#I am not very good with body types but sky is supposed to be a bit chubbier here

[zarvasace]

Lightyears Apart

I said I was going to stop working on this half an hour ago but I was so close!

[max-nico]

"Well, what do you like, Shadow?" Sonic asks, staring up at the cloud covered night sky.

Shadow finds himself pausing, his eyebrow furrowing in contempt. "I liked Maria."

"Duh, I'd be concerned if you didn't, Shadow. I meant what do you like now?" Sonic huffs through an exasperated grin. "Like–If you could only bring three things with you on a deserted island, what would you pick… or do you like dancing or are you more of a cooking type-a guy? What would your perfect day be like? If you had to choose between a cottage or a penthouse, which one would you buy? Do you prefer warm temperatures or cold?"

"As the ultimate lifeform my body temperature is always perfectly regulated, I have no need to think about that."

"It's not about what you need Shadow–" Sonic sighs, flippantly gesturing his hands. "–It's about what you like, about what makes you happy."

"What makes me…happy?"

"Yup."

Shadow thinks for a moment, his head now turned toward Sonic, who's still not looking at him. Though in all fairness, Shadow himself is more looking toward Sonic's direction than at the hedgehog himself. He's lost in thought, focused on finding something he genuinely likes on this godforsaken planet.

Shadow opens his mouth to answer.

"And don't say something that Maria liked, I'm asking about you."

Shadow closes his mouth. Back at square one he supposes.

It's hard to think of something he genuinely enjoys. He's spent so long preserving life for Maria, growing plants for Maria, saving people for Maria, eating for Maria, living for Maria. What begins with him and what stops with her is a giant mess. It's a tangled ball of raw emotions that he can't even begin to decipher, let alone understand.

"C'mon dude, I know you have some good memories in there." Sonic finally turns to Shadow, his whole face lit up in some amalgamation of amused and disbelieving. "Better than having no memories at all, am I right?"

To that, Shadow's introspection halts. His face flattens at the joke as he doesn't find it funny, and he remembers the absolute dolt he's talking to. God, this whole conversation is stupid, isn't it? He has to wonder why he's talking about literally anything with the hedgehog next to him, he's a moron on top of all other morons.

Sonic has enough emotional competence to at least be apologetic as Shadow gets up to leave. A hand coming up to stop him before he can get very far, and a repentant look to accompany it as well. Shadow simply deadpans in response.

"Too sensitive? My bad." Sonic looks down at the grass. "I've been trying to get better with… that."

Shadow tries to pull away, his counterpart doesn't let him.

"I won't make another joke like that, promise. Come sit back down."

For a reason unknown to Shadow himself, he complies. He takes the same place he was sitting before, Sonic is a little closer now, but it doesn't really bother him. The grip on his arm doesn't either. At least not enough to make him do something about it.

"Now, you still haven't answered my question."

"Have you considered the possibility that your question is stupid?"

"Humor me. Just a little bit longer."

Shadow sighs, rolling his eyes and looking back up at the sky. It's easy to fall back into his reappraisal and forget about the blue hedgehog all together. It's easy to focus solely on Maria too, but it's hard to think of himself. Not being able to answer Sonic's question makes him feel dumb in a way he's never experienced before, shame is probably a better word for whatever he's feeling, but it's even harder to admit that then think about himself.

He repeats the question to himself a few times, as if that will magically give him an answer. Repetition makes him irritated, God he's so irritated right now. Stupid ass hedgehog asking him stupid ass questions.

"I'm tired of thinking about this. Let me leave."

"Aw c'mon, Shads." Sonic frowns. It's an odd look on his face. It makes Shadow uncomfortable. "Look, I'll try and help. You like Rouge and Omega don't you? I've seen you walk out of Tails' garage before–which was a little surreal for me by the way–but I assume you enjoy hanging out with him, right?"

This makes Shadow think. Sure, he's okay with Rouge, grateful to her at least. He's been staying with her for the past few weeks, and though she lives on takeout, talks enough to make him deaf–don't even get him started on her attitude, and hoards like she's never had anything of her own before, he's truly indebted to her. He would never say this out loud of course, she would hold it above him and never ever let it go. Rouge is annoying enough without him giving her leverage.

She's oddly kind though, in her own special way. She doesn't touch his stuff unless asked to, makes sure to order enough take out for him to eat too, she's even allowed him to put up the few portraits of Maria he has. Rouge constantly gives out mixed signals because of this unfortunately, so it's hard for Shadow to get a read on her.

All of this being said, he wouldn't call Rouge a friend, but he wouldn't call her a foe either. Rouge is also way past the acquaintance stage, but not nearly close enough to be called family. Their whole relationship is completely out of Shadow's depth.

Omega's is easier to classify. Not with one word, nothing that simple, but it makes sense in his head. Simply put, he and Omega bond over their mutual love for blowing shit up. If they talk, they're discussing bombs and war tactics. If they're hanging out, they're testing explosives. Sending messages? You guessed it, they're talking about how funny it would be to bomb GUN.

They're like… bomb buddies or something. He thinks that's how Tails referred to them. Omega would think it's stupid a name though, which is fine, because Shadow also thinks it's stupid a name. They work well like that.

They're still not friends though.

Now, as for Tails, that's another complicated case. They both enjoy engineering and talk shit about Sonic when he's not around. They both enjoy learning, and find space fascinating. They both enjoy mutual silence as well, making talking to him easy with no pressure to keep the conversation going.

He still doesn't think Tails qualifies as an answer though, because the whole reason he even began to give the kid the time of day was because of Maria. Young, hopeful, naive, bright blue eyes, golden hair. He was like a bucket of water while being surrounded by wildfire. He still is, because Tails reminds him so much of Maria that it hurts sometimes, but the nostalgia feels like a reprieve from all the newness so the pain is welcomed. The pain is greeted, given a tour, and then shown its bedroom in his mind.

So sure, he'll give Sonic this one, the fox is his friend, he genuinely likes the fox, the kid is easy to talk to and incredibly sweet, sue him. He neglects to say this out loud anyway, both because it's not a valid answer, and telling Sonic he found companionship in his kid brother makes him want to keel over. He'd never hear the end of it, and the hedgehog already talks enough to power the sun.

"I think I like when it rains." He says instead, just barely catching a distant flash of lightning behind Sonic's head.

"That's a good thing to like, Shadow." Sonic accepts Shadow's answer easily, shrugging his shoulders. "I like the rain too."

"You hate the rain."

Sonic smiles, letting go of his arm. "Yeah, I just didn't want you to feel bad."

Annnddd that's it. This is pre-sonadow technically, but I wrote it with platonic intentions lol. This is pre all Shadow relationships.

I am incapable of not giving Shadow and Tails a wholesome relationship sorry not sorry.

Anyway, this fic is titled I Think I Like When It Rains on AO3. I posted it there a while ago so I decided to put it on Tumblr bc why not.

Please feel free to hit up my DMs or askbox, though if you're requesting I prefer my askbox lol. I am a multishipper if ships are your jam, but I mostly post Sonic and Tails being brothers (NOT A SONTAILS SHIPPER PLEASE DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT THAT LOL)

[thenexusofsouls]

The soldier bunched herself up under the desk, palms pressed to her ears with enough pressure that she could hear the squeak of her joints. She was trying to block out the noise. The angry shouts as she disobeyed direct orders. When had she entered the office? One minute she'd been searching the aisles...

well,

Shallow breaths

A tap on her shoulder, sending her jolting alongside her racing heart, wide eyes searching for the source- an elderly woman with a light laugh, and an apology for startling her. She was only reaching for the milk

Bright, fluorescent lights

Constant chatter and clanging and beeping that was not, in fact, a heart rate monitor, and was instead the tills as the cashiers scanned various items

Too many options

kind of.

At some point she'd passed the bakery, and a small child in a cart had wheeled by, holding a...

And then she'd found herself in the office. The door was locked from the inside. The desk had the indent of fingers on the edge of it's surface, as though imprinted in wet cement. One of it's legs wiggled like a snake. Both still gleaned with the sweat of her hands.

The manager kept slamming on the door, shouting and raving about calling the police, and company files and trespassing. And yet she was frozen in place. - For Wade, sadiebrin

@sadiebrin

"Donuts or muffins?" Wade muttered to himself as he looked around the bakery section. His head tilted to one side, then the other. "Eh, they each have their good points..."

It was supposed to rain today. Not just rain, thunderstorm. So far, though, the sky had gone dark for a couple hours and it had gotten rather windy, but so far... no rain or thunder. Perfect weather for Wade to do a little shopping during normal human hours without fear of getting too impaired by the sun. He'd felt a mild tingling on his skin when he stepped outside, but... not too bad. And really, he just had to go from his apartment building to his SUV, and then from there into the store. He could do that standing on his head, so... time to shop.

Being a vampire sucked, pun intended. Needing blood all the time was not only unappealing to Wade, but it was massively inconvenient with his schedule and lifestyle. And he refused to give up the foods he loved, even if they did nothing for him nowadays. At least he could eat whatever he wanted without fear of getting fat or developing heart disease, since whatever made him a vampire seemed to regulate his body to keep it in tip-top shape without him having to do much of anything.

His deliberations on exactly what kind of indulgent human food to buy were interrupted by a very distressed woman staggering from near where he was toward the back of the store. Confections could wait. Wade followed her, sensing that something was very wrong. When she went inside an office and slammed the door, Wade stopped and watched as the manager began pounding on the door like a child throwing a tantrum. "Really?" Wade mumbled to himself.

Making his way to the door, Wade laid his hand on the manager's shoulder. "Take a breath, okay? I think she's havin' some kinda problem." The manager was taking too many breaths, as it were, and spouting more boisterous nonsense about how she wasn't allowed in there, and if she didn't come out right this instant he was going to called the cops!

With an irritated smirk, Wade reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Dude, relax, I am the cops," he said, flashing his badge just fast enough for the manager to see something that looked official but not long enough for him to actually read that it only said government licensed bounty hunter on it. It worked, and the manager took a step back from the door. Only one. Wade looked at him like, you gotta be kiddin' me with this bullshit. "Yeah, you wanna gimme some time here, man? I'll handle it, don't worry." With that, the manager huffed and left to deal with an irate woman who couldn't find the type of cheese she wanted and was making it everyone else's problem.

"Hey... miss?" he called through the door. "You okay in there? Need some help?" He was trying to get through to the woman but also sound as non-threatening as he could manage.

[ask-the-royal-absol]

*It was finally time to head out of the place that Destino called home and up to the surface. Destino, behind the smug confidence they wore a lot, was secretly terrified. All their life, they had been told the surface was dangerous, that Pokémon would attack them the moment they saw them. It had been hammered into them from a very young age. How would the surface Pokémon react to them? Sure, they had the Leafeon illusion for some protection. But as Mistress Mirage said, it wouldn’t last forever.

However, there was a small part of them that was excited for the prospect. When Destino was younger, they had read about the stars, gorgeous balls of gas that delicately twinkled in the sky at night, creating patterns of different Pokémon. It was probably a small thing to get excited over but Destino had always wanted to see them. The sparkling evolutionary ores that were fixed to the large ceiling of the Underdark didn’t quite have the same magical feeling that stars seemed to have in books.

With a confident swagger, Destino made they way over to Hope, still in the cell. Felix floated behind. Destino figured Hope would have stepped through the hole she had made in the bars but perhaps she was waiting for a signal to go.

“Well,” Destino began, not letting any worry slip through, ”shall we be off then? As much as I really don’t want to use my effort to go and save the world, I suppose it’ll have to be done, right Hopey?”

Hopey? This Absol was beyond frustrating. At least they were finally going to be out of this shit hole. She was surprised the Pokémon that lived down here survived. She had been told many stories of the Underdark by her father. How, regardless of the lack of resources they had, they were able to live with what they had. How it was so dark, you couldn’t see your own claws in front of your face. She was honestly quite impressed by the creativity and endurance of the Pokémon down here, considering how long they had survived in this place. At least they had one thing that was beautiful among all of this darkness.

The ores that hung from the ceiling and walls. When Hope was trying to find Destino whilst in her disguise, she noticed it from the overhanging balcony. It was truly beautiful. The giant sunstone in the centre glowed a brilliant light that allowed the other evolutionary stones scattered around to sparkle. The heat it exuded was quite pleasant. Not as good as the actual sun but it did its job incredibly well. She was transfixed by it when she first saw it. Marvelled at its beauty. She imagined that if this wasn’t a home for the banished Pokémon, this would be a beautiful spot for pokemon to come and see.

Snapping back to the current conversation, Hope spoke, mild frustration present in her voice, “Yes, we should have been off hours ago but with your constant messing around, we’re far behind where I wanted us to be.”

“Hopey Hopey. You’ve gotta understand that I could not go up there looking like I have been. As much as I am perfect, it would appear that other Pokémon may not see me as so up there. Which is honestly ridiculous if you ask me. So you see, I’ve got a new trick. Dunno if you know but dark types can create illusions. Allow me to demonstrate.“ Destino concentrated on that same feeling from before, focusing all of that power they were given in their core to wash over their body. Their body shifted into their Leafeon disguise and Destino stuck a pose.

Hope was actually quite amazed by this entire process. Destino had fully transformed themselves into a Leafeon. Well, it wasn’t quite the same as a regular Leafeon but it would pass. “Huh, guess they were actually doing something useful this whole time,” she thought. It was interesting what Destino had said. Dark types can create illusions. It seems they could transform themselves using it but how far could the illusions go? Could they transform other objects? Other Pokémon? Was this the aura technique that dark types could use? She’d have to probe them for questions later.

“Of course it’s not as glorious as my true form but I don’t think anything really could be.” Destino transformed back into their usual Absol self. They took a step back to allow for Hope to step out. Hope, seeing this, left the cell, standing in front of Destino. It was quite funny how she towered over the small Absol. The transformation thing did spark a question.

“Hey Felix?”

The ghost type turned towards Hope. “Yeah?”

“You mentioned you were going to join us on our journey. Destino has a disguise but what about yourself? Ghost types don’t have the best reputation up there either.”

Felix had already thought this through when he’d planned on joining Destino. “Ya see, much like dark type can do the stuff with illusions, ghost types have a lot of other things we can do. We can hide inside objects.” To demonstrate, he floated towards one of the cell bars, his body merging with it. The bar turned a slight shade of purple when it happened. Hope’s eyes widened. These Pokémon down here had some really interesting abilities. She was sure this must also be a part of a ghost type’s aura abilities. She’d seen the ghost type floating in the air and phasing through solid object, so it did make sense that they could hide in things too. “It’s pretty easy for me ta do.”

“That’s actually really cool, Felix. Mind if I ask you some questions about your abilities later on?”

“Sure ya can. I doubt ya’d be able ta do somethin’ like that as it seems only ghost types have these abilities.” Felix couldn’t help but blush. He’d never been told his ghost type abilities were cool.

“I’d still be eager to learn more about it. Pokémon are able to do some incredible things on the surface but not anything as awesome as that.”

“Alright alright,” Destino interjected, “As much as Felix has some “cool” powers, they’re just not the same as making yourself look like another Pokémon. Let’s head off before this conversation bores me any further.”

“Yes, you’re right. We should probably-“ Hope was cut off by the sound of footsteps on the stony stairs ahead of them. Two figures rushed down, blocking their path to the stairs. Felix began to sweat. This was bad. Destino, one the other hand, was annoyed at the sudden appearance of these two.

[halliescomut]

Love in the Air Episode 8 thoughts

Okay y'all. This is probably going to be a long one, but I wanted to put up a more detailed breakdown of my thoughts about episode 8. I typed all of this in Word first, so that I could try and make it as organized as possible, but my thoughts tend do skew toward rambly-ness (you've probably noticed). This post is about 1900 words, so I also understand if you don't feel like reading all of it.

So I don’t know what would be easier, in terms of structure for this?  But, I’ve decided on character by character. So I’m going to start with Sky, as he’s the one we kind of have the most insight to so far, since we have a good amount of interaction with him through Rain’s story in the first half of the season.  For clarity, I have not read the novels, so any info I have on those is based around other posts on the internets.  I will also say that my thoughts come from where I am, and are based around my own experiences, so of course I can be reading things differently than other viewers.  Also, a lot of what I talk about are things that are subtextual (could be deliberate or not), so they are far more subjective.

When we meet Sky at the beginning of the season, he’s fairly reserved, shy-seeming, but he’s not a push over. With the friendship between him and Rain, Rain is the more vocal one, slightly less mature than Sky, and because it suits him Sky just leaves Rain to pull focus.  Rain is also more combative, whereas Sky seems to have a peacemaker personality (you see evidence of this during the club fight in the episode). Based around fan discussion of the series over the last several weeks, but this can be observed just in the trailer for the show, you learn that Sky is a survivor of SA.  This could certainly be a reason for his preference to stay out of any drama.  He also shows himself to be very sarcastic, even snarky.  He also doesn’t put up with Rain’s bullshit much more than Payu does.  We don’t have a clear sense of a timeline, but I gather that Sky’s assault is fairly recent, with-in the last few months.  This means that he still very early on in any type of emotional or psychological recovery, and it would track with intimate partner violence for him not to be seeking professional help with this recovery.  I think, based on his reactions to Prapai’s proposition, that Sky has a negative self-image, brought about by someone who was supposed to care for him betraying his trust and dehumanizing him to gain physical pleasure.  He’s just been presented with this sort of confirmation that his value is based around him being a sexual partner, not based around his personhood.

I also think that Sky is meant to be a bit of the other side of Rain’s coin.  In the beginning, Rain is innocent, and also believes he is straight, so he’s learning a lot about his sexuality and by the end of his and Payu’s story is a lot more comfortable and assertive as a sexual partner.  Sky is clearly out to some extent prior to where the show starts.  He was openly dating another man, I think based around his comfortability with sex during the one-night stand, he was comfortable with and enjoyed sex prior to his trauma.  I also think Sky, for all his pragmatism is a bit of a romantic. His willingness to do what he can as Rain’s wingman, and his pretty consistent encouragement of Rain and Payu, is where I get that feeling.  We may get more confirmation of that later in the series, or not, who knows.

Now onto Prapai and Sky’s first meeting- Based on the acting and body language.  Sky see’s Prapai, they make full eye contact sort of across the street.  This moment of eye contact clearly reads to me as love at first sight, for both sides. Now relevance or realism aside, Rain and Payu are also a love at first site couple, and so I don’t think this is an off the wall read of the way this is presented in the show. Then the security sees him, and he tries to leave, gets caught, and Prapai intervenes (one could argue rescues), and they go behind the bus/van things.  During the beginning of their conversation, there’s very sustained eye contact (which does not indicate fear). Then we get the proposition.  Now Sky is here, a place his dirtbag ex knows of/possibly frequents, now this new guy that he finds physically attractive wants sex but doesn’t even ask his name.  Sky jumping to the conclusion that this is just one more asshole, is not much of a leap, especially when Sky is aware these are illegal races and such.  Prapai goes to touch his face, and Sky stops him, rolling his eyes, and you can just hear him thinking of course, not a nice guy, but just another asshole who wants sex.  They lock eyes again, Prapai says ‘time’s running out, tick tock’ and Sky closes his eyes, sighs, and grabs Prapai’s collar and tells him to ‘take it’.  That last sentence happens in all of maybe 20 seconds, so there’s a lot going on here, but our brains work faster than we really know.  Here’s what I think is going on in Sky’s head: 1-This guy is hot, 2-He’s also an ass, clearly only interested in sex, 3-but I would like to have sex with him.  Then he does what a lot of trauma survivors do, he makes a destructive decision with decent certainty that he’s at least going to get temporary pleasure out of it.  Now…the ‘just take what you want’ that’s a heavy line, and I think it’s partly Sky putting Prapai in control so that he can sort of write off the decision he’s made.  I think it could also be read as a sort of test, which Prapai fails.  Now in my very first post about this, I said that I didn’t feel this was coercion, and I don’t.  I truly believe that Sky would have the balls to say fuck you to Prapai, whatever the consequences.  The issue is that he’s tempted by Prapai, and he’s not emotionally ready for that temptation.

Once we move to the scene at Prapai’s apartment, that entire scene, Sky is an active participant, and regularly in a position of control.  These are unspoken cues of consent.  He’s clearly enjoying himself and I would kind of describe it as Sky using Prapai the way he assumes Prapai is using him.  There’s no affection, just attraction.  Sky also…goes back for seconds.  And when he leaves, and the adrenaline and serotonin are gone, we see him in the front of the building, and all of these emotions are hitting him.  He’s angry, but anger is a secondary emotion—it’s a response to other deeper emotions.  The cause for his anger is sadness and shame.  He’s ashamed for letting his baser instincts get the better of him, for giving another person the ability to hurt him, and he's sad because he feels dehumanized.  Sky is recovering from trauma based around him being used, and he now feels used by Prapai (unintentionally on Prapai's part, but that's not the point).

He goes home, he goes on with his life, he wants to forget, but he can’t, for I think a combination of reasons.  1- he’s still not dealing with the trauma from his ex, stuck in those negative thoughts about his own self-worth, 2-he was interested in Prapai before deciding he was an ass, 3- He did enjoy the sex, and if you like sex, and you’re not having any, it’s hard not to think about good sex.

Now let’s talk about Prapai.  I will be clear, that I have a bias for his type of character. I enjoy a reformed rogue, and that’s going to color my opinion, along with the fact that unlike Sky, we as the audience have a lot more information and context to Prapai’s personality.  I don’t believe Prapai was serious about handing Sky over to security, apparently in the novel this is more clearly expressed, but I will say that I also felt like he was joking on my first watch of the episode, before I saw the commentary about the book offering that additional context (EDIT: Here's a link to a post from lutawolf with excerpts from the book regarding their first interactions) .  He's also still a stranger to Sky, so it’s understandable that he would assume that he was serious, especially with Sky’s own biases and history.  I think Sky’s bravado in telling Prapai to ‘take what he wants’ leads Prapai to believe that Sky was down for stringless sex.  The conversation later between Prapai and his brother, along with his booty call, would indicate that Prapai is a regular participant in stringless sex.  And there’s nothing wrong with stringless sex, the issue here is that this assumption by Prapai in combination with Sky’s history leads to Prapai hurting Sky unintentionally.  This is one of the dangers of sex with someone you don’t really know. 

Once that night is over, Prapai’s still thinking about Sky, for the same reasons Sky’s still thinking about him (the love at first sight moment and the sex being very good).  As someone who’s never encountered this, he doesn’t know what to do.  During the conversation with Saifah, he realizes that he wants to know more about Sky, he’s intrigued by him.  Prapai is a guy who clearly has a great deal of drive, who grew up very privileged, and so it’s not surprising to see him pursue Sky the way he does.  There is entitlement there, I’m not arguing that, but that’s why it's good and important that Sky doesn’t just swoon for him.  Sky’s not falling for a charming mask; been there, done that, still processing that betrayal.  In order to win Sky over Prapai’s going to have to be very honest with him, because Sky struggles with trust (understandably).

I talked in a previous post about how Love in the Air is character-driven, not plot driven.  The point is the growth of the characters, both individually and as couples. Prapai is going to have to be honest and real with Sky in order to form any type of relationship with him.  As someone whose never really tried to create a true emotional connection with a romantic partner, that’s going to be where his growth is.  His affection for Sky is what’s going to get him there. For at least a couple episodes we’re going to see Sky regularly brushing off his advances, and if Prapai wasn’t so intrigued he would give up.  Prapai knows he can get it whenever he wants, he’s got the numbers in his phone.  He wouldn’t be focused on Sky if there wasn’t that kernel of emotional connection and affection already there.  Prapai also thrives on challenge, his racing is a clear allusion to this, and Sky is a challenge to him.  Sky’s journey is going to be recovery of his ability to trust a romantic partner and regaining/recognizing his self-worth.

I did want to mention that I’ve seen several mentions about Mame’s pretty consistent use of SA as a plot device. I’ve personally only seen TharnType and Love in the Air, I’ve not read anything or seen any other shows from them, but SA is a plot point in both.  I do agree that use of that type of trauma as a plot device, especially repeatedly can be very much an ick, and that’s reasonable.  For the character of Type and for Sky, the part of their story we’re seeing is their healing journey, and I do think that representation is important for other survivors.

[cyrille-leclair-de-fontaine]

The two of them were on one of Fontaine’s many beaches, Scaramouche wearing a look of skepticism. He picks at some type of sleeve on his arm, turning to Cyrille for what was probably the fourth time.

“You’re sure these things are gonna keep out the sand and water?” Scaramouche asks, and Cyrille raises an eyebrow in response. 

“Doubting my work now, are you? And here I thought you were getting nicer.” Cyrille responds, looking amused. Scaramouche puts on an exaggerated look of offense, dropping his jaw. 

“How rude of you to say that. Now, as revenge, I’m going to throw sand at you. ...Later.” He says, which causes Cyrille to chuckle. 

After a bit more bickering about the sleeves and their abilities, Cyrille finally gets Scaramouche to get closer to the water. The indigo haired boy still had that resigned look of annoyance, but Cyrille didn’t pay much mind to it. He knew the other would get over it quickly.

The time on the beach seemed to pass as if in some kind of rush, but it was still enjoyable nonetheless. Scaramouche even spotted a group of otters in the sea, and one of them brought the duo a shell. Scara had handed the shell to Cyrille, saying “he had no use for it,” which was really stupid but it didn’t matter.

The sun had been at a midpoint in the sky when they first arrived, but now it was just beginning to set. Again, that’s weird, but again, it didn’t matter. Right?

Cyrille was now sitting in the sand with Scaramouche (who surprisingly lacked protest to more contact with the sand), head resting on his... “friend's” shoulder. Scaramouche was fiddling with the shell from earlier, eyes distant.

“This is nice,” Cyrille says, sighing in content. There was a small feeling of déjà vu, but that was ignored when Scara gave a curt nod in agreement. “We should come to the beach more often. It looked like you enjoyed yourself more than you thought—and my sleeves worked.”

Scaramouche scoffs. “I never directly said they wouldn’t. You think too lowly of me.”

“Uh huh. Keep lying. It’ll get you so far.” 

Scaramouche laughs a bit, but then he pauses and sighs. “You do know you can’t pretend like this for much longer, right? It’ll drain you out.” 

Cyrille’s breath hitches. What was that supposed to mean? “What are you talking about?”

Scaramouche doesn’t respond for a good minute. “You can’t keep pretending that I’m not actually passed out right now.” He says carefully.

Cyrille furrows his brow. “Did you get sand in your head somehow? You’re right here, idiot.” Cyrille says, which causes Scaramouche’s eyes to cloud with some concerned emotion.

He is right here, right? He’s here, and he isn’t going anywhere. He’s probably just a bit shaken up from the sand. Yeah. The sands the problem. He’s right here.

“Okay, first of all, there’d be a lot more complaining coming from me if I had sand in my HEAD. Do not butcher my character within these weird dreams.” Scaramouche says, rolling his eyes. “Secondly, I’m going to put this in the nicest way I can: no. No, I am not here, you pineapple.”

Cyrille quickly sits up, staring at Scaramouche while his internal panic grew. Scaramouche raises an eyebrow.

What is he talking about? He’s right here. He has to be right here. Why wouldn’t he be here? 

“Okay, judging by the look on your face, maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that. My fault, my fault.” Scara raises his hands briefly. “But I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this! You don’t really get any beforehand practice with this type of magic bullshit.”

“‘Magic bullshit’?” Cyrille echoes, still very, very panicked. Scaramouche crosses his arm over his torso—wait. Arm? As in singular? 

“Okay, snap out of it, bud. My arm does that sometimes.” Scara says, his other arm literally not existing for a good minute before reappearing. “Just listen to me. This is a dream, you need to wake the fuck up and tell Wanderer that Chero’s behind this. He’s... that bastard has fucking grabbed my soul out of my body or something, so now I’m stuck hovering the house as a stupid ghost-thing!”

...Nope. Nope, nope, nope, infinite no, nuh uh, no. This is just like last time. This isn’t the real Scara. This is just his brain conjuring up excuses and random stuff again.

But why isn’t he actually here? Where’s the real him?

I need to find him. Where is he?

“Cyrille-“

Before Scaramouche can get another word out, Cyrille snaps awake, breathing heavily.

He buries his face in his knees, covering his head with his arms, and falls still. Scaramouche still lays unmoved beside him...

[alphascorpiixx]

An actual serious Totk post now, here are my impressions of the new runes so far:

(with the caveat that there are still two empty spots and I only have one temple completed so maybe some new ability will address a problem I have)

Ultrahand: a great upgrade to magnesis. Not restricted to metal only AND can stick things together. One drawback is the horrible range. I haven’t played botw in a hot minute so maybe the range is the same in both games but I swear magnesis could grab farther. I’ll be standing on one of those moveable floating zonai platforms with another directly below it and can’t grab it. Hate the limited range so much if it were expanded just slightly this would be a perfect replacement for magnesis

Fuse: It’s good. Being able to make a hammer out of a stick and a rock is very useful. I have no strong opinion about replacing arrow types with fusing materials to arrows. Both methods work to me. Very comical to see rocks attached to the end of swords but as someone who dresses up Link based on aesthetics I also find it very annoying

Rewind: I keep forgetting this one exists tbh. It’s fine but I found stasis to be more versatile. Nintendo doesn’t realize the true appeal of stasis was not stopping time it was SMACKING THINGS SO HARD THEN GRABBING ONTO THEM AND YEETING YOURSELF ACROSS HYRULE

Ascend: Super useful when I remember to use it. I got through the entirety of the hebra sky islands extremely annoyed that I no longer had Revali’s gale and I had to climb/paraglide with only one stamina upgrade but that’s my fault for forgetting about ascend. Seeing Link moving through the glowy space makes me super uncomfortable though I would prefer if the camera pulled back so i did not have to watch that

Altogether, the new abilities are pretty good and most of my issues with them are minor. I just need get into the habit of using rewind and ascend more. Cryonis would be amazing to have back especially for crossing large bodies of water. Link’s swim is still meh in this game and cryonis made up for that. Paragliding across water does work and thankfully Tulin’s ability is a decent replacement for Revali’s gale

I WANT MY BOMB RUNE BACK. I HATE HAVING TO RELY ON BOMBS AS A FINITE RESOURCE. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FISH WITHOUT BOMBS NINTENDO. I HAVE RESORTED TO USING A BOW AND ARROW AND I DO NOT LIKE IT. LET ME FISH AS THE GODDESSES INTENDED

[xinyansbiggestfan]

Xinyan x Adventurer!Reader - First Meeting

The scent of flowers and perfume filled the air, and a few petals were guided in the gentle breeze along with their sensory counterpart. The sky was clear of clouds or birds, giving a clear view to the gleaming sun that shone down upon you. The warmth brushes against your face like the caress of heaven itself. Chimes rocked back and forth, creating a soft rhythm to counter your heavy pace. Your stomach growled as you pass a stand with various goods. Many you didn't know, but you want to learn of in this moment. The atmosphere itself didn't help either; a young couple chatting over tea, children playing around in the street, an elder woman tending to a small hearth, and all the other chores of the locals.

A smile crept upon your lips, and your steps became quicker as you move further away from the pier and further into the city. You had finally made it. After saving countless Mora, multitudes of blood, sweat, and tears, and even getting a well-paying sponsorship, you had arrived to Liyue. The Land of Prosperity. The Nation of Wealth.

Your next adventuring territory.

Rumors were spread about the skilled warriors within Liyue. "Adeptus", you had heard them be referred to that term. Some type of ancient fighter that had withstood years, possible centuries, of wars and battles.

There were also rumored Regivines that burned instead of chilled their opponents, essentially cooking them alive. And all of the countless Hilichurls, Mitachurls, and Samachurls littering the place as well. Who know what was all out there!

There was so much to see in Liyue. So much to explore. So much to fight. You didn't know what was waiting for you out there, but you needed to find it, meet it, right, no- URRRRRRRGGGH

Or, maybe after something to eat.

"Hah, I knew I shouldn't skipped lunch on the boat. That fish looked real questionable, though." You murmur to yourself, glancing at every food stall or restaurant that caught your eye.

Everything smells really good, though something about the notes burns your nose a bit. And lots of things looked very filling. You do need to eat plenty to keep up your energy, but if you eat too much, then you'll be slow when going out on commissions. Ehh, but that one stand with the dough balls looks really good-

"What is this?!"

A man's bellowing roar rips through the air, causing everyone that could have heard it to halt in what they are doing.

Your body tensed, but a smile perks on your lips as your feet move without thought. That sounds like something needing your attention.

You hurry towards the volume, already smelling flowers. Now with a hint of ash and charcoal.

"Just what are you trying to push here? First you go screaming that incoherent noise to any poor sucker around you, now you're burning my Glaze Lilies!" A man yelled, wildly gesturing to a mildly burning flower shop.

His assistants were rushing to put the fires out, but his focus was primarily on... Wow.

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to start burning your product, I just got some chord ideas and had to test them out real quick!" An angel of a woman was standing opposite of the man, her stunning amber eyes holding genuine sympathy. An accent unlike none other gave a charm to her words.

The woman's dark brown skin had a natural gleam to it, and it matched the gloss of her beautiful, and spiky, brown-black hair put into two upwards pigtails. Streaks of hearth orange also decorated her hair. Same with the spiked collars keeping her hair up. She wore an elaborate, loud, colorful outfit focused on reds, oranges, and blacks, with white to help break up the other colors.

In her hands was a well-crafted string instrument, something like a lyre but with a different shape. And, an axe blade on the very bottom. Perfectly curved and pointed, and you could tell it could slice a hair in two with ease.

So this is what the women of Liyue are like. You think to yourself, the breath out of your lungs and your sea-lag now gone.

"Well what am I supposed to do with burned flowers? Let my customers think I'm an arsonist?"

"I can pay for them, all the burned ones!"

"Please, like you could pay for all of this!" The man snarls.

You could see a twinge of hurt in the woman's eyes. And now, you remember why you followed the yelling in the first place.

"That contraption should handle it."

"No!" The woman retorted, pulling her instrument away when the man tried to grab it.

"Hey, hey," You speak while moving between the two, "no need to get grabby, sir! That's a bit much!" You remark, keeping your arms up while giving the man a bewildered look.

"Wha-who are you? You connected with this crazy lady?" The man asks, pointing behind you.

"I just don't think older gentleman should be grabbing at young women, sir." You state with an emphasis, having a more mischievous smile as your hands moved down.

The man's face quickly went flush.

You hear a quiet snort behind you, and a suppressed giggle followed soon after.

"I wasn't doing that! That lady burned down half of my flower stand, and I'm getting compensation!" The man continued to yell.

"And did she not kindly offer to pay for all of the burned flowers?" You ask in return, waving a hand back to the woman as you gave her a quick glance.

"I did. And if the stall got burned, I can help rebuild it!" The woman offered, moving closer beside you. "I'm real good with tools! I mean I made my own lyre and-"

"Shut it, I don't want to hear anything from you! And you, rando, how about you mind your business?" The man 'offers' to you.

You now notice the two helpers, surprisingly built for a flower shop, moving behind their boss. Seems they were done with putting out the flames.

"Afraid not, sir. I cannot mind my own business." You retort, keeping your smile as you stay in place.

The older man's lip curled into a sneer.

"Now," The older man's right finger jabbed at your chest, "you listen-"

Your right hand immediately caught his hand, and using your thumb, put enough pressure to push his index finger to an uncomfortable angle.

The older man yelped, and the two helpers braced while glaring at you.

"Don't." You warn, your smile now gone. And your left hand occupied.

It was at this point that the flower shop workers, and you assume the woman, notice the small decoration on your adventuring attire.

A golden charm with a brilliant lighted vassal of elemental power. Your Vision. And boy was it aglow.

Silence crept into the air as you glared at the older man, the helpers unmoving and the woman still in surprise.

"Now, you are going to accept the kind woman's offer to pay for your damaged product, you are going to take it, and you are going to move on with your day. Okay? Shake on it." You state, shifting your right hand to shake the older man's right hand.

Your left hand lost its grip on your Vision.

You let go of the older man's hand, and he stared at his limb in surprise before gulping.

"Sure, yeah. Uh, let me add everything up." The older man stated. A gesture of his unbroken hand made his helpers rush to the burned flowers and their pots.

You brush your hands off onto your top, your smile returning.

A breath of a laugh left the woman, making you focus on her now.

Her amber eyes were glowing even more, and a smile was plastered on her lips.

"You know how to be frightful, huh?" She asked.

"Only when I need to be. You all good? He seemed pretty pissed off." You comment, turning away from the stand and to better face her.

"Bah, I've had worse. Just got scared when he tried taking this," The woman held her lyre up a bit, "away from me. Worked way too hard to get it just right." She stated. She took a quick glance to the stand before leaning closer to you.

You tried to ignore the new warmth on your cheeks as you let her lean to your ear.

"And I'll be damned if I'm letting Petunia Pinkies even touch my lyre." She whispered to you.

Now it was your time to snort. Much louder though.

You cover your mouth as you try not to laugh too loudly, but you could feel Petunia Pinkies giving you and the woman a funny look.

"I've never seen you around here before. I'm Xinyan." The woman states, offering her left hand to you as she used her right to move the lyre on her back.

"I am new around here, actually, and I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you." You greet her with a quick shake.

"Nice meeting you too. Say, how about this, I buy you lunch? Consider it a welcome gift to Liyue." Xinyan offers as she places her hands on her hips.

"Oh," Your eyes widen with the new warmth returning, "well, uh, are you sure? I mean," You take a quick look to the flower shop, "you're handling all the flower payments."

"Yeah, but trust me, you earned a free meal." Xinyan remarks as she begins walking to the older man. Her hand darted up to give you a gentle smack on your upper back.

You let out a quiet yelp from the force. You can't stop a small smile as you reach your arm to rub the spot, watching Xinyan begin bargaining with the older man.

What a woman.

--

Let me know what you guys think!

[wetbloodworm]

thinking about zenith’s early days in the material plane and how rough it was for him at the start and i am considering giving him. a friend. someone who found him fucking wandering around the wilderness moving like he just learned to walk less than a day ago, went ‘oh there’s something not right about this dude’, and then promptly brought him home to see if food and water would help. it only kind of did.

i generally picture him manifesting his avatar in the woods somewhere because i have this very specific image in my head of him laid out on the ground among the grass and leaves, unbearably overstimulated and overwhelmed and basically paralyzed, staring up at the sky through the trees and being transfixed by the stars once he’s able to process anything. anyway since he’s in the woods my instinct is that this person was out hunting for mushrooms. found a dazed weirdo instead. decided it was a good idea to take him home. there’s this little older woman forming in my head as i type all this so i suppose that’s who she is.

zenith having help very early on makes sense to me because he’d be so unused to the plane and the new body and the TWO bodies that he’d super struggle at first. i also just like his first interaction with someone being a positive experience! partly because i like him feeling immediately encouraged and validated in his decision to come here and in his fondness for this plane and its denizens. doesn’t expect EVERY person to be as kind and helpful as this woman is, but it’s still a nice welcome to the plane. i think he stays with her just for a little while as he gets his bearings and figures some stuff out before he’s ready to go out and explore the world. 

i think it becomes clear to the woman pretty quickly that zenith isn’t just unwell or something like she initially assumes, and that he’s... SOMETHING that isn’t as human as he looks. SOMETHING is off in a more intrinsic kind of way. but i don’t think she’s bothered by this because zenith is friendly and doesn’t appear to have any ill intent, and like. whatever his deal is or whatever HE is, he clearly needs help. so she’s going to help.

i need to go to bed but i’ll play more with this idea later. i’m not 100% set on it but it’s fun for now at least!

[bratprincezz]

“Issa Laesi Naejot Drāmagon Tolvȳn Bona Tolvȳn Issa Prūmia Daor”(‘Open My Eyes to Everything that Closes My Heart’)

(Limited use of Y/N)

Canon-Divergent

PLOT :

You were a Belaerys, with the Blood of Old Valyria in your veins, future Queen of Sothoryos. Up until eight years before the Dance of Dragons, everyone thought the Belaerys family was gone after the Doom. You were well-respected by everyone except most of the Greens. Despite that, you were officially given a seat on the new High Council. The Hand, Otto Hightower, was trying to bring more countries to their aid, but his excuse was to bring peace between countries. Planning to wed you to Daeron, the Small Council of the Greens are shocked when Aemond refuses to offer you Daeron in order to take you for himself.

TAKES PLACE BETWEEN 129-133+ AC (a mix of show & book timeline, plus my own)

THIS IS A REPRESENTATION OF YOU

It will not have the AFAB reader (she/her) referred to as “Y/N” often.

Spoilers if you have not seen season 1 of House of the Dragon or read the book(s).

Excerpts:

“You had been wearing a hood and mask to protect your face while flying, but you had removed it. You were getting off of your dragon when he finally approached.”

“Your dragon was named Molcajete. She was black with dark purple markings. She was at least 20% bigger than Vhagar.”

“Your eyes were lined with an enchanted coal (to keep your eyes clear of debris) and they were an exquisite shade of purple with flecks of gold. They sparkled in the afternoon sunlight like so many stars in the night sky. He thought he was in love with you already.”

Notes & Trigger Warnings under the cut.

NOTES

I am 90% sure I am neurodivergent because I miss a lot of social cues, among 9/10 other things that can diagnose someone as ND. I just don’t have the money to get tested, as an adult. If my writing seems stiff, please lmk. Just be gentle with criticism, please.

Guys, this is very Alys-coded, but I didn’t even know about Alys Rivers until I practically finished writing. I have not yet read the book, I just did a lot of show watching and reading of ASoIaF Wiki. Also, any time you see a picture of a dragon I made, please note the website doesn’t actually have dragons, so I had to make dinosaurs with bird wings. 😢 Sorry, but it’s very sad for me.

Also, this is very AU, but still in whatever fake medieval time period & universe this is based on. However, things are very slow and don’t only take place within two years for certain plot things to work. It starts shortly before Lucerys’ death, which will take place at some point during the story.

I try to make as many visuals as possible, as I’m that type of person. For my ridiculously expansive “country/continent” of Sothoryos, I got really bored and for some reason painted major bodies of water in the islands. I know Sothoryos is inspired by Africa, but I am Hispanic (Aztec) and wanted to give it a hispanic flair. Some of the Islands and cities are made up names, but others are named Nahuatl things.

I do not speak Nahuatl or High Valyrian (well), but I did look up words for things from multiple sources. I know words might be out of order because verbs are supposed to go last in High Valyrian.

Very Canon-Divergent, mostly because I don’t want the dragons to die. I’m changing Aemond’s characterization a little bit, but partially with a reason - LOVE. NOTE : You cannot fix any person. They need to fix themselves. I also am not good at writing the proper way they speak on the show. I have re-read 50 times, so I’m sorry if I messed up somewhere, but I tried. BTW, if you’d be interested in being a beta reader, lmk. Right now my husband is helping, but I get shy about my work.

I’m going to try my hardest not to specify reader’s color, but I kind of imagine myself (obviously) and I might accidentally write something referring to light skin. If I do something like that, please lmk. I don’t want to exclude anyone. I would like to write gender neutral, but that’s really hard for me because I’m AFAB and cis and I don’t want to upset anyone by not understanding that struggle.

BACK TO STORY MASTERLIST

TRIGGER WARNINGS

TW FULL STORY :

Talk of Abortion, Emotionally Abusive Relationships (Aegon & Otto x Everyone), Alcohol, Blood, Branding, Bullying, Childbirth, Death, Drugs, Fire, Hallucinations, Incest, Marriage, Miscarriage/Stillbirth, Misogyny, Murder, Pregnancy, Profanity, Sexism, Slut Shaming, Smut, Violence, War, P in V, Sex, Fingering, F in A, Assplay, Prostate Massage, No Cheating, MDNI, 18+ , enm, ethical non-monogamy, Breeding Kink

[my-cowboy-romance]

prompt #2

Each type of death has a unique type of Reaper. Write a story about a Reaper for an unusual death finally having a soul to collect.

"Wait, you're serious?"

"It would seem that way, yes."

"The call is for me? You're sure?"

"You know, the Big Guy isn't exactly known for His patience... even if it is your first-"

"I'm on it, I've got it! I won't screw this up; you'll see!"

"Don't forget to file the forms before you-aaaand they're gone. Well, this ought to be good..."

-

Up until now, Aeschylus was having a perfectly average day. He woke with the sun as he always did, ate the same breakfast that he always ate, and trudged out to the waterside outcropping that had long served as his writing refuge. He found that his best writing only came to him when he was sure to remain uninterrupted by the presence of another person-at least, not without seeing them coming.

Aeschylus was quite vexed, therefore, to find himself looking down at a small, bald man slumped at his feet. He had half a mind to give the man a swift kick for his intrusion, but stopped himself when he noticed the man's garments. They might as well be from Aeschylus' own wardrobe! Taking a step forward, Aeschylus prepared to give the man a piece of his mind.

"Wait! Don't touch that!" A second interloper? The gods could be unimaginably cruel. "Are you, uhh, Aeschylus by chance?" Filler words. Aeschylus must have committed quite an egregious infraction to deserve torment such as this.

"That depends. What do you want?"

"I'm here to collect him. He's been, um, summoned?"

"At who's behest?"

"The... underworld?"

Aeschylus whipped around at that. If there was one type of humor he especially despised, it was wisecracks about his age. "I'll have you know that I'm-" He stopped abruptly when he spotted the shadowy figure. "What on Earth are you wearing?"

"Oh, umm..." the figure appeared almost self-conscious as it looked down at it's attire, though it's face was shrouded in a dark mist.

"Never mind. I assume your visit does have an actual purpose?"

"Yes! As I said, I'm here to collect the soul of Aeschylus. I mean, you."

"My soul, you say? And what exactly do you want with it?" Aeschylus replied, indignantly.

"It's my job to ensure it gets to the underworld safely." The figure responds in earnest.

"Well, you can't have it. I'm getting quite a bit of use out of it at the moment."

"Actually... I hate to be the one to tell you this, but... you're dead." Aeschylus furrows his eyebrows. "That body over there. That's you. Or, I guess, it was. If you don't come with me... Well, you certainly can't stay here."

Aeschylus regards the figure before him. "And how am I supposed to have died then, hmm? I see no threats lurking about."

Though no smile could be seen due to the figure's distinct lack-of-a-discernible-face, it could certainly be heard in it's voice. "You see that tortoise down there?" It pointed to a spot several feet down on the rocks below where a tortoise was, indeed, located. It's shell was cracked open revealing smooth, pink viscera. "You died when it hit you in the head just now."

Aeschylus was affronted by this, "Am I supposed to believe that a tortoise just, what, fell from the sky? Maybe reptiles know how to fly where you come from, but here in reality they-" a swooping eagle startles him from his ranting and lands on the rocks next to the downed tortoise.

"That eagle mistook your head for a shiny rock and tried to crack the tortoise open by dropping it on you. I guess it ended up working out for him in the end." Aeschylus takes visible offense to this. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. This is a real tragedy."

"Certainly not a very good one!" Aeschylus laments, "Any playwright worth his drachmas lets the audience know ahead of time about this sort of thing! Take me away from here. I couldn't bear the embarrassment of being discovered like this!"

"You got it; next stop, the River Styx! I've always wanted to say that!"

Aeschylus feels immediate regret at the reaper's cheerful declaration. This is going to be a long boat ride.

[dan6085]

The Privilege of Playing Golf

Written by a former golfer who can no longer play, but who has reflected on his years in golf and would like the rest of us to think about how we approach the game. Powerful stuff.

Dear Younger Me:

I can’t play golf anymore. I tried to swing the club the other day, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. The best I can do now is sometimes take walks on the course, but my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be so I don’t see much. I have a lot of time to sit and think now, and I often think about the game.

It was my favorite game. I played most of my adult life. Thousands of rounds, thousands of hours practicing. As I look back, I guess I had a pretty good time at it. But now that I can’t do it anymore, I wish I had done it differently.

It’s funny, but with all the time I spent playing golf, I never thought I was a real golfer. I never felt good enough to really belong out there. It doesn’t make much sense, since I scored better than average and a lot of people envied my game, but I always felt that if I was just a little better or a little more consistent, then I’d feel really good. I’d be satisfied with my game. But I never was. It was always "One of these days I’ll get it" or "One day I’ll get there" and now here I am. I can’t play anymore, and I never got there.

I met a whole lot of different people out on the course. That was one of the best things about the game. But aside from my regular partners and a few others, I don’t feel like I got to know many of those people very well. I know they didn’t really get to know me. At times they probably didn’t want to. I was pretty occupied with my own game most of the time and didn’t have much time for anyone else, especially if I wasn’t playing well.

So why am I writing you this letter anyway, just to complain? Not really. Like I said, my golfing experience wasn’t that bad. But it could have been so much better, and I see that so clearly now. I want to tell you, so you can learn from it. I don’t want you getting to my age and feeling the same regrets I’m feeling now.

I wish, I wish. Sad words, I suppose, but necessary. I wish I could have played the game with more joy, more freedom. I was always so concerned with "doing it right" that I never seemed to be able to enjoy just doing it at all. I was so hard on myself, never satisfied, always expecting more. Who was I trying to please? Certainly not myself, because I never did. If there were people whose opinions were important enough to justify all that self-criticism, I never met them.

I wish I could have been a better playing partner. I wasn’t a bad person to be with, really, but I wish I had been friendlier and gotten to know people better. I wish I could have laughed and joked more and given people more encouragement. I probably would have gotten more from them, and I would have loved that. There were a few bad apples over the years, but most of the people I played with were friendly, polite, and sincere. They really just wanted to make friends and have a good time. I wish I could have made more friends and had a better time.

I’m inside a lot now and I miss the beauty of the outdoors. For years when I was golfing I walked through some of the most beautiful places on earth, and yet I don’t feel I really saw them. Beautiful landscapes, trees, flowers, animals, the sky, and the ocean – how could I have missed so much? What was I thinking of that was so important – my grip, my back swing, my stance? Sure, I needed to think about those sometimes, but so often as to be oblivious to so much beauty? And all the green – the wonderful, deep, lush color of green! My eyes are starting to fail. I wish I had used them better so I would have more vivid memories now.

So what is it that I’m trying to say? I played the type of game that I thought I should play, to please the type of people that I thought I should please. But it didn’t work. My game was mine to play, but I gave it away.

It’s a wonderful game. Please, don’t lose yours. Play a game that you want to play. Play a game that gives you joy and satisfaction and makes you a better person to your family and friends. Play with enthusiasm, play with freedom. Appreciate the beauty of nature and the people around you. Realize how lucky you are to be able to do it. All too soon your time will be up, and you won’t be able to play anymore. Play a game that enriches your life.

Best wishes . . . don't waste a minute of golf . . . someday it will be gone!

[she-is-juniper]

Only Ones Who Know — an Elvis Presley x Reader slow burn series (chapter two)

Pairing: Austin Butler!Elvis Presley x f!Reader

Type: series (chapter 2 / ?)

Warnings: fluff, some angst, pining, long lost lovers, slow burn, a very intense sexy makeout, brief discussions of racial tensions

Prompt: You and Elvis grew up together; he was your best friend and first love, but he and his family moved away. Eight years later, Elvis walks into the diner where you work…and he doesn’t recognize you. But there’s an intense connection between the two of you. Should you let things between you play out organically, or should you tell him who you really are?

Word Count (by chapter): 5K 

Rating (by chapter): M (mature)

A/N: Wow! I am so overwhelmed by the response to the first chapter of my new slowburn series! I wrote chapter two here in the car on a road trip with my family (lol) so excuse the typos. Things get pretty steamy here but actual smut to come, I promise y’all.

I wrote this fic visualizing Austin!Elvis, but you could also read it with real!Elvis as well if you prefer. The events of this series are kind of a combination of real life events from Elvis’ life and the events of the film; thus, it may not follow the outline of events exactly as they appear the film. Inspiration for the plot more closely but loosely resembles real life documentations of Elvis’ life in 1956.

Please for the love of all that is holy, comment/reblog/send asks if you want to see more of my writing—thank you in advance! ♡, Juni

~ Previous chapter ~

✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷

My first kiss with Elvis Presley was on the roof of his family’s house in Tupelo, under the stars of the Mississippi sky.

We were both thirteen, and he was my first love. Before that, he was my best friend, and before even that, he was just the boy next door.

But as I grew up and learned about the ways of the world, all the good and the bad, he grew up right beside me. We grew closer and closer. And by that summer, the summer of 1948, the War finally over…he was my everything, and I was his.

But that was back then. Now, eight years later, he didn’t even recognize me.

So what?

I left the benefit concert in a daze, with Elvis’s last words to me still ringing in my ears. “‘Meet me at Beale Street, tonight. Club Handy.” I took the bus home and changed as fast as I could. And I made my way to Beale Street. 

I was no stranger to Memphis’s famous Beale Street—or infamous, depending on who you asked. Rich with history and culture, the bustling street was fueled by the memory of what it used to be and the hopes of what it might become. Increasing racial pressures from local coalitions and government entities threatened the commerce of Beale Street and the security of its people, but that didn’t stop its shop owners and patrons from persevering as they always had. 

Beale Street was alive tonight. Music sounded from nearly every joint. And it felt like home to me, for the music that was birthed there was the music I grew up surrounded by. 

The Independence Day excitement in the central city, where the benefit concert had been, must have transcended to the southside, where flocks of men and women filled the streets with invigorating zeal and a hunger for excitement. Every club was full, packed to the brim with dancing bodies and the beat of the drumset or the crowing of brass. There were so many people on Beale Street that they spilled out of the clubs’ entrances, doting each other on their arms, sweating and laughing and dancing.  

I shouldered my way past the crowds on the sidewalk, scanning left and right for a figure that stood out—because surely, a man like Elvis Presley would stick out like a sore thumb at a place like this, a place in which a white man became the minority. There was no sight of him yet, so I meandered my way to the entrance to Club Handy. It already had a long line of people waiting, who looked at me in annoyance as I pushed to the front.

“Back of the line,” the bouncer gruffed when I approached him. 

“I’m supposed to meet someone here,” I said, trying to sound convincing with a sultry tone. “So I was wondering if there’s anything at all I can do to cut the line here to get in?”

The bouncer gave me a once over, but he shook his head. “No can do,” he said. “Special performance tonight.”

I wondered who was performing. “Anything I can do to change your mind?” I asked, despite the glaring eyes of the people I had cut in line boring into the back of my head. 

“Wish I could for ya, miss. But if you’re not performing and you’re not on the list, I can’t let you in. Owner’s orders.”

I left the bouncer to stand by the wall under the enclave, feeling miffed. Of all the nights I was to meet up with Elvis, and it was the busiest night you’d ever seen on Beale Street. I had no way of knowing if Elvis were already inside or not, waiting for me. And if I didn’t see him again tonight, would I ever see him again?

I thought again about the way he’d kissed me in the crowd, and then again behind the stage. The yearning in his eyes. He had the same expression on his face as the one he’d had eight years ago when his family had left Tupelo. If he didn’t recognize me now, all grown up, he had to have felt the same soul connection that I felt. 

As if to answer my own question, a commotion from down the way caught my eye. Onlookers were gazing out toward the street, chattering with excitement. Curious, I peered out in the direction of their line of interest. 

A shiny Cadillac had just parked on the street. A crowd was already starting to form around it—mostly women, but a fair share of men, too, all of whom were buzzing with excitement about the man in the Cadillac.

Who was, of course, none other than Elvis Presley. 

He stood out—and not just because of the crowd, or the color of his skin in contrast to the rest. He glowed with an exuberance that was simply indescribable, albeit a different sort of glow than the one he’d had onstage earlier that night. He had changed into a shirt made a collared pink shirt made of intricate lace that would have looked ostentatious on anyone else, but on him, it looked exquisite. His black hair was perfectly slicked back. He regarded the crowd of fans warmly, shaking their hands and signing books, but he was scanning the street, looking for something. Or for someone. 

For me?

For me. 

Elvis’s eyes locked on mine. His whole face lit up like I was the only person in the whole world he wanted to see—which didn’t make sense, because in his mind, we had just met today. But that didn’t make it any less meaningful. My cheeks flooded with heat as he came striding right over to me. 

“Missy,” he said in that unmistakable Southern drawl as he approached. “You’re here.” 

It felt surreal again to be so near to him. “I thought you might already be inside,” I said in a rush. “But it’s packed. I couldn’t get in.”

“Oh, we’ll find a way in, darlin’,” Elvis replied. His eyes painted a lavish brushstroke down and up my body, soaking in my appearance, and I felt like I might implode. “Should be against the law to look that gorgeous.”

I glanced down at my outfit—I had changed, too, into a fitted dress with a wrapped v-neck bodice and a circle skirt, my favorite dress to go dancing in. And then I looked back at him, in his lace shirt and thin black trousers. 

“I could say the same to you.”

Elvis laughed, showing his white teeth, and the sound was so musical it could accentuate the sounds of the blues pouring out from every club. “We make a helluva pair, then, Missy.” His silly nickname sounded so good coming from his lips. I silently thanked Ray, the cook at the diner, for coming up with the nickname while in earshot of the rocker. It was a good cover for my real name, which Elvis would certainly have recognized. 

It felt so strange, living this alternate identity around Elvis as Missy. I found myself oddly freed by the notion of starting with a blank slate with him. He didn’t recognize me—so what? Missy could be anyone I wanted her to be. 

And Missy, I realized with a smile, wants to have a bit of fun with Elvis tonight. 

His entourage of fans caught up to him then, forming a growing crowd on the sidewalk behind him. Elvis smiled graciously at them, but he was attracting a lot of attention. A few of them were squealing, reaching out to touch his arms—

“E.P.!” The voice came from the doors to Club Handy, which had swung open, and a man was peering his head out. He beamed at Elvis. “That’s my man! Miles, let the guy in.”

Elvis beamed back, and suddenly he was grabbing my hand and leading me down. Before I had time to revel at the feeling of his skin on mine, he was dragging me through the crowd and up to the doors of Club Handy. “Is there room for the two of us?” Elvis asked. 

“Absolutely.” The man let us in, closing the door, and began to lead us up the narrow stairwell. “It’s so good to see you, man.”

“Always a pleasure, B.B.,” Elvis replied.

I gaped. B.B. as in… B.B. King?

“I’m so glad you’re here,” B.B. was saying as we approached the sounds from the club up the stairs. He then turned and extended a hand to me. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m—ah, call me Missy,” I said, shaking his hand. 

“Missy, you and your date tonight are in for a real treat.”

Life was beginning to take on that same hazy, fantastical quality I had felt earlier that evening at the benefit concert. The kind of feeling you get when you feel completely disconnected from reality, at the whim of the world around you, and all you could do is just watch your feet move on their own and try to convince yourself you’re not dreaming. But when we finally reached the top and B.B. pushed open the door to the club, the feeling of complete unreality was set in for good. 

The club was more packed as I’d ever seen it and nearly as hot as a sauna. But it was the kind of heat that made you feel energized, made you feel on fire with zeal. The ensemble of musicians at the front of the room amplified the heat with a sound like no other. The frontman was on fire, too, and once I spotted his makeup and attire, I immediately understood why Club Handy was so boisterous tonight; they were all here to see him perform. It was unmistakably Little Richard. I’d heard rumors of the flamboyant musician making the rounds through the bars of Memphis this summer, but seeing him in the flesh was a different level of Unreal. 

Elvis turned and smiled at me. “You been here before?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the music and the crowd. 

“Once or twice,” I replied. My roommates and I have come a couple of times prior for music and dancing. But never on a night like this. 

B.B. led us to a reserved booth seat at the back of the venue. The air in the club was thick with heat and cigarette smoke and the smell of booze, but even sitting across from Elvis in the booth, all I could suddenly smell was his cologne.

“Who would have thought we’d have two of Memphis’s biggest stars gracing our presence on the same night?” B.B. King said. 

Elvis waved him off. “I’m getting away from all that tonight.”

“Hardly. I saw all your fans out there, E.P. They love you.”

Inexplicably, Elvis’s expression became bashful. “If only I had half the talent as this guy,” he said, gesturing to Little Richard on the stage, who was putting on an enthralling show for the little club.

“A man like Little Richard could have your talent four times over, Elvis, and he’d still never become a big shot the way you have. All because of the color of his skin.”

I listened as Elvis and B.B. engaged in conversation about the performer. There was a pitcher of alcohol, containing something sweet and made of rum, and I poured myself a glass. But before long, B.B. was standing up and bidding us farewell. 

“Enjoy your date,” he told me with a wink. “You know where to find me, E.P.” 

As he departed, Elvis scooted down the booth so he was seated right next to me. “This guy up there,” he spoke in my ear so I could hear him over the noise. “He deserves all the money and fame in the world.”

“He’s amazing,” I said in awe. “I can’t believe we got in tonight.”

“I’ve got my connections,” he drawled. 

“Clearly you do!”

We watched Little Richard, wailing his heart out as the band launches into a new tune, one you recognize as Tutti Frutti. “They’re calling him the Architect of Rock and Roll,” Elvis says after a while.

“They’re calling you The King,” I noted. 

Elvis shook his head. “They have it all wrong. Guys like B.B. and Richard, they’re the real kings. If I could let them take my place, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

I studied his face. There was a layer of something new to his expression, something I hadn’t seen this afternoon at the diner or during the performance. Something must have happened after the show. I wondered what it was. Did he get flack from his manager about the benefit concert?

His face now reminded me so much of the Elvis Presley I’d once known. The scrawny, shy kid from Tupelo. The one who used to run to my house to bring me half of his dinner when my family couldn’t afford enough for a meal. 

Such humble beginnings, and look at us now. 

He saw me staring. And he smiled. 

“I’m glad you’re here, with me,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because when I met you at that diner, I thought to myself that I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t try to see you again.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “You’ve only just met me, you know. You could have found any other girl to dote on your shoulder.” I said it derisively, but with a sly smirk, so he knew I was flirting. 

And sure enough, it captured his attention like a moth to a light. He couldn’t take his eyes off my face, my smile. “Maybe so,” he drawled. “But I’m glad it’s you.”

“But you don’t even know me, Elvis Presley,” I accused him. “And I frankly don’t know you either.” Not anymore, at least. 

He pursed his pretty lips. “That’s the thing,” he said, his voice suddenly husky against my ear. “I feel as though I’ve known you a long, long time.”

Hmm, I wonder why? I thought bitterly to myself. “I’m just a girl who works at a diner,” I dismissed him. 

“But there’s just somethin’ about you…”

I couldn’t explain why, but the notion of Elvis’s attraction to me was equally as infuriating as it was compelling. Of course, I felt the same toward him, but for him to be drawn to me without a single thought in his daft head that he should remember who I am? I wanted to slap him. I wanted to kiss him. Instead, I just downed the rest of my glass with a big gulp and stood up.

“Where ya going?” he asked. I observed the fear in his eyes that I was leaving for good. But I just flashed my teeth at him. 

“To dance.”

Emboldened by the alcohol, I sauntered to the center of the club, feeling the burn of his eyes on my back. What with the dim lights, the crowded bodies, and the haze of smoke, it didn’t take long to become completely engulfed by the crowd.

I joined them in movement with the beat of the music. The movement came like second nature, especially under the influence of the booze. I didn’t care who watched, although as I danced and danced, I hoped it wouldn’t be long until Elvis came to his senses and caught up with me. 

Sure enough, after a while, I felt a tall presence from behind me, followed closely by the smell, a warm, sultry musk, and I knew he’d finally come to find me. I turned my head to look up at him through my periphery. He was tall, and by the sway of his body, I guessed that he’s had a couple of drinks of his own. 

And suddenly, we were dancing together. At first, I felt just the slightest of brush of his body beside mine as he finds his rhythm, but as the music progresses and the press of the crowd gets closer and closer against us, he has no choice but to press his own body closer and closer to mine. Still facing away from him, the both of us watching Little Richard up by the stage in appreciation, we carefully avoided each other’s eyes. But I couldn’t ignore the feel of his hips against my backside. And then, the feel of his hands on my waist. 

The tension between our bodes became so thick it was almost palpable. I rested my hands on his, giving him permission to press his fingers more firmly into my hips. 

Before long, my back was flush against his chest while we danced. The band launched into a new song, something slower, heavier, sultrier. Elvis took the lead, then, pushing my body away only to grasp my hand and twirl me around so I’m facing him. The man’s eyes soaked me up, drew me up toward him, drew me in, held me captive. I soaked up the sight of him as well. He looked so undeniably handsome, even with—or perhaps, especially with—the way the sweat glistened on his brow and how a lock of his hair had fallen out of the neat pompadour.

And then Elvis was moving with me again, effortlessly keeping time with the sway of the music, the motion of my hips. He smirked at me, a cocky, enrapturing gesture, and I couldn’t help but smile back at him. 

“Looks like you don’t need a stage to make those hips move, cowboy,” I purred. 

“Easy to dance when I’ve got a pretty gal to dance with,” he quipped back. His eyes, piercing blue and still lined with the residual blackness from his makeup from earlier, were hard to look away from. Not that I wanted to. He was easily the most charming, captivating man I’ve ever been near.

And he was very, very near, then, as he wrapped his arm around my waist and pressed his hand into my lower back, pulling my chest against his. I allowed my hands to snake up his arms, feeling his lean muscles beneath my fingertips. My heart hammered in my chest as he brought his other hand up to my face. His hand was so big that I could rest my cheek in the palm of it while his fingers curled against the hair at the nape of my neck. When I leaned into his touch, he tilted my body forward into a dip, exposing the skin of my neck and chest to the ceiling. He trailed his lips an inch away from my body, and then pulling me back upright, I felt his mouth against my earlobe. His hot breath sent a wave of chills across my body, despite the heat of the club. 

“Tell me your real name,” he demanded in a low rasp. 

“I’ll never tell,” I replied, my voice just as thick as his. I was suddenly aware of just how turned on I felt, with his hips against mine, his warm breath on my neck, his hands against me so surely. God, I suddenly wanted his hands all over me. 

“Why not, darlin’?” Elvis squeezed my hip, ever so slightly, but enough to make me melt like chocolate in his arms. 

“Because I like it when you call me Missy.” Surely, with the direction this was going, he’d be satisfied with at least that for a name to call me.

A name to call me when we…well…

Maybe the disorientation of my dissociation was slowly fading, because I suddenly had the delicious, terrifying realization of where this could go. 

“If that’s what you want, then, Missy,” Elvis murmured, his hips still moving against mine with that sensual rhythm. “I’ll call you anything you want tonight.”

“And tomorrow?” I cooed.

He chuckled a bit. “What’s tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow can be whatever you want,” I said suggestively. 

His eyes widened. “Well… Tomorrow, I’ll insist on your real name. But tonight, Missy will do.”

We couldn’t make it to the end of the song. 

Elvis dragged me through the crowd, along a back corridor of the club I hadn’t seen at all when we first came in, which led to what looked like an emergency exit by the windows. It was dark and obscured from the view of the dance floor. And there was nobody here. 

Elvis kissed me for a third time. But it was less of a kiss and more of an attack of his mouth against mine, an attack I was more than willing to endure. He pressed me roughly against the brick wall and I lost all sense of reason as his lips assailed me with a harshness and yet a simultaneous softness I’ve never experienced before. I let out a little squeak of surprise, which he consumed with a wanton growl of his own. 

My silent wish from earlier came true, the wish to have Elvis’s hands all over my body. He touched me as if he were parched and desperate for the oasis of my body. I gripped at his hips, pressing him more firmly into me as he moved his lips to my neck. There was a shared feeling between the two of us, between our two bodies, partly the feeling of gratefulness for the sliver of privacy here in the dingy corridor, partly the feeling of intense and critical mutual need for the other. Whatever the feeling, it made me dizzy with desire.

“So gorgeous,” he groaned as he kissed my neck. I didn’t say anything back, couldn’t, the words seemingly caught in my throat where his lips were. They trailed up my neck to my ear, where his teeth brushed against my earlobe before he whispered, “You hear me, darlin’? You’re so beautiful.”

The only breathy response I could muster in return was his name. 

He was pressed against me so intensely that I was practically sitting on the thigh he had me straddling against the wall. The movement of his leg elicited a steady warmth in my body that pooled between my legs. I arched into him and clawed at his body, my mind completely blank of any thoughts except right here, right now, and…

“Wanna get outta here, luv?”

The meaning behind his words was a defibrillator to my heart. Reality crashed upon me. Where I had been existing in a haze all night, I suddenly became aware of the world around me, aware of Elvis’s body, aware of my own again. 

Aware of who he was, who he had once been. 

I stiffened in his arms. 

Elvis, readily listening to my body language, immediately leaned away. When he saw my expression, he took half a step away from the wall, and I regained my balance. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked. 

“I can’t,” I said. My heart was suddenly racing, and it wasn’t just from desire anymore. 

Elvis’s face dropped. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, darlin’,” he said softly. 

I gulped. “I know, it’s just—“ I scanned for the exit. “I—I just can’t do this, Elvis.”

“What d’ya—?” 

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before I was pushing away from him and heading toward the exit in a rush. But he grabbed my hand, gently tugging me back to him, not in coercion or with mal intent, but in confusion, in an attempt to glean an answer. 

“Hold on, hold on,” he said. “What happened? Was it something I said?”

“Thank you for the ticket to the concert,” I said, “but I can’t do this. I…I have to go.”

“Please,” he urged. “Don’t leave—Missy. Talk to me.” His scours my face for any semblance of an answer for what he’d done wrong. 

In truth, he hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. I knew that, of course I did. But suddenly, I couldn’t bear to let him be with me under the l circumstances. I couldn’t ignore the pain that he didn’t recognize who I was. 

I could tell him. I knew I could. I could tell him, and he would know. And even if he didn’t recognize me, he certainly hadn’t forgotten. How could he have forgotten the way I had professed my love to him like a stupid kid?

But once he knew who I was, how could I face him now after where we’d left things eight years ago?

Meeting Elvis organically was an act of serendipity. And the shared connection we had was unlike anything else. But how could I let this go further without him knowing who I really was?

Before, I had felt confident stepping into the mystere of the Missy identity. But now, it just felt disingenuous to him. 

I couldn’t let myself give into the temptation. It wasn’t meant to be. 

“I have to go,” I said again sadly. 

It must have been something in my tone that led him to finally drop my hand. 

I gave him one last, long look before I slowly turned and left the club, leaving him alone in the smoke and the haze. 

✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷

The Presleys were moving to Memphis. 

Elvis didn’t even have the guts to tell me himself. I’d had to find out through our classmates, who whispered the news throughout the hallways like weeds spreading through a garden. I didn’t even have to confront him about it to know that the rumor was true; he had been avoiding me all week, and that alone spoke volumes. 

I was thirteen. I was in love. And my heart was about to get broken. 

On the day the Presleys were supposed to leave, I concocted a plan. When my parents had gone to bed for the night, I snuck into the hallway closet and took the one decent suitcase we owned. I took it back to my room and started packing my belongings.

I snuck out the dusty window in the kitchen. And I hauled myself and the suitcase down the dirt street to the Presley residence. Parked in front of their house, their 1939 Plymouth was already loaded up with their trunks of belongings. 

The light to Elvis’s bedroom on the second floor was on. I gathered a handful of stones from the dirt road and threw them up to the window until he appeared in the frame, frowning down at me.

He was the most beautiful boy I had ever known. And he was leaving me. 

When he finally emerged by the back door, the first thing he said to me after a whole week of silence was, “You can’t be here, Y/N.”

“Yes, I can,” I argued.

Elvis looked furtively back toward the house. “No, you can’t. If Mama saw me out here talkin’ with you, she’d kill me.”

“I don’t care.” I gripped the strap of my suitcase tighter. Elvis’s eyes tracked the movement. 

“What are you doing with that?” he frowned. 

I straightened my shoulders. “I’m coming with you to Memphis.”

“You’re—” Elvis stepped over to me and placed his hands on my shoulders degradingly. “No, Y/N. You can’t come with us.”

My name came out of his mouth like a disappointed sigh. But I just ground my heels and gritted my teeth. 

“I’ll hitchhike to Memphis, then,” I insisted. “And then we can be together there.”

“You don’t understand, Y/N,” he said with a groan. He threw his hand to his forehead. “You have to stay here, with your family. And I have to go, with mine.”

“Yeah, but—” 

“We can’t be together,” he said definitively. “Ever.”

As his words sunk in, fat tears welled in my eyes. “But I love you, Elvis. We’re meant to be together.”

Elvis just stared at me. “You…love me?” His mouth formed a hard line. But I saw his eyes glisten, too. “You can’t.”

“But I do!”

“Go home, Y/N,” was all he said.

I heard his Mama, then, calling for him from inside the house. He looked back nervously, and then he looked at me. He shook his head as he watched me cry, but it looked like he was trying not to cry, too. And then he turned and went back inside the house. 

I sat behind the bush across from their house on top of my suitcase and cried as the Presleys loaded into their car that night, and without another goodbye, drove away to Tennessee, leaving their life in Tupelo behind forever. 

✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷

A/N: Hey babes ♥ How we doing? What are we all thinking!! Where will this go with Elvis and his childhood best friend?? Any predictions, thoughts, etc??

I’m dying to hear your thoughts about it! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome!

Please send me asks because they make me smile so hard omg!

Much love ❤︎ from Juniper

Taglist: I’m on mobile rn so I hope to god this works

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I’m probably missing a ton of y’all rip sorry just send me an ask to be added

[matcha-flavored-cake]

hii! can i request this happening to zhongli , xiao and kaeya with their busty gf. (they’re the dude with the white hair and the reader is the girl with the dark purple hair)

‧₊˚�� when the genshin boys fall between your thighs — xiao, zhongli

.♡ pairing: xiao, zhongli

.♡ warnings: xiao blushing, zhongli's part is the worst, my grammar erros lol

.♡ reader: gn

.♡ text type: headcanons

AT FIRST I WAS VERY CONFUSED ABT HOW I WOULD WRITE IT KSHKSHFKJS

me and my blindness didn't see that kaeya ​​was included too, so I'll do a part for him later

—. xiao

.♡ You were calmly walking down the ramps of the Wangshu Inn, going to hand Verr Goldet the inn's monthly expense report, doing your job as usual.

.♡ At the same time, Xiao walked down the ramps admiring Liyue's view. It had been a while since he had walked, always preferring to teleport or use the adepti's inhuman agility to get where he was supposed to.

.♡ You stopped to admire the view and the wind that gently blew your cheeks, it even looked like the anemo archon was playing with your cheeks and hair, you smiled at the silly idea

“Hey watch out! the ramp is slippery from the soap!" someone yelled

.♡ You looked around and heard the noise of something rolling, and quickly you were knocked down by a body

.♡ Papers flew everywhere and you wheezed with back pain

.♡ You touched your head to see if you had hurt and shivered when you noticed that there was something in your legs

.♡ But specifically between them!

.♡ You felt your face redden when you noticed that it was none other than Xiao, the boy who hung around Wangshuu in at night and rarely showed up during the day

.♡ He was between your legs. A BOY BETWEEN YOUR LEGS

.♡ You were so shocked you didn't even know whether to yell or push him

.♡ He raised his head, face red as a pepper not knowing what to say

“I-I…about it. Ahem. I am really sorry." he put the mask on his face and just disappeared

.♡ You lay on the ground, still processing what had happened

.♡ Late at night Xiao knocked on your door to formally apologize, please never mention this accident in front of him or he will run away, far, far away.

—. zhongli

.♡ It was a beautiful night in Liyue, the restaurants filled up, the workers returning to their homes and the lovers courting.

.♡ You were admiring the city sitting on the grass, seeing the harbor from afar. The truth is that it had been a very long day. Your boss had yelled at you more times than usual, and it was a miracle you managed to survive until the end of the day, carrying papers around like a workhorse.

.♡ But here you were, alive. With a pain in the back, but alive

.♡ Feeling the night breeze relax your tension and cool your body, you let a long sigh come out of your mouth along with a growl of frustration.

"Oh, I didn't know anyone else was coming here, I'm sorry" a thick voice reverberated from behind your figure, and you turned around in awe

.♡ It was Zhongli! The strange but charming consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Zhongli" you said getting up "It's just been a long day"

.♡ Zhongli nodded as if asking you to continue, and you talked for a long time, the tall man seemed delighted to hear about your workday, carrying historical texts everywhere. When you noticed, the moon was already at its highest peak in the sky, signaling midnight

"I will accompany you, it would be impolite for me to let you go to your house alone."

.♡ And so it was done. Zhongli walked with you down the paths to the entrance to the port city, a few steps behind you

.♡ The tall man just didn't expect to trip over a rock and end up in the embarrassing situation he was in now

.♡ As if the act of tripping itself wasn't shameful, Zhongli still ended up taking you down along with him, and perhaps by bad, or good luck, he had fallen facedown between your legs.

.♡ You literally have a god between your legs sheesh

.♡ You were mortified with shame, and hid your face, Zhongli walked away not knowing what to do or say, leaving an awkward silence

.♡ Still he accompanied you home

.♡ The next day you were still dying of embarrassment, but lucky for you it was Saturday, and you didn't want to have to run into the tall man and reminisce about what happened last night

.♡ Yet it seemed he didn't think the same

.♡ With a bouquet of glaze lilies Zhongli knocked on your door in the afternoon apologizing for what had happened

.♡ You will excuse him won't you?

@matcha-flavored-cake© • 2021

[genshingarbage]

Could I request any boys of your choice where they’ve had an exhausting day and their s/o says they should take a nap on their lap? Thank you!

Cute boi hours again? Yes <3 Sleepy time awe! I am gonna pick a very select few that i think this works well with, so i hope you're okay with the hand picked few ;) - Mod Diluc

Rest My Love.

|| Head Cannons ||

Kazuha/Diluc/Xiao/Kaeya

Kazuha

He was beat, exhausted and aching, every muscle in his body ached like something fierce. But, who ever said the life of a lone wandering samurai was gonna be a breeze? Yea, that's right- no one. Because it sure as hell wasn't. He was use to feeling this way yet somehow it still made him just as grouchy as the first time.

He walked into the small building that was titled as your homestead and yawned; stretching his arms out he heard a few odd bones pop from the pressure, it relieved some of his tension but not nearly enough for it to be actually satisfying. With a huff he removed some of his more heavy going clothing, including his shoes, till he was more loose and relaxed.

He shuffled slowly into the house, trying not to wake you. You were his lover and so him coming to your home was somewhat normal now, but he often was away for large periods of time, and he never liked to disturb you. Specially when you're busy. Which you were, you had your nose deep between the pages of a gripping story written so entrancing like from a book. So much for his first theory that you'd be asleep at this time, huh?

He tried to creep past you as you read, but you wasn't born yesterday. So with a roll of your eyes and a soft exhale from your nose you spoke out. "Kazuha. Welcome home hun." You didn't even bother to turn your head around to him, you knew fully well he was frozen in his steps now, eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights. He blinked a few times before sorting himself back to his normal standing position and chuckling awkwardly, a breif rub to the back of his neck ensued.

"Ah, yea, I'm uh- yea. I'm home, thanks Y/N. I really didn't wanna disturb you there." He spoke softly and with great regret; like he'd just committed an awful crime. You simply closed the book after having bent the tip of the page you were on, as to know where to start off when you return to it, and placed the item down on the small table infront of your sofa. "Kazuha, it's fine... I was only reading a book." You chuckled gently.

"I know, but... it felt wrong to interupt you so abruptly specially when you seemed so into it-" you'd twisted your torso ever so slightly so your eyes could lay on his now, your heart almost broke, he looked absolutely shattered- like all life was drained from him. Just what had this crazy man gotten up to in his absence? "Kazuha- oh my goodness. Look at you! You're about to pass out."

He smiled politely and waved his hand side to side as if dusting your worry back into the wind. "Nah, I'm a lil tired that's all. I'm gonna have a lie down, I'll be right as rain after." He went to go back to making his way to the exit of your living room, that is until you called out ever so gently. "Or well, I wouldn't mind if you rested your head on my lap." A faint blush flushed your cheeks. He turned to face you yet again. Blinking several times over again.

"Really?" He tilted his head almost like a curious puppy, he has no idea how cute he is sometimes. "I mean, sure why not? You've not been home for over a month. I do get lonely ya know, the company would feel nice, and your presence is always warm and welcoming." You smiled sweetly at him and he returned the expression with full earnest. Nodding softly he made his way to the sofa, where you rested, and now reshuffled and organised yourself to get into a more comfy position.

It wasn't long before he was laying on his side with his head nestled into your lap, breathing softly as your hand gently rested adorn his head of hair. "Mmh. You're right, this beats sleeping alone any day." He hummed sleepily to you, by the way his voice was giving out you could tell he was close to succumbing to his slumber already. With a gentle smile still planted across your lips you hushed him softly.

"Shh, rest now. My Kazuha." You began to hum a quaint little lullaby that had him snoring in under three minutes. This man, he works himself so hard, but still, it's one of the reasons you love him so much, the fact he's hard working and never gives in. And you have the comfort in your mind of knowing whenever he gets this tired again, he'll have you here to be by his peaceful sleeping side everytime. Now and forever.

Diluc

The sky was a beautiful orange and red tone, the colours mixed so beautifully, with the white fluffy clouds scattered around too, it looked like a stunning evening. You were sat alone at the dinner table again, your chin resting on your opened palm, your eyelids half shut to block the rays of the last bit of presence from the sun.

The candles had long since burned out and the beautiful sweet honeyed roast you'd prepare with such delicacy and tender care was going cold. Diluc was suppose to be home over thirty-five minutes ago, he promised he'd make it in time for whatever dinner the maids threw together tonight, he wasn't aware you'd taken it upon yourself to lovingly prepare tonight's meal for him.

You couldn't be mad at the man; or hold a grudge for that matter, you knew what type of person he was, you knew he wasn't one for sticking to plans and promises, he simply couldn't be with the work he has, not to mention his little sun down hobby that you became privy too after several years with the crimson haired gentleman. If there was one thing you were grateful for, it was the fact you knew without doubt he truly did love you. And in a way that was enough for you.

It was sundown now and your dinner had long been since tidied up by the maids, with a somewhat solemn look to your face you'd decided to go to bed early that night. Knowing Diluc, he wouldn't be home for hours to come anyway. Your eyes were just starting ache and your eyelids were starting to feel heavy for you now. Breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth softly you let your body sink further into the warm embracing sheets.

Click.

Your eyes slowly opened back up when you heard the all too familiar noise of your bedroom door opening, narrowing your eyes slightly to help adjust to the dim glow of the room, the small aid of illumination being provided solely by your nightstand candle. It wasn't hard to make out who it was however, since his deep red hair practically danced from the slight glow of the flicking flame.

"Diluc." It came out more like a whisper which you never intended for it too, but you were so gripped by tiredness now it was hard to sound more awake at the given circumstances. "Sorry for waking you my dear, wasn't my intention." You hummed softly in response and then watched as best as you could as he removed his attire and shoes, stripping down to just his boxers.

Gripping the band that kept his hair up was the last part, with a tug his hair flew down and waved apart, you kept a watchful eye on him. As it was when his hair was down that he was always at his most tired and vulnerable mental state now. "The maids told me Y/N." He still sounded strict, or at least he was trying his best too. But his voice wavered in every sense of the word.

The bed dipped beside you as his weight was added to the mattress now, a small groan escaping his lips. You knew what he meant, it wasn't a surprise the maids told him you'd prepared the dinner today, you'd just wish they'd not sometimes, to avoid adding more stress to the man's poor ordeals. "It's fine, it was just a small attempt. I'm not exactly the best cook to begin wit-"

The poorly sounding wince from him cut you off, the failed attempt to stifle it and keep it under wraps didn't go unnoticed. You narrowed your eyes at the man beside you in bed now, and then you saw. He was littered with cuts and bruises, they surely must hurt, why didn't he say anything? Scratch that. He never tells you anyway, thinking its better that way. Silly man.

With a gentle huff you shook your head, shuffling your weight and sitting up ever so slightly, your back pressing against the several puffed pillows under you. "Enough of that. Come here darling." It was your turn to sound strict however, and for once he didn't fight back. Your heart tugged at you slightly as you felt the weight shifting around beside you and then were suddenly graced with the feeling of his head nuzzling into your lap.

You took it upon yourself to softly begin to caress his head, letting your hand stroke and massage the man's hair and scalp. The groans and sighs that left him were evidence enough he was in a blissful state right now, your sweet Diluc. Always putting his life on the line to protect those less fortunate than him, when will he learn? That his life matters just as much. Sigh.

You heard a soft mutter from him, something along the lines of 'sorry' and 'dinner'. But he was already taken by the nights calming embrace to be formulating anything coherent now, so you closed your eyes with another soft shake of your head and continued to massage his head. Till both you and your hand laid still, silent, asleep. Whatever he'd done tonight, whatever reason he'd missed dinner, it didn't matter. As long as he loved you it was enough. It always has been, it always will be.

Xiao

The stars twinkled softly an slowly, looking so entrancing from down below, the dark blue sky washing above you with the dazzling twinkles looking like small fire flies dancing around. You stood there, your knee bent slightly as your weight was supported by the banister of the top balcony to Wangshu Inn. Any minute now, you thought to yourself calmly.

And is if on que a sudden and harsh breeze blew past you, followed up with a loud thud. You turned your head ever so slightly, seeing the young looking yaksha lifting back up from his crouch landing position. "Welcome home honey." you said somewhat stone like, to which you got a simple sounding 'Tsk' as response, as he chucked his spear lazily behind him, to which it dissolved away instantly.

You rolled your eyes to the quiet scoff that greeted you back, shaking your head slowly, your eyes went back to focus on the landscape below you from the viewpoint of the balcony. It was so peaceful and beautiful. "How has your day been?" You decided to question him further, all while remaining your focus elsewhere.

"Fine." he responded in short. This type of reply was normal to you now, he wasn't the talkative type, despite having been the first to say to you he loved you. "Well, that's good then." you said back in your normal sweet tone now. You could tell from that tone in his voice he was exhausted, he didn't have to say or do anything, you could just tell.

Thinking it was best to leave now and give him his privacy you turned away from the balcony and began to walk to the exit. "I will let you rest my love, see you soo-"

"Wait."

His voice was louder than its ever been round you, the faint flush on his cheeks was evidence enough he never intended for it to come out so loudly from his own mouth. "Xiao?" you turned back round, seeing him stood there looking like a somewhat lost lamb, it was damn cute.

"S...stay with me, ... please."

His voice, so soft, so sweet, so gentle. You felt your heart crack slightly, your poor adeptus, he must've been rushed off his feet tonight. The dark bags forming under his eyes said all you needed to hear.

Chewing your bottom lip softly you breathed in and then walked over to him slowly. "Xiao..." you whispered his name lovingly, his eyes met with yours and for a brief moment the air left your lungs, the sight of his exhausted face so close to you, actively seeking comfort within you, it was enough to melt the coldest of icebergs.

Letting your hand slip into his with a gentle squeeze, a small smile on your lips you led him down the stairs of the Inn, into your bedroom, a tidy and quaint little sleeping quarter. He needed to rest, he is pushing himself too much, and if you do not take action, he never will.

Climbing onto the bed once you'd abandoned your shoes on the carpet you looked up at him, laying in a relaxing position. The red on his cheeks only flushed deeper and darker, and you couldn't help but laugh softly. Such a lewd mind, oh my, you never expected him to get the wrong idea over a situation like this.

"Xiao- no... not that." you chuckled at his confused expression, he was so alien to the concept of just touch in general now, that to him he sees it so black and white, being close means being intimate, otherwise why get close? So it was up to you to show him the ways of being human again.

You let your hand softly pet and stroke your lap and he raised his brow, but seeing the sudden light in his eyes spark showed you he caught on to what you really were aiming for. So he hesitantly dipped onto the bed next to you, he was tense and his movements were awkward, but he eventually shuffled his head and body to lay down with his head nestled softly into your lap.

"Is this... okay?" he muttered it nervously, like he was scared the slightest movement would shatter everything around him. You looked down at him and gently kissed your fingers, pressing them against his lips in response. "Shh, rest my love, you need it." Just to further add to what you were saying you let your hand gently rub the outer ridge of his ear.

The blush eventually left his cheeks, the tensed muscles finally went lax and his breathing grew heavier and more unguarded, with a pleased hum from your lips you closed your eyes too and began to succumb to the sweet calling of slumber too.

As long as he has you, you will always be there to help[ him, he may be an adeptus, a yaksha, but you? He is just as human as you or anyone else. Wrath filled or not. He is and always will be your sweet little adeptus. Your perfect lover. Your Xiao.

Kaeya

Another late night and you sat cuddled up on the sofa scanning through several paintings, more specifically paintings that you had done over the course of several months. It was a hobby of yours, but with the aid of Albedo giving you tips and throwing you pointers here and there you'd become surprisingly good at it; who would've guessed you'd secretly be an artist in hiding? Not you that's for sure.

It was fun enough to help tide over the unsettling impatience that always started to bubble under your skin at least, specially on nights like this, where Kaeya, your boyfriend, who also happened to be the Calvary Captain for the Knights of Favonius was out at an ungodly late time, dealing with a suspicion of criminal activities, within the borders of Mondstadt.

He never broke his promises to you thus far, of which were he will always return safely home to you, but it never did fully destroy the raging thunder of worry that often seized your mind on a daily, who could blame you? The man was always in such dangerous predicaments. Who knew if this morning, or any morning for that matter, where you kissed him goodbye, would be the last time you ever would see his face when you waved him off?

It isn't his fault you know this, but you do wish that sometimes he would be cut slack, just a little, so you could for once not have to distract yourself with idle glances of your paintings while waiting for his return. If only every now and then Jean, The Acting Grand Master would just let him have a day off-

Click.

You jumped slightly upon hearing the noise of your front door not open, but actually close. Turning your head you saw Kaeya stood there, arms covering his chest in a crossed way, a raised brow prominent as he glared down at you. "How long have you been worrying?" His voice sounded so flat and monotone, almost a hint of exhaustion. Was he growing tired of your over worried nature?

"I... uh. uhm..." You were at a loss for words, how long had you been worrying exactly? Two, three hours now? You were unsure of the answer yourself. He shook his head and sighed out slowly, it was long and drawn out; he must be so tired from his work today, seeing you up at this hour acting like a child probably doesn't help his situation in the least.

You looked down sadly, feeling ashamed and guilty of yourself because you do this oh so often to him, he always prays your in bed, safely tucked up and lost in your own dreams before he gets home, but you never are, you're always awake and worried, your face far from the peaceful look he often daydreams you having.

"It doesn't matter anymore my little petal." He hums softly as he walks around the sofa to get within arms reach, crouching onto his own weight to scoop you up, your mind in shock you let the paintings slip from your grip and pool around the seat you were just in and the floor underneath you. "Whe- Kaeya?"

"Shh, it is time to head to the bedroom." He spoke so matter factually, which left you eyes wide and beet red, to which he glanced down and a smug chuckle slipped from him. "For sleep Y/N." You relaxed instantly, a sigh escaping you. "Unless of course, you want the other thing?" You squirmed, embarrassed beyond belief, he loved to teased you. "Quit it Kaeya!" You pouted at him, to which he just chuckled at lightly, planting a soft kiss on your head.

Once in the bedroom he drops you so you fall and sink into the softness of your mattress and covers, to which he joins you quickly after. Now both in bed he simply huffs as he turns and crawls around before you feel his head find its preferred resting place; your lap. You smile and gently chuckle. "May i?" He asks just a tad bit too late for permission.

"You're already laying there Kaeya, bit late for the formalities now." You roll your eyes and turn to blow the candle out, leaving you both in darkness and silence, just your soft and gentle breathing in unison as you stroke and massage his head, to which he groans gently in delight too. He is so sweet when he sleeps on your lap like this, you feel closer to him now than you ever normally do, unless you involve the factor of intimacy sexually.

Its calming and sweet, and it helps you remember that he will always keep his promise to you,

He will always come home safely.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

love letter, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook gets love letters shoved in his mailbox and under his apartment door all the damn time. You, too, get love letters shoved in your mailbox and under your door. All the time. It could be a sweet gesture, but this is the twenty-first century. Love letters aren't all they're cracked up to be. 

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; short graphic descriptions of sex acts; smut (fem reader, a very intense make-out session including some wild tongue and too much saliva, nipple play, a bit of m-receiving oral, cowgirl, handjob); non-idol!BTS – technically university, blond, softsub!Jungkook x working, softdom!reader; slightly desperate and needy JK

yes, yes, it’s MTV Unplugged ‘Telepathy’JK

--

"I'm so tired of people thinking they have a chance with me."

Was the exasperated declaration as you backed up into your apartment, only to turn around and witness Jeon Jungkook dumping a waterfall of colorful envelopes from his giant black backpack onto your hardwood floor. 

"At least remove your shoes before you start flaunting how hot you are," you replied dryly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes as he kicked off his large white sneakers. "Look at this shit! It's relentless! It's annoying! I just want to live my life!"

You vaguely recalled Jungkook being excited about his first love letter upon reaching university, and then the second, the third... and now you were staring at pile number five hundred on your doormat. "I don't know, put a sign on your door? 'Please stop, the answer is no?'"

Jungkook winced. "I can't do that. How many hearts am I going to break?"

"Uh, I dunno, you already broke half the campus by existing in general."

He bonked you on the head lightly with his denim jacket sleeve. "I have not. I've only slept with a couple people and that was supposed to be no strings attached."

You shrugged. "People can't understand that. Especially women."

He puffed his cheeks and stepped over the pile. You noticed the small stickers and nice handwriting on the colorful pastel paper. You almost felt bad, seeing all the effort put into them.

"At least they're cute. I only get torn notebook pages with scribbles."

"Stop lying. You get girls' letters too," Jungkook grumbled. "Can I borrow your computer? One of my professors assigned an online quiz and the internet at my place is down, again."

"You gotta move," you commented, kneeling down to collect the mess Jungkook made. You noticed Jungkook flit his eyes about before throwing up his hands and bending down to help you. 

"I'm trying to get out of the lease, but I have a couple more months left," he complained childishly.

"What about your other friends? Can't you go bother them?"

Jungkook frowned, sticking out his lower lip. The tiny mole underneath winked at you. "You hate me now or something?"

You laughed, standing up with a stacked pile of confessions to Jeon Jungkook. "No, I'm just curious as to why you always come here."

He shoved the rest in your arms, his pile slightly messier than yours. "You live the closest and you're usually home. Plus, you have two computers."

"A laptop and a desktop," you corrected. "Don't you have a laptop?"

"It's easier to borrow yours."

"Lazy."

Jungkook ignored your remark and ticked his silvery-blond head further into the apartment. "Can I borrow it or not?"

You laughed. "Of course. Laptop's on the bed."

He turned and followed the hallway to your bedroom. "Same password?" he yelled, not looking back.

"Obviously."

"Why is it my birth date?" he shouted.

"Because, one, no one will guess it, and, two, you're a dumbass and always forget it."

"I do not!"

"How many times did you ask when the password was Klingon?"

"I don't know your nerdy shit!"

"Do your fucking assignment," you belted down the hall. 

Jungkook stuck his head out of your bedroom door and scrunched his nose to make a hideous face at you, holding your gunmetal-colored laptop. You rolled your eyes as he disappeared again. This crackhead. You let out a sigh, walking past the acrylic painting of a blue sky with pink-purple clouds hanging in your living room, flicking through at all the letters addressed to Jungkook.

Surprisingly, you knew what he felt like. With you, it started with inviting one guy over to your place, sucking his dick, and then suddenly a letter appeared. Well, letter was putting it nicely. Dirty napkin with words scrawled with smeared ballpoint pen shoved under your door, explicitly asking for more. Then another, wanting it. Then another, begging for it. You ignored them. At some point, you invited a girl over, ate her out, and then the colorful envelopes started appearing, with cute stickers and neat handwriting.

Mmmhmm.

Why did Jungkook bring them here anyway? To brag? For you to peruse? You spread them out them on your coffee table and tore one open. Read it. Simple confession of love, no name. You were kind of jealous. Jungkook always got nicer ones than you did. Something about being a sexually uninhibited woman seemed to translate to others that you were down to fuck anyone, anytime, anything. You tossed the letter aside, ripped open a folded card closed with lilac tape. Another, 'I love you, please go out with me', no name. Toss. And you opened another one, reading out loud. 

"I want to cram all one hundred and seventy-nine centimeters of you into me?”

Uh.

Huh.

Still no name.

Cute peach stationery though. 

Was it a euphemism? Symbolic? Thinly veiled code? Hm. In any case, this was more along the lines of shamelessness you encountered yourself. 

By all conventions, Jeon Jungkook was attractive as fuck. Pretty pink lips, big brown eyes, manly sharp jawline. He kept his hair on the longer side, around ear length, now silvery-blond compared to the usual black. You heard he dyed it a couple times, but now it had since faded to the original blond.

Oh, yeah, also he had nice hands and a body to die for. 

You could see why Jungkook got all these love letters. You? Well, similar reasons, except less muscles. Also, yours weren't really love letters. More like vulgar remarks on the backs of grubby receipts. 

Probably just as heartfelt.

The only reason you knew of Jungkook was because you were friends with one of his close friends. Alright, maybe you sucked his friend's dick. More than once. But anyway, not the point. The point was that the topic of love letters came up one night when everyone was hanging out and you voiced your predicament. It was the summer before Jungkook entered university. He had burst out laughing, thinking it was a hilarious situation.

"Haha, that would never happen to me!"

Jokes on you, Jungkook, karma's a bitch. 

You thought about moving, but the location was close to your work and the internet service was great here. At least you always recycled the paper. What were you supposed to do? Keep an album of Starbucks napkins of people asking if your tongue was good or not?

You opened another envelope addressed to 'sweet, adorable Jungkookie'.

Their words, not yours. 

"Shove your dick down my throat and make me gag? Smiley face?"

Well, that's a contrast. 

Jungkook didn't start contacting you on his own until the letters started coming and then they didn’t stop coming, flooding his mailbox and underneath his door, overwhelming and confusing him. He didn't think he would get much attention, although perhaps it might be your fault, since you seemed to have set the precedence for this type of thing at this particular university. There was at least one person in every year that got this treatment, and it all started with one dirty napkin with smeared ink. Rumor caught on and then bam! It became a thing. 

So, yeah. 

Maybe kind of your fault.

You shouldn't have told so many people about that napkin. 

You fished out a pizza receipt from the pile, inspecting it. You couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Then you noticed it had Jungkook's phone number and an order of three pizzas. Not a confession, just trash from Jungkook's backpack. Did he really eat three pizzas? Hopefully not by himself and in one sitting. You noticed the timestamp. Mmm, three in the morning. Okay. Maybe he did eat three pizzas by himself in one sitting. 

You filed through the rest, removing trash from the recyclable paper. Paused when you found a scrap of paper that said, "Put your dick in my ass." You recognized this curvy, narrow handwriting, slightly heavy-handed. Same person wrote you the same note this week. 

This was why you didn't take the messages too seriously.

You saw a particularly thick purple envelope and picked it up, tearing it open. It was several pages, with tiny, crammed handwriting on paper with cute bunnies on it. Several pages detailing straight up porn with Jungkook as the leading role. 

You almost burst out laughing. 

Who the fuck would write this?

And send it to him?

Not you, that's for fucking sure. 

Still, it wasn't the worst thing you've ever read. Had some spelling mistakes and poor grammar. Instant turn-off. Needed a good proofread. You settled onto your brown leather couch, highly entertained as you read it. Then you actually burst out laughing, because said person wanted Jungkook to lift them and fuck them at the same time and that kinda shit just wasn't possible. You would know, because you’ve tried. It sounded good, but in practice, the dick ended up falling out pretty quickly if the pussy was any sort of wet.

If you weren’t wet, then, eh, not sure why you're fucking. 

"What is so fucking funny?" Jungkook grumbled, poking his head around the corner, still holding your laptop. 

You held up the sheets of bunny-printed paper, still laughing. "Someone sent you their written erotica and you're the star!"

Jungkook grimaced. "Oh yeah, that person. They write something new every week. It's weird." He frowned. "I try to take it out so you don't have to read that shit. I must have missed it."

"It's hilarious," you chuckled. "You should publish them into a book."

"You know I can't do that," Jungkook sighed, putting your laptop on the coffee table and snatching the pages from you. "I throw them away like everything else."

"Did you finish your assignment?" you chortled, leaning over to look at the laptop screen. Submission successful. "80%?! When you could easily cheat?"

"I read a question wrong," Jungkook whined, balling up the paper and throwing it down. "Ack."

You looked up at him and he was looking upset at the pile on the table. 

"What's wrong?"

"What if one of them is real?" 

"Huh?"

"I mean... I just throw them away now. But what if one of them is real?" Jungkook wondered out loud. 

You shrugged. "Does it matter? They'll tell you in person if it's that important."

Jungkook tilted his head at you doubtfully. "Will they?"

You sat back into your couch, with your legs wide open. You were wearing sleek black leggings and a cropped pink sweatshirt. Not the most ladylike pose, but you didn't really care. You gestured to the stack of letters on your wooden coffee table. 

"They should. If they actually like you and it's not a joke, then they should tell you in person and accept that they might be rejected."

Jungkook frowned and slumped down next to you. His light-wash denim jacket made a loud floof as his ass hit the brown leather cushions. The wash of his jeans matched his jacket. He wore a white graphic t-shirt under. It looked vintage, but it probably wasn’t. 

"What if they're nervous?" he questioned, twisting his pink lips around.

"So what? Everyone's nervous. We all live in a perpetual state of terror."

Jungkook rolled his eyes. 

You leaned forward and plucked a sky-blue memo note from the table, reading it out loud. "I love you. Marry me." You held it out to him. "See? You get nice ones. I get, ‘choke me like you hate me’ and 'shove your tongue into my asshole, please'. Rarely do I get is that please at the end," you finished with a dry laugh. You looked up to see Jungkook staring back at you. Your laugh died a little seeing his serious expression. 

"Yes."

You blinked at him. "What?"

Jungkook ticked his chin to the note, then shifted his eyes to you.

You pointed to the memo sheet and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't write this."

"I did."

He was so serious that you couldn't laugh. You just blinked at him rapidly and turned your head to look at the sky-blue memo sheet, finally recognizing the clean, block-like handwriting and spotting the bottom right corner. English letters. A J and a K fused together, the way Jungkook usually signed his paintings.

You dropped the note like it was on fire.

Jerked your head up, not to him, but to the painting across from you in the living room, the one with the blue sky and pink-purple clouds, with a tiny JK signature in black at the bottom right corner. The painting you asked Jungkook to make you a while back. 

"You paint, right? I want something calm for my living room. I bought a canvas, so about this size. It's that cool?"

Jungkook had squinted his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I could draw a pretty big dick on it."

"This is for my living room, dumbass. And I said I wanted something calm."

"A flaccid dick then."

You turned your head back to Jungkook of now, who was wringing his hands on his thighs, wiping off his palms. He noticed you watching him and puffed one cheek before letting out a big sigh. 

"I was... gonna leave it on your laptop," Jungkook mumbled, flapping a hand to the sky-blue note. "But I couldn't find it in my backpack, and then I realized one of the pockets was open, the one where I keep receipts... anyway I had put the note there, so I came out to see if it was in the pile... yup, there it is."

He sucked in his cheek and fell back against the leather sofa.

"Was a joke."

Jungkook's voice sounded hollow. Empty. 

"... Ah." You tucked the tip of your tongue in your cheek.

"Not the greatest joke," he added flatly.

“No, it’s not,” you agreed. "Jokes that are insincere are bad jokes."

The black words glared back up at you, contrasting the pale azure paper. You picked up the memo sheet again. Turned to face him, holding it up next to Jungkook's head of silvery-blond hair. He pursed his lips and looked away from you, jaw clenched in nervousness. 

"Just say it."

He puffed one cheek again. "It was a joke."

"Then why are you saying it in past tense?"

His brown orbs shifted from side to side before Jungkook tried to bolt out of his seat, only for you to slam a hand down on his shoulder and throw a leg over him, straddling his lap before pinning the note to his chest. He yelped sharply and looked up at you with huge, shaking irises. 

In all your time knowing him, you never tried to sleep with Jungkook.

Never. 

You jabbed the note into his white shirt and he gave you a terrified squeak in response. 

You scrutinized his face, jaw slack, eyes wide, blond curls framing his chiseled cheekbones. One of your eyebrows raised, your voice calm and unfazed.

"Say it."

"You say it," Jungkook finally shot back, furrowing his brows, biting on his lip and mustering up the most indignant look he could produce at this very second. You didn’t react. He seemed to have forgotten you did, in fact, say it, although perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he meant.

You never tried to fuck Jungkook because he didn’t treat you as anything more than his primary source of internet when his own was down. Ah, and also his outlet for complaining about his love letter problem. And then there was that other little wrinkle, the unwritten societal rule one of sucking a guy's dick you're still friends with - don't suck his friends' dicks. Surefire way to fuck up a friendship, especially if the dude’s ego was fragile.

Jungkook’s friend was dating someone else now though. His ego couldn’t be that fragile.

You leaned forward and Jungkook's annoyed gaze faltered. He gulped and tried to shrink into your brown leather couch, as if he could somehow disappear under you.

"I love you," you stated clearly and firmly. You glanced at the slightly crumpled piece of blue paper before your eyes flickered back to his face. "Marry me."

Hah, the thing about rules with you was...

Fuck 'em.

Not actually. 

Eh, not the point.

"Really?" Jungkook squeaked, voice cracking slightly.

Ah, right, the other reason you never tried to sex up Jungkook because he was a little bit of an idiot around you. But maybe this sky-blue note detailed the reason for it. 

"Say it," you repeated crossly, poking him in the pecs. "Stop avoiding it."

You observed Jungkook swallow hard again, Adam’s apple bobbing. You furrowed your brows, tipping your head down so that your forehead was hovering over his, eyebrow cocked, gazing into trembling brown orbs. Why was he taking so long? He wrote the damn words. Were they really just a joke? Hmph, why were you even trying then?

That’s how everyone was.

Not putting any stock or thought into their fucking words.

You lifted your finger but Jungkook’s right hand, the one with tiny tattoos, suddenly darted in your view, grabbing your hand back and jamming your finger onto his chest again. His heartbeat raced under your fingertip, thud-thud-thud, rapid bass accenting the moment. Electrifying it.

“Don’t.”

Whisper so faint you frowned and closed even more distance between you two, picking up the scent of vanilla fabric softener and lush cotton. A little different than you, who used a blackberry and spiced vanilla perfume.

“I like this,” Jungkook breathed under you, chewing his lip anxiously. You could feel his warm breath tickling your lips and chin with how close you were. You could count his individual eyebrow hairs, even though the eyebrow product he used.

“I… really like this.”

He let go of your hand.

Now you raised both eyebrows.

You slowly uncurled your middle finger, landing it on his chest next to the index. You felt him shiver a little, lips parting. Straightened your ring finger, planting it down. His lashes lowered a little, brown orbs on your face, watching your reaction to him. You could count the moles on his face. The one on his nose. The one on his cheek. The one under his lower lip. The one on his neck. Your pinky slid onto his chest. A wispy moan left his lips, eyelids fluttering, blond strands floating around his head with the little rise and fall of his heavy, tense exhale.

Why is it your birth date?

Take a wild guess, dumbass.

Your fingers abruptly dug into his white t-shirt, crumpling the note and scrunching the graphic up in your fist. He inhaled sharply, head tipping back and lips nearing yours, a whine escaping his throat. You quirked an eyebrow, drawing back slightly, taking in the rich depth of his tan skin, the sensual line of his neck, up to his angular chin and his dangling silver earrings. All of it. His hands immediately came up to grab your wrist and forearm, ensuring you and himself that you wouldn’t let go, the tendons in your flexed wrist right against his large palm.

“Say it, Jungkook,” you demanded. “Say those words with your pretty pink tongue hanging out your mouth for me.”

You watched him obey immediately, tongue sliding out and touching his lower lip, brown eyes framed by his long lashes and hazy with lust.

“I love you,” Jungkook breathed, a little gargled with his tongue out. “Fucking marry me, please.”

Ah, you couldn't help it. 

You smirked.

"What about all your admirers?" you murmured, twisting your fingers in his shirt, digging your nails into his chest. "You'll break all those poor hearts you’re worried about."

Those dark brown eyes told you they didn't give a single fuck. 

"What about you?" he countered, closing his mouth a little to speak more clearly.

"Me?"

The definition of trouble?

Well, if you looked that up in a dictionary, there would definitely be a picture of you. 

Jungkook’s lips parted once more, keen to submit to your wickedness, pink tongue slipping out again, shiny and glistening with saliva. Breathing shallowly, rubbing your wrist with his thumb, encouraging you to keep going. 

Your lips curved into a treacherous smile.

"I'll break all the hearts to get to yours, Jungkook."

And then you licked his tongue. 

A low moan bubbled from Jungkook's chest, his eyes rolling back and his hips bucking up, desperate for friction as the tip of your wet muscle glided over his warm softness, your spit dripping down his throat, listening to his moans turn into messy garbles of your name, begging you, pleading you, more, more, kiss me, please, and you hooked your tongue around his, gently nudging his jaw with your other hand. Knuckle to chin, tilting your head as your lips closed onto Jungkook's. 

It was not a neat kiss.

There was spit running down his chin, dripping onto his neck and your skin, your lips roughly working his, tongues intertwined and making even more of a mess, you sucking forcefully to earn pained, delicious whines. Jungkook was far too turned on to attempt to glamorize it, cries a jumbled mess under your greedy mouth, but none of that mattered. The moment was sensual and dark, bodies speaking to each other through dopamine and adrenaline. Your hand released his shirt, breaking his grip, switching to burrowing your fingers into his soft blond hair and running your nails over his scalp, leaving lines of prickling pain to enhance your kiss. 

"F-Fuck, oh fuck, yes..."

Your teeth caught his tongue, pulling back and forcing his head to follow. Jungkook made a pained noise, trapped in your embrace, whining as you took him to the brink. You released him swiftly and he snapped backward, blinking hard, trying to reorient himself, but it was impossible, your lips crashing down again, thrusting your tongue into his mouth aggressively, one eye open to witness his fucked-out state, pupils unfocused, long lashes quivering, moaning into your mouth and you inhaling it all, literally taking his breath away. 

It started out with a kiss. 

How did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss. 

It was only a kiss. 

You dropped your lower half onto his crotch and Jungkook gasped, breaking the kiss, strings of spit breaking between you two. You smirked wickedly as you felt his hardness trying to escape its clothing jail, his large hands already on your thighs and hips, sinking his fingers into the soft fabric of your leggings, rocking you into him, desperately trying to get some stimulation.

"Please," he croaked, panting for breath, pulling himself up to sitting position, so easy and smooth, fuck, so sexy, and now Jungkook was in your face, pleas on the tip of his tongue pouring out, tempting you, wanting it. 

"Please, wanna be yours so fucking bad, seeing all those fucking letters and notes you get, and it pisses me off, it's me, I want it to be me, I want to be yours and I'm telling you to your face." 

Whisper achingly hot, deep voice soaked with longing, staring into your eyes with those shaking brown orbs, spinning with emotion like an unstable top, barely enough torque holding it in place and all it took was another spin to encourage it or a gust of rejection to topple it over. 

"And you don't even care about mine, you think they're fucking funny, fuck, I can't stand it, let it be me, please..."

His hands running up your sides, grazing against your breasts, and now his hands were in your hair and yours were in his, bringing your face close, the crumpled sky-blue note right between your joined crotches, forgotten, witnessing the agonizing lust wound tightly in this embrace. 

"Let it be me," Jungkook begged.

You licked your lips slowly, scarcely swiping against his. He shuddered, leaning into it, taking whatever crumbs you gave. His long fingers tensed in your hair, yours buried in the dark roots of his. 

"You'll have to skip the marriage bit for now," you teased lightly. "I don't think my parents will appreciate you slapping down papers before you finish school."

Jungkook snickered, tucking his tongue in his cheek roguishly. "Can't they understand I have to snatch this ass as soon as possible to make people back off?"

Your hands slipped down to his jaw, fitting it in your palms, his silvery-blond stands wrapped around your fingertips. "They'll back off my door once they hear you screaming my name." 

You leaned in, but Jungkook stopped you, brown orbs glittering with mischief to get in one more quip. 

"I doubt it," he purred. 

Yeah. 

Jungkook was right. 

Ah, well. 

You seized his face and kissed him again, fuck, such malleable lips just pleading to be bitten by you, gazing up his nose and to his beautiful eyes, his soft skin in your hands, clenching his jaw under your power, letting you have it, letting you control it and him. You felt him scramble and throw his denim jacket off, dumping it onto your couch to cup your cheeks with his hands, sighing in satisfaction as you inhaled him. Your tongue lazily traced the outskirts of his lips, hearing the rattle of his beaded bracelets by your ears, amused, knowing they were his good luck charms. 

"They bring good luck," he had answered when you saw them for the first time.

You remembered tilting your head at the wooden beads on his slim wrists. "You trying to get your dick sucked or something?"

He had broken out in a loud guffaw. Nudged you with his elbow, cheeky smile on his lips. 

"Never gonna say no to getting my dick sucked."

"Mhm, cool, where's my painting of the flaccid dick?"

From then on, you noticed he wore the same wooden, beaded bracelets every time he came to your apartment.

Hmm. 

Now, your hands falling from his face, yanking his shirt from his pants, annoyed it was getting caught, and then Jungkook fitted his hands around your ass and lifted you easily, breaking the kiss, a moment for you to bear witness to his arms flexing – holy fuck, that’s sexy – right one covered in tattoos. Images and script, with one catching your eye, a string of words running up the inside of his upper arm. One you recognized because you had those words written on your bedroom wall, on a canvas hanging above your bed. A canvas you made, background a chaotic mess of varying dark red brushstrokes, the black script in the center, written by your hand. 

The exact black script with your flourishes and ticks, now tattooed on the inside of his right arm. 

Your eyes drifted to Jungkook's face and his naughty smirk, pleased to be found out. Your lips formed the sentence slowly, in awe of his audacity.

"The devil knows my name."

the devil knows my name. 

Hung above your bed, where all manner of marvelous sinful acts were performed. 

Jungkook grinned deviously. "I saw it. I wanted it on me."

Wanted it on him. 

Oh, fuck. 

Did he know? Could he guess?

"Who's the devil?" you whispered, smile widening, matching his. 

Jungkook reached down, yanking his t-shirt out of his jeans and pulling it up and over his head, revealing the body he sculpted himself, tan skin taut over hard muscle, toned and...

"You're the devil, of course," he snickered. 

Yours. 

"Ding dong daeng," you sing-songed.

How many people have been on your bed, head pulled back by your hand, blinking hard, trying to read the words on your wall through waves of forced ecstasy? Gasping them out, ending with a question, inquiring for an answer.

The devil knows my name?

And you, leaning forward, haunting whisper in their ears, yes, she does, before pushing their face down into the sheets.

"All those love letters not good enough for you, Jungkook?" you breathed, running your hands over his bare chest, spreading your fingers, letting your exhale out through your teeth. His eyes on you, torso trembling, hairs raising, feeling your nails dance up, up, raking over his collarbones and neck, leaving little pink lines of intensity.

"They're not you," he whispered. His hands brushing over yours, outlining your fingers, eyes darkening as you pushed him back into your sofa, lowering your head. "You, the one they talk about..." Your lips on his hot skin, kissing softly, tongue so slight that it made him whimper. "You, the one they look for..." His voice, deep and rumbling, vibrating your lips, pitching as you bit and sucked, leaving small hickeys. "You, the one whose bed I sit on, wondering who else has been there, wondering why it's not me, when I make myself available to you, so easy to prey on, but you let me be..." Your lips closing around his dark brown nipple, scraping your teeth against it, making him squirm and look down at you, you and your self-satisfied, ravenous smirk. 

"I let you read them," Jungkook whimpered, blond strands curled around his cheeks, chest shuddering at your nail flicking his other nipple while your mouth worked the other. "Let you see everything they want to do to me and you still didn't know."

You chuckled darkly. "What's there to know?" you mused, sticking your tongue out and pressing it against the now hard pink-tinged nub, receiving small whines of pleasure as your reward. "It's obvious what you wanted. I was right in front of you. All you had to do was say something."

Jungkook frowned as you sat up, tongue in cheek, half-grinning.

"Look at you."

You crossed your arms and pulled your pink cropped sweatshirt up and over your head, dropping it to the floor. Casually running a hand through the top of your hair to pull it away from your face, gazing down at shirtless Jungkook covered in your red bites, cocking your head with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow, eyes roaming over your figure and the curve of your breasts molded to smooth black satin. 

"You look like you eat hearts for breakfast," he murmured, admiration in his tone.

The side of your lips quirked further upwards.

"And yet you wanna love me."

Jungkook grinned. "I don't want to. I already do."

And then he was the one to pull you to him, kissing you hungrily, you immediately turning it into your favor, your pace, his tongue commanded by yours as he unhooked your bra, moaning into your mouth, rubbing your exposed nipples with his palms, unable to do much as you pushed him into the couch again, guiding his tongue down with your teeth and running the tip of yours over his wet muscle once more, trickling saliva into his throat and onto his chin and neck, messy and lewd. 

"The devil knows your name," you sighed into his mouth, feeling him knead your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hard nipples, tendrils of pleasure making your skin tingle. "And now the devil takes what she wants."

You saw the sides of his lips curve upwards as you backed up to strip the rest of your clothes, amused at Jungkook eagerly following suit and unbuttoning his jeans.

"Can't wait to flaunt how hot you are?" you laughed, reaching down to the shelf under the side table where a ceramic R2-D2 cookie jar sat.

"Do you think I'm hot?" Jungkook haughtily accused before gawking at your waist to ass ratio, his hands slowing, pants stopped to his knees in his distraction.

You gently took off the head of R2-D2 and plucked a condom from it. Some guy told you once that you couldn't like Star Trek and Star Wars at the same time and you told him to shut the fuck up as you slapped his nuts. He begged you to do it again. You fondly patted R2-D2's head after you fitted it back.

You straightened to see Jungkook on your couch with his hard dick on display.

You looked him dead in the eye. "You think I'd let you borrow my laptop if I thought you were ugly?"

Jungkook broke out of his trance and shrugged, finally yanking his calves – holy shit, his calves and thighs were muscular as fuck – out of his jeans, underwear and socks gone with them.

"Maybe you pitied my grades."

"I'd just pay for you to go to the library and fuck off, dumbass," you muttered, pushing his hands aside and ripping the condom open, drinking in the delicious sight of his throbbing red cock dripping pre-cum, his balls just waiting for – fuck it, you got down on your knees and wrapped your tongue around his length, Jungkook sputtering and gasping at your suddenness. Fuck, he smelled and tasted fucking good, clean and velvety to your lips enclosing around the head and sliding down, using one hand to scoop up his balls. Made eye contact with him again.

Jungkook breathed your name hesitantly.

Your tongue slid out of your lips and you jammed his cock all the way down your throat, slathering his balls wetly with your whisking tongue, circling around one and then the other, long expansive strokes that went past the girth of his cock, your pink tongue visible to him. Jungkook's pupils blew wide with shock, moans catching in his throat, whole body shivering, trying desperately not to look away even through you could tell he wanted to throw himself into your sofa and fucking lose it.

"Oooooooh, fuck, that's amazing.... Holy shit, your tongue is everything...."

You chuckled and pulled your head back, satisfied with his reaction. He seemed slightly disappointed until you rolled down the condom, cracking your neck.

"I think I've given enough." You stood up, getting back on top of him and his glorious thighs. "Time for you to be taken."

Jungkook smirked.

You smirked wider and more wickedly.

The sky-blue memo was crumpled into a ball, fallen to your hardwood floor.

Held him with two fingers, ugh, the weight of his cock, fuck yes, and those beautiful dark chocolate eyes, Jungkook, you dumbass, cursing that he didn't tell you sooner so that you could watch him groan and throw his head back like he was right now, gasping at your tightness, your name torn from his throat as you took in every centimeter of him, every pulsing vein and contour of his wonderful cock, stupid Jungkook and his attractive self not using his damn words so you could ride him like you were right now, setting up a fast, bruising pace. Your fingers dug into the back of the couch as you bucked your hips into his violently, keeping yourself tight because you were so fucking wet, fuck, so wet for Jeon Jungkook and his idiotic self, asking for internet to do his school assignments and not asking for his dick to be used as your fucking joystick. 

Dumbass.

"Oh fuck," Jungkook gasped. "Oh, fuck, you're so wet and tight, shit, shit, shit..."

"Tell me something I haven't heard before," you chuckled, only half-meaning it, waving your entire body to deliver a particularly hard smack to his crotch, Jungkook whimpering under you, his hands flying to your upper arms and clutching them, trying to hold on to your wildness.

"Holy fuck, you have some hard biceps," he blurted out, startled at the prominent muscle.

Well, you haven't heard that one before.

"Guess that's what happens when you jack off a lot of dick," you mused nonchalantly.

You ticked your head to Jungkook's arms – delicious – and he frowned at you, opening his mouth to protest and you cut him off by shoving two fingers into his lips, pressing them down into the wet warmth, grinning maniacally as you watched him struggle with your fingers rubbing his tongue and his cock getting assaulted by you aggressively slamming your hips down and clamping around his stiffness, tighter, faster, whines of your name in his throat, head falling back onto the couch with a flump. You were careful not to push your fingers too far. 

Getting vomited on wasn't really on your sexual activities bingo card.

Jungkook was, however, drooling down his chin and neck, and you pulled back to grab his shoulder with your wet hand – oh, fuck, his shoulder, what a lovely shape – and Jungkook wheezed for breath, you ignoring it as you focused all your energy on fucking the life out of him, dirty squelches and smacks of hips on hips, staring down at his abs and v-line, all his hard work at the gym on display, his hands still on your upper arms as he raised his hips to meet yours, needily moaning for you to destroy him with your pace.

Damn, maybe you would have sent him a love letter if you had seen him naked at least once.

"A-Ask me to cum for you," Jungkook finally got out, voice hoarse from breathing so hard for so long.

"You're going to anyway," you taunted.

"Want you to ask," he whined, almost pouting. "Tell me to do it."

You gazed into his eyes, into those brown irises overtaken by black pupils, him a top spinning by your hand, your plaything commanded by your body, pussy clenching around his twitching cock, spurred on from his pleading tone, giving him a devious and wicked grin, speaking to his swollen lips, the devil knows your name, Jungkook, and him moaning back, fuck yes she does, so close, so fucking close, unashamedly barreling towards your release, power in your veins and under you, his muscles rippling as he fucked you back, amplifying every thrust.

"Jungkook."

"Y-Yes?"

"Say it."

Brown eyes locked with yours.

"I love you. Marry me."

You smirked.

"Cum for me."

A half-second and then you let go, letting the feeling rush in and envelop you, the moment held back to torture him, and now you felt it all, already at the tipping point, strained moan as your orgasm crashed into you, shudders all over and falling, sitting all the way down in his lap to experience the throbbing ache of your core giving out and spilling onto his cock and balls in rapid bursts, viscous and sweet. The scent of sex mixing with blackberry and spiced vanilla, his length jerking inside you, and only then did you hear Jungkook crying out your name over and over, the roar in your ears fading out to his shivering moans, hands sliding up and down your arms, eyes closing and lost in the pleasure of your pussy squeezing out his cum. His touch travelling down to your waist, pulling you to him.

Messy, soft kisses, your name and curses mixed together.

"It's me, right?"

You smiled into his mouth that was still asking questions.

"Please let it be me. You'll let me love you for real, right?"

Pushing your hair back, his sweaty blond locks sticking to your face.

"Because I already do, can't stop, won't stop–"

"Yeah, Jungkook, funnily enough I figured that from the first kiss already," you chuckled, running your fingers through his ash blond hair and pulling his head back lightly, seeing him pout, the mole underneath his lower lip peeking out.

"But..."

"Hm?"

His voice suddenly small, vulnerable, his semi-hard dick still inside you.

"Do you love me?"

You lifted a brow. "What kind of dumbass question is that?" You grabbed his arm and pressed your nail into his tattoo of your words, drawing a pink scratch under them, making him gasp. "How can I not love you? Fuck, that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, my handwriting tattooed onto you. Yes, I love you, Jungkook."

Jungkook's jaw dropped.

This fool is still shocked after all this?

You reached down and held the condom down as you lifted yourself off, yanking him to his feet, pushing Jungkook to your coffee table, right in front of the pile of letters with his name all over them. You picked up your laptop and pushed it onto his chest, forcing him to hold it, him still confused, mildly stunned, not knowing what the fuck was happening.

Then you made him half-straddle your coffee table and yanked off the condom.

"Um–"

Grabbed his cock and started furiously jacking him off.

"Oh, f-fuck!"'

And then he realized what you were doing, the sheer wrongness of it, getting harder and harder with every second, throbbing in your hand.

"You're just like them," you chuckled through exerted breath.

Faster, rougher, tighter, Jungkook clutching your laptop, his larger frame leaning against yours, head thrown back so far that his blond hair was brushing your shoulder, moaning lustfully as he thrusted his hips into your grip. White pooled onto the purple-red tip of his abused cock, far too sensitive to be jacked off this hard right after orgasm, but Jungkook begged you not to stop, streams of residual cum running down your slicked fingers.

"Always looking for your fix from the addiction that's me," you whispered into his ear, laced with an authoritative growl. 

You saw Jungkook's head lower out of your periphery, eyes opening, staring at the colorful envelopes with his name printed on them, the cute stickers and neat handwriting, panting your name, tendons and veins standing out on his neck, sweat beading on his tan skin. 

A low, dangerous chuckle rising in his throat. 

"There's a difference between them and me."

You felt his cock twitch in your hand, ridiculously hard at what you two were about to do. 

"They're not going to get their fix."

Jungkook shuddered against you, jerking his hips forward, thick white strings splattering all over the pastel paper as you watched, fascinated, the scent of his cum saturating the air and the envelopes, drops soaking and smearing the carefully written ink, time wasted and defiled. 

"I am," he moaned, twisting his body on your arms, leaning down to kiss you hungrily as you squeezed his cock, draining it all out, all over your coffee table and coating your hand, stained with Jeon Jungkook's love letter to you. 

--

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