that. he threw you away and now you want him to take you back. "...riddle?" you repeat.

he turns to you. and it is the blossoming of flowers again. the gentle rebirth of the summer flower, squashed in damp mud, slender stem sprouting out of the ground — wet. tiny. fragile. he is once again divine, pristine, unattainable.

with his flawless pale skin, jet-black hair that falls in gentle waves above in his forehead, dark eyes lightly rimmed with lashes, and a perfectly carved nose, he scares you again; how can one be so beautiful? his lips quirk but he does not  smile. "no." he says. "you haven't done anything wrong, you could never."

ah.

you melt into heated goop. light, dreamy and weightless. your fingers tremble to reach out take his hand but you do not. you cannot. when was the last time you felt your cheeks burn in this way? you don't remember but honestly you do not care and besides—

Potions ends and so does your excitement.

your legs sprint on their own, perhaps, because you did not mean to bump into him in the hallway. (or perhaps you did.) huffing out for breath, you take his hand before he can turn away. his hand is so warm — long and slender. you could hold it forever and let the heat crisp you. you are surprised by your own firm grip as his eyes widen. he raises a brow but doesn't pull away.

"tom," you whisper. "please. please. don't go... don't leave me alone again. not after what you just said. for fuck's sake." you croak out. "please?"

his lips curve into a thin line and your lips are trembling already, afraid that a sob might crack through. he still does not pull away. "come here." he coos as though you are a pet. and maybe you are because you do as he says.  you bury yourself into his chest and consume that sandalwood. god. you inhale it deeply until it's wafting inside your nostrils — so poignant that you're drowning.

you're drowning and his neck is the only thing you can hold on to, and hence you wrap your arms around it. his fingers trail across your hair and you shiver. it is as if you are floating now. a sob howls through and another and another — and you cry. until your cheeks are wet and slick with hot tears and the front of his robes are soaked.

"sorry." you say. "so sorry for ruining your uniform." he does not smile at the jest but he instead takes a strand of your hair and kisses it, like he always does. a sweet gesture, perhaps but there is something else. something you cannot quite put your finger on. a storm clouding his dark eyes, just like that syrupy look. except, he remains still. nobody could notice it, besides you because you know  his stares.

he lowers his gaze, looking at nothing in particular. you feel his nails digging into your flesh as he leans in and whispers, his breath hitching. "you are mine." he bites your earlobe and you wince — but you do not mind the sudden pang of pain. it is, in it's own twisted way, alluring. a strange kind of allure. "all mine." he is right, you are all his and you'd be happy to be that all your life

and then you feel something prick against you. he raises his wand and presses it against your throat.

what the fuck.?

you go cold — throat parched, lips parted. your stomach squeezes uncomfortably tight and you can feel the bile splashing beneath your tongue. your ears ring with an indescribable echo. why in— no, what is he doing?  "tom..? why are you-"

"shh," he murmurs, pressing his lips to your sweat-drenched hand. "be quiet." you open your mouth to speak but no words come out. no matter how much you try, it is as if there is some invisible barrier that does not allow you to speak. "do you not understand?" he asks, but it is not an question. "so desperate and blindly in love, aren't you?" he grabs your collar and a smile, if you could call it that, graces his lips. you cannot breathe.

"but I like that. it is amusing, really, to see how lonely and touch-starved you are." he muses, his hands tightening around your throat. fuck. fuck. fuck. you thrash your legs but it is of no use. how could you have ever  idolized him? how? "but you are not mine. not yet, at least."

something sweet trickles down your throat, leaving fire in it's wake — you kick and silently scream as your lungs burn saccharinely with an ache. scorching to your core, lighting your heart on sizzling candy.

a love potion, you think as your eyes turn hazy and the world spins — why is everything so..far? tom himself feels as though he's miles away from you, his voice is but an echo, and his touch is numb. not there at all. so much for an experiment. why, you think. you already loved him.

even if that treacle tart you gave him had poison in it. on second thought, this love potion might aswell.

[ignoredbellyaches]

*makes your fav character abusive*

CLAPS HANDS TOGETHER

Here's my Gravity Falls oc everyone, hope you like her. Shes heavily based on the [your oc] x ford fanfic I'm working on (go on and step on me)

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

HI HI DOVE :DD im so excited for the event!! your writings always make me kick my feet and giggle c:

so yk my undying live for the one and only jade leech ^^ (even if the bitey bastard refuses to show his face in gacha >:0) and i see [fairytale scene] fits his love for nature C:

jade and cottagecore hmmmmm 👀 well there goes my brain and my spine—

REMEMBER TO HYDRATE AND UNSHRIMP YOUR SPINE TOO DOVE :DD

Fairytale Scene; Jade Leech

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, mutual pining, yearning

Content Warning; Some swearing

Word Count; 700+

Author's Note; I don't even know how I ended up with this, but it's cute! Hopefully, this makes up for the bitey bastard refusing to come home!

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

You felt like you were living in a dream, a picture-perfect dream that only existed in fairytales. How else could you have ended up alone in a quaint cottage on the edge of the sea with Jade Leech; the man that had captured your heart since day one? And despite Floyd and Azul basically making the two of you pack up your bags for a week-long vacation with the crush that you swore was secret — as you hadn’t uttered a word to anybody — you found yourself and Jade alone with just each other for an entire seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours, ten thousand and eighty minutes, alone. Scratch that, maybe not a dream, this seemed more like a plot of some cheesy rom-com where both of the characters confessed their love to each other on the beach. But there was no chance that Jade, the Jade Leech would do that… right?

“You seem distracted, Prefect.”

You jumped and hit your head against the hanging flower bed since the two of you were doing some sprucing up in the garden. You were fine, but your clumsiness sent a pot crashing to the ground, leaving you more embarrassed than anything. “Nope! Perfectly fine!” But the rise in octave betrayed you.

If it were anyone else, Jade would have found it amusing, which he still did, but instead of just chuckling at your misfortune, he helped you get out from under the flower bed, and made sure that you weren’t hurt. “Hmm, are you alright, my dear,” he hummed, looking you over for any cuts.

I’m not okay, no, especially with you looking at me like that and calling me dear. I think I’m going to have a stroke here. “Yeah! Just my own clumsiness is all—” you stopped mid-sentence, and stared at Jade. 

The mid-afternoon sun cast him in a warm light, turning his eyes into a glowing gold, and highlighting the olive of his right eye. The ocean glittered behind him. He had a few leaves stuck in his hair, and some dirt on his face, so unlike his clean and refined state that you usually saw him in. And the look he was giving you… it was so soft, so full of worry, concern, and love. 

Perhaps you had hit your head hard enough to give yourself a concussion, with your luck it was more likely than your feelings being reciprocated. 

And Jade’s staring at you was not helping the manner, he was looking you straight in the eye, and you couldn’t look away for some reason. You two hadn’t even been here for a full day yet! How could you expect to survive an entire week of this?!

You weren’t, that was the entire reason the both of you were here. Azul had grown tired of seeing Jade get distracted on the job, and Floyd was getting bored of seeing the two of you do nothing. But you and Jade didn’t need to know that, even if the mer-eel knew what Azul was plotting with this ‘vacation’. This was all a set-up for the two of you to confess, and what a fine set-up it was.

“You need to be more careful,” Jade breathed out, finally putting his concern at ease when he couldn’t find anything wrong. 

There he was, giving you that look again. “Uhhhh, okay,” you said eloquently. Who could blame you really? 

Jade chuckled softly as he helped you up, brushing some dirt off your shoulders. And before you knew it, you were rubbing off the smudge of dirt that was on his cheek, and he froze, looking at you with a curious look.

Shit, did I cross his boundaries? SHIT-

“You are full of surprises,” he murmured, taking the hand you used to smudge the dirt off his face into his, before placing a kiss on your earth-stained knuckles. A week alone, that’s rather unfair of you Azul, but no need to worry, I shall use it to my advantage. And he then placed a kiss to where you had bumped your head. “Hopefully that speeds up the healing process, my dear.”This is a dream, a fairytale scene. This can’t be actually happening… right? But the lingering sensation of his lips on your cheeks was very much, not a dream.

~~~~~~~

Tags; @aqua-beam @azulashengrottospiano @eynnwwyjth @hisui-dreamer @hydra-sea @identity-theft-101 @krenenbaker @officialdaydreamer00 @savanaclaw1996 @silvers-numberonefan @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

[angelyuji]

Okay but who do you think would/could cut off their darlings legs if pushed too far???? <33

there are two types of these to me.

tw // physical abuse

minors dni!!!!!!

1. the ones that do this because they think they’re doing this to keep you safe. ford pines falls under this. he thinks what hes doing is for your own protection and definitely not because he gets to feel powerful when you’re completely reliant on him and stuck with him. i feel like generally, most of these types are unaware of their subconscious feelings and thinks they’re punishing you for your own good.

ford pines, castiel, marc grayson, rick sanchez (maybe)

2. the ones that don’t see you as human. these types see you as a pet/doll for their own amusement. if u don’t listen to them, they’re going to get bored and that’s when they break bones and incapacitate you. like homelander? yes, hes got mommy issues and he wants to feel the touch of a lover, but that was season 1! current-homelander would do anything to feel powerful and to feel like a god. a gravity falls example would be bill.

homelander, omni-man, lucifer (supernatural), bill cipher, tony stark (maybe)

[the-guardianangel]

Template by ⭐Jasper⭐ on Capcut.

[blae-kitta]

Happy Ace week to these two unhinged aroace monsterfuckers 🧡💛🤍🩵💙

WIP and vid to see the background sparkles in action below!

[unharmonious-silence]

TY!! Follow up under cut! (CW: Dead Dove)

100 followers on Twitter isn't that much, but I'm still grateful to everyone who decides to stick around for my little doodles :)

[blimbo-buddy]

Normally I won't block people over certain takes but goddamn dude it's on sight the moment I see someone claim that TigerHeart or PineStar "groomed" their mates, quick way for me to tell that you don't understand the meaning and weight behind that word

[fishymom-art]

NOW WHAT? Chapter 21 - Some Sunny Day

WELL, NOW YOU HAVE THE FULL MAIN STORY OF NOW WHAT AU!!!! This chapter does not have any angst in it, I swear on my life, it's literally compensation for all the angst. Thanks for reading!! Ask me more stuff about Now What, because boy oh boy am I NOT giving up on this thing >:)))

[luminaryofblood]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Elden Ring (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Miquella/Mohg Lord of Blood (Elden Ring) Characters: Mohg Lord of Blood (Elden Ring), Miquella (Elden Ring) Additional Tags: Spoilers, What do I even tag this as??, Character Death, Canonical Character Death, character musings, implied underage pining, ... I mean it's Mohg!, Childhood Trauma, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Incest, Sibling Incest, It's not even explicit but the pining is still there!, More tags to follow! Summary:

... A fool was he...

... A fool was he, to have ever believed that such kindness could ever be extended upon him...

... And yet he had clung to it. Steeped as he was in blood.

... That little thread called hope. Carelessly snipped by eternally youthful hands...

... Discarded... Lost...

Man I am... Not good with fics. 😅

[lucky-3833]

Easiest way to obliterate Whitley and Oscars masculinity? Horse Faunus men. Horse cock would turn those two into the dumbest fuck bois in seconds. Farm boy and rich boy to femboi in moments.

Hell yeah!

----

Once they'd arrived in Vacuo, Oscar and Whitley had plenty of downtime to spend together. Times when Ozpin would retreat completely, letting Oscar live his own life without the ghost of an immortal hiding in his mind. The two of them would wander, chatting about nothing in particular-

And then, one day, a trio of burly faunus men whistled rudely at them as they walked by.

Whitley, even if he'd grown less stuck up since his reality check during the fall of Atlas, was still quite the haughty boy. He stormed right over, pointed his finger at them, and opened his mouth to start chewing them out-

And the horse faunus in front interrupted him by just shoving two fingers between his lips. "Shut your cock-hole and lube these up for me." The beefy man grunted. "You'll need it for what's coming next."

-----

"Oh god oh fuck please it hurts oh-!"

Whitley's gasps were reduced to a wordless shriek as a massive hand slapped his ass hard enough to shove his whole body forward and slam his face into the dirt.

"Hear that, boys?" The faunus laughed. "Apparently it hurts!" He grabbed Whitley's hips and slammed his horsecock into the boi's ass down to the hilt, then reached beneath him to flick the white-haired twink's slender cock with one massive finger. The finger was bigger than Whitley's dick all by itself, and his rock hard little pecker ended up squirted all over the ground from the abuse. The faunus just laughed louder. "Coulda fooled me, bitch boy!"

Oscar wasn't paying attention. He had his own problems to deal with, after all.

The other two had decided to see if they could both fit down his throat, painting his tongue with precum in between attempts to make him stretch and fit two massive horsecocks at once. He'd already cum into his shorts, pitching a shameful tent into the wet spot as the scent of thick faunus dick filled his nose. One of his assailants just grunted, lining up another thrust. "Fuck it. I just say we go full force. Either we'll fit or he breaks."

"Works for me." The other one shrugged.

As it turned out, both were true. Two fat faunus dicks buried themselves into Oscar's stomach, and his mind shattered into a million tiny pieces. When they started using his neck like an onahole, all he could do was whimper and squirt more of his thin seed into his clothes, reaching up with trembling hands to clutch their fat nuts.

A single one of their balls was heavier than his entire package. Just more evidence that this was the natural, proper way for things to be.

Whitley only held out slightly longer than Oscar, in the end. That thick horsecock slamming up into his guts, delivering hammerblows to his prostate, broke him just as thoroughly.

"Daddy, daddy, fuck me, daddy~!" He shrieked, wasting his Schnee seed in the dirt as his belly bloated with faunus cum.

"That's right, that's what I was fuckin' looking for." The faunus man grunted. "You want me to keep fucking you, right?"

"Yes daddy! Don't stop!" Whitley squealed.

"So you'll gimme all that Schnee money you're still holding onto, right?" The faunus grunted.

"I-I c-can't..." Whitley whined. "M-my mom is in charge of the-"

He was cut off by another vicious slap to his ass, the bright red handprint glowing right beside the first. "YES!" He shrieked. "I'll steal the account, just don't stop!"

"That's what I like to hear." Without any need to hear Whitley talking anymore, he just shoved the bitch-boy's face into the dirt again, right into the puddle of cum the boi had squirted out.

The two should have known better than to go out without anyone big and strong to protect them...but right now? They were happy their old lives were over. Their new lives would be so much better. No more lying to themselves about dignity and grand purposes. They were just cute little holes to fuck and humiliate from now on...

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Hi hello yes for the event jahdjsjd. Jamil with the prompt 6 carnival fun?? Please?? With (🌄🍓☄️)?

Do with this request what you will,, I'll love the writing anyway <33333333333

Carnival Fun; Jamil Viper

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, mutual pining

Word Count; 650+

AN; I hope you enjoy your Jamil and the direction I took this in! Jamil deserves to have some fun, and so do you! As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

To say that you weren’t a bit surprised that Jamil had agreed to join you to the local summer carnival would be a lie. But much to your surprise, and his own, he had agreed to your invitation… well also was basically forced to take a day off work and he had “nothing better to do”, his words, not yours.

Yes, he was clutching onto the railing of every single ride, he protested a little but still went on them. And you could have sworn that besides the hissed curse words and snippets of praying, you could hear the tiniest bit of laughter over the sound of children and adults screaming. He didn’t leave the park even after he was chased around by a hornet that wanted some of his food. Jamil had even won you the 'so ugly it's cute' snake plush from that basketball game. He even reluctantly shared some of that overpriced snow cone with the strawberry syrup; it was a tad too sweet for him, you seemed to enjoy it so he decided to give it a shot.

“I’m surprised that you came,” you hummed, shovelling a spoon of the sweet treat into your mouth. 

Jamil took his spoon and got a small scoop of the shaved ice. “Why wouldn’t I? You invited me.” I like spending time with you. “Today was… enjoyable I guess.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Aw, come on, Jamil, admit that you had a little bit of fun, it won’t hurt ya.” Even when you were waiting in line for over an hour, he stuck with you. “You deserve to have some fun, to let loose. You work yourself too hard.”

Jamil raised a brow and looked at you. The setting sun cast warm light on your face, and he quickly looked away. “Fine, I had fun today,” he relented. “And thank you for thinking of me. Despite the screaming children, it was fun. And I suppose I will try to let loose.”

“Don’t forget about the hornet that chased you arou-” You stopped talking and stifled a coughed-out laugh at the face he was giving you for bringing up that incident again. He had to rip your phone out of your hands to delete the video you took, he didn’t need Kalim to see that or everyone else working at the Al-Asim estate for that matter. “I mean, I’m glad that you had fun. I like spending time with you.”

Jamil looked back to your face, and he saw the orange sun reflected in your eyes. “I like spending time with you too,” he offered you a small smile.

The way the setting sun backlit Jamil made him look ethereal, glowing even, and you paused and just looked at him in silence for a few moments before snapping out of it. “If you want we can come back another time, maybe I’ll even be able to beat you at that basketball game!”

He let out a single chuckle, he was being a lot more relaxed with you and he couldn’t place when he had started doing so. He felt like he could be himself, and not the Jamil that everyone expected him to be. “I doubt it, you missed every single shot, no wonder you didn’t join the Basketball Club. If you want to come back, there’s a festival happening in August at the estate for the meteor shower if you wanted to go again-”

“Are you asking me on a date?” You asked, looking at him with wonder and teasing.

Jamil hummed, “If I were to do so, would you accept?”

“Yeah, if you were asking, I would always say yes,” you said.

He gave you a smile, a genuine smile, a window into the true Jamil. “Well then, would you like to go on a date… with me?”

You reached your hand across the table, palm facing up, “I’d love to.”

Jamil looked down at your hand and then back up to your face, placing his hand in yours. “Then it’s a date.”