#The stuff I posted today was *literally* supposed to be a warm-up and somehow it took me all fucking day :(

[ask-artsy-oncie]

I'm glad the +Anima AU sketches are getting tagged as Labru because I was not gonna tag it, myself, since it didn't feel like ship content enough to justify it, but also I want Laios kissing Kabru on the hand, right on his markings, helping him learn to love himself by loving him, do you get me??

[whatever-letmebe]

Seven amazing Playboyy fics by seven amazing authors

I tried to find my favorite Playboyy fic today and it was literally impossible. Here are seven fics by seven different authors / accounts [plus one bonus fic], that I like very much.

I Would Eat His Heart (1193 words) by technicallyverycowboy Summary: “Nant liked it rough, too,” Porsche says. “I guess that kind of thing runs in a family.” “How do you like it?” Nont asks. The buzzing beneath his skin spirals up and up. Porsche looks him in the eye. “Rougher than that.” Nont goes looking for an outlet and finds Porsche.

do you no good (1775 words) by kpvpogtfo Summary: The first year at university is tough, but there isn't any part harder for Puen than the day he met his scholarship sponsor.

phi's first time (1726 words) by galacticlemonade Summary: “Collaborating with an established artist is a great way to promote yourself. I post the video on my socials, people who pay to watch me see it, they decide they think you’re hot, and then they go over to your socials and pay to see your other stuff. It’s just good business.” --- Puen's first time filming OnlyFans content. Captain is a helpful mentor.

Exquisitely Wrought (736 words) by Caeslin Summary: “There,” Zouey says, once he's gotten Teena positioned just right: head tilted, hip cocked and improvised kitchen scales in hand. It's fortunate that the blindfold prevents Teena from seeing how red the back of Zouey’s neck has gotten from touching him so much. When Zouey asks Teena to model a new pose for him, he doesn't mean for it to be a sex thing. At least, not at first.

Closer to the Heart (4562 words) by blue_grama Summary: “Dammit, I know it was right here!” Aob stands on a street corner in Pattaya, the right street corner in Pattaya, he knows it, and glares at the sleek shopping mall that has somehow parked itself here. It’s ugly, all white-and-gray concrete and glass, nothing like the warm-lit lantern storefront Aob remembers. Fuck. What’s that they say? You can’t go home again? Apparently you can’t go eat amazing cheap Hainanese chicken and rice again either. OR: A pre-Playboyy Aob finds sustenance at a Pattaya Hainanese chicken joint. Poultry-based banter and shower sex ensue.

Emotional Sexual Bender (500 words) by CaffeineAddict94 Summary: Jump gave him a little smirk, like he could read his mind, before knocking back his shot of whiskey. Soong tuned out the cheers of their little audience and focused on the warm slide of Jump’s tongue as he licked a hot stripe down his chest. It’d only been a week - maybe a week and a half - since he and First had their big fight and he’d had plenty of clients but nothing had really satisfied that itch.

Bedtime Routine (3907 words) by writtenbyescapingtastes Summary: On the first day in the new dorm at his new school, Captain needs care. Zouey is willing to give it.

[I could not decide between this one and Right in my Chest , I love them exactly equal amounts.]

Bonus 🎉

The Edge in Your Affection (3909 words) by technicallyverycowboy, kpvpogtfo Summary: Soong is curled up in the middle of his bed surrounded by sheets worn thin from long use and a couple blankets with unraveling edges. The bare curve of his spine punches First in his gut for how fucking vulnerable it looks. Panic strikes through him; sure, they switched, and sure they played with power and control, but Soong was the one who kept track of the limits and kept First in line. First doesn't know how to take care of someone. He's never been taught. Soong and First are supposed to be broken up, but Teena tells First Soong needs him, and First shows up.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Daily Log 9

Trying out (probably just temporarily) making short daily-ish notes about things, in an attempt to see if it helps me be more reflective or productive lol.

Activities: Worked on the previously mentioned tapestry style painting thing for like 5-6 hours today (with a few breaks in between), and that's just for the border around the main picture lol.. I think all the little sections and detail always take longer than I think they might. But hopefully the final product will look interesting! :0

I feel like I'm entering another Sick Phase where I just am weird/ill/sleepy/having joint pains much of the day (probably some vitamin deficiencies or hormone imbalances or general bodily inflammation or whatever nonsense seems to randomly pop up from time to time lol), so couldn't focus on anything more intensive like writing or editing videos, unfortunately. It's good to have smaller crafts I can do that don't take much mental effort and are just menial hand tasks (like carving, painting, sculpting, etc.), but I still always feel frustrated falling behind on the things I see as much more broadly significant to my overall life and potential career (making games, writing, finishing videos, socializing, costumes, etc.)

Organized my desk a little. Responded to some doctor emails. Paid bills.

Planned out something I might make with pressed flowers tomorrow.

Edited like 4 costume photos.

Also have a lingering sense of dread due to the weather. The heat often makes me feel terrible, and if I'm already in kind of a Bad Phase at the moment, I'm afraid of it making it even worse... stimky..

Which I know these temperatures are nothing to some people but.. to me... aUGHHHH... I am abnormally heat sensitive + live in a dinky old apartment with no ventilation that gets direct sun the hottest part of the day.. on a 90F day outside, it literally gets about 84F inside.. like.. even people who love the heat I feel like would struggle to sleep at night if their bed is 85F lol... hewwo.. You can spray yourself down with water, drink ice water, put a fan on yourself, etc. etc. but.. sometimes it just feels so oppressive and inescapable..

ANYWAY. Aside from painting, feeling weird, and dreading the upcoming heat/contemplating my entire life and how to get enough money to move to a different climate somehow one day/existential exhaustion/etc., I didn't accomplish very much lol

Spent maybe 30 minutes thinking about a little more worldbuilding stuff, and some things in reference to the game I mentioned resuming work on at some point.

Notable sights: The clouds were really pretty and pastel this afternoon, and some stars are visible in the sky for once since the nights are beginning to be clearer. The 'forget me not' flowers that I thought had died after transplanting actually seemed to be perked up and healthy looking today, and perhaps may actually survive. >:3

Goals moving forward: Do new poll adventure post. focus on social activities, finding new friends in the places I want to move, communicating with the ones I have. Physical therapy exercises. Finish and upload videos, edit costume pictures & etc. Do the new costumes I've planned. MAKE SCULPTURES at some point, I miss them.

Notable foods: Not much, kind of a warm day so didn't really want to use the oven. No idea how I'll handle the diet I've been put on by my doctors (involves usually cooking all food fresh, using the stove a lot, nothing is supposed to be canned or processed or premade, so that eliminates a lot of 'quick easy simple warm weather' meals, etc. etc.) during the heatwave. I might just have to break the diet a little and hope it doesn't give me stomach pains while I'm already hot and feeling sick lol..

I did have a boiled egg with some green onions on top, which is very simple but was refreshing somehow lol. Another ice cold ginger ale treat today, and some cold prune juice (which I know most people find gross/it's an old person food/etc., but I like that it's a smooth textured and not very sweet juice? Like it's slightly thicker than apple juice, has a lightly bitter taste, etc. I just find it nice for some reason. More evidence I am secretly an 85 year old wizard)

[icollectyoursins]

Jotaro Relationship Head Canons SFW

Because I’m a self indulgent little shit and just love to ignore all of the work I have to do, have some Jotaro head canons. I am but a humble simp, and love this man. So much.

Update as of writing this. Somehow, it got very angsty, so... yeah. Sad man vibes. Also rambly. I just kinda kept going.

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: None, just angst, but nothing too serious.

Word Count: 2,985

Jotaro’s type is... I mean, it depends, like most people. I don’t think he’s super picky over appearances or things like that, it’s more whether or not he gets along with you and how long he can put up with you.  He’s polite (well, as polite as he can be) and courteous, but probably a little more apathetic when you’ve first met. Once you’ve been around for a while he’s more relaxed and almost a little more critical. Mostly because you’re his friend now and he expects more from his friends.

While I was writing this I sort of realized that he could be aromantic. Maybe it’s just my own aro tendencies coming through, but I thought it sort of lined up with his personality. Or at least from my experience with romantic attraction.

Eventually, though, he’ll admit he cares about you a little more than he cares about others. It comes through in little almost compliments. “You did good. Keep it up” or “good job, dealing with this” are common phrases that sound nice on the surface, but it almost feels like he’s trying to pressure you to do more, which is far from the truth.  

If it’s not awkward compliments like that, it’s awkward gifts. Always something you had briefly mentioned wanting or stared at a minute longer than you usually do, wrapped in a paper that’s your favourite colour or pattern. Sometimes, though, it’s something you’ve never mentioned that he somehow guessed would be something you wanted.

At the same time, though, he’s oblivious or at least acts like he is. There may be times when he goes home after you said something exceptionally sweet to him or that just means so much and he’ll just take a moment sitting at his desk to mull over what you said.

    With a grunt, Jotaro rolled back into the armchair with a cup of tea in one hand and today’s newspaper in the other, since he didn’t get to read it this morning. It’s late with the sun almost completely set, giving his room an orange hue. He tries reading the first column, something about a cat being saved from a sewer grate, but after about a minute, he catches himself drifting away, sort of staring blankly at the paper.

    He blinks hard, taking a long sip from his coffee. He must be tired. Another attempt is made at reading, this time the comics. They’re not his favourite thing, but short enough that he can focus on them. Or so he thought.

    He zones out again, face suddenly feeling very hot.

    He was thinking about you. Or, rather what you said.

    It was something so simple, so mundane.

    You had been talking about family together, exchanging drama, if you will, and he had brought up how his father had left his mother when he was very young. It didn’t bother him, he had said, after all, it was years ago and if he was being honest, he didn’t really need a father. Then, you gave him this look. It wasn’t pity or something like that. You put your hand on his knee, staring deep into his eyes.

    “Jotaro,” you said, voice soft and sweet. You struggled to say the next words, opening your mouth, sighing, then finally: “I’m not leaving you.”

    “Why would you be leaving?” He said, confused, taking it literally. Or, he pretended to be confused. It had made his heart warm with affection.

    What Jotaro hadn’t noticed at that moment was that his eyes seemed to gloss over with wet tears while talking about his father. He wasn’t over it, you understood that. How could he be? He was so young then, he probably didn’t understand what was happening or why and now that he’s a father himself, there had to be so much guilt about being the same way. It was only now that he was realizing how much you had an effect on him.

    It didn’t make him sad, by any means but... loved. He’ll say thank you tomorrow with a gift or some flowers. He hadn’t planned on meeting you for the rest of the week because he was busy, but work could wait, right? Yeah. Tomorrow.

God, it would take so long for him to get you to move in together. He’s so used to living on his own that I think he’s a little self-conscious about it. He’s not a slob by any means, but certainly a bachelor. I mean, he lived (assumedly) on his own from probably around or earlier than DiU right up until Stone Free, so it’s been a while and he’s certainly comfortable with his mess of clothes lying on the floor in the corner, but you won’t be. He cleans up before people come over, obviously, but how many times did he actually invite someone in?

When you start staying around more, he starts cleaning more, which makes him a little frustrated both coming to terms with liking someone enough that he’s actively cleaning for them once a week and also discovering that he’s a lot more gross than he thought. You would not believe how stained the counter was from coffee or how gross the filter was on the coffee maker. He takes his coffee very seriously. You begin to notice how clean everything is, well, how consistently clean everything is and it even starts to smell nicer, more floral and fresh. He bought a lavender air freshener. “It’s supposed to be calming,” he’ll say with a hint of annoyance. It’s not a bad smell to him, better than vanilla air fresheners, but it does give him a headache when he first sprays his place. You seem to like it though, so he’s willing to put up with it.

I honestly believe this man can cook, but nervous when cooking for other people. His food when he was a bachelor was good enough for him and I’m sure Holly would have shown him a lot too, but it’s not the best food. He definitely steps up his game when you’re over and even more so when you move in. He’s better with dishes that have pasta or noodles because it’s easy, but he’s not too bad behind the grill either.

When you guys finally live together, he tries to keep the cooking even, with you cooking some days and him doing the rest, but I honestly feel like unless you are a hazard in the kitchen, you would do most of it.

Jotaro would be like that with most things around the house partly because he doesn’t want you to do all the work if you don’t want to but he enjoys having a little more time to himself to either do work or... yeah, it’s just work. There are a few things that he’ll never make you do because it’s either too hard or he’s built up a routine of doing that thing a certain way and he’s convinced no one else will do it right. Like his laundry. He won’t let anyone else clean his clothes. He tried once and nothing dried right, he swears that his jacket is still damp to this day. You can fold his stuff or hang it up, but he’s running the washing machine and dryer. Also picky about how his office is cleaned.

If you asked and gave a legitimate reason for not doing a certain chore, he’ll do it, but be prepared with an excuse as to why you can’t wash the dishes or fold the laundry. He’s especially resistant if he’s working whether that be gathering information for the Speedwagon Foundation or editing his latest Marine Biology book.

Actually, can we just talk about how much this man hates folding laundry? It’s so pointless to him. Why fold it and put it into neat little piles when you’re just gonna rummage through the drawer and mess everything up? Sure, it looks nice, I guess, but not for long. He was for sure a floordrobe kind of guy, especially in his early years. He knows which ones are clean, it’s fine, just leave it. Of course, he would get better the longer you’re at his place, but still. It’s not that he’s lazy, he’s just busy and putting clothes away takes way too fucking long. (which, honestly, agreed.)

Date nights with Jotaro are... rare. I mean, you live with him, why would he want to go out and pay for something when he could do the same thing at home? They’re nice, of course, but it’s more common for him to take you out to dinner while you guys are on vacation or in a location other than home, because he doesn’t feel like cooking and it’s more special when you’re supposed to go out. Eventually, it clicks in that you are supposed to make each other feel special and will surprise you with an expensive dinner or a short cruise. If you suggest the aquarium he’ll think you’re just saying that because he’s into aquatic wildlife, but honestly doesn’t put up much of a fight and will answer any questions you or anyone else has about the fish.

He does enjoy a good relaxing movie (or documentary) night at home, though. It’s so nice to finally be finished work, settle into your super comfy couch and just chill until he gets tired. Even better when you’re lying on top of him with your head just under his chin. There’s something so soothing about smelling your perfume, shampoo, conditioner, cologne, etc. To just smell you so close to him and feel your weight. Aaah. So nice.

    The microwave beeps faintly from the kitchen signalling that popcorn was done. You trailed out soon after, tossing the bowl to mix around the butter. You smile sweetly at him, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on Jotaro’s lips before settling into his lap, nestling your head just under his while stretching out your legs. His arm instinctively moves from the back of the couch to drape over your back, rubbing circles into it with his thumb.

    He sighs; relaxed, finally. He allows himself to kiss your forehead, closing his eyes for a moment, just basking in your comfort. When he opens his eyes, he pulls you closer to him, feeling your heart beat almost in time with his. It was moments like these that eased his panic of losing you. You were here in his arms, safe and sound and vice versa. He was safe in yours.

Yeah, he’s a little angsty. But, can you blame him? He’s getting better, though. With help, of course. With you being around so often (and being very adamant that you’re not going anywhere) he’s able to let go a little. He’s not perfect, by a long shot and progress is slow, but it’s the little things like these that makes you proud of how far he’s come.

PDA is common, but a little restricted. When you’re out together, Jotaro’ll always have his hand on your back or shoulder. Hand-holding isn’t really a thing for him, but he will make sure you know he’s there. He’ll kiss you in public, but it’s not nearly as intimate or special as when you’re at home. Still, it’s a sweet reminder that he loves you, seeing as words of affection aren’t really his thing.

I mean, he can express himself just fine, but he still gets a little nervous saying things like ‘I love you.’ It’s more along the lines of ‘I care about you.’ Or, well. “of course, I care about you. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” Which... thanks. I think.

Kissing him is so nice, so you’re not too mad about him doing that instead of words. When Jotaro kisses you it’s full of a mix of emotions. Mostly caring, but on his rough days, there’s something else there. It could be worry or whatever the emotional equivalent of never letting you go is. You can always tell that he wants it to last a little bit longer. There’s something in the sad look in his eyes when he or you has to pull away. Sometimes he’s overly gentle like he’ll break you somehow, especially if you’re not a stand user or fighting-inclined (whether physical or otherwise). It’s not patronizing, or at least he tries not to be patronizing, he just prefers you safe.

    It started out simple enough. You and Jotaro were just sitting at the table, eating dinner when he got this... sinking sort of feeling. There was something in the silence between you that just sent his mind spiralling. Thoughts of you someday dying too soon for whatever reason or leaving him because he’s not there enough, stand users, car crashes, divorce. They all started to flood into his mind, fabricating that you would somehow be taken away from him.

    “Jotaro? Are you okay?” Your voice rings through; a bright light breaking the storm. He’s been staring at his plate for a while now, his eyes are dry and itchy. He looks at you and tries to say something, but the words don’t come. Is he okay?

    You stand up and walk over to him, cupping his face gently. You rub the dark circles under his eyes while kissing his forehead. Jotaro slowly wraps his arms around you, letting his face fall into your hands. You’re pulled into his lap after a few minutes, running your fingers through his hair next. Finally, he sighs, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

    “Thank you,” he mumbles and though you’re not quite sure why, you still say a quiet you’re welcome, silently soothing him through whatever happened.

If you couldn’t tell, he needs a lot of reassurance. Not so much words, but actions like the snippet above. I mean, he can be as strong as he wants but we all know he’s got some baggage and while he’s able to put it aside, for the most part, I think when you’re at home he’s just a little more vulnerable.

Now, onto happier things! If you like coffee or tea, he will always make you a cup in the morning. Jotaro is a very early riser except on the weekends, so he usually gets that done while reading or watching the news and when you come down, he’ll ask if you want breakfast then make it for you seeing as he’s more awake.

He loves coffee. So much. He might have a caffeine addiction, honestly. At all times of every day, you can see him with a black coffee in hand and a book or phone in the other. He will switch to decaf at some point, but you might have to switch it for him. He’s forgetful when he gets busy.

Sleeping in on the weekends is like heaven for him. The two nights (or more on holidays) that he gets a full nights rest, breakfast in bed and a warm soul to cuddle into. He’s usually big spoon with a hand just resting on your side, but please, for the love of god make him the little spoon once a week. Will never admit it or vocalize wanting it. He just grabs your hand and drapes it over him with a “good night” and then promptly passes out.

He’s a heavy sleeper but doesn’t sleep often. Once he’s out, there is nothing that could wake him up except the fire alarm or something like that. It just takes a while. Not because of trauma, but more just internal clock is delayed.

Not a bath guy, strictly showers ‘cause they’re quicker. Most of the time he’s in and out before you can invite him into yours. When you do he’s “reluctant” but showers with you are a favourite of his. He gets his hair washed for him (if he bends down), he can wash you. It’s great.

I don’t think he would want more kids. He’s getting older, busier and just doesn’t think he has the time to care for a baby, even with help. Plus, if they were anything like Joylne or god forbid him when he was younger, he might start greying sooner than he thought. Joylne is a great kid, but... she’s definitely got some of his defiance in him. One kid is fine.

He doesn’t really like pets either, hates when there’s fur on all the furniture. But, if you came home with a stray cat or two, he’s not gonna put up a fight if you say they’re not going to the pound. “Just as long as you take care of them yourself.”

You got him a betta fish once because Jotaro. Fish. Makes sense. He thought it was a little pointless at first. You can’t pet them or play fetch (not like he does those things anyway). All a fish does is sit there and look pretty. You were a little disappointed, but whatever, you’ll take care of it. Then he comes home one day with a 30-gallon tank, freshwater plants and fancy lighting to help them grow which he quietly sets up in the living room. He spent at least a half-hour deciding on where to put it.

A week later, after he’s pleased with how it looks and the tank has been cycled he puts in an order for more fish then lets your betta acclimate to the tank. “There, he’ll be happier in here. The idea of bettas not enjoying or panicking in larger tanks is a myth. He won’t be alone for long anyway. He also won’t kill everything in the tank.” Well, he hopes he won’t, each fish is different. Thankfully, the small school of tetras get along with your betta just fine. From then on, he’s in there once a week, cleaning everything, trimming the overgrowth. It is officially his tank.

[yeongwvnhi]

ᴸᵒᵛᵉ ᴬᵍᵃⁱⁿ

Pairing - Baekhyun x fem reader -> exes to lovers | Genre - Angst, fluff | warnings - none | taglist - @twancingyunhoe @trashlord-007 @tiddy-boys | synopsis - when Baekhyun and you broke things off a year ago, it felt alright, but you came to the painful realization that nobody could ever replace him or love you like he did | word count - 2.1k | thanks to @tiddy-boys for beta-reading ♡

》><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><《

It's days like these, rain hitting the window in harsh taps and angry wind blowing, when the nostalgia hits the hardest. After all, you were always one to dwell on the past. It's just what you do. 

Every day felt the same after the two of you broke things off. You don't even remember why exactly you even ended it in the first place. The pain still sits deep, coming to haunt you when you least expect it. 

Rainy days like those just trigger the nostalgia, the memories and bygone feelings. 

It's 12pm when you check your phone, yet you're still laying in bed. The lack of motivation due to this sudden wave of sadness is something you're not experiencing for the first time. 

And it's killing you slowly. These feelings are eating you up from the inside out. 

Without even realizing, tears are running down your cheeks in even, salty streams. 

"Why am I even crying…" You mumble and lift your arm to cover your face, trying to make it stop. "God, I'm so pathetic" 

You try to manage to stop your tears, wrist harshly rubbing your eyes. After a minute or so, you succeed in stopping them. 

instead pick up your phone, unlocking it and opening Instagram. 

One peek won't hurt, right…? 

His name at the top of your searches seems to be mocking you as you hover your finger above it. Should you really do it? What if he found someone new and his profile is filled with couple pictures? Or what if he feels nothing and is glad to be alone? What if, what if, what if…

"Fuck it" you hiss and tap on his username, his profile popping up after a brief second of loading the page. 

He… hasn't posted anything for a few months, his last post being from October last year. 

Oh for fucks sake… is this a good sign or not? It could mean he's been seeing someone new, but it could also mean he's just been living his life like usual. 

So many possibilities, yet no resolution seems to be in sight. 

"This is so annoying, oh my gooood" You groan and smack your head into your pillow, laying sprawled out like a star with an annoyed pout on your face. 

"It's been a god damn year," You grumble, "why do I still feel like this?" 

The sound of your fist hitting the mattress of your bed is dull, not the way you wanted it to sound. "I hate this, UGHH" The frustration in your voice is for sure loud and clear, accentuated well by the 'ugh'. 

This whole situation is stressing you out. "I need a shower.." You mumble, absent-minded, as you fling the covers back and swing your legs over the edge of your bed. 

—

Despite the gloomy weather, you decided to take a walk outside. The rain still hasn't let up, droplets of it occasionally hitting your face. 

"Why is it so cold today? It's already spring…" You mumble quietly to yourself, eyes strictly trained on the path in front of your feet and head held low. 

You're so lost in your thoughts, you don't see the person headed your way. 

And apparently, the person doesn't seem to notice you as well. So your shoulders collide and you stumble, umbrella falling out of your hand and fast quick steps to regain your balance. 

"I'm so sorry! Are you al-" The man rushes to apologize, but his words get stuck in his throat as he takes in who he just, quite literally, stumbled into. 

Rain has hit you mercilessly, soaking you from head to toe within seconds as you stand there, paralyzed. "Baek…Baekhyun?" 

His eyes are wide and mouth slightly open in shock as he doesn't know what to say or do. 

He hasn't seen or talked to you in at least nine or ten months for sure. What is he even supposed to say? "Yeah… it's- it's surely been a while" he dumbly answers. "Ah! Your umbrella!" Baekhyun rushes to pick it up and hold it over your figure. 

But the damage is already done. 

You're shivering, dripping with water but still you've a tiny smile on your lips at the sight of him. 

You delicately take hold of the handle, fingers gently enclosing around the man's hand. 

He doesn't move to let go, just standing there and staring into your eyes. "I-" 

You cut him off by mistake with a sneeze, the cold creeping in deep. It feels like your bones might freeze, grasp around both Baekhyun's hand and the handle of your umbrella tightening, muscles contracting to desperately stay warm. "S-Sorry for interrupting you" You say, teeth clattering and eyes averting. 

"No no don't worry about it!" He insists, "but we should get you home, your hand is cold as ice, Y/N" 

"Ah… you're right" You nod and he flashes you a warm smile. 

"Do you still live in the same apartment or did you move?" Baekhyun asks, back to being concerned about your wellbeing now. 

"I- I still live in the same place" You reply, your free hand holding onto your jacket for warmth, but in vain. 

"That's too far away, my place is way closer" He objects and gently pulls you along, "come on, let's get you freshened up before you really get sick" 

You only manage an awkward nod and let him lead you along, a surprisingly pleasant silence engulfing you two. 

—

Baekhyun unlocks the door to his apartment and firstly puts both of your umbrellas away, taking off his wet shoes in the process and you follow along. 

"Come on, I'll show you the bathroom" He says and you tag after him. 

He opens the door, turns on the light and quickly pulls out two towels for you. "You can just use my shampoo, I don't have anything suitable here for you, sor-" 

"Thank you" you break his rambling. "You wouldn't need to do this, so thank you" 

Baekhyun smiles softly, although his eyes tell a different story. "I'll bring you some clothes in a bit, okay?" 

"Mhm" you nod and give him a curt bow before he leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. 

You waste no time in stepping out of your soaked clothes and into the shower. 

You set the water to a nice warm temperature and rinse off the cold first, feeling relieved. 

Then there's a knock. "Hey Y/N, I'm putting some clothes on top of the washing machine for you now" he announces before opening the door, doing as he said and then leaving just as quickly as he came. 

"Still the considerate guy he always was…" You mumble with a sad smile, old memories coming back to haunt your mind with sweet images of the two of you. Him always knocking before he'd enter a room you would be in to announce himself. 

You loved that about him, he was always mindful of others and you're happy to see it hasn't changed at all. 

—

You finished quickly and put on the clothes he gave you. Some boxers and a way too big on you, black shirt. You dried your hair as best as you could with the towel he gave you and made sure you don't look like a lion by patting down your hair a bit. 

"Baekhyun?" You timidly call out after opening the door a bit. 

"Yeah?" He replies and you hear his footsteps approach. "What is it?" 

"Uhm- Where to put my wet clothes?" You ask. 

"Oh- Hold on, I'll put them in the washing machine" He says with big eyes and opens the machine for you to put them in. "I'll dry them after they're washed so you can change back, alright?" 

You nod quickly and thank him quietly. He opens the machine and you put your clothes inside, him doing the rest. 

"So, uh-" 

"Do you want some water?" He quickly asks, ears flaring red as he avoids your eyes. 

"Sure" you squeak back and follow him into the kitchen. He gets a glass out of a cupboard and fills it with water before handing it to you. 

You nip at the liquid as Baekhyun leans against the countertop adjacent to you, eyes taking in your figure. 

He missed seeing you in his clothes, you always looked so good in them. He just missed you in general. 

The reason why the two of you broke up a year ago? 

Baekhyun remembers it all too well. 

It was a work related thing actually. The two of you worked in different shifts and barely saw each other, yet alone had time for any couple stuff. 

Free days? Spent alone or arguing about never seeing each other. 

And at one point you had said to just break up. In that moment Baekhyun felt like he was hit by lightning, body stiff and eyes wide. He couldn't believe what he heard. Baekhyun felt anxiety cursing through his veins as his brain processed your words.

You had told him that you wouldn't hate him, but that your situation at that time just didn't allow any dating. The two of you never had hard feelings about the outcome, but it was hard to suddenly go back to being alone. 

And now you're here, in his apartment, wearing his clothes and smelling just like him. He can't believe this is happening. 

"Uhm, so" You speak up after setting the glass down on the other counter behind you. Your hands come up to grab the surface besides your waist and you avoid the man's eyes. 

"Yes?" Baekhyun can't help the hopeful hint in his voice as he urges you to continue your thoughts. 

"How has life been for you?" 

A chuckle escaped his lips at your question, shoulders jumping up and down in the process before he answered. "It's been rather boring but nice, if you get what I mean? I found a different job and work from home now" 

You nod quietly, "I've also found a new job and my shifts are less hectic" 

"Have you… found someone new?" 

You halt at his inquiry, gears in your mind temporarily stopping and he seems to take the lacking answer the wrong way. A frown pulls at his normally friendly and soft expression, making him look grumpy and bothered. "I see" 

"No, no! I- I haven't found anyone!" You quickly say, "I just… I couldn't move on" 

His expression changes to a sad smile, although he's kind of glad you're still somehow his. "Me neither" 

You scoff lightly, a cheeky smirk suddenly on your face. "No wonder, nobody could put up with your annoying ass anyway" 

"Hey!" He exclaims in shock. 

"I'm joking, I'm joking!" You insist, holding your stomach and laughing. "You're bearable most of the time" 

"That doesn't make it any better!" Baekhyun whines and you laugh out loud, hand flying up to cover your mouth. 

"Still the cocky little girl you've always been" He fires back and you snort. 

"Like you're one to talk" You roll your eyes at him and he exhales through his nose. 

His hands grab you by the collar of his shirt you're wearing and unexpectedly pull you into him. You squeal, hands shooting up to brace against his broad chest and you look up to be met by his cocky smile. "You never knew when to stop, no change at all there" he playfully nags. 

"Shut up" You weakly fight back. 

Baekhyun chuckles and you feel the rumble drumming against the palms of your hands. "How come you haven't moved on?" 

You lower your head, hands fumbling with his shirt. "Well… I came to the conclusion that just nobody could replace you. Nobody could love me like you did…" You mumble against his chest and Baekhyun feels a smile creeping up on his face. 

"I felt the same" He whispers back and his arms move to pull you into him more by your waist. 

After hearing that, you look back up at him with big eyes. "Really?" 

He nods and flashes you a bright smile. "Even though we fought a lot and barely had time for each other, I never stopped loving you" 

"Shut up" You almost whimper and move your hands to pull him closer by the back of his neck, lips meeting in the middle. 

Baekhyun's eyes almost fell out of their sockets before he came to his senses. 

One of his hands found its place on the back of your head as he moved his lips against yours with fervor. He greedily breathes you in, not wanting this to end as moves his mouth against yours. 

You shiver when his tongue meets yours and that's when you draw the line… for now. 

He chases after you for a second and you chuckle, dazed eyes meeting yours. "Slow down tiger" you say and peck the corner of his mouth. 

"Okay, okay" He smiles and pulls you in for a hug, "will you let me love you again?" 

"You bet" 

[propaganda-for-poets]

Bestie pls can I have some Chameron headcanons?? I'm desperate honestly it's a problem. You don't have to btw.

bestie. of course. my old newsies mutuals may have noticed that i do this thing where i enter a fandom and suddenly i can only talk about one specific ship, yeah that ship here happens to be chameron and i am always more than happy to talk about them.

let's just do some nice happy headcannons today bc a couple days ago i wrote a fic about charlie leaving welton and i've decided i officially need a break from angst, alright

IN FACT YOU KNOW WHAT let's make them post-welton !!!!!! y'know after all the poets including neil graduate and keating never gets fired as always since that is the canon ending of the movie, nothing bad happens ever.

okay so.

charlie and cameron have been rooming together since year 1, it's kinda the end of an era that they're now both supposed to move into separate apartments and they're both really sad about it but refuse to say anything

you think this wouldn't be a problem for two people who have been dating for a year and shared a dorm since they were children, so they can easily move in together, but this is charlie and cameron communication kings so obviously they're being stubborn and aren't saying anything

and they just spend their last weeks at welton all like

"yeah yeah i wonder who's gonna help you find your stuff when you're not living with me anymore,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,cause like you won't. in a few weeks you won't."

"come on stop studying and talk to me i'm bored" "well soon you won't be able to talk to me whenever you want. because i will be in a different place. like i'll no longer be around 24/7."

"you know you better treasure these last moments you get to see me. cause after we graduate who knows when you'll see me again,,,,," "okay, charlie that's a little dramatic, you're not leaving the country-" "i'll be gone, cam, very soon. forever." "you won't be-" "i mean god knows where i'll be-"

it ends up being charlie who asked (i wrote about that here !) and so we have charlie and cameron sharing an apartment :)

both of them get into harvard because,,, that's welton boys for you of course literally the entire school makes the ivy league. cameron's literally smart as shit he can make whatever school he wants and charlie,,, well charlie has a lot of money.

i'm kidding i'm kidding, charlie's no doofus and attending welton is already a good look for any university, charlie can definitely make harvard on his own if he could survive welton but y'know being filthy rich wasn't exactly a disadvantage

charlie will always show cameron off all like "my boyfriend goes to harvard you know !!!!!!!!" and cameron's like "char,,,, so do you,,,,,,,"

but y'all don't care about who goes where i'm aware of this, let's get into the apartment shenanigans

okay, sharing a dorm for years in welton definitely had its advantages because there's none of those annoying habits of someone's you only start noticing after you're under the same roof, like leaving their clothes on the floor or playing music too loudly, they're already aware of all that stuff, they don't care anymore

they do have their own rooms now, but it doesn't matter a lot because they keep just falling asleep together on the couch.

most of the time cameron will just wake up in the middle of the night and attempt to take charlie to his room but he's learned overtime that charlie will just whine and complain until he stays with him so he ends up just taking him to his own room in the first place

slowly it becomes less "cameron's room" and more "their room", the other room just kinda stays there.

cameron is a GOD TIER cook we'e been over this but somehow they only take advantage of that skill of his on really??? questionable occasions?????

like they'll order chinese from the place down the street for dinner but if cameron wakes up to find charlie in the kitchen at 3 am munching on a piece of toast he'll be like "okay let's make some onion soup."

midnight snacks are for amateurs. here we have midnight meals.

they bake together a lot, though. whenever they find time cameron will just whip out a recipe and they'll bake something together, and they'll be very couple-y and disgusting while doing it too

of course it always resorts in them making a big mess

"charlie. charie stop putting your hands in the brownie mix."

"okay, fine."

"charlie, your hand's still in there, stop it."

"or else what, what're you gonna d- WH- DID YOU JUST THROW AN EGG AT ME WHAT THE FUCK"

then they'll have to spend the entire afternoon cleaning up the kitchen

"what're you laughing about now, dalton?"

"you have flour on your cheek."

"and whose fault is that?"

"stop being annoying, you're cute right now"

"oh yeah?"

"mhm, yeah."

cameron overworks himself a lot and a lot of times charlie will get up late at night to find him still studying

he'll always go up to him like "cam, tf. it's four in the morning. come to bed."

"i just have to get this finished."

"well, okay, i'll just stay up with you until you go to sleep."

"charlie that's not healthy you need to-,,,,,,,,,,oh you're evil, dalton, threatening me with your own well-being."

"damn right i am, now go to sleep."

okay we all know charlie. we know how he is. so it's no surprise to anyone that it didn't take long for him to bring a random stray animal into the house

cameron just comes back from class to see charlie with a tiny ginger car.

"cam, you're back-"

"nope. not happening, take it back."

"hey, it is a she, and i love her now."

"no, no you don't, she's going back."

"i can't i'm attached to her! look at her! she's adorable, she's my new favorite ginger."

",,,,,, okay now she's definitely going back."

she did not go back.

charlie named her arabella and cameron insisted she was annoying and always wanted attention and wouldn't let him study

"hey, you said the exact same things about me and you love me now, give her time!"

"i don't love you right now."

"well, i love you a lot. and i love her too, she's part of the house now."

",,,,,,,god, fine, you're lucky you're my weakness. i'll tolerate her."

one time charlie returned from class to find cameron sleeping on the couch with arabella on his lap.

he never hears the end of it once he's awake

"so, how's hating her going for you, richard?"

"shut up, she's warm."

"so you no longer despise my cat? because she's warm?"

"first of all she's our cat i don't clean cat fur all over the house for her to be your cat and,,,, she's not all that bad."

[theonewiththefanfics]

Because Hearts Get Broken - Loving Is The Antidote (Part 3/3)

Because Hearts Get Broken Part 3 :) read the first two on my masterlist 

Synopsis: Overcoming fears is not an easy thing, but maybe it’s worth a shot if the ending leads to happiness. 

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: kinda angsty, mostly fluffy and SHMUTTYYYYYYYYY

Warnings: SMUT!!! (so beware, this is kinda sweet, but oh so filthy; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), m going down on f, slight fingering etc), swearing

Word count: 5895

Y/N had never been so nervous while getting ready for a show. She liked to be front-row, right by the stage to feel as close to the music as possible, the energy of the crowd filling her up and making her buzz with excitement, even hours after the concert was done. 

        The thing was – with when they started dating and then with the pandemic shutting everything down in spring, Y/N had never seen Harry live. Sure, he’d given her private concerts, had sung her any song she wanted, but this was different. Somehow, even though there were more people, it felt more intimate because this wasn’t just him lulling Y/N to sleep. This was Harry baring part of his soul to the world, and doing it with such ease, it made her heart ache.

        The venue was small, at least compared to the arena sizes Y/N knew he typically performed at. There were around 100ish or so people, and the line was quite quick to move. 

        She told the woman with the clipboard her name and provided some ID. The list wasn’t that long, and it took her barely two seconds to spot the name, as she smiled and gave Y/N a nod.

        “I’ll have Bert escort you to the backstage if you’ll just follow him, please.”

        “Could I actually watch from the crowd?” Y/N asked biting her lip. “I love being a part of it, you know. Feel the energy and stuff.”

        “Uh, sure.” The woman gave her an uncertain look. “It’s just that Mr Styles asked for you to be brought backstage, and umm…”

        “If Harry says anything,” Y/N put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “I’ll deal with it. Please, don’t worry too much. Unless he wants a kidnapping charge, he’ll deal with the fact that I’m inside the venue.”

        And that seemed to do the trick, as the girl, visibly relaxed and even laughed a bit, handing Y/N back her ID and motioning with her head to go inside. 

        Small tables had been set up, and each one could house four people at a time. Most of them had already been taken and given how she didn’t want to draw any attention, Y/N decided to take one of the tables at the very back, a pillar half obscuring the stage and with that – her face. 

        The enthusiasm was palpable in the air, and people were chattering away, anticipating the moment Harry with his band would walk onto the stage. A waitress came up to her, asking if she wanted anything to eat or drink.

        “And your name, please? To set up a tab.”

        “Y/N Y/L/N.”

        “Oh,” her eyes went a bit wide. “Um, no need to pay then.”

        Her brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

        “We’ve been told that anything you order should be put on Mr Sty – “

        “Mr Styles tab,” Y/N finished the sentence with a chuckle. “Yeah. Okay… well, is it possible for you to not say anything to him and let me pay for my drinks?”

        “I – “ she shrugged. “I guess?”

        “Just the G&T please.”

        The waitress nodded and clicked her pen, still seemingly unsure about what to do, but ultimately deciding to go with what Y/N asked. “Coming right up.”

        The lights dimmed, and Y/N’s attention was brought to the stage, where she saw Harry, Sarah, Mitch, Adam, Naomi and Charlotte appear and take their places, as applause and cheers became their background music.

        He looked good, very good, in fact. His brown hair was the typical messy mop on top of his head, the signature pearl necklace around his neck, while he sported the soft rainbow cardigan, a sharp-looking high neck button-up, and black slacks, with black boots.

        “Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Harry started, and it made a collective chuckle rise into the air. He could post a fleeting comment on Instagram saying he was having a concert in three minutes, and there’d be ten thousand fans waiting for him. “When ‘Save the Children’ reached out to us and asked if we could help them raise some donations, we immediately hopped on the idea, and it warms our hearts seeing so many of you here, and the fact that you’re supporting their cause.”

        Loud cheers immediately exploded, and Y/N obviously joined in. 

        “All proceeds for the tickets made today will go to them, as will any other donations you decide to give, so, I hope you do, and let’s get the show going.”

        That was Sarah’s cue to hit her drumsticks together three times, as the notes of ‘Golden’ rattled the air.

        Seeing Harry in his element was nothing short of electric. Although he was sitting down, and most of the songs he sang were acoustic versions, it was dazzling to see the passion seep out of his body and into the lyrics he'd composed. 

        Throughout most of it, his green eyes kept scanning over the gathered people, while flitting to see what was happening behind the curtain, and it made Y/N sort of giddy, thinking that he might be trying to find her.

        Because in truth, he was. When Harry had arrived, he was all nerves and jitters, which had never happened before a show. Well, never before had Y/N come to one of his shows, so there was also that. 

        All throughout prep, he was waiting for someone from the staff to come up to him and tell him his girl had come, but no one did, until like five minutes before he was supposed to perform, a breathless woman, who seemed so nervous she was about to pass out, had tapped him on the shoulder.

        “Is she here?” Now he was the breathless one. 

        “Uh, yeah, Y/N arrived a little while ago.”

        His forehead creased in confusion. “Then, where is she? No one came to inform me.”

        “I’m so sorry Mr Styles, but she asked to be allowed into the crowd, she uh… didn’t wanna be taken backstage.”

        “Oh.”

        That was literally all he could manage, as his heart dropped. “Well… at least she’s here.” He gave the assistant a smile. “Thank you. I uh, I hope you’ll enjoy the show.”

        Then it was call-time, and he had to gather himself as he walked on the small podium, taking his place by the mic, and beginning the concert.

        After each song, he scanned the gathered people, in hopes of seeing Y/N’s face, but she had hidden really well, and when he’d looked to the sides, wishing to see her frame standing there, he had to remind himself, that she was there, and he still had to fulfil a little surprise, which he hoped she’d like.

“You know when writing… songs are inspired by many things, but just like with books you reread, they can get new meanings and make you feel different than before. So, although I had no clue this person existed when I wrote this song, the second I met her, I knew it was about her. She’s uh, she’s here tonight.”

Y/N’s head snapped up from where she’d been propping it against her hand so hard, she was sure she heard a bone crack.

        No.

        Fucking.

        Way.

        “So, I’d like to end this small get together and dedicate it to her. And I know this isn’t one of her favourite songs,” Harry let out a small laugh, Sarah mimicking it behind the drums. “She told me she’s kind of sick of it, given how it was all over the radio at one point, but uh, I hope that maybe, she - uh - she just listens to the words, and knows I mean it.”

        Y/N didn’t even need the first chord to be played to know what song he meant. ‘Adore You’. 

        During their quarantine, she’d jokingly said if it played one more time on the radio, she’d have to break up with him.

        He’d yanked her down on the couch, nose nuzzling into her hair. “ ‘N why’s that? Thought you liked my singing.”

        “I do,” Y/N wove her fingers into his locks and massaged at his scalp, making Harry let out a satisfied groan. “I just don’t wanna hear you sing about loving and adoring someone that ain’t me.”

        A playful smirk pressed against her skin. “Jealous, are we?”

        “No,” Y/N shrugged pinching his side. “Jus’ tired of the song.”

        “Don’t worry.” He brought his face from where he’d hidden it by her shoulder and turned hers to face him. “From now on, whenever I’ll sing it, I’ll sing it for you. You’re the only person I wanna love and adore.”

        “What about Gem and your mum.”

        A disgusted look passed over his features. “Not in that way!”

        “Harry!” Y/N slapped his arm as both of them dissolved into laughter. 

        “You don’t have to say you love me,” he sung, breaking her out of the trance, “you don’t have to say nothing, you don’t have to say you’re mine.”

        She’d never hated the song, never meant it when she’d said that, and could never be mad at Harry for having written out his feelings, woven them into notes and masterfully put it together for others to hear.

        It was a weird notion to Y/N though, knowing everyone in the world could hear how he’d loved someone so much, but that was just because of her own inability to properly express her feelings. Yet now, listening to him sing that song for her, made her chest hurt.

        Thankfully Y/N wasn’t the only one sniffling in the audience, so she wasn’t standing out that much. She was kind of scared that Harry might look over and others would connect the dots, but he didn’t, not really at least. His green eyes scanned the people, but mostly he kept his gaze on the floor, as if afraid of what reaction everyone would have as the song ended.

        “Thank you,” he muttered into the microphone the cheers morphed into ovations, while he pressed his fingers against his lips and ‘sent’ the kiss to the audience before retreating backstage with his band in tow. As people started to filter out, groups heading down the street while others lingered in hopes of catching a glimpse or having a word with Harry, Y/N waited by the table, finishing off her drink before moving towards the backstage. 

        “I uh.” She showed one of the security guards her ID. “I was told I can come backstage?”

        The burly man looked down at the woman next to him, who much like the assistant before had a clipboard. When she found Y/N’s name she looked up and smiled. “Right this way.”

        They wove through the small walkways, as people rushed back and forth, coiling up wires, dismantling the drum-set and carefully placing the instruments in their boxes for them to be put in the van.

        “He’ll be back here in a minute,” the representative said, opening up a door where Harry’s name was plastered on, letting her step in, and Y/N nodded, pulling her jumper sleeves down her palms.

        It was a nervous habit of hers, having switched over from biting her nails to plucking at loose threads of clothing to now pulling at them. Harry had been the one to help her get rid of the biting.

        “How am I supposed to paint your nails, if you rip them off?”

        Y/N had scoffed shoving him a bit. “You have your own nails to paint.”

        “Yes, but I wanna make your pretty too.”

        “You telling me I ain’t pretty enough for you?”

        “No, I think you’re gorgeous, but,” he’d leaned closer to her, so close she could feel his teeth graze her earlobe, “I do love it when I can see marks on my back in the morning.”

        Y/N let out a shaky breath, as butterflies tumbled through her stomach. Three minutes of anticipation and the door clicked open, making her whip around and come face to face with Harry.

        “Hey,” he breathed out. “I uh I didn’t really think you’d come, but I’m really happy you did.”

        Y/N shrugged toeing at the ground and smoothing her hands against her thighs. “I’ll always do everything I can to support you. Being together is not a condition in my book for making sure you’re alright and happy.”

        “Did you uh – di –“

        “Did I hear the song?” she interrupted him, and Harry visibly gulped nodding. 

        “Yeah.” It was barely a whisper, her eyes cast down, noticing how his foot was tapping an irregular rhythm.

        “And?”

        “And?” Y/N let out a chuckle before leaning down to the couch and grabbing a pillow. “How! Dare! You!” she yelled, hitting his arm with it. “You think you can just do that, you think you can dedicate a song – a fucking love song – to me and get away with it? You think you can just be sweet and nice and so fucking loving and not make me fall in love with you more? And – and – and you just think you can do that?! And make me feel things?”

        Harry’s smile was blinding, as he grabbed the pillow, throwing it onto the sofa, and eliminating the two remaining steps between the two, hands on her waist, forehead to hers, as Y/N huffed seeing the smirk bloom even more on his lips. “I made you feel things, huh?”

        “Yes,” she grumbled crossing her arms in front of her chest, but in no way was she attempting to push away from him, actually relishing his touch and warmth, and his skin against hers. “You did. And I hate you for that.”

        “Do ya really, dove?” He was smiling wider than before.

        Her nose brushed against his. “Very much so.”

        “I love you too. So much.”

        “You sure you want to take a chance on me?” Y/N had to ask. “It’s – I can’t promise it’ll be easy.”

        “Love’s not supposed to be easy. And you’re worth it. You’re worth everything to me.”

        “Okay then…” She had to suppress the cry that threatened to break out of her throat by clearing it.  “But on one condition,” Y/N stated with all seriousness. “You give me a proper shag right here, right now, because I’ve missed you so much, I won’t be able to wait until home.”

“Fuck, dove!” Harry groaned and cupped her cheeks, pulling her lips to his. “They’re gonna ban me from here,” Harry muttered against Y/N’s mouth, trying to wiggle out of the cardigan.

        “Then let’s give them a reason,” Y/N hummed against his lips, as her fingers, shaky but still nimble, undid the first button to his high-collared shirt. 

        Down and down, they went until the planes of his chest and stomach were exposed, and she could indulge herself by letting her palms and nails rake over the skin and the tattoos.

        “Wanna taste you,” Harry gasped pulling away for a breath of air. “Haven’t had you in so long, wanna feel you cum on my tongue.”

        Y/N’s eyes rolled to the back of her head from his words alone, and given how she didn’t trust her voice to not shake, she nodded her head, helping him get her boots off, toeing the socks with them and then shimmying out of her jeans.

        Her bottom half was practically naked when Harry pulled her by the thighs, legs around his waist and lowered her on the shabby sofa. Her mind was so hazy from all the love and pleasure, Y/N didn’t even care about how it probably hadn’t had a good deep clean in ages.

        Skilful hands lifted up her jumper, exposing the tank underneath. Harry raised his eyebrow. “How many layers do you have on? I want you��naked.”

        “It’s fucking winter in New York.” Y/N helped him remove the piece of clothing he found so offensive. “Did you want me to come in just lingerie and freeze my tits off?”

        He hummed before looking up. “Speaking of tits? Can I see ‘em?”

         “Maybe. If you eat me out first.”

        “Deal.” 

        The thing was, as much as Harry wanted to dive right into it, he was feeling mischievous, so he decided to drag out the process as much as possible. Hands caressing her sides, he lifted the shirt so he could press kisses to her stomach, leaving invisible marks of love with every step of the way, and he grinned to himself hearing Y/N’s breath hitch as he reached her underwear.

        There was an embarrassingly large wet spot, and Harry pressed his hips against the couch to somewhat minimise the pain he was starting to feel. He was not gonna blow a load in his pants when he finally got to be with Y/N again. 

        “Can I take 'em off?” Harry murmured, leaving a fluttery press of his mouth against her hipbone, while she viciously nodded. 

        Quickly he pressed a kiss to the spot he’d soon be able to see unclothed, and it made Y/N jerk, but fuck she was eager, pupils blown so much there was nothing left of her usual Y/E/C eyes, but two black abysses.

        Harry’s were quite the same, as the green had turned dark jade, and even that was a small ringlet around his intense gaze.

        “Do not!” She pointed a finger at him, and Harry stopped mid-motion, just as he was going to pocket her panties. “I won’t go commando while wearing jeans.”

        “But –“

        “It’s not you who’ll chafe.”

        Harry huffed, and put them on the side of the couch. “Fine. But just so you know, you’re very boring and are ruining all the fun.”

        “At least I won’t have to deal with a yeast infection.”

        He couldn’t argue with that, running his hands over her thighs. “Fair enough. But you owe me a kiss.”

        “Come here, you doofus,” she grabbed at the open lapels of his shirt and pulled him down, arms looping around his broad shoulder to have his chest pressed against hers and bring their lips back together. 

        For a couple of minutes, they let their tongues dance in the familiar rhythm. There were no teeth clashing, no foreheads bumping or biting. Despite both of their eagerness, they’d decided to revel in being together, so each kiss was experienced to the fullest.

        “Better?” she asked, completely out of breath, as they pulled apart. 

        “Yeah.” Harry smiled, mind a blissed-out haze. “Now, where were we?”

        She couldn’t really think straight either, so her only response was a lift of her hips.

        “Right,” he sighed and slipped a delicate hand down her tummy and along the inside of her legs.  “God, I missed being here.” And slowly his head joined where he was brushing the sensitive skin of the apex of her thighs.

        “Harry!” she dragged out his name, as his fingers just kept skimming her skin, and when she thought they’d slip past her folds, he dragged them back to the inner thigh. “Stop teasing!” Y/N had her hands over her eyes. 

        “Why?” he smirked, kissing right around the place she wanted his lips on, but not on it. “It’s fun. Payback for everything you put me through.”

        “Harry, I swear if you don’t put your tongue in me, I’ll put my foot through your face.”

        He lifted her legs up, and then over his shoulders, caging her hips in with his arms. “Not if I do that.”

        “Just – fuck! You’re such a bully!” Y/N laughed. 

        “Are you telling me, I’m being mean to my girlfriend, the love of my life, owner of my heart and soul?” he asked, leaning his cheek to rest against the inside of her thigh, and she wove her fingers into his hair.

        “Well, if you don’t do anything, it’s gonna be ex-girlfriend again.”

        Harry narrowed his eyes. “Look who’s being a bully now.”

        “But – just – please!” she whined. “Please, I need it so bad.”

        “Need what?”

        “Ugh, you’re such a menace!” Y/N pretty much yelled and leaned to rest herself on her elbows, catching Harry’s eyes to keep a direct gaze. “I need your tongue so far up my cunt, that by the end of it all, your neck is covered in my cum. Happy now?”

        His grin was wicked. “Very.”

        That seemed to do the trick, as he lowered his head, and with closed eyes like a wine taster, finally attached his mouth to where Y/N had been craving him for so long. A deep sigh of relief passed her lips, and she threw her head back against the couch cushion, savouring the feeling of what was happening to her. 

        “Did you eat pineapples before coming?” Harry asked, replacing his tongue with two of his fingers; they slipped in without any resistance with how wet she was. “Taste… sweet.”

        “Had a fruit salad for dinner,” she moaned as he leaned back in and licked a broad stripe. “Didn’t have anything else in the fridge.”

        “That’s not proper dinner. Pizza afterwards?”

        Y/N hummed as he sucked on her clit. “Domino’s?”

        Harry linked his fingers through hers and brought their intertwined hands to rest on her stomach. “Whatever you want.”

        “Isn’t this kind of cheating for you though?” she let out a choked-back laugh, and with furrowed brows, he detached himself from her core.

        “What’dya mean?”

        “You’re having dessert first.”

        The singer threw his head back with a cackle. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat my veggies. But let me finish having my fruit first.”

        It was like he’d been starved of her, and in a way, Harry definitely had been. For almost three months, a quarter of a year, he hadn’t felt Y/N’s touch, hadn’t tasted her, nor pretty much heard the sounds she made.

        All he’d been left with was one last good-bye, a kiss given in a passion induced haze, and the one-sentence she’d recorded for her voicemail box, and well, let’s just say – Harry was more than happy to feel her hands let go of his and grasp onto his hair, to drink up everything she offered and listen to all of the moans Y/N was no longer depriving him of. It was heaven, to say the least.

        “ ‘M not gonna last long,” she gasped, yanking at his hair, making him moan into her, the vibrations only adding to the already intense pleasure that was coursing through her veins.

        Harry released her clit with a small pop. “Don’t want you to last long. Want you to cum and do it like you said you would – soak me all the way down to my neck.”

        A second later, he had his mouth around her clit again, ten seconds later, her whole body seized up, the air got stuck at the back of her throat, as her eyes rolled to the back, and her back arched up from the couch so far Harry almost lost his hold on Y/N’s waist.

        It was through a fog she heard Harry speak, and it took all of her willpower to focus on understanding what he was saying.

        “Hey, come back to me, dove,” he whispered, gentle palms coming to hold Y/N’s face, and he intently watched her eyelids flutter, body still going through the aftershocks of orgasm. “Come back, dove.”

        “Mhmm,” she let out a soft sigh, leaning her face more into Harry’s touch before opening her eyes and giving him a fucked-out smile. 

        “You good there?”

        The words ‘the best’ were pretty much a slur, but Harry understood them, eyes twinkling. “Take my top off.”

        “What?”

        She quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t you wanna see my tits?”

        “Yeah,” Harry laughed. “I did – do. Very much so. Gonna let me?”

        “Just take my top off.” 

        Pressing a chaste kiss to her lips, where she could taste herself (and much like Harry had said – she did taste sweet), he practically ripped the tank top off, and with a little help from Y/N who stretched her back, the bra came off as well, revealing her in her full naked glory.

        “So beautiful,” he uttered in a soft voice. “Still so bloody gorgeous. Should kick myself for ever letting you go even for a second.”

        A little piece of her heart broke at Harry’s statement. “Wasn’t your fault.”

        “Maybe.” He dragged a hand between her breasts and watched as Y/N’s breathing went ragged. “Maybe not. All I know is, I shouldn’t have let you leave.”

        “Then don’t let me. Please.”

        It was the tears in her eyes which made him lean down and give her an open-mouthed kiss, tongue twisting against hers, promising that whatever happened, whatever insecurities came their way, he wouldn’t ever let go. 

        “Take these off,” Y/N said, popping open the button to his slack, and even that small motion made Harry release a groan of relief, as some of the pressure was taken off his painfully hard dick. “Wanna have you inside me.”

        “Dove, you’ll kill me with that mouth of yours.”

        “I’d rather you raw me than die.”

        “ ‘S not my fault you’ve got such a dirty mouth.”

        He’d managed to kick off his shoes, and shimmy the trousers down, now lying in a pile on the floor, while Y/N had fully removed his shirt and had thrown it somewhere across the room, itching to just have him pressed against her. 

        “Condom,” Harry hissed when Y/N’s hand slipped behind his briefs and grabbed him at the base, twisting her palm the way he liked, and slowly moving it up so she could press her thumb against the sensitive tip. “Condom – shit – Y/N,  I wanna cum, but not that quick.”

        “Nuhu,” she shook her head, wrapping her legs around his waist, both her hands going to the back of his underwear and dragging them down, not before squeezing his ass. “I said I want you to raw me.”

        If Harry was going to bust a nut before, now it took him literally biting on his lip and closing his eyes for a minute to gather composure.

        “Wait no!” Y/N suddenly sat upright as he was going to lean down, almost knocking her forehead to his nose.

        “What? What’s wrong?”

        “Nothing, I just wanna blow you.”

        “I –,“ he stammered, “you – fuck. Okay. As much as I love that idea, because believe me I do, you’ll have to do it later, ‘cause I’m just about ready to cum.”

        Y/N’s brows furrowed, hand reaching for his hard member, Harry having to stop her midway. “But – you just gave me such good head. I wanna give some to you too.”

        “I will literally cum just from you talking if you don’t stop, but I really wanna fuck you, so will you please just let me?”

        “Okay,” Y/N nodded leaning back down and reaching for Harry to lay over her. “But you’ll let me stuff my face with your cock after?”

        “Jesus Christ.”

        “ ‘S not fun being teased, is it?” Y/N grinned, biting on his earlobe, as Harry took himself and lined up with her entrance, letting the tip nudge against her clit.

        “Yes well,” he took in a breath, slowly sinking in, “if you giving me a blowjob is your form of revenge, I might have to piss you off more.”

        That was a suggestion Y/N was happy to take him up on, as long as it got Harry inside her. 

        He was being very gentle, very much so aware of how sensitive she still was from her previous orgasm, and all he wanted to do was make her feel as good as possible, so he stilled half-way in, but Y/N shook her head.

        “More,” she whimpered.

         “Don’t wanna hurt you,” he muttered against her lips, legs shaking from how much pleasure he was already having, but still very much so attuned to what Y/N’s body was telling him, yet she seemed to not be having any of it.

        “Harry if you don’t get inside me right up to your balls, I will get myself off in front of you, and leave you high and dry.”

        “Now that,” he looked at her pointedly, “just won’t do.” And with those words, he sank deeper, just as Y/N had requested until he’d bottomed out.

        All the air had been choked out of her lungs from the sensation, and not only did Harry have to wait for a second for her to adjust (and to compose himself somewhat), but also for Y/N to take in a breath.

        “Breathe, dove,” he let out a small laugh, and it made Y/N reciprocate, her chest rattling with uneven intakes. “Said I didn’t wanna hurt you, let alone kill you.”

        “ ‘S not my fault your dick’s massive.”

        “Do I hear complaining?”

        “No, just stating a fact.”

        “Well, I’ll be taking that as a compliment.” He smoothed away some strands of hair, letting the two of them just lay there for a moment, to relish in the normalcy of the situation and how amazing it was to be back together, emotionally, mentally, and physically.

        Harry left kisses all over Y/N’s face as she calmed down, lips skimming over her cheeks, then down her jawline, up her chin to give a peck on the lips before kissing the tip of her nose and the bridge, then each of her eyelids and then the forehead before slipping to soothe at her temples. “You alright?” He checked in, a thumb stroking her cheek. “Do you want some water maybe?”

        “No,” she shook her head, her own palms on a never-stopping motion on his back, up and down, and then circling against Harry’s sides. “Jus’ needed a second to gather myself. ‘S been a while.”

        “So, you haven’t gotten with anyone while we – “

        Y/N raised an eyebrow as his question trickled off. “Do you really wanna know if I’ve had sex with anyone? Right now? With your dick all the way in my vagina?”

        “Hey! STDs are a real thing!”

        “Harry, if I was, I would’ve told you before all of this. And not just because of health risks…”

        And that made something in his chest bloom. This certain hope, he’d felt get extinguished when Y/N had broken it off, but that had been quite the pest in his mind. The hope that was the reason he’d tried so hard to talk to her both on New Year’s and then the week prior – the hope, that Y/N did trust him enough to open up, and that if he just gave her the time, she’d do so without inhibitions.

        Her answer confirmed it to Harry. He had no rights to know what her sex life was like when they weren’t together, he wasn’t her keeper, but the fact that she’d implied, she would’ve let him know regardless, that Y/N so wholeheartedly trusted him with such intimate information made that hope blossom into a glowing flower.

        “I haven’t been with anyone either,” his tone was sincere. “I – I couldn’t. I tried to, but I just couldn’t take it that far, because every time I opened my eyes… it wasn’t you staring back at me.”

        “Haz…” tears gleamed on Y/N’s bottom lashes, and when they fell, he gently wiped them away. “I’m sorry.”

        “No.” He shook his head. “None of that. It was a good thing. Because we’re here, right now, right this second, and it’s you I’m with, and it’s you I wanted. Needed. So, none of that.”

        “I just – “

        “I know,” he said and pressed his forehead against hers. “I know.”

        “Okay… I – “ she took in a breath. “I think you can move now.”

        “You sure?”

        “Mhm,” Y/N hummed. “Just take it slow at first.”

        Harry’s head fell into the crook of her neck. “I’ll take care of you. Promise. Just tell me if it hurts, and we’ll stop.”

        “You could never hurt me.”

        And as much as her statement made his insides all warm and fuzzy, Harry still moved gently. Slowly he rolled his hips into hers and took in the small moan that left Y/N’s throat. Then once more, and more, and more until he’d set a bruising pace, pounding into her so much, the table next to the sofa shook with the force.

        “Fuck, Haz.” It was a breathless whimper, her nails digging oh so deliciously into his back, leaving crescent moon marks for him to admire later. “Feels so good. So deep.”

        “And you’re so tight,” he grunted, placing a hand on her lower stomach and pushing down until he could feel himself moving inside of Y/N. “Taking me so fucking well.”

        One of his palms came to rest by her head, and the other took the arm of the couch, giving Harry the chance to lean into her even more and finally hit that spot that made all thought leave her head, and all breaths come in short gasps, while she desperately tried to hold onto reality by digging her nails in his biceps.

        Not that Harry was fairing any better. With every thrust and stroke, he was slowly coming closer to letting go, to finally getting that release he craved and painting Y/N’s core with his cum, but before that, he just had to, if only to prove to himself he could, get her off one more time. 

        His palm slipped down from the armrest of the couch, over Y/N’s collarbones, squeezing her breast before finding its way between them to rub circles over her clit.

        “Ah, shit,” he moaned, looking at where his cock was disappearing into her, wetness spilling and sticking to his lower abdomen and thighs. “Fuck, dove, I need you to come.”

        “ ‘M almost there,” she gasped. “Don’t stop rubbing.”

        He didn’t, instead, increasing the pace, and he felt her clench more and more until there was pretty much no way for him to move and that pushed both of them over the edge.

        It was an explosion of fireworks without a sound, as bright colours came to life behind their eyelids, but all the noise became non-existent, the most euphoric feeling in the world seemed to replace their blood and replenish their souls with love.

        But funnily enough, even though Y/N was the one who’d had two mind-blowing orgasms, it seemed Harry was having a harder time coming down from the high, as he was still shaking, his whole body racked by tremors, hair sticking to his sweat-slicked skin.

        “Come back to me, Haz.” Y/N kissed his eyelids just like he’d done to her. “Come back. ‘S alright.”

        “Nuhu,” he shook his head, laughter rumbling through his chest and reverberating into hers. “I think you’ve killed me. Absolutely bloody murdered me.”

        “Guess I gotta hide your body then.” She smiled, letting her hands roam his back and soothe the pain her nails had left.

        “Good thing you’re obsessed with all those crime shows.”

        “Gotta get some useful skills somehow.”

        Loud banging against the door made the two jump, and Harry whipped his head towards it.

        “Are you two done fucking?” Sarah hollered. “ ‘Cause there are people here who’d like to change and get something to eat.”

        “What’dya say?” Harry raised an eyebrow at Y/N. “Pizza?”

        “You did promise dinner.”

        “I did.” He kissed her. God, he was never going to get tired of kissing her. And luckily, Y/N was there to stay.

        “Great.” She smiled. “And after that, I’ll get my desert.”

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N:..... I need a cold shower, yall. Didn’t intend for it to get that explicit, but oh well :D 

P.S. my tags are always open :)

[creativia10]

Janus in Intrusive Thoughts

What if Janus was there during Intrusive Thoughts? Pairing: Janus x Remus

Word count: 1427

Warnings: Innuendos, Suggestive Themes

Notes: I don't know what this is. It was just fun. I had the urge to write this. Not to be taken too seriously. Also posted on my AO3. Let me know if I've missed anything.

Janus stretched his multiple limbs in the background. They were all distracted with dear Remus’ appearance, they didn’t even notice he was there. Which was perfectly fine with him. He was just there to watch the drama unfold anyways.

He lounged in a chair in the background, that he summoned, and sipped his wine. He didn’t have a particular desired outcome from this, despite having prompted Remus to reveal himself to Thomas (although he did have exasperatedly explain he did not mean to go in the nude). It was fun to be included in his little cameo in Remus’ song intro though. Every time he looked over to Roman on the ground, he couldn’t help but snort. Ah, sibling dynamics. So, Janus was literally just sitting there, commenting and reacting to Remus’ shenanigans, not even bothering to try and seem inconspicuous. They were literally too distracted to notice.

Then, he perked up when Logan mentioned the only way it would be faking it was if Thomas were to actually do something and then lie about it. Which prompted Remus to say,

“Oo, how fun. You know who could help us with that?” Remus said with a little shoulder wiggle. Janus’ theme song played during that. Janus rolled his eyes. Well, he didn’t need further prompting. As Thomas started to protest, Janus suddenly appeared next to Remus.

“Oh dear, if you wanted my company you simply needed to say so. ” Everyone balked. Thomas held his head and groaned. Virgil glared at him. Patton looked around in concern. Roman mumbled something, and Logan simply looked annoyed.

Remus gave him an unhinged smile. Janus pointedly did not look.

“You aren’t even part of this.” Virgil sneered. Janus simply shrugged.

“Oh I know, I’m just here. Not really going to participate unless needed.”

Virgil looked at him suspiciously. Remus clapped his hands excitedly.

"Oo, Dark side buddy! Now I have someone to actively innuendo while I’m here!”

Janus sighed, already starting to regret this, but not moving. Partly due to pride. They all seemed to just keep looking back and forth between Remus and Janus in surprise.

“What, no comment Dee-Dee?”

“When have I ever said you could call me that?”

“You haven’t said that I couldn’t!”

Janus simply hmmed and pretended to check his nails, as though he weren’t wearing gloves. Because he was just like that.

Patton hesitated,

“Uh…do we continue?”

Thomas sighed. Virgil kept darting his eyes between the dark duo and Thomas. Remus simply smiled and leaned his chin onto Janus shoulder, Janus pretended not to react. Remus wiggled a bit against him. Janus sighed. He was not blushing from everyone watching. If anyone were to ask, he would blame Remus. Blaming Remus was always a good plan. It didn’t hurt that Remus usually didn’t mind.

Thomas twisted up his face, seeming unsure how to react to the two of them, especially with how Remus was being with Janus.

They somehow tried to continue, as Thomas and Virgil had deigned this important to resolve. It was clear everyone else’s attention was divided though, at the atmosphere had drastically changed from the moment Janus appeared, despite him not doing anything for the current conflict.

“I’m sorry, this is very distracting. Can we get him out of here?” Virgil asked, gesturing at Deceit.

Janus rolled his eyes and waved his hand, obscuring his appearance.

The others blinked at his sudden seeming disappearance.

Remus snorted.

“Oh, Dee-Dee. That’s not gonna help. Don’t think I’ll stop touching you just cause they can’t see you anymore.” To which Remus wrapped his arms around Janus, looking like he was hugging air. He moved his hands lower, like he was about to imitate a physical innuendo, but Janus reappeared and pushed his arms away.

“That’sss unnecesssary.” Janus turned completely towards Remus as he said that so the others in the room wouldn’t see his returning blush. Remus simply smiled and laughed again.

Somehow, they jumped back into things. Patton barreled back into it as though to keep from another distraction to come about before they could help Thomas. Remus returned to his spot against Janus. He continued his shenanigans almost as though he wasn’t practically leaning on Janus. Janus was, more subtly reacting to the drama unfolding around him. Virgil pointedly glanced at Janus when he asked about if Thomas was lying, despite Janus not saying anything on the matter. Janus almost wasn’t sure why he wasn’t doing more. It totally wasn’t because of the distraction of Remus’ warm body pressed up against him. No, of course not at all.

Remus had definitely calmed down since Janus showed up as well. Even when Remus went through other transformations, he was still touching Janus in some way. It didn’t really make sense with what they were trying to do, but whatever. Janus knew fully well he could leave at any time. He was only there to watch this unfold, after all. Totally.

Janus pointedly sighed and stepped away, not looking as Remus started to undress before Logan clarified his wording, having known where Remus would go with that.

He hmmed when Remus revealed his name, tempted to say something about a lack of drama in withholding his name, if he hadn’t just witnessed all the crazy stuff Remus had been doing that episode, like an entire song intro that was so totally extra. Fitting for a creativity.

Janus sighed when Remus screamed to distract them as they got closer to a resolution. At one point, not long after, Remus leaned in, not even bothering to keep his lips from touching Janus’ ear as he whispered,

“Watch this.” Right before he disappeared, only to jump out before Logan could stop them with,

“Nails on a chalkboard!”

Janus didn’t jump and then snort. Nope. Things started to calm down eventually. Boring. As it seemed some of them were about to sink out, Janus prepared to as well.

“Well, that all certainly seemed exciting,” Janus started. Remus snorted.

“Oh, exciting?” Remus stepped over, to where Roman would have room to get up now. “You haven’t seen exciting yet. You know I could do more,” He said with another shoulder wiggle and suggestive eyebrows.

Janus waved a hand at that.

“Oh please, that’s unnecessary. You don’t want to draw this out too much, there’s a sense of good tension. Some creativities are good with that. So, I think I shall take my leave, it’s a good moment for it, before all the mushy stuff."

Remus pouted at him. “Aww, we didn’t even get to make out in front of everyone though! Voyeurism, you know?”

Janus suddenly sunk out at that, into his room. His face was burning as he glared at nothing, fists at his side. A few moments later,

“Oh Jaaaaanuus~”Janus sighed as he felt Remus sidle up to him again. He touched him way more this time, and Janus felt the weird slide of Remus’ tentacles against him as well, starting to prod and play with Janus’ clothes.

“Remus,” Janus said simply.

“Were you impressed~ with my introduction~?” Remus asked.“

In case you couldn’t tell, I don’t often say if I’m impressed by something,” Janus said. Remus growled and pushed himself even closer. Janus couldn’t withhold his shiver, sure the other was smirking.

“Aw, Jan~” He faux whined, then leaned in to say into his ear, “You know that whole thing got me really riled~ up.” He wiggled against Janus again. Janus feigned a sigh and smiled as he said,

“Like that really takes much.” He turned around and they both grinned at each other.

“You get on from mischief just as much as me,” Remus said.

“I will say nothing on the first part of that statement.”

“Mhmm.”

“Are you satisfied? Even though they think they beat you?”

“Oh, I don’t know about satisfied. I just found myself driven towards my snaky even more.”

Janus rolled his eyes again, but he was still smiling.

“You see me all the time.”

“Hm, so? Today was still fun, you must admit.”

“Hm perhaps. Even though they thought they ‘won’?”

“Eh,” Remus shrugged. “I was more for chaos, which still happened, so I don’t really care.” Remus grabbed Janus’ hand and dragged him toward the bed.

“But now I need to get this excitement out of my system, who better than with the chaotic side.”

“Chaotic? I don’t know if I can agree to that.”

“Mm, you’re more of a reserved chaos.”

“Hmm, I suppose.”

and with that Remus pushed Janus onto the bed, their strange banter continuing.

[afoolnottoloveu]

moonlight ♡

Summary: Spencer wants to go to sleep, but Reader doesn’t wanna break tradition (WC: 1.6k) {Masterlist <3}

Pairing: Spencer Reid x (intended she/her but technically gender neutral)!Reader (could be read as platonic or romantic!!)

TW: none!

A/N: i was supposed to post this on the 29th.. we dont talk about it its okay its fine everythings all good, I ALMOST FORGOT thank you to gracie for beta reading this!! she’s the first one on the taglist at the end if you wanna check out her amazing work as well mwah, n e ways enjoy :0

Playlist Pairing: it’s not a singular song this time, listen to the inspo playlist here! 🌘

_

You rushed up the stairs, praying to some deity that you would catch him before he sent himself to bed or was too immersed in some book to answer the door. JJ had called you 7 hours ago, so it wasn’t surprising that you somehow didn’t notice the time passing, plus the fact you had to get gas for your little trip.

Rapping at the door insistently, you were delightfully startled when Spencer opened the door only a few moments later. He was still in his work slacks and button up but tie-less. A quick glance behind him and you could see he had been making himself tea, and the satchel by his feet couldn’t have been dropped more than 10 minutes ago.

“Peanut?”

You were too elated that you had caught him to respond, instead opting to attach yourself to his torso. “You’re back! Oh my gosh, I was so worried you wouldn’t make it back in time, but luckily JJ called me that you were getting back today, but that was over like 7 hours ago, and then I got worried I wouldn’t make it here before you went to bed--” you rambled, but Spencer quickly brought you back down to Earth by removing you from his torso.

“Y/N! What’re you doing here?”

“We’re going on a drive, duh!” you said, before grabbing his wrist and making it halfway out the door before being pulled back.

“Now? I just got home from two back-to-back cases, and it’s almost midnight.”

“Spence, we can’t break tradition now! Unless Mr. Eidetic Memory forgot what tomorrow is--” you interrupt yourself with a very exaggerated gasp, earning an eye roll from Spencer.

“Of course I know what tomorrow is but--” Knowing he would only go on and on to list reasons why he shouldn’t come with you, you used your last resort, the “puppy dog eyes.” All Spencer did was stare at you, both of you knowing fully well that he was capable of resisting, but he didn’t like to. After a whole minute of unnecessary intense staring at each other, Spencer let out a groan and turned around to walk away, which you thought meant that he was going to bed. Instead, you were pleasantly surprised when you heard him half-yell from across his apartment, “I’m just getting my keys!” You squealed excitedly, knowing what was ahead of you both that night.

~

Your car was small, a basic silver Toyota corolla you named Carrie. She smelled of gas and was decked out with teddy bear head pillows and keychains that you asked Spencer to buy, hanging from the rearview mirror, (but only from the cool states). You even kept a tan knitted blanket in Carrie, which Spencer was now wrapped in.

You couldn’t help but notice Spencer’s infatuation with the moon tonight, as he took a long sip from one of his two cups of hot cocoa you guys had picked up on the way.

“Is it a full moon?”

“No,” he said--not in a rude way, just quietly and quickly, like he didn’t want to take his focus away from the moon or it might disappear.

So, you let him be. He was most likely tired, and despite tomorrow, which most people would be restless for, he probably just wanted rest. You almost felt guilty, but your tradition was important to you, and you could only hope that it was important to him as well. 

“Did you know the full moon is one of the most powerful symbols in astrology? It can represent one’s emotional instincts, habits and private aspects of one’s personality. It’s said that while the sun sign of someone represents their head, their moon sign represents their heart. Though, most astrologists say the moon is heavily compulsion-based. Similarly, someone’s sun sign depicts their actions, but their moon sign depicts their reactions,” he told you, still gazing, almost longingly at the moon.

“I didn’t take you for an astrology type of guy, Doctor.”

“I have knowledge in many areas, Y/N, I thought you knew this by now.” You snickered at the understatement. “If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression of something beautiful, but annihilating,” he quoted.

“Plath--are you flirting with me, Doc?”

“Never, peanut.”

You rolled both your eyes and the windows of your car. Hopefully the blanket and cocoa was enough to warm him. All you wanted was to not blow out his eardrums as you turned up the music. Night Changes by One Direction was playing, and you reminisced on the fact that he originally had never heard of the band, causing your binge session, which consisted of watching their documentary and listening to all 5 of their albums straight. He told you he thought they were okay and he saw the appeal. What he didn’t tell you was that his favorite album was Midnight Memories, but if the way he was humming along to the song now was any evidence, you could’ve been a profiler.

You two listened to your playlist, made specially for the tradition, (Spencer insisted you always pick the music on these trips, since you weren’t very interested in classical piano) and besides the melodies, a comfortable silence encompassed the car for the most of the ride. As the road started to incline and your destination started getting near, you broke it.

“Can you believe-” you started, earning Spencer’s gaze from the sudden conversation, “Can you believe the audacity the calendar has, to change dates in the middle of the night, just like that, while we’re sleeping?” Spencer couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled out from him. “Like tomorrow… You’re gonna wake up and, and you’re gonna be one year older.” When you said this, you couldn’t help but steal a look at him. He wasn’t making eye contact, just fidgeting with his fingers, but the small smile was there.

“Just like that,” you finished, as you pulled onto the edge of a hill. 

When you showed up at his apartment the night you got your driver’s license, you found this spot. This was your guys’ cliff. The one you guys found on accident, when your car ran out of gas on your first night of the tradition. The same one you guys have had a handful of picnics at and late night rambles about both of your favorite things. Covered in the blanket of light that the moon so graciously provided, it was perfect, and it was both of yours.

Parked atop the hill, you turned off the car and turned to Spencer, who went back to admiring the stars. You were just about to tell him that you would be right back, but you decided he was a little busy, and so you quickly shuffled to grab the box he wasn’t aware was hiding in the trunk.

He finally noticed your disappearance when you came back with a lavender gift box in your lap and an excited smile on your face. “Oh Y/N, you know you didn’t--”

“Save it, Spence. Just open your gift,” you demanded, shoving it into his arms and the smile on your face only lingering. He rarely received real gifts, only for Christmas. You were essentially his only non work friend, and he told everyone at work that he never wanted nor needed anything.

He repeatedly blinked, yet carefully removed the lid. He first saw the small brown envelope which contained a gift card for the local coffee shop near his apartment. Underneath that and the matching lavender tissue paper, he found a tie of no other color than purple and two pairs of socks, one of colorful stripes and the other of baby tardises. (You knew nothing about Doctor Who, but he appreciated the references.) The whole time smiles adorned both your faces. The last item was a copy of The Alchemist. It was one of the main books you two had bonded over, and only a few weeks ago, someone had spilled coffee on their copy. Spencer was against buying another one, saying he could literally recite it in his head word for word if he ever wanted to again, but you stubbornly insisted that it didn’t have the same sentiment, (and of course you were right).

He took the book out the box and held it by the spine as he flitted through the pages, taking note of the annotations, your annotations. When done, he closed it and only opened the cover, finding your heartfelt message. 

Dear old dear old Spence,

I know you’re probably gonna read this in .02 seconds, and probably right in front of me at that. Unless we broke tradition. But I trust that I convinced you. (It was the eyes, wasn’t it?) Regardless, I wanted to wish my very, very best friend a happy birthday. You alone are so strong for going through all that you’ve gone through, stuff that no one should have to even imagine. You are one of the strongest people I know. You need to know that I’m proud of you, Spencer. I’m beyond grateful for you, for having such a caring, resilient, and just incredible friend as you. I hope I don’t need to remind you that I will be here for you, through anything and everything. See you in 500 years :)

Love, with all my heart, Peanut

In only a handful of seconds, he shut the cover once again, and the happiness (and slight gleam) in his eyes became painstakingly evident. “This is your copy?” He asked, mostly rhetorically, because he knew it was. At this point, he was lightly sniffling between words. “Thank- thank you, peanut,” 

“It’s no problem Doc,” you smiled and lightly punched him on the shoulder, “happy birthday, Spencer. I’m glad we didn’t break tradition.” And by the look on his face, well- you were no profiler, but you could safely assume that he was just as glad.

-

Taglist: @bxbyspxncer @goldenxreid @prettyboy-reid @rottenearly @rainsong01

[violetnotez]

hello!! how are u today? i hope youre well💖 may i request a baku crushing on a girl who is native eng speaker, but has never heard her speak. however one day the whole class is watching some eng movie n y/n starts dissing the movie in eng bc its so bad n the whole class is sHOCKED BC HER VOICE IS SO FLUENT N SM DEEPER IN ENG. bakubabe is just there like damn thats hot.

Hey babes! I’m doing well thank you, just doing some stuffs for my art blog! I hope youre doing well 💕💕also thank you to @gallickingun for the mangacap, it saved me so much time and I was actually able to color it! 😍

Also: IM ALIVE!!!! I LITERALLY WROTE THIS TODAY AND OMG I MISS WIRITNG! I’ll start on that Dabi x reader fic I mentioned in a little bit, just wanted to post this! Hopefully it’s good lmao

⤷ Genre: Fluff

⤷ Word Count: 2020

⤷ Warnings: cursing its bakubabe

⤷ Synopsis: Bakugo won’t admit it to himself, but he’s conflicted: he knows he has a crush on you, but his dumbass won’t admit it-well, until he hears your sexy American voice.

Song Recs: ⤷If I Cant Have You-Shawn Mendes⤷Thinking About You-Calvin Harris ⤷Rather Be-Clean Bandit

This was so stupid. Completely dumb and a waste of his time.

Bakugo slumped in his seat a little more, a grumble escaping his lips as he tried to focus on the screen in front of him, his broad shoulders crossed in front of him.

He should be sleeping right now, not sitting and watching this dumbass romantic American movie, especially when you were by his side.

There was no reason why his cheeks should feel hotter when you laughed at the movie, or his hands feel clammy with his sweat everytime you shifted your body closer to him.

It was pissing him off, because no matter how much he tried to ignore the pent up emotions in his chest, he had to admit it to himself-he had a goddamn crush.

On you, the goddamn exchange student.

Fucking great.

His lips pouted as he sulked in his seat on the couch, trying his best to glue his eyes to the screen instead of sneaking a glance at your profile.

The TV showed one of the most sickly sweet and horrific scenes he had ever witnessed: the main couple on screen were finally declaring their love to each other, their voices getting louder and more desperate as they tried to one up each other, almost as if battling to see who could last the longest.

“I love you to the moon!”

“I love you to the moon and back!”

“I love you to the moon and all the stars in the sky!”

“And I love you to-“

A laugh erupted next to him, Bakugo swiveling his head over to see you giggling in your seat, your pretty lips parted as those sweet sounds came from your mouth.

“God, this is terrible!” You chuckled, shaking your head as you said it.

Bakugo’s face reddened, his eyes widening from the sounds coming from your mouth.

Your sentence wasn’t in Japanese: it was foreign and new, American sounding.

Bakugo was used to your voice sounding light and airy when you talked in Japanese, like a leaf on a autumn breeze as it floated into his ears and danced in his mind whenever you spoke his native language. Sometimes you would fumble over the words, trying to piece the meanings together as a blush formed on your cheeks and your eyes turned up from embarrassment. He always made fun of you from it, usually telling you to “Spit it out Baka, I don’t got all day”, but really-he absolutely loved it. You sounded so sweet, so innocent and endearing: he just wanted to wrap you in a hug and envelope himself in your sugar sweet voice.

But right now, your voice was somehow the opposite-it was deeper and richer, like warm,auburn honey on a summer evening. It coated his mind in its thick numbness, the only thing he could think of was how deep and sultry, and well, sexy, it sounded coming from your lips.

He squirmed in his seat, hating how much that little change in your tone affected him so much as you continued to giggle at the wreck of a movie in front of you.

Your class turned to look at you, their faces clearly as shocked as Bakugo’s-they had never actually heard your voice when you spoke English, and they weren’t quite used to it.

You looked at your classmates, your face twisted in innocent confusion.

“What? What did I say?” You asked again in that sultry American voice, making Bakugo shift in his seat, his face looking away from you as he covered his mouth with his hand.

Damn you needed to get that voice under control-he felt like you were controlling his emotions when you spoke like that.

“Whoa y/n you know English!” Kamianri propped himself up, his face clearly in awe as he yelled it out the words.

Sero, who was sitting beside him, chuckled at his air headed friend, giving him a judging look.

“Uh, you do realize she’s from America, right?” Sero snickered, Kamianri looking sheepish as he realized his forgetfulness.

“Oops, Sorry!” He yelled out again, earning a laugh from you and the rest of your classmates.

Jealousy bubbled inside Bakugo like a volcanic eruption, the dangerous emotion barely being contained inside him as his fists clenched.

He hated when others made you laugh, especially his freinds, who unfortunately figured out the crush he had on you a few weeks back. Hearing you giggle at his idiot friends made him want to yell out in possession, declaring that they should know that you were his-well would be his- and they should lay off. But you didn’t suspect a thing about his feelings, and he really didn’t feel like looking like a possessive freak in front of you.

He felt your body shift next to his, his heart beating faster as your finger tapped his shoulder.

“Hey, Uh, Bakugo?” You whispered, the sweet tone of your Japanese voice making him shudder pleasantly, as well as long for your deeper American voice.

He grunted in response, his arms still slung across his broad chest.

“Did I talk in my American voice?”

He scoffed, his eyes rolling in his sockets at how adorably oblivious you could be sometimes. He sent you a shit eating smirk, his vermillion eyes dark like wine.

“What do you think?” He stated, but he didn’t say it in his language, no-he said it English.

He watched your face instantly light up, your eyes bright with excitement and awe as you gasped.

“Wait-you know English?!” You yelled out in awe, a smile erupting on your face. That smile seemed to shake his world, his mind eternally thanking that the room was so dark as his cheeks flushed.

“Of course I know English,” he scoffed, “what idiot doesnt.”

You giggled at his comment, your body shifting closer to his.

Damn it, his cheeks were getting hotter-he could feel your shoulder a mere centimeters away from his, your skin radiating a coolness that felt so soothing being near his permanently hot flesh.

You leaned in closer, your eyes watching his face with sweetness. “How long have you been speaking it?” you asked, but in that hot ass American voice-he was about to combust right then and there.

Shit-he would never admit it, but he hadn’t been exactly practicing his second language. He had learned it back in middle school, when it was a required class, and he had passed it with flying colors of course. Over the years though, he began to forget it, and he was pretty rusty now, now only remembering a few phrases (‘What do you think?’ being one of them)

“Ahh-“ he grumbled out, feeling stupid for not even understanding what you had said. He felt those pretty eyes of yours continue to stare at him, making him feel almost guilty for leading you on as you face fell slightly.

“You didn’t understand what I said, did you?” You asked sadly, back to using your airy Japanese voice. He hated seeing you look so disappointed, as if he let you down in some way.

“Of course I do, dumbass, I just-“

“It’s been awhile since you spoken it?”

He grunted in reply, your mind already translating that to a “Yes.”

Your face somehow light up again, your body even closer to his as you shimmied yourself near him.

“Then I’ll reteach you it!”

“Huh?” He looked at you, his eyes slanted as you peered at you with an almost judging look. What the hell were you playing at?

You nodded again, your lips letting out a slight hum.

“Yeah, I’ll teach you a phrase in English! To be honest, I miss having someone to talk to in my language…” you chuckled at your revelation, your eyes coated in embarrassment.

Well shit-if you needed someone to talk to in English, he was going to be the one to do it. With his damn luck Icy Hot and damn Deku would jump in and be your little English buddy. His skin crawled at the idea of you getting all cozy with one of those two bastards, his insides light up like a fire.

“Fine,” he huffed out, pretending like he was giving in, “but I’m not sitting through a whole damn lesson.”

You chuckled slightly, brushing a piece of hair behind your ears.

“Don’t worry, I’ll start off easy,” you smiled up at him, looking up slightly as if in thought.

“We’ll start with a something easy,” you instructed.

“I’ll teach you-“your sweet Japanese voice suddenly turned rich like syrup as it switched to American. ‘Hi my name is Bakugo”,

“Easy enough?” You asked, switching back to Japanese.

“Fucking elementary,” he scoffed, “yeah I can do it.”

“Cool!” You exclaimed quietly, still mindful of your classmates watching the crappy movie. You shimmied again, your face squarely staring at his as you waited for him to start speaking, your eyes expecting and wide with anticipation.

Shit he was supposed to be paying attention?

Bakugo cursed himself in his mind, as he was too preoccupied listening to your hot as hell American accent.

Damn, he was going to have a hard time talking to you in English, especially if you said his name like that. He hadn't realized how mezmorized he was by the way you spoke his name, your voice low and sultry as if you were telling him a secret, something he was only able to hear. His spine tingled and his hands clammed up again, making his mouth feel dry.

Shit, you’d be the end of him.

He opened his mouth, feeling uncharacteristically nervous as he tried to speak the words you had spoken. He could barely remember how you had said them though, the syllables coming out his mouth feeling cracked and awkward.

“H-hi my n-ame is...shit!” He cursed at himself, hating the way the words felt in his mouth. He couldn't say them right, knowing full well he looked like an idiot as his cheeks began to redden.

He heard you giggle next to him, the voice sounding sweet and kind against his ear.

“It okay,” you reassured him, “your just opening your mouth a little too wide...here-“

Before he could register what was even going on, your hand had wrapped delicately around his jaw, the floral scent of your perfume swarming his mind and making him unable to think straight. Your digits were pressing against his hot cheeks, forcing his lips to pout out slightly.

Damn, if he thought he was blushing, it was nothing compared to this-it felt like his cheeks were on fire.

You laughed at his clearly shocked face, his vermillion eyes wide and filled with confusion.

“Don’t worry, Bakugo, I’m just helping you,” you reassured him, your voice feathery as you whispered close to his ear.

Why the hell did that sound so hot?

You sent him another smile, speaking again in Japanese and then back to English, “Just say- ‘Hi my name is Bakugo’,”

he continued to star at you, actually beginning to like the feel your digits pressed against his mouth.

He swallowed, trying to coat his dry mouth with saliva.

“Hi-my name-is-Bakugo,” he stuttered out.

He wouldn’t ever say it out loud, but he had to admit it-his English voice did sound much better with your fingers pressed against his cheeks like that.

You clearly noticed it as well, your face triumphant and proud. “There ya go, that sounded so much better!” You congratulated him, your fingers retracting from his skin.

He already missed the feeling of your cold skin against his hot flesh, his cheeks feeling empty without your digits pressing against them.

He sucked the flesh of his cheeks into his mouth, moving his jaw.

“Shitty woman-need to give me a warning-“ he scolded you, his hands feeling clammy with the sudden change in events.

You rolled your eyes, lying yourself against the couch cushions and returning your gaze to the TV.

“Well, your going to have to get used to it if I’m going to teach you more-“

“Teach me more?!?” He practically yelled out, gaining a few confusing looks from his classmates.

“Of course!” you smiled as if it was obvious, “need to make sure your fluent enough for a conversation dumbie!”

“It’s also fun seeing you blush like that Bakugo,” you playfully nudged his ribcage, sending him a wink as you turned your gaze to the movie, unaware of how flustered you just made him.

Well shit-he thought numbly, a small grin playing against his mouth-you were something else.

Taggings:

@weebartistinc​ @orokayagi​ @leeeah-loooser​ @bakarinnie​

[keanureevesisbae]

Coach Cavill - Chapter 7

Summary: Amelia is about to go on her first date with coach Cavill

Coach!Henry Cavill x Amelia Jung (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: None

A/N: To celebrate the fact that I am done with school for a while, I thought I’d post (part one of) their date with you! I hope you like it 💕 please let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

Within an hour I had to dress up to look splendid that Friday, because I didn’t want Dean to see how beautiful I was going to look. Maybe the stress dressing up under sixty minutes also had to do with the poor state of my planning today, but we are simply going to ignore that.

The entire week I have been looking forward to this. During the training yesterday, Henry kept stealing glances from me, after he made me a wonderful cup of cappuccino. It’s weird really, how head over heels I’m becoming, in just a matter of a little more than a week.

While everything Dean was exciting and somehow terrifying, since he was mysterious and a little hard to get, this instant connection I have with Henry feels so safe and familiar. I can’t stop thinking about him, to a point where Ricky, Annabelle and the rest of the little ones in my class kept asking me if I was doing okay. However, they figured out pretty soon I was a bit in love and now they continue to make kissy sounds during the day.

‘You look fucking hot,’ Eve says, as she brushes through my hair. ‘Lucky mister Henry Cavill.’

‘Is it too much?’ I ask, as I smooth down my tight dark blue dress, that Isabella insisted on me wearing and it’s a good fit: I mean, it accentuates the few curves I have. I look down at the matching high heels and sigh deeply. ‘It’s too much,’ I conclude.

‘No, honey, it’s not too much. You look beautiful and I know that Henry will think so too. Besides, he is already smitten with you, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.’

I let out a sigh again. ‘It’s just that I’m nervous. How long has it been since I had my last first date?’

‘When you were nineteen,’ Eve answers my rhetorical question. ‘I know that, but that went well too and since Henry is an absolute angel, this date will go without a hitch, I can guarentee. And besides, you have done things much more terrifying than this. You went to South Korea, debuted in a girl group. A full one eighty in career choices when you got here, went on a date with the mysterious hottie Dean, somehow made that work. Plus, you were a total bad ass and gave birth to Isabella on your own, who was breeched.’

I roll my eyes. ‘I highly doubt you can compare giving birth to a first date.’

‘What I want to make clear to you, is that you are fierce and awesome and Henry knows that too.’ Eve and I both yelp when the doorbell rings. ‘Your future husband is here.’

‘Shut up,’ I say, as we walk down the stairs. She stuffs something in my clutch and hands it to me. ‘What on earth did you put in here?’ I hiss, as I grab my coat from the rack.

‘A condom.’

I halt all my movements. ‘You did what?’

‘Better to be safe than sorry.’

Before I can tell her off and that I’m really not going to have sex with Henry on the first date, she pushes me to the door and I quickly put on my coat, before I open the door.

I’m hit with the realization that I’m going on a date with the most beautiful man on this planet. He looks illegally handsome, with his nice suit jacket hanging open, that matches with his black pants. He is wearing a white blouse, nicely tucked into his pants and the tease has the two top buttons open and the sight of his chest (and the chest hair) is making my mouth dry.

‘Wow,’ he says with a beautiful smile, ‘you look beautiful, Amelia.’

This is going to kill me. How am I supposed to survive this entire night? ‘It’s not too much?’ I ask, just to be sure and first date jitters taking the upper hand.

He shakes his head. ‘This is exactly right.’

I turn to Eve, who is holding in a squeal. After being friends with her for so long, I know every facial expression. ‘Only call me if it is a matter of life or death,’ I tell her.

‘Have I ever called you when it was not important?’ I cock an eyebrow and she nods. ‘Right, I have done that before. I’m sorry. Won’t do it tonight, promise.’

‘Very good. Please, don’t wait up and don’t sit on the front porch with the twins, because I know you three want to do that.’

Eve slaps me on my ass, before I step out of the house and I sincerely hope that Henry hasn’t seen that. From the looks of it seems like he hasn’t seen that, but maybe he is just polite and doesn’t show me he has seen it. ‘Don’t look back,’ I tell Henry, as we walk towards his truck. ‘She’ll embarrass either one of us if we do so.’

Henry can’t help but laugh and he opens the door of his truck. ‘Do I have to give you a boost or can you manage?’

‘Oh shut up,’ I chuckle as I get in the car, after I took his hand. ‘Because I’m short, I have developed cat woman like skills. You should see me in the classroom, when I have to grab something from the top shelf.’

‘I’ll believe that right away.’ He closes the door and I wave to Eve, who nods approvingly and gestures something about how firm his butt looks. I mean, I can only agree to that, but once again, sure as hell hope he hasn’t seen any of that.

Henry gets in the truck and before he puts the key in the ignition, he looks to the side, meeting my eyes. ‘What?’ I ask him.

‘You look breathtaking,’ he whispers, almost as if he doesn’t want me to hear this compliment.

I’m at a loss for words. ‘Oh,’ I manage to choke out. ‘Thanks…’

He clears his throat. ‘I’m just a little nervous.’

‘What? Why? If someone should be nervous, it’s me. One, I’m going on a date with you and two, my last first date was sixteen years ago.’

He chuckles, but he sounds really nervous. ‘Well, mine might’ve not been that long ago… But I have never been on a date with someone like you.’

‘Do you mean that in a good way or…?’

Henry’s eyes widen. ‘In a good way, of course,’ he hastily says. ‘It’s more that you are way out of my league.’

What? ‘I think I was hallucinating. What?’

‘I mean, have you even seen yourself? You are admirable, in any way.’

Is this how it feels when your heart not only is figuratively melting, but also literally? ‘Oh.’

‘You are truly one of a kind, Amelia and I sure hope I meet up to what you deserve.’

Okay, I’m officially blanking. What are words?

Henry smiles and starts the car. ‘I hope you like the place I booked. I heard some pretty good things about it.’

✰ ✰ ✰

Leave it to Henry fucking Cavill to not only book a spot at my favorite restaurant here in town, but also to have a secluded spot that I didn’t know was here. We sit on the patio, a heater pointed at us to keep us warm, as we look over the lake. We are surrounded by romantic Christmas lights, as we sit next to each other on the soft couch. His arm is resting on the back, his thumb softly drawing circles on my shoulder.

He hands me a glass of wine and I can’t help but melt a bit against his frame. ‘You did amazing,’ I say. ‘I really like this spot. I never even knew it was here. How did you discover this?’

‘I might’ve had some help from Greg.’

‘Convenient store Greg?’ I ask. ‘You two becoming friends?’

‘Yeah, I’m there quite a lot. He sometimes watches Kal when I’m not home for too long of a time. Annabelle constantly tells him that she loves Kal, so that’s a plus.’

‘Annabelle is in my class,’ I say. ‘A true angel. A cheeky one, but she is such a delight to have in class.’

Henry smiles, taking a sip of his wine. We’re still waiting for our food to arrive, but the wine will do just fine for now. ‘It’s quite the one eighty, to go from a K-Pop idol to a kindergarten teacher.’

‘Oh, you have no idea,’ I chuckle. ‘It was so weird, to go from that hectic world, fans screaming your name, photoshoot here, there, dance practice and just never not busy, back to Luna Meadows, where every second seems to tick at least three times. I had to spend three months in the barn in the back of my parents yard, to simply talk with Eve and Johnny, getting used to this pace again. It was nice to be back here though, since this will always be my home.’

He nods. ‘So, you come back to Luna Meadows when you were eighteen, go back to college and…’

‘And I met Dean, when I was nineteen, was twenty one when I had Benji, somehow got my degree and after I graduated, I married Dean.’

‘Wow,’ he says. ‘That is top tier multitasking.’

‘That’s what I thought so,’ I chuckle, taking a sip of my wine. ‘It was really important for me to finish college, because, I wanted to be able to provide for myself and even after I graduated, I worked three days a week. I’m not equipped to be a full-time house wife. I tried that for two months and then I became mad.’

Henry laughs. ‘And now you work full-time.’

‘I do, indeed. It’s the only way I can continue to pay for the house. I don’t want to move away from Eve and her baby sit service.’

He nods in agreement. ‘You are very lucky to have friends that care so much and do so much for you.’

‘I sure am,’ I say with a smile. I take another sip, before I ask: ‘What about you? Why did you leave Jersey to move here?’

‘I was a judo coach there and worked in a cafe. However, some family stuff happened and I had to get out of there.’ Henry clears his throat and shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, no, you don’t want to talk about it, I totally understand it. Just, tell me how you got into judo then.’ I turn a bit to the side and oh my, I can feel his strong body against mine, but weirdly enough it doesn’t make me nervous anymore.

‘Oh, that was something me and my grandpa had together. All of my brothers were into team sports, like lacrosse, football and rugby.’

My eyes widen. ‘You have brothers?’

‘Mhm, four,’ he says.

‘Your mom had five kids?’ I ask him.

He can’t stop his laugh. ‘She did.’

‘Mad respect,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to be too TMI, but I had to recover six years after I had Benji before I even thought about adding another one. Not the point, Amelia,’ I quickly realize letting out a soft chuckle. ‘Your brothers were into team sports.’

Henry nods, a smile evident on his lips. ‘My entire family was obsessed with everything team sport related, including us as a family. I liked to do things solo, just like my granddad and that’s how judo became our thing. My family supported me and judo, of course, but… I knew they didn’t really like the sport as much as my granddad and I liked it. When I was twenty, I was actually doing pretty well. Competing in national tournaments, even some international ones.’

I frown. ‘Why do I feel a however coming up?’ I ask him.

He snickers. ‘However, I broke my leg in three places when I was in the gym.’

‘Oh no,’ I say, as I shiver.

‘Yeah, it was pretty bad,’ he chuckles. ‘But judo was my life and I couldn’t just let it go, so I started to work as a trainer and coach, but I didn’t make enough money to provide for myself, so I also worked in a cafe.’

I nod. ‘And why did you choose Luna Meadows?’

He shrugs. ‘It just felt right. And that’s where I met the most amazing judoka I have ever seen. Benji is miles ahead of not only everyone here, but also to everyone I have ever encountered.’

‘Including you?’

‘Including me,’ he laughs. ‘He is amazing.’

‘That’s because he has some judo genes from his amazing mother,’ I chuckle, as I throw my hair over my shoulder. ‘I was quite something back in the days.’

He chuckles. ‘So, what does Isabella do?’

‘She is in a drama club. When she was younger, she would force Benji, Yara, Jake and Lola to be side characters in a play she made up, where she was the main character. She is overly dramatic and I figured that I would do the other kids a favor if I would put her in a drama club. Yara and she go every Tuesday, Wednesday and Sunday after school with Eve.’

‘It must be amazing to have a friend this close living to you.’

‘It does,’ I say, as I stare at my wine. ‘Made the whole divorce thing a whole lot better to handle.’

‘I imagine. Divorce is never easy.’

‘Experience or…?’ I carefully ask.

‘I was married,’ he says, ‘but the second we said ‘I do’, it was already a lost cause, really. Actually, we never really fit together.’

I take a sip of my wine, but I place my other hand on his strong leg. Normally I wouldn’t be this forward, but it feels so warm and comfortable. ‘Is she part of the reason that you had to leave Jersey?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, we were married from my twenty fifth to my twenty seventh.’

Okay, he doesn’t want to continue to talk about it and for some reason I can’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth. ‘You know, I never thought I’d go on a date again.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because everyone in this town knows that I got divorced and everyone had an opinion about it,’ I whisper. ‘You know, I wasn’t exactly the most loved. A lot of them thought it was my fault that Dean started to see someone else. I wasn’t a good enough wife, who didn’t love her husband enough.’

When I look up, I see that Henry has clenched his jaw, before taking a sip of his wine. ‘That’s bullshit.’

‘I know,’ I say mostly out of disbelieve. ‘But good things happen to good people and now I met you.’

‘Moving to Luna Meadows was a good move on my behalf.’

Our pasta arrives and I sit up a bit straighter. ‘This looks delicious,’ I say, twirling around my fork, to twist the spaghetti around it. ‘Henry Cavill, you sure know how to swoop a woman off her feet.’

Henry smiles, taking a bite of his pasta. It’s different than mine, but it looks delicious. I can see him ogling my plate as well and I guess the grass is indeed greener on the other side. ‘Here,’ I say, with a fork full of pasta. I hold it above my other hand, so I won’t spill something on any of us. I now realize that it might be weird to feed a grown man on our first date, but I can’t go back now.

‘You’re a natural,’ he chuckles, before taking a bite. ‘Oh, yours is really good. Want a bite of mine?’

‘Sure,’ I say with a blush creeping up on my cheeks. He is a little clumsy, but somehow manages to bring the fork to my lips, without it spilling on my dress. With his thumb he wipes the corner of my mouth clean. ‘Am I tasting some cinnamon?’

‘That was what I was thinking,’ he says. ‘I would never put cinnamon in my pasta, but it is really tasty and it actually works.’

‘I once accidentally added honey to the chicken and somehow it turned out to be pretty okay.’

‘Yeah, Benji told me you weren’t a great cook.’

I hide my face in my hands. ‘I may have burned quite a few meals in my kitchen. One time, for Thanksgiving, I attempted to cook for Eve and Johnny, because they were having a bit of a rough time, with Lola being admitted into the hospital and all. However, I burned the entire meal, the kitchen was filled with smoke and I had a complete meltdown. Isabella called my parents and somehow my mom saved the day.’

Henry’s shoulder shake as he laughs. ‘That would be quite the sight.’

‘Oh, it was terrible. Can you imagine if I was a full time housewife? I think I’d have the fire department on speed dial.’

I want to add something to this (believe me, I have tons of stories of me nearly burning down my place), but my phone starts to ring and I quickly open my clutch to check the screen.

It’s Eve.

Part of me doesn’t want to take it, but I know that she took her promise serious. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.

‘Please, take it,’ Henry encourages me, when he sees me hesitating.

I pick up and say: ‘Eve, this better be very important.’ However I don’t hear her voice, but I hear Benji yelling in the background and that is something I barely understand. ‘What’s wrong? Is everything okay?’

‘I have no idea,’ Eve manages to say. ‘Isabella is just sitting in the corner of your living room, not speaking at all.’ That can’t be good. ‘Benji is on the edge of losing it, but I feel like he is too much in a rage to listen to any of us and Dean is outside, trying to let himself in, but we locked the door. I’m really sorry to interrupt your date, but I feel like both of your kids need you right now.’

My heart sinks. ‘Oh no,’ I mumble. ‘I’m coming back.’

‘I hate dad,’ I hear Benji yell in the background. ‘I fucking hate him.’

‘Benji, please stop it!’ Lola pleads.

‘This is not working, man,’ Jake adds.

‘Mom, Isabella is crying,’ Yara says.

I hang up, shaking my head. ‘I’m so sorry, Henry, I have to get back. Something is really wrong and according to Eve, Benji is really close to losing it completely and Isabella is not talking, Dean is outside of my house…’

‘I heard it,’ he says, already standing up, holding up my coat. ‘Let me get you home.’

[xmint-conditionx]

☆ flanked ☆ prologue | knj

(verb) flank - 

guard or strengthen (a military force or position) from the side.

attack down or from the sides, or rake with gunfire from the sides.

☆ pairing: soldier!namjoon x widow!reader; namjoon x fem!reader ☆ word count: 2K ☆ summary: you’re a recently widowed military spouse who is stationed at camp walker, south korea. you’re dealing with the tragedy of your husband’s recent death, and in the process, you accidentally meet a k-pop idol you’ve had a crush on for years. who knew you’d both be at the same post while he’s doing his compulsory service? who knew he’d be so damn nice? who knew it would be impossible to get him out of your head? ☆ warnings: mentions of death, public embarrassment, military death, adult language ☆ a/n: hey everyone c:i’m really happy to be reuploading this fic; i’m going to set a goal of updating it once a month. this is my baby, and i want to do it right, so if it doesn’t come as predictably as i want it to, apologies in advance, but i really hope you enjoy what i have! 

this fic starts of intense and will only get more intense. i very much recommend double checking the warnings list because there’s gonna be some pretty heavy stuff in the prologue here and going forward. please do keep in mind that this is purely fiction and i do not want (most of) this to actually happen to anyone. it won’t all be sad though, promise! i mean it’s namjoon we’re talking about: the biggest goofball on the planet. there will be eventual smut, but we have to build up to it, now don’t we? thanks luv, enjoy!

Here you are, in the quaint little convenience store and dry cleaning shop right outside of post, on just another cloudy Winter Wednesday. However, today is a little different, because you have made it to the front of the line and have begun violently crying. Not one of those shedding a single tear cries, but a terrible cry that has taken hold of your entire body. A shaking, snot-faucet, fist-clenching cry. Nothing truly lamentable has happened, except for an inability to recall the Korean word for receipt. You’ve lived at Camp Walker for just shy of two years, so it’s safe to say your ineffectiveness in vocalizing your needs isn’t for lack of knowledge. Despite your quickly-grasped and quite thorough knowledge of the language, the overwhelming sadness and anger you possess about your situation somehow has evaporated away all your Hangul proficiency. Which has left you looking utterly incompetent. Of course a breakdown is in order. All you needed to do was pick up your dead husband’s dress blues for fucks sake, but you can’t remember how to speak and now you’re embarrassing yourself and wasting this poor lady’s time and why does this have to be so goddamn difficult.

The people behind you in line are now beginning to stare in a strange mix of confusion, concern, irritation, and apprehension. Perfect. You exit the line and begin sputtering out desperate attempts at the lost word, so entirely wrapped up in your own stupid brain that you fail to register the approach of a tall man in an American style ACU. A deep and calm voice eases out of the truly tree-sized man in front of you.

“Ma’am, do you need some help?” he asks.

Your vision is tear-ruined and the last thing you want is pity. Pity is exhausting. 

“Oh, you’re gonna help the poor little sad girl, huh?” you spit out at him, not even bothering to look up, “just tell me the fucking word for receipt please. That’s all I need.” 

Despite your downright rudeness, the man replies without hesitation. “Yeongsujeung. Are you sure that’s all I can help you with?” You look over towards the counter to see that the lady has begun helping other customers, and you really aren’t looking forward to waiting in line again. No pity, you remind yourself, so you shake your head at the man and meekly muster out a “gamsahabnida” as you stare at the floor, too embarrassed at your lack of composure to make eye contact with your new acquaintance. 

He just sighs and says, “Ma’am, would you mind if I stood in line for you? It might feel good if you sat down for a minute. I promise it’s not a hassle. I’m here to get my dry cleaning too.” 

Jesus Christ, what is this guy? Some kind of mind reader? Who is that observant? Or are you just that obvious? You really, really don’t want more help. That’s all people have been trying to do for the past week. Coming by your house with food, offering to walk your dog, so many informational pamphlets about therapy, every person saying that they can be a listening ear if you need it. But you don’t. You just want to be left alone already. Nothing anyone has said has been comforting, because they don’t actually know what it’s like. They just don’t get it. And it’s nice that they want to help and are actually trying, but fuck. It mostly just makes things worse. But your head hurts from the exertion of crying, and that’s all it takes to convince you that you might actually want to sit down.

You wipe your eyes and finally feel like you’re allowed to really breathe again. You look up at the kind man to thank him once more, this time more sincerely, and in that instant, you’re sure you’ve gone insane. That’s got to be it. The death of your husband has thrown you completely off your rocker. That’s the only explanation for what stands before you. You’ve finally had a full psychotic break and are currently hallucinating in the corner store. You’d honestly burst out laughing if your throat wasn’t raw, because standing in front of you is a man who looks remarkably like Kim Namjoon. 

You haven’t thought about this man in years, and his dark shorter haircut instead of his usual longer locks is probably the most confusing matter about the whole thing, oddly enough. You recall in your mind the photocard you have of him from when you bought one of their albums several years ago. The luscious long blonde hair in the photo is shockingly different to the style that he’s sporting now. If it weren’t for his signature dimple greeting you alongside his small sincere grin, you’d almost have never recognized him. 

Oh my god. And now you’re standing in front of him, and he’s standing in front of you, and he’s so much taller than you thought he would be, and you’re having a meltdown in a cornerstore, and he’s so much more handsome in person, and now you’re staring into each other's eyes and this can’t be happening. 

It can’t really be him. You’ve just gone completely mental. You know the leader of BTS began his compulsory military service about a year and a half ago, but the chances of you crossing paths is still nearly impossible. You begin to tell yourself that he’s just a doppelgänger and your recent distress and suffering has made your brain desperate for serotonin. It can’t really be him. You’re just crazy now. That would be easier to deal with, at least. 

You half don’t believe it’s him and half don’t want to believe it’s him. If it is him, you sure as hell don’t want to make the interaction any more weird than it’s already been. If it’s not him, you’d only be embarrassing yourself further. The best, and really, only course of action to take at this point, because you absolutely do not trust your words, is just to nod your head and avert your gaze as you walk to the little bench by the door. You try to focus your thoughts on literally anything other than your brain’s manifestation of a pop star. It almost doesn’t happen, but as peace comes, you mentally thank yourself for your long-time practice of mindfulness. It would have been an impossible task had you never done this before. By the time he gets to the front, you’ve successfully managed to calm down and focus on your breathing. You’ve got yourself convinced the man simply looks similar to Namjoon, and that’s it. Nothing to get worked up about.

As you rejoin the man, he greets you with another warm grin and gestures to the counter. Shit. Are you ready to talk again? He’s insisting you go first, and you notice the little dimple poke out again. His lips are so… pillowy. Oh god, are you staring? You shake loose of his grasp on you and in practically perfect Korean, apologize to the lady for before, tell her the last name and details on the order, and tell her you’re sorry about misplacing the receipt from drop off with the order number on it because it’s... been a really long week. She nods, seeming relieved you didn’t burst into tears again and goes in the back to search for your items. 

The tall serviceman next to you now speaks to you in Korean. “That was impressive. You’ve been here for a long time?” 

“Only two years.” 

“Well I suppose you really didn’t need my help then,” he says and chuckles a little. “I’m glad to see sitting down was able to help you relax.” 

The lady hands over the dry cleaning and you thank her. As you pay, tears begin to swell in your eyes again. You’re holding the things your husband will be buried in. You can’t stop yourself from picturing it all… the funeral, his cold body, whether you’ll have to hold a closed casket ceremony, his poor mom, how long the receiving line is going to be, whether he would want flowers or not, wondering if you’ll be able to put his little award stripes on his suit jacket in the right order or if you’re going to have to get help… again.

 Being so wrapped up in your thoughts, you don’t notice your new acquaintance giving the lady his ticket. He turns to you after she’s walked in the back. 

“Lucky husband, getting his dress uniform picked up for him. You really know how to spoil a man, huh?” The seemingly innocent comment shoots fire through your veins. The woman returns with his dry cleaning and they go through payment as you let the anger boil inside of you. He is oblivious to the metaphorical bombs going off inside your body. You stare a hole into the man’s head as you spit out “My husband is fucking dead.” 

You turn to leave and don’t look back, not giving him a chance to process your revelation. He makes the connection a moment too late, but he’s quick to catch up with you in the parking lot, this time speaking English. “Ma’am please let me apologize. I didn’t realize...” 

You continue walking to your car; you don’t want to look at him again. “I don’t need an apology from you. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Please, I had no idea. I was trying to make small talk; I never would have said that-“

You whir around and glare at him. You were done. “I get it, okay? Just stop feeling sorry for me already. I’m tired of it. Thank you for waiting in line for me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a fucking funeral to plan.” The words come flying out and with each new sentence, you see him recoil again and again. His eyes are full of remorse and... understanding? You hold his gaze longer than you wanted to, and time stands still. What are you doing?

You’re fumbling with your keys, trying to manage the electronic key fob to unlock your car. He takes this opportunity to scribble some words and numbers on a paper he has clumsily fished out of one of his many uniform pockets and extends it out to you. Is he really trying to give you his number right now?! You’d be really flattered that a man this attractive is making a pass at you, if you hadn’t, you know, just told him your husband fucking died. You furrow your brows and roll your eyes, ready to chew him out again. 

“Here, this is the name and address for a group therapy session on post for people who have gone through recent loss. We meet on Thursdays. I don’t know how much longer you’ll be in Korea, but you’d be welcome. I promise.”

You just stare at him dumbly, unable to process this information. Therapy? You’d been given so many pamphlets on loss that it made your head spin. The only thing that thoughts of therapy has done for you in the past week has brought up terrible associations.

“Please. Take it.”

His eyes are pleading. You can’t bear to see the desperation any longer. Breaking away from his heavy gaze, you take the scrap of paper. With one last thank you, you get in your sedan, throw the dry cleaning into the passenger seat, and lock the doors. 

With your head in your hands, you start to cry again. Why do you have to be so mean? Thinking of the man, you turn to look in the rear-view mirror with a gentle hope that he’s still behind your car. You don’t know why you’re disappointed when he isn’t.

Thursday is tomorrow. You can make it until then.

[kanene-yaaay]

Go Virge, go!

Kanene’s note: TODAAAAAAAAAY IS A SPECIAAAAAL DAYYYY!!! DO YOU KNOW WHY?? THAT IS RIGHT! BECAUSE TODAY IS @why-not-a-tickle-blog BIRTHDAY!!!! Gooooosh!!!! I know I already did a whole speech before, mah friendo, but you’re just so amazing and lovely! Aaaaaa I’m happy for being your friend! <33

Okay, I got a little carried away! Enjoy the gift! x3

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders and his series Sanders Sides!

* This is a SFW Tickle-Fanfic, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!!  ^w^)b

* Oneshot. Something around 3.800 words.w-)b. Lee!Virgil and Ler!Patton in Human AU.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Since  it’s a gift: Essa fanfic não será traduzida, mals. Thankys for reading, my lollipops, especially you, Livvy!! Have a wonderful and incredible day just like you! 

[~*~]

Patton was confused. A lot.

 And that wasn’t even a whole brand-new thing in his life.

 Patton got confused quite frequently, being honest.  

He got confused when he accidentally fell asleep on the couch and woke up four hours later with all his house painted in the dark of the night and without a single drop of memory about where he is or who he is for some minutes. Patton got confused when his attention was caught in some adorably adorable video of kittens being the best thing in the world and quickly ran to Virgil’s room just to show them to him, not understanding why his friend can’t stop looking at him quizzically until Virgil finally asks why does he has a spoon in the knot of his cardigan and Patton jumps because HIS COOKIES ARE IN THE OVEN AND HOW MUCH TIME HAD PASSED-

 Oh. Wait. That is not what he was talking about. Focus, focus!

 Anyway. Life is confusing, feelings, thoughts, actions, trying your best, keep going, look at the refrigerator just to realize you have no idea of what you were supposed to be searching in the first place, humans…

 Yeah, especially humans.

 Patton stared at the figure of his friend laid on the couch, absently looking at his phone while a piece of smile adorned his face. The movie both decided to watch paused in the background as the one currently in the kitchen waited for the popcorn get ready, his hand held lightly his chin and a frown rest peacefully in his features, mirroring the same expression he always saw on Logan every time he was confronted by a problem whose solution seemed impossible to find.

 It was The Pose of all the incredible genius in the world, right? Therefore, in some moment about now the answers of all his questions should magically pop before him, unfolding and refolding in logic patterns just like in all the mystery series and books.

 Right about noooow…

 …

 Now?

 …

 Well, it didn’t work.

 Patton pouted, turning to pour the warm and probably delicious snack in big bowls that both would pretend they wouldn't be able to finish before even getting in the middle of the so expected movie. He grabbed the bowls and headed to the other room, reprising the entire day in his mind, a faint echo of Logan saying that could help basing his decision.

 Everything started in the morning with Patton arriving at their breakfast table only to find Virgil, but not his usual Virgil.

 That was a Virgil without his hoodie.

 Not that it was a totally strange thing! Usually by his free mornings he would prefer to wander in the house on his comfortable pajamas, however the thing today is… he wasn’t on his pajamas. He was prepared to fight the world – actually Virgil was just going to work, but he said this sounded more badass - on his black Slipknot shirt, jeans and the hoodie nowhere near to be seen.

 Besides that, today was predominantly cold. Cold enough for the one wearing glasses end up missing his favorite cat cardigan by the time he arrived their house, searching for the so dearly craved cloth in every little corner until Patton came across the scene of his friend - his best edgy, lovely friend cutely wearing it and being equally playfully bratty when tried ask it back, pulling out his tongue out as his form dazed in a chase the moment Patton’s promise of ‘physically fight for it!’ – which was a lie, obviously. He gave up the vestment the very moment his eyes locked in a Virgil playing with the cat ears sewed in it – flew from his mouth.

 And, after getting tired out, they cuddled! Okay, this wasn’t nearly a strange occurrence between both, albeit was one of those rare moments when Virgil was the one who initiated it, laying on his lap with a pout and a sharp look, as if he dared the other to say something (and Patton didn’t!! He swears!! Squeals. Do. Not. Count. As. Words.), feeling comfortable enough to even start a Poking War as they were accommodating themselves on the cushions, rays of giggles, squeaks filling the place for some heartbeats before both decided to metamorphose their last bit of routine into a movie night.

 Which was exactly what they were doing!

 Now, don’t get Patton wrong. He was absolutely delighted by everything! Knowing Virgil felt comfortable, safe enough to act nonchalant around him was so heart-warming he could almost feel himself melt in happiness!

 ….But…

 But there was this signal in the back of his mind. A particularly different gleam in the other’s eyes he had already seen before, however couldn’t quite place its meaning yet. Some words unpronounced amongst his lightly snarky demeanor. Some little thing that made Patton feel playful and happily bubbly as well, except he couldn’t really grab the exact information, the exact why or the exact memory.

 Not yet, at least.

  [~*~]

  Virgil was about to fucking quit it.

 No, actually, he was about to fuck quit everything when he woke up of his incredibly, horrible, wonderfully teasy tickle dream. The tingles of the dreamy tickles still ghostly buzzing on his body as he quietly giggled, burying his face in the pillows and kicking about everything on his bed, eyes firmly closed as the memories bathed his mind in a flow made to increase awfully his lee mood.

 And then one of his favorite artists posted some new things on Tumblr, which obligated him to see all their new posts and, who knows, accidentally click in the tag ‘My arts’ of them, which end up with him re-finding other works he had already forgot about, path that consequently leaded to some more reblogs and therefore another bunch of tickle blogs which, of course, made his lee mood at work almost unbearable.

 At least he had the cold to blame if someone questioned about the persistent blush spread on his features.

 After everything, finally: The calm and quiet of home, broken by his determined decision to try to make – somehow - Patton tickle him. His friend was soft and playful by nature, and he already knew Virgil liked tickles (quite of an interesting story involving a meme, a movie and the power going out. Heh. Do not ask about it.) so, I mean, the worst part was already gone, right? It wouldn’t probably be that bad. Virgil would just act naturally, smoothly following a few advices he found in some blogs discussing this topic and hope, for the sake of his life, the Universe wouldn’t follow Murphy's Law for ONCE.

 Of course, that didn’t happen. OF COURSE.

 Virgil tried first to be a bratty. He stole Patton’s cardigan and even ran across the house in an attempt to maintain his new possession. He stretched while laid in Patton’s lap: no hoodie, ticklish spots right there. In the last shot he even let himself giggle every single time his mind wandered to the dark corner designed especially for the subject. The one wearing smudged make up even started a poke war!! A poke war!! What kind of poke war doesn't evolve to a tickle war where he would, so sadly and despise his best efforts, lose spectacularly??

 He crossed his arms and DID NOT pout, blowing grumpily some strands of hair that fell in his vision’s field.

 “I would sell my soul for a tickle.” Virgil growled, his usually careful façade crumbling under the quite persistent thoughts of fingers spidering on his ribs, counting each one of them before lazily dragging the tip of the nails to his quivering tummy, dancing and poking unbothered by his squi-

 “What was that?”

 Virgil squeaked, jumping some centimeters in the air when the voice of his approaching friend filled the room, the words getting stuck in his throat, his head shooting in the other’s direction, wide eyes.

 “What.” He eloquently offered.

 “I was too far, didn’t hear what you said, sorry. Could you repeat, please?”

 Virgil tried – failing - to not blush. Patton was… actually being serious, right? That wasn’t any kind of tease, even if the traitor little demon he usually called brain unhelpfully unlocked all the memories of all the tickle fanfics he read that began with that exact same words. “Nothing. It was nothing.” He promptly ignored the way his voice came out slightly high.

 “Oh, okay!” Patton kindly smiled, putting the popcorn on the coffe table and looking for some space on the couch to lay down while Virgil pressed play, the show’s opening quickly filling the air and silence hanging between both. Patton stopped. Suddenly Virgil felt a shiver run across his whole body, his gaze turning to his friend, only to find the one wearing glasses staring at him intently.

 “You like tickles.”

 The word only was enough to jolt his body back to a sitting position, butterflies starting to wake up, proceeding to fly the most desperate as possible in his stomach, his brain fuzzing, crumbling for answers of How and When and What the Fuc-

 “What? NO! I mean, yes but how- when did you just…”

 “Oh!” Patton gasped and Virgil felt his whole face in flames once the realization of the shiny gleam in the other’s eyes, almost as literal stars shining, hit him. Maybe… Maybe something he had done before finally work? “That is why you initiated a Poke War? Were you trying to make me tickle you? Vee, you just needed to ask!”

 Yep. No. Nope. No way. That was definitely worse.

 Virgil tried to hide himself in his hoodie, deciding he could very much rather perish in his Lee Mood than stare at the pure love and awe gazed right in his direction. His lips curving in a shadow of a smile for a second when he pressed himself further on the furniture, noticing with a grumble leaving his mouth the only armor he owned was the cat cardigan. Hood pulled up and his face firmly pressed on his knees, he ignored the way his excited giggles started to bounce and dance in his throat, resulting in his own body bounce a bit.

 “Knock knock…” Virgil felt a light tapping on his knee.

 “Fuck off.” The hissed answer ran without letting he even think about it, too much occupied in pretending to not notice how much this position left his entire tickl- I mean, sensitive torso vulnerable and how much not seeing what was happening increased second by second the tingles and shivers crazily racing in his skin.

 “Gasp! Virgil!” The one dying in the cat cardigan internally rolled his eyes at the literally audible gasp his friend vocalized, almost being able to see the playful mood taking over his expression as it always has when they swore around him. “I should tickle you for this, Mister Potty Mouth!” Yes. Yes!! Come on, come on! “But I won’t.”

 Hey now, what.

 “What?!” His head shot upwards absurdly fast, a fact which, obviously, he would deny it to the end of his living and non-living days.

 “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide or ignore your desire for tickles every time you have them! Especially…”

 ‘Please – see? I know how to use some freaking good words. - Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say, Patton. You’re cool, you’re a funny guy, you have good intentions but you have any ideas of what the fuck will happen??’ Virgil found himself almost pleading, the sentences already running in his head, but his lips firmly gripped in the fear to let out more than these simple words.

 “… Since I’m totally okay in tickling you! Oh, wait. Did you just squirm? Aww, Virgil!! That is so, so adorable! You’re blushing, too! Awwwwww!!! Okay, okay, okay, I’m… Imma gonna die of cuteness. You’re truly the most precious being I’ve ever met!!! Wait, what I was just saying…?” 

 ‘I will die! No! I’m already dying! See? You already accomplished what you wanted!! Let’s move on to the next damn part!’

 “Oh right!” Patton lightly hit the side of his head. “I’m glad to tickle you! Truly! All you have to do is…”

 ‘Dude, Patton, Pat-Pat, Popstar don’t…’

 “Ask me! Please, please, please!!” Virgil stared him dead in his eyes, crossing his arms, his cheeks so hot that he was surprised his face didn’t melt yet. “Aw, don’t give me that look, kiddo!” Virgil just narrowed his eyes further. Patton pouted, his ‘Puppy Eyes’ expression – more like an unfair weapon - showing and nailing cracks on Virgil’s resolution.

 They stayed like this for a while, until Patton abruptly lifted his hands, his fingers wiggling on Virgil’s direction, the movement so out of blue that catched his friend out of guard, a true yelp jumping from him before he grumpily growled and let himself fall on the cushions.

 “I can’t.”

 “Of course, you can, kiddo! I’m rooting for ya! Wanna see?” And then he started to fold and unfold his fingers, approaching them to Virgil inch by inch “Go Virge, go! Go, Virge, go! Goooo, Virgeyyyy, go!” Inch by inch. Close and then even closer. The boy with a wobbly smile in his face felt like he couldn’t tear his eyes from the movements, the butterflies seeming to freak out in his stomach in the rhythm of the cheers.

 He hides his face behind his hands. Patton was going to be the end of his existence.

 “Stohop it.” Dammit. He was breaking.

 ‘Come on, guy! You can do this!’ He internally whined.

 “Ooh, is that a beauty giggly giggle what I hear? The cheering should be working then, don’t you think?! We believe in you, Virge-poo! And we can’t wait for when we…” Virgil dared to spy the scene between his fingers, only to see Patton’s hands barely touching his sides, his fingers positioned in a claw shape. “… getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha!!” They suddenly moved, clawing unbearably away and terribly close at each couple of words.

 No. Virgil did NOT squeal nor squirmed closer to the fingers. Fuck you. Nobody asked. That is none of your business anyway.

 ‘Just… just don’t think about it! Pull it off. Like… I don’t know! Like a stupid band aid!’

 “It is going to be so much fun! I didn’t even tickle you yet and you’re already giggling excitedly! Think in all your wonderful, beautiful laughter flying everywhere when I finally tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle you silly!! You’ll be giggling up a storm! Happy gasp! Pun inserted!”

 Virgil obligated himself to take a deep breath and not stare the warm, teasy hands which were oblivious of the intern turmoil caused as they rested on his sides. Their tips very lightly, almost impossible to feel and – even more difficult to ignore - poking the ticklish skin, as if they simply couldn’t bring themselves to stay still. The one laid on the couch and yet hiding his face felt the urge to kick just to get off all the pleasantly nervous energy building up in his body.

 “Virgey-wiggly-wiggley…~”

 “TICKLEMEPLEASE!”

 Patton squeaked excited, the teasy grin immediately giving space to the joyful smile. “Of course!” He grazed his fingers up his sides to his ribcage, the nails lightly drawing circles around each one of the ribs, receiving a quick tasering in the middle of them before going up to the next one, letting for a piece of moment Virgil’s bubbly and more high-pitched giggles fill the room alone.

 The cat cardigan owner ran the tip of his fingers up and down, up and down, up and down his sides, watching in complete awe the way the other squirmed at each infinitesimal move. He stopped the movement on his right side, his eyes gleaming behind the lenses as accompanied Virgil adorably wiggling away from the reminiscent tickles, as if he tried to escape from the evil fingers scribbling in that exactly spot which connected his left side to his tummy and leaded cute, sweet titters escape from his gigantic smile.

 A devious plan shinned in his head.

 Patton ceased the tickling in order to give him a breath, smiling at the pout that didn’t take too long before blooming in the other’s features.

 He quickly poked his left side, immediately hearing quiet, bubbly giggles dance across the air as Virgil wiggled to his right, only to be warmly welcomed by scratches of one single finger on his lower back, making his breath stop so fast a snort escape. Virgil widened his eyes, his hands automatically clapping in his mouth at the same time a big, gleaming grin took over Patton’s expression. They stared at each other, fingers never stopping, squirms never ending.

 “No.” His voice was slightly wobbly, giggles beginning to intertwine his words as his friend scribbled softly again. “No no no! You are a- dON’T!- such a dork!!! No!!”

 They initiated the cycle again. Every time Virgil squirmed to escape from the left tingles to the right tickles one more finger was added to the attack, soon leaving the blushed poor victim kicking sporadically when the ten fingers resumed their light, tickly attack. “I’m going t-t-to kick you!!” and then was subdued to the snorts and squeals painting his fast titters.

 The one who wore the cat hoodie which moments before had slipped from his head in the ““fight””, now showing clearly the red strongly flaming his cheeks and the tip of his ears shook his head from side to side, the frown he tried to form being immediately won by the smile taking over his features. Virgil let himself embrace the feeling completely over, laughing freely, almost doesn’t believing this was actually happening.

 That it didn’t matter how much he tried to escape nor squirm, the tickling just followed his movements, just as all his (fake) protests didn’t stop the excited, evil teases pouring from the other’s mouth. Not to tell how only the big, happy gaze from Patton was definitely not helping in the slightest his current state at all!

 He was certain. There was no way out of this. He was going to melt and   d i e.

 And he was loving every single second of this.

 “Aww! Tickle, tickle, tickle, Virge!! Look at the happiness shining in your face!! Someone really, really loves some tickly-tickles, am I right? But don’t worry, Virgey-wiggley! I will give you all the tickles you could ever want! Like here!” He booped Virgil’s bellybutton “Here” A couple of fingers slid on his waistline “And here, and here, and here and everywhere!” Fingers flew quickly, traveling on his hips, collarbone, sides, behind his ears…

 The incapacity to know where Patton would strike next killed every single drop of coherent thoughts of his mind, which could only focus on the tickling and how much it was unbearable and everywhere and it  t i c k l e d . His giggles grew to chortles, his hands flying from his own face to lightly push Patton’s, dislocating his glasses and freeing surprised chuckles mixed with his own squeaks.

 “Virgil!!” Patton ceased the playful attack in order to retire the other’s hands off his face, before both knew they’re wrestling, laughter cutting their acts and weakening their movements. “Virge!! I will go to another spot this way!”

 In a blink of an eye one of his friend’s arms hugged his sides and Patton felt a malefic grin crawling his lips without even noticing its presence. Very much different from Virgil, who in the same heartbeat realized his mistake, using the opportunity of the instant of distraction to lightly push the cookie lover off him, quickly dashing across the house. All his instincts gleaming and sparkling the sign of ‘Survive’ in his veins.

 The only reason of what Virgil forgot about the numbness from spending so much time laid on his legs, resulting in trips that definitely made him lose some crucial speed as he encircled the couch, capturing with the corner of his eyes the scene of Patton jumping of the cushions and following his escape route. The crackling dancing in the air owned by nobody specific.

 His heart beat faster, the joy raced his nerves and made his tummy tingle in advance just for imagining the exact moment where two arms would hug him firmly yet gently from behind and his ears would be set on fire the very same moment Patton would say-

 “Gotcha, Giggly Storm! I gotcha, gotcha ya!!” Patton dug his thumbs right above Virgil’s hips, the remaining fingers clawing the poor, sensitive skin in his back, leading belly laughter to took over his friend’s sentence, his knees buckling and legs uncontrollable kicking as Patton sat with him on the floor, pressing his back on his chest and resting his head on his shoulder.

 “Patton!! Pahahatton, come on, no!” Patton just hummed, two fingers calmly walking on Virgil’s waistline. “Don’t you dare!! Don’t you fuckin- gah!” The nails began to slid in the length of the belly, going from a side to another as elected soft snorts and bouncy giggles.

 “Tickle, tickle, tickle, Virge!! Did you thought you could run away from the Tickle Monster? Poor unfortunate soul ~. Now the Tickle Monster has to give you a bunch of more ticklish tickly tickles just for this, don’t you think?!” And then Virgil felt the tickles speed up to scribbles and clawing and wiggles delivered in every inch of his tummy. Going in random patterns, drawing forms on his sweet spot, up and down, from a side to another, over and over again. Quick enough to make him sporadically squirm and kick, a rain of squeals, yelps and squeals flowing from his lips, yet soft and light enough to let him rest his head on the other’s chest and just enjoy the feeling.

 “Awww! Look at how much shaking your tum-tum is! It is probably so happy in receiving its so much craved tickle tickle tickles, right, Virgey-poo?” The answer was only a blushy Virgil hiding his face on Patton’s neck, giggling nonstop.

 “Nonono!! It’s not!” And, if that move only led to a now very exposed neck to be gifted with some special scratches? They both pretended it wasn’t on purpose.

 Patton just rolled his eyes, playfully exasperated, quietly chuckling when the other jumped with the quick squeeze delivered on his hip.

 It didn’t take long before Virgil let out his first ‘Stop’, which Patton happily obliged, don’t having the heart to move when he realized Virgil’s breath becoming calmer, his eyelashes closing as he snuggled closer to the one wearing glasses.

 The duo knew very well they would probably regret napping on the hard, cold floor later, yet none of them managed to bring themselves to care, especially when Virgil’s quiet snorts with the second tickle dream of the day lullabied Patton to an equally peaceful dream.

  [~*~]

  Random non-said thing: Patton only remembered that information because the movie they’re going to watch was one of the trilogy they were watching when Virgil gathered up enough will to tell him he likes tickling.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 9

pictured: me crawling out of the rubble after yet another set of wisdom tooth extractions

STILL ALIVE, SOMEHOW

anyway, enjoy this update! things have been a bit slow going between this and another project that i haven't started posting yet (along with a brainworm for a different fandom entirely orz), but i'm committed to seeing these stories to the end, don't worry 💙🎶💖

she’s… gone? CBG is gone?

wait hold up, we’re going on a pre-other-job adventure. if you could even call it an adventure.

No, it’s no mistake. Marinette’s not the one standing at the counter this morning. In fact—judging from how much he can see from peering through the window in a totally-not-creepy way—she’s nowhere to be found. Mr. Dupain is there, as faithful to the shop as his apron and his hands are covered in flour. But this time it’s Mrs. Cheng at the register, kissing the top of her husband’s head when he bends it to her and inviting Luka in with a single gesture when she meets his eyes.

Well, now he has to go in.

He tries with every fiber in him to mask his disappointment while he locks up his bike and slips into the bakery-patisserie, and he hangs by the door until she’s finished with a customer and beckons him closer. “Good morning, Luka!” she chirps, and it’s in that moment that he sees all the traces of her daughter in her. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Can I get you the usual?”

Luka gives her a mute smile and a nod, and he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess it has.” Three weeks? Has it really been three weeks? “I heard you went out of the country? How was it?”

“It was nice,” Mrs. Cheng says with her usual warm smile. She’s already busy with a small pastry box and a pair of metal tongs. “Just what I needed for a while, but only for a while. You always have to come back home, after all.”

He nods, despite the fact that his home could be… literally anywhere. Could go literally anywhere. Maybe it’s for that reason alone that he’s had the distinct feeling that home is made up of people and not places.

Mrs. Cheng slides the box toward him, trades it for his card, but she doesn’t let him go just yet. She disappears into the back, and returns with a thick paper cup cradled in both hands, its contents so piping hot that there’s steam rising from the little hole in the lid. “You look like you could use a good cup of tea,” she says, kind as ever—and then, as he takes out his card once more, “It’s on the house, chou. Your constant patronage is payment enough.”

“Wow, that’s…” Luka’s speechless for a moment. “That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

She smiles at him, and he didn’t really realize how much he’s missed seeing it until now. Maybe it’s not so bad that she came back. (Of course it’s not so bad; what is he thinking?) “The leaves are fresh,” is all she says. Probably because she doesn’t think it’s something she needs to be thanked for. “Think of it as a souvenir.”

Before Luka lets himself out, he stops by the door and tosses a glance back. “Hey, Mrs. Cheng?”

“What is it, Luka?” She had to pause humming as she wiped down the counter and the tongs, but she doesn’t seem disturbed by it. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her disturbed by… anything, really.

His hands are too full to do anything fidgety with them, so he has to settle for scuffing the floor with his heel. “They took real good care of the shop while you were gone. Don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Mrs. Cheng’s expression goes soft. “That’s good,” is all she says, and it’s like she knows what he’s really trying to say—and honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if she did. She’s a mother. She’s Marinette’s mother. Surely there have been plenty of boys, maybe even girls, who’ve spent their fair share of time here, fawning and pining. He wouldn’t be offended if he were just a drop in the bucket.

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t considered, until now as he’s hip-checking the door, the fact that Marinette Dupain-Cheng, with the ocean name and the ocean eyes, might already be taken.

Yeah, he has to tie down the pastry box to the back of his bike, and yeah, he has to walk his bike part of the way to the Champ de Mars and ignore the buzz of every notification in his back pocket. But it’s worth taking the extra time to enjoy the tea; he doesn’t know much about all the intricacies of the stuff the way Mrs. Cheng probably does, but it’s fruity and it smells kind of like flowers and it warms his insides, the way he thinks most tea is supposed to. And it perks him right up. He knows he’s going to need that today.

Not to mention there is, admittedly, a part of him that keeps looking around the city as he walks, and then bikes. A part of him that keeps wondering if he might catch Marinette lingering around the city. Living in it the way he does—forgetting, perhaps for a while, that other people exist. It’s the sort of thing that seeps in at the edges of his mind instead of plaguing his every waking moment. It comes to him the same way he might look at some old sheet music and remember his sister, or the way he might find an unattended mess and think, ah, that’s Ma.

At least that makes him feel… a little less like a creep.

When he gets to the park, he has to pick his spot strategically. Getting time off deliveries hardly ever means it’s time to rest; it’s either time to practice, or compose, or—his favorite—busk in parks, or metro stations, or the Trocadero plaza if he’s feeling particularly fancy. It’s not so lucrative that he can quit his other job and focus just on music, even if that would be the ultimate dream. But it gets some extra cash in his pocket, and he’d be either deaf or stupid if he ever tried to claim that his ma never taught him the value of a euro.

He decides on a bench nearby, where there are plenty of people scattered across the grass, picnicking and laughing and reading under the early summer sun. Sometimes he wonders what it might be like to belong to one of those groups, instead of half-being part of them online, but all it takes is the pop of his case and his fingers on the strings and knobs to remind him that everything he has is right here.

Still, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t take a moment or two after he’s eaten, with his permit clipped to the belt loop of his pants and his guitar in his lap, to fish his phone out of his pocket and scroll through his notifications one last time. It’s funny; when he started up this account, it was mostly to have a corner of the internet to himself, where he could share a few unbridled thoughts and a few more composed ones, maybe throw in a Kitty Section promotion or a clip of his latest project. Now, with a handful of new followers and likes and reposts in the double digits, he kind of has to wonder if this is his brand. Awkward musician mini-posts about a girl he’s not so scared to talk to but can’t get up the nerve to Talk To, just because it’s “wholesome.” Complete with that emoji that looks kind of like the pair of puppy dog eyes Juleka gives him when she tries to paint his nails a color that isn’t black.

And then he has to wonder, yet again, why so many people would be so invested in something like that. Why they’re so bent on following a saga about his…

Well, it’s not really a crush…

Is it a crush?

Oh, Jesus, no. Of course not. It’s not as though he spends every waking hour what it might be like to hold her hand, touch it beyond the occasional brush when they exchange boxes and cards. What it might be like not to have to apologize for bumping into her, or holding her attention for too long. It’s not as though he’s constantly imagined an evening moment that belongs to just the two of them, his guitar soothing her away from the pendulum swing of utter chaos and mind-numbing boredom that lives behind the register. And it’s not as though he’s felt the phantom bumps of her knees against his, or the quiet but intentional stroke of her fingers over his knuckles, or the solid feeling of their heads pressed together just before she tilts her own.

…Well. Not all the time.

Luka stuffs his phone in his pocket before he can think any more about what this is and what this isn’t and what he feels and what he doesn’t. He plucks out a few scales and takes a deep breath or two—sometimes he needs to do that to remind himself that he’s a performer, a musician, he’s doing his job and he can claim this space as much as he likes. And then he starts to play.

That’s all it takes. A few bars is all it ever takes for anyone to get as closee as they can to knowing him.

Within seconds, his fingers are dancing along the fretboard of his guitar, playing fanned-out tunes, drippy arpeggios pinpricks that demand to be heard among the background echo of notes gone by. Every chord with its own texture. Every song with its own color, following the ebb and flow of choked strings. He barely realizes he’s swaying and tapping his heel to his own craft, mouthing the lyrics to songs everyone here must know, until the first person approaches and drops a bill in his case. The patrons trickle in after that: some pass by and pause to spare him the courtesy of a removed earbud; some look up from their books and start to dig around in their pockets or their bags. One girl even kicks off her shoes and pulls her boyfriend up to dance with her, and maybe that doesn’t put food in his belly, but it’s something he can carry with him like the blessed photo of his sister that he kept in his worn-out wallet.

He doesn’t look up or open his eyes often—only to nod in thanks to those who are kind enough to pay him. The one time he looks up of his own volition, he lands on a boy and two girls, seated on a pink plaid picnic blanket and chatting excitedly. One of the girls, who has dark hair in a braid and her back turned to him, suddenly swells and sits up on her knees, all animated gestures as she gets to her feet and rounds her friends, evidently to demonstrate something.

His body remembers to keep playing, but the rest of him stops.

Marinette.

The other girl clicks for him then—the reddish hair and the glasses from his delivery to the bakery—just in time for her to make eye contact with him and for a sly smile to spread across her face. She looks up toward Marinette, says something he’s grateful he can’t make out, and when Marinette looks his way with a dove’s eyes and a deer’s stance, he only winks at her and goes back to his playing and swaying.

GOD, he screams to himself. WHY DID HE DO THAT?

He doesn’t dare look up again at least until the end of the song, and it’s a miracle that he plays even better than before he noticed her. When he does, Marinette is still watching him—has she been the whole time? Eventually, and out of the corner of her eye she kneels to gather up her friends’ trash, and she tosses them into the bin nearby. Very, very nearby. And then she kneels down again—very, very down— and drops a couple of bills into his case. It takes the rest of his bravery to lift his gaze toward her.

“First you ‘tip’ me,” he says, one hand on the guitar and the other making air quotes. “Now this?”

“Oh, come on,” she shoots back, smoothing out her skirt as she sits beside him, in spite of how her friend ribs the boy and nods their way. “This doesn’t even come close to how you’ve basically helped keep my parents’ business in the black. Besides…” She nods toward his case. “Now you can’t say you didn’t work for it.”

“Trust me.” Luka pats the body of his guitar, biting back a told you so and the urge to wonder why he feels so sure of himself. What witchcraft the guitar is working to make him feel this way, or if it’s the guitar at all, or whether all it does is make him look like a total douchebag. “I’ve been working.”

“So you can play.” Marinette crosses her legs and her arms, which accentuates the new jade pendant resting in the hollow of her throat. Probably a souvenir from Mrs. Cheng, or a gift from family she’s never met. “That’s not the same as being in a band.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m still in one. I’ll prove it to you, if you want me to so badly.”

She grins, and it makes every hair stand on end under the heat of the sun. “Oh, yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“Come on—a musician never reveals his secrets.”

“That’s a magician, Luka.”

This time it’s his turn to smile, just as he fights back the flare of adrenaline. “Who says I don’t make magic?”

Yeah. It’s definitely the guitar.

“So,” Marinette says. She gives a passerby an admiring look when they stop to drop a few coins in his case, and Luka can’t tell if she’s doing it to thank his patrons or lure them in. “Do you take requests?”

“What’s the matter?” Luka strums a chord, wiggles the fingers that aren’t pinching his pick. “Don’t like my take on popular songs?”

“It’s not that.” She sits back on the bench like she really intends to stay awhile. Like she doesn’t have two friends who are staring at her so intently, either because they’re waiting for her to come back or because all they’re missing is a bucket of popcorn to split. “I guess you just always gave off the vibe that you had some kind of… angle, you know? Like, you’re the type of guy who hears colors, so people can give you a color and…” She shrugs. “You could play it.”

Luka tilts his head. “I can hear colors.” And moods. And hearts. And I’ve been stuck on yours, exactly how you think I mean it, for days. “I just never thought of it as an angle. Just an inspiration.”

Marinette blinks a couple of times in surprise, the sort that only says she wasn’t expecting his answer and thankfully not the sort that might imply that she knows what he’s thinking. “Oh. Well. Um. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You have something in mind?” He nods toward his case; might as well spare her the awkwardness he knows too well. “You know. So I can work for it.”

She takes a moment to think, seemingly grateful to be relieved of an apology, and she sits up straight only when she meets eyes with her best friend. “Something blue,” she murmurs after a while. “I wouldn’t mind hearing that.”

She says it, and Luka thinks of her without having to look at her. He smiles to himself, adjusting his guitar in his lap and pressing his fingers to the fretboard in the almost-right way. “There’s a saying about that, where my family’s from,” he replies, just loud enough for her to hear, and he begins to play as close to her eyes as he can manage. Pulls her into his world, this place between thoughts where he can get most things just right without having to say anything, where he’s the only person that anything makes sense to—him, and anyone willing to listen.

It feels like Marinette’s willing to listen.

The notes trail off once he reaches the part he hasn’t quite figured out, the sparkle in her eyes he hasn’t , and he’s felt her gaze on him long before he cuts the music and looks her way. “Something like that?” he says. It’s only then that he notices the extra money in his case, and judging from the look on Marinette’s face, she wasn’t the one who put it all there.

But she smiles at him all the same, gets to her feet and dusts off her skirt. “Something like that,” she replies. And then, before she returns to her friends. “I guess this is where I can find you now, huh?”

Like that’s supposed to mean something.

Is it supposed to mean something?

“I mean,” he says. “You could order something again.”

“I mean,” Marinette says back, “I could pick up a couple more shifts at the bakery.”

Luka doesn’t bother with his phone, or any technology, until he gets home—long after he’s settled below deck. It’s only then—because of course it’s right then—that inspiration sparks like a match. Only then that he scrambles for cables and plugs and the laptop he and Juleka used to share until they gifted her a new one for university.

song update. better quality than my phone, even. hit that play button, pals. and thanks for the likes.

[rhysand-vs-fenrys]

Hi, can I ask for your thoughts or advice on something? I’m not a writer, I’ve never attempted fanfic, and the stories I make in my mind are more easily displayed visually. But I had a dream last night that I was reading a scene with Lucien and Elain finally discussing the mating bond…and I really liked it. Since i was reading the scene in my dream, that’s the only way I can really imagine it. Is this a time that I should considering writing my idea? Since I don’t post any oc on tumblr, would it be weird to share a short scene like this? Would it be better to just have it for myself or a couple close friends? I know you don’t enjoy reading fanfic, but as a writer I’m hoping you might understand some of my anxiety and have tips…the thought of writing something down is terrifying by itself, adding in sharing it just makes me more anxious…is it worth pushing through or is it better to just acknowledge I enjoyed the scene and let it go?

I may not read fanfiction but I’m always there to give advice if people would like it!! 

I’ve seen fics that are like big sweeping stories and fics that are literally just a short scene like what you’re describing.

Fics don’t have to be anything huge. They can just be a convo discussing something, it’s all fine!

And like... I’ve never in my life been someone who reads fanfiction, I had a very low opinion of it to be honest. The way I saw it was that fanfic writing was stepping into a charnel house where everything was ripped apart viciously and you were chased off of writing forever.

When I decided to post Project: Echo... it was actually supposed to be a way of killing that writing side of me I couldn’t turn off. I expected to post even 1 chapter and be ripped apart so viciously that I’d give up on writing forever and stop dreaming about being a writer. It was a form of self-harm really.

But what I’ve found since that day... ... ... it isn’t a charnel house at all. The fanfic community is supportive to a degree that still surprises me to this day. I’ve had like one negative comment (and that was just a troll bitching about the format I wrote an Avengers fic in, not a legit comment) and hundreds of positive and uplifting comments. Even on fics that frankly I look at today and go “This didn’t deserve a single note”. Posting fanfic for the first time is terrifying. It really is. I remember very well how badly my hands shook for HOURS. I thought I was going to throw up. I had never really shared my writing like that in what I felt was an “unsafe space” (I’d posted on a site for young writers before but it was more exclusive and so everyone was very uplifting because it wasn’t this huge community you were putting stuff into).

But instead of cauterizing that writing side of my heart, the experience only opened it up more. It gave me a new way to express myself and my beliefs in different areas in ways that I couldn’t have put into words outside of a fic-format. Like “What Rises from the Ashes”-- that’s a headcanon I didn’t know how to express so I wrote it as a fic. My first fandom fic “An Elucien Epilogue” was just because I had a severe ACOWAR book hangover and needed to express what I was feeling somehow, kind of like what you described.

What I’m saying is, write your scene the way you’d like to write it. You will find people are much more warm and welcoming than you think, and as you become more comfortable you’ll find that it’s a very freeing thing and a very positive experience overall. 

[grayhouse3]

SJTR is my villain origin story

So I finished Stalking Jack the Ripper.

Originally I told myself that I was going to just stick it out and read the next one (“Oh, it’s about vampires and Dracula. It’s probably more fun. You can forget all about the pain this one inflicted on you"). No. I got 12% of the way through and had to DNF. So here are my messily compiled thoughts on the book, basically expanded from the last post. Honestly, kind of feel free knowing I won’t be writing more about this series. (Also I am adding some TWs down below but don't know if I am doing them right!)

More on the exoticism, weirdness with Audrey Rose's Indian mother, and the British Empire:

In chapter 14, we read, "Dark strands of hair were piled atop my head, my eyes more mysterious somehow with the dark liner, and my lips were the bright crimson of freshly spilled blood … I thought of my mother and the saris she’d brought me to wear from Grandmama’s homeland. I felt just as stunning now as I did then, and the memory warmed me.” I am still trying to figure out why Maniscalco made Audrey Rose mixed race. Why is Audrey Rose’s grandmother from India? Literally, what did it add to the story? Was it nothing more than just a cute lil quirky fun character trait to her? I don’t think I missed any key moments where there were important conversations about race, imperialism, British occupation, etc., mostly because Audrey Rose’s father (a big fancy rich lord) is a white man and because Audrey Rose is white-passing. I can’t recall any moments in the book where she faces the realities/consequences of being a socially mobile POC WOMAN in LONDON IN THE 1880s. Honestly, if someone else can point out a passage I glossed over or explain some nuance I missed I would actually really appreciate it, because this drove me CRAZY.

(Audrey Rose and her brother also go visit a circus in town in chapter 15; of course these events existed purely for England/colonizing countries to exercise and display their power and to exoticize/exploit the communities/cultures that they came into contact with. Audrey Rose sees silks, beads, etc. that remind her of her grandmother’s saris, smells the foods of her family’s “homeland,” etc. Also in the same chapter there’s this great scene where her brother is describing their mother and father’s marriage: “Grandmama told me she’d refused him twenty times just for fun,” Nathaniel replied. “Said he squirmed like a cobra in a basket. That’s how she knew he was in love.” Uhhh … Is that supposed to be romantic?)

On the feminism stuff:

I am too *gestures vaguely* to write much more on this. Yeah, it’s heavy-handed. Yeah, it’s cringey. But at the end of the day, it’s not really that harmful, I guess. Here’s just a fun sampling of some of my favorite lines from the book:A few of my favorite bites from the book:

***“close-minded society” (chapter 21) Okay

***"Why turn a murderer of women into front-page news?” (chapter 15) Bro do you know how the media works

***"But what of her [mother’s] insistence that I could be both strong and beautiful? Surely Father had to be wrong.” (chapter 21) Yes girl you are strong and beautiful!

***"There would be no skirts or bustles to wrangle with anymore. I was through with things confining me” (chapter 22) Ugh down with corsets just another tool of the patriarchy amirite

On the violence against women, weird classism, and stuff about prostitution:

I was bound to be uncomfortable about a lot of this because I have weird feelings about true crime stuff, and this is historical fiction set around the Jack the Ripper murders. It was going to go sour somewhere.

Consistently Audrey Rose wants to be sympathetic, but is unable to connect all the parts of this situation together: she struggles to imagine the women (very real-life victims) beyond their lives of prostitution, poverty, squalor. When she does, we see something like this: "The women he murdered did matter ... They were daughters and wives and mothers and sisters” (chapter 28). Oftentimes she wishes she could continue to cut cadavers open in peace (women in science!) without having to think about how those cadavers came to be on her examination table: “I needed to get away from those women and their tragic lives before my emotions got the better of me” (chapter 25). Perhaps Maniscalco deserves more credit here, and perhaps I’m just being a bitch, because Audrey Rose is a very privileged girl and her actions and thoughts make that clear. It’s just that the conclusions she comes to in the name of feminism, justice, etc. weren’t at all satisfying to me.

Also: OH MY GOD. Oh my god. There is this one moment that is BRANDED AGAINST THE GRAY MATTER OF MY BRAIN FOREVER and I will never forget it. At one point, Audrey Rose and love interest Thomas decide the best thing they can do is go out and—yes—stalk Jack the Ripper. To do this, they know they need to “blend in” with the crowds in East End. So … like … cosplaying as poor people? Audrey Rose manages to find and wear the dress of ONE OF THE MURDER VICTIMS (long story short her medical doctor uncle was in a relationship with this woman and when she died he acquired her worldly possessions). It’s like, so fucked up, I can’t even describe my reaction when I read it. In chapter 25 we read, "The dress was a little too old, a little too ragged, a bit too big. If I were to wear this ghastly dress out, I’d look as if I belonged in the East End, begging for work to feed my addictions … It was absolutely perfect.” Oh my god. And THAT’S NOT EVEN THE WORST PART. While they’re “stalking Jack the Ripper” on this incredibly stupid mission, the two main characters just … make out in an alley. Like, okay. People are being murdered and you’re wearing a dead woman’s dress and you suspect your father of being guilty, but yeah, that kind of stuff makes us all a little horny. Super relatable. Absolutely no concept of reality or consequences or anything at all.

Another random note on class: I noticed the only time Maniscalco writes in dialects/accents, she’s writing seedy/working-class characters. Not saying this is a problem unique to Maniscalco’s writing by a longshot, but ... something to think on. (I think it’s ingrained in a lot of author’s writing habits/minds at this point.)

Weird stuff about the dad, the brother, and what justice means to Audrey Rose:

I had to add a whole new highlighting color for this stuff!

Any growth Audrey Rose might’ve shown over the course of the novel—anything about how these women mattered, and how they deserved justice as any “highborn” individual might, simply by dint of being humans—goes away when she and Thomas come to the conclusion that the Ripper murders must have been committed by Audrey Rose’s father. She realizes her moral dilemma when she contends with the harsh reality: if her father is the Ripper, can she turn him into the authorities? Audrey Rose worries how that might impact her own moral virtue: "They’d hang Father. Given who he was, they’d make it as public and brutal as possible. Just because blood might stain his hands did not mean I wanted his on mine. No matter if it was right or wrong” (chapter 24). First of all, BITCH. You have to. You have to report this kind of thing. No ifs, ands, or buts. I HAVE to imagine Maniscalco’s intended audience would feel the same? It’s? Serial murder? Second: Audrey Rose, baby, sweetie, honey. This is just a reminder that ACAB. I actually don’t know a whole lot about how the late Victorian criminal justice system functioned, but something tells me her family's public outlook would’ve been less bleak than she imagines here.

Lucky for Audrey Rose, her dad isn’t guilty in the end—but her brother sure is. He’s a mad scientist, using the brutalized bodies and souvenirs of his victims for Frankenstein-style experiments. Ultimately, he wants to reanimate the corpse of his and Audrey Rose’s long-dead mother, and he believes he can achieve this by transplanting fresh organs into ? Her dead and decomposed body? The thing is that, this moral dilemma persists for Audrey Rose—and her dad, too. He pressures her not to bring the little matter of Nathaniel’s issue—you know, his casual murder of a number of local women—to Scotland Yard: “They’ll have your brother hanged,” he said quietly. “Could you honestly watch that happen? As a family, have we not suffered enough?” (chapter 29). Nathaniel electrocutes himself to evade capture by the authorities, and Audrey Rose and her father feel relief. The book ends by confirming that "Lord Edmund covered up Nathaniel’s involvement, I didn’t ask how. One day I’d let everyone know the truth, but the pain was too raw now” (chapter 30).

((Side note: Listen. I knew Nathaniel had something sinister going on from the GET-GO (I’m not trying to be obnoxious) because he basically started some nighttime vigilante group called the Whitechapel Knights of Justice or whatever bullshit, I don’t know. All I know is that my red flags IMMEDIATELY started going off because that sounds exactly like the terrible and awful Crusader cosplay clubs from my (bad) Catholic childhood, where everyone thinks they’re a knight for Good but really they’re the bad guy.))

Overall, kind of ...

I think one of my biggest issues with this ending was … You have already stepped into a realm of fantastical revisionist history here in writing such a fictionalized version of these real-life events. (I know Maniscalco is far from the first to do it.) That means that the rules you are playing by are essentially your own—evidenced by the liberties she points out in her Author’s/Historical note (dates changed for convenience or storytelling purposes, real-life individuals changed for narrative purposes, etc.). So WHY would you not conclude this fantasy retelling of the Jack the Ripper murders by meting out some form of justice? I hear the counterargument: "Well, because we still don’t know the culprit today. This book would ring hollow if it named someone since historians, forensic scientists, etc. still don’t know who committed these crimes." My question: is that really a problem though? This is a work of fiction. Nothing in history happened the way it is written here. Is it crueler to the women who were murdered and who remain spectacles for true crime junkies and authors like this, less satisfying to readers who want some more concrete kind of closure, to not offer that up? I am asking this in earnest here, because I don’t know. Maybe it is insensitive to make up a murderer, to fill in the gaps in order to make sense of the violence that happened. But in my brain it feels almost like a responsibility at this point, since these murders served as the backdrop for the romance between Audrey Rose and Thomas, for the background to Audrey Rose’s empty feminist diatribes, and as inspiration for a book that went on far longer than it needed to. To me it kind of feels like the least an author could do, but I have no clue.

Anyways, I'm just glad I get to put this series to bed. No more.I truly lost sleep over it this weekend. Onto something better, please, for the love of god.