#and I feel like it needed to be said so. there’s so much art to creating a better world honestly

[merchantziro]

This was Danny's final shot, he honestly didn't have that much ecto left in him to keep enchanting metal. This city didn't have much, it was concerning it generated ectoplasm as is without a Ghost Portal as far as Danny knew but... Not his monkeys, not his circus.

So he built the portal outside the city, hoping it was somewhere secluded where those furries won't bother him this time.

Phantom finally got the portal set up and just needed to find a power source, so he left for what would hopefully be the final time to gather up some sort of power source, however right when he was returning...

B O O M !

Danny heard an explosion in the distance, that sounded like it came from-

The ghost boy ran back into his hideout, but was immediately kicked to the ground by one of the costumed jerks.

"No... No!"

Danny looked over at smoking and burning remains of the portal. They seemed to be asking him something but Danny neither understood what they were saying nor cared enough to say anything.

However what he did do was collapse to his knees, this was the final straw that broke the Halfa's back.

"Why? Why do you keep doing this?"

The costumed heroes paused before one reached out to him...

"Art thee tis fine...?"

...But Danny smacked the hand away with a growl.

"Get out..."

The man flinched back at the venom before the smaller one, a child that might be almost Danny's age, raised a sword.

"Thou art the one with the League, whatev'r grandfath'r is planning wonneth't cometh to fruition!"

The Halfa then looked at him coldly before wailing.

"I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT AND LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"

A green shockwave came from his mouse and knocked them into a wall. They raised their weapons and prepared to battle, but Danny then just turned away to the portal as tears formed in his eyes before collapsing to the ground sobbing.

"I just wanted to go home..."

That made the costumed freaks pause before looking at each other confused, not really knowing what to do. As the ghost boy cried himself until he fell asleep.

--- Hours Later ---

Danny woke up, only to find one of his tormentors, the one in a black and blue suit, was watching over him in a room that looked like a guest bedroom as he was laying on a bed. Though this time he looked concerned.

"Art thee good now?"

The ghost boy just glared before grumbling.

"...Why do YOU care all of the sudden? You sure didn't care before?"

"T appears we might has't misund'rstood thy intentions, and we wanteth to fixeth yond misprision."

"You want to what?"

Danny tilted his head before noticing a woman with a purple outfit enter the room, she had tan skin, green eyes, and poofy red hair that looked long and vibrant.

"This the one thee hath asked me to holp thee with right, Dick?"

She asked the man before he nodded, the woman turned back to him before getting closer as she puckered her lips

"Good now holdeth still, this shall only taketh a moment."

Danny immediately flinched back reflexively but couldn't react or speak fast before feeling the woman kiss him briefly on the lips. He could also see the man turn away, looking grumpy.

However the moment AFTER they broke, he was coughing and gagging.

"Ugh! What the hell was that for, I'm only 15 and not interested in whatever weird kinky shit you-"

"Do you understand me better now?"

Danny paused when he heard her speak English back to him.

"Uh? ...Yeah? How did you"

The woman nodded.

"I apologize for scaring you, Tamaraneans like myself have the ability to learn other alien languages through oral contact."

"Wait Tama-what now? Wait, I kissed an alien!?"

The woman giggled at Danny's stuttering realization, while the man continued to watch the conversation from the sidelines.

"Indeed, I am Princess Koriand'r of Tamaran, but you may call me Starfire."

"Uh... Danny, Danny Fenton of... Well it's complicated."

Danny felt his cheeks burning green because, concerning potential age difference aside, holy shit kissing an alien princess almost makes this all worth it and he's gonna brag to Tucker and Sam about it for a week when he gets home!

...Home...

The memory of the ruined portal immediately caused Danny to slump back into his chair as he turned back to the man.

"So what? After every time those guys destroyed my attempts to make a portal, NOW they decide they want to talk when I lost my final chance!?"

He folded his arms and looked away, the man flinching at his outburst.

"...There might have been a misunderstanding with your intentions and nature. Tell me, do the terms Lazarus Pits or League of Assassins mean anything to you?"

"The Who Pits and League of What!? No, Ancients no!"

Danny raised an eyebrow and looked genuinely baffled by the question.

"Well according to what Nightwing told me, they believed you were using an old form of their dialect and thus believed you were with them. Tell me then where did you learn it?"

"Uh? This is English? I don't know why everyone else speaks like old Shakespearean novels in this world but at least it's English back in my dimension?"

"I see... So then I assume you were just trying to build a portal home?"

She placed a hand onto Danny's shoulder, a sympathetic look on her face.

"Y-Yeah... And... That was my last shot. Because I needed to use Ectoplasm to imbue the parts in order to make the portal into the Infinite Realms so I could find my way back."

This caused the man to take a deep sigh as he's having a slow burn realization of something before resting his head on his arms.

"Oh mine own god we couldst not has't fuck'd this up any m're if 't be true we hath tried..."

Step 1: Get stuck in another dimension. Step 2: build a portal back to the Ghost Zone. Step 3: Leave.

Danny's got it down to a science at this point. It barely takes him a week to get back home. (Except for the time the dimension he landed in was in the stone age, but we don't talk about that.)

Step 1 was easy enough, if involuntary. Now, step 2 is where it's all going wrong.

This dimension's language isn't one he speaks. That's fine, maybe adds a day or two to the search for parts, but the main problem is the people dressed in Halloween costumes, speaking like they're from a Shakespearean play who always find him and wreck his portal.

And it's not like he can just move to a different city, this one's soaked in ectoplasm. He'd have to spend a pretty fair amount of time searching for another place as saturated as this one.

Meanwhile, the Bats are not having a good time. Some League or League-adjacent member speaking a barely intelligible form of the League dialect keeps attempting to build some sort of weapon in Gotham, and refuses all communication in English.

(AKA: Danny is stuck in another dimension where his English is their League dialect. He just wants to go home now, please.)

[artdcnaldson]

pussydrunk 2006 art eating pussy for the first time and he can't stop moaning into your cunt and grinding against the bed. when he feels you cum on his mouth he drinks it up like he's dying of thirst and cums in his boxers.

Vintage ask that's been in my inbox since September 17th.... oops.......

but sigh.... sweet baby!Art needing to proove himself after he's lost the 2006 Junior US Open final </3 He goes back to your hotel room bc he can't stand the thought of looking at a very Smug Patrick Zweig right now, especially if somehow Tashi winds up in their hotel room, and Art has to suffer through a pathetic, soul crushing sexile.

And it's not like he's super experienced. He's fucked, but it was clumsy and rushed and awkward because he was always afraid that Patrick would ignore the sock on the door and burst in just to be a dickhead.

You're not sharing your room. You're wearing a halter top and low rise jeans and a sparkly scarf as a belt, and you smell like vanilla body spray and dove cucumber deodorant. When you kiss him, you taste like strawberries and cream, licking delicately into his mouth as you pin him beneath you on the bed.

He's never gone down on someone before, but he's watched videos. He's heard Patrick talk about it in any crude way he can. He described the smell, the taste, the way the girls' thighs would close around his ears and trap him there. He's blushing tomato red as he pulls back and looks at you. "Can I eat you out?"

He regrets it the second he asks, terrified that he'll be horrible and sloppy and awful at it, but you nod and he begins to strip you of your party clothes. He kisses the valley between your breasts, the spot below your belly button, a beauty mark near your hip.

He fits himself between your thighs, and leans forward to give a tentative lick. He sighs softly, nuzzling closer, letting his tongue explore the slick, hot flesh. You moan and he feels your thighs tense on either side of him as his tongue flicks over the bud of your clit.

You taste good. Locker room talk had convinced Art that it'd be kind of gross and dirty to eat pussy, but you were so soft and warm and wet beneath him, dripping your juices onto his eager tongue.

He knows he's hard in his jeans, and he's lucky he's on his stomach so you can't tell. He can't help but give in to the urge to rut down against the springy hotel bed, just a little... just to sooth that aching, hungry need.

Your fingers are in his hair, tangled, tugging. You moan louder, throwing your hair back. He wonders if you've ever been eaten out before. If he's doing alright. If he's better. He tries to scan his brain for anything Patrick might have said that wasn't totally disgusting, but he draws a blank. All he can focus on is the taste of you, the smell of you, the pretty sounds you're making.

It doesn't take much to get you there, which only seems to feed his ego. He's rutting against the bed like an animal in heat, moaning against your pussy, licking at you like a fucking meal. "Cumming— 'm cumming—" you gasp in a breathy tone, and he knows he's done for. He tastes your release on his tongue— the slick, heady flavor like heaven. He cums with a gasp, panting against the slick, swollen folds of your cunt as he spills his release into his boxers.

"You're really good at that," you tell him as he rolls over, the wet spot on his pants just as evident as the glistening release on his nose, mouth, and chin. He should be embarrassed, but you don't say anything, so he isn't. You don't comment about returning the favor (you think he's probably out of commission until further notice), so you ask him if he wants to just cuddle and sleep over. He can't think of anything better.

[mcflymemes]

AS SAID BY GALE DEKARIOS *  assorted dialogue from baldur's gate 3

is that... is that truly you? i thought i might never see you again.

i love you, more than i've ever loved anyone. and you've proven your love for me in more ways than even the greatest mathematicians would dare to count.

you licked a dead spider. dead spider. you licked it. that is something that happened.

i think we need to get you some air and perhaps have a long talk about unresolved childhood issues.

stop licking the damn thing!

i see the art of eloquence is alive and well.

i'm awed, impressed, and a little bit scared of you right now.

nothing like a brisk stroll through the forest to invigorate the spirit.

i've never wanted to kiss you more than i do now.

right now, i need nothing more than a kiss.

tell me you feel the same way. tell me you want what i want. please.

i'll always have you.

you really would prefer me as i am?

do you doubt me?

you put the stars to shame.

let's sit here another while - i want to drink you in.

there you are.

you led me down this path.

i don't know myself anymore.

all this... it's not who i am. around you, i'm not who i want to be.

you really are absolutely heartless, aren't you?

i was hoping you'd spare me a moment.

this seems as good a time as any for me to stop babbling on.

i think you're rather wonderful. and that's not a word i waste on anyone unworthy of it.

go. enjoy your evening.

i like that about you. it's one of your rarer qualities.

i promise we'll make it work, if you'll have me.

what are you doing? stand back! now!

i thought i meant more to you than a sacrificial lamb. clearly i was mistaken.

you've brought me right where i need to be. i have no right to ask more of you.

you're plotting something, aren't you?

i go where you go.

i'm telling you, this is a mistake.

don't worry too much. a handful of powerful spells go a long way.

hold on! it's not too late to settle this without bloodshed.

mercy is not your strong suit, is it?

well... so much for my previous sentiment.

the choice is yours. there's really no good decision to be made here.

i'll be delighted to see you try... from a safe distance.

how generous of you.

there has to be a way to stop this thing!

i have no desire to end your life. you know that.

i see the glint in your eyes. you've a strategy in mind. the same one as me, i'd wager.

well, now that we know what it is, i suggest we leave it well alone.

better be careful around here.

i'll miss you, friend. your companionship has been quite the education.

i won't lie. i miss our group.

don't worry, i'll handle matters from here.

i'm ready. are you?

we must discuss it privately.

have you lost your wits? you must not do this!

we can't afford to let that happen.

they say madness and genius are separated by but a hair's breadth. perhaps the same is true of madness and stupidity.

you make me sound like some preening peacock.

i'm taking notes. making observations.

you're adorable even when you're teasing me.

you know what, i think i've clearly had far too much wine. and you've had nowhere near enough.

don't worry about me. i'm quite content to enjoy the party from here.

don't let me drag you away.

that, my friend, must remain a secret.

i do hope you know what you're doing.

might be the wine talking.

why am i doing this?

i'm sorry it had to come to this.

i'm going to bed. perhaps this was all a mistake.

careful. you don't know what i'm about to ask.

kill me, and i'll destroy the city anyway.

i want it to be perfect.

stay with me a while, will you?

i'm in love with you.

i'm many things, but coy's not one of them.

listen, i need to speak to you.

i might need you to be more specific.

i regret many things in life.

we all have our burdens, one way or the other.

i am as honored as i am enamored.

i am not the only one who longs for you... yet you chose me.

my time is yours. what do you need?

tell me, what can i do for you?

you need me?

you look... comfortable.

[ramp-it-up]

Peach VII

Peach VI | Peach VIII

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is a mob boss trying to get clean. It’s definitely because he’s in love. With you. He's got you on his turf in NYC. Do you leave there single or a married woman?

Pairing: Art Dealer/Artist/Philanthopist (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: I have all of the words and none of the confidence. Oh I hope you like it. It may not be everyone's cup of tea. This is part one of the Valentine's weekend bundle. I hope you like it. Let me know my LOVEs! ❤️

This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and DIRECTLY AFTER the events in Peach VI. Your interaction keeps me writing, so let me know if you like it by commenting and reblogging.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Steve Rogers is rich, bitches!, the big one bling, the event! stripping, pole dancing, lap dancing, sloppy blow job, is this Subby!Steve? woman on top, nipple play (m receiving), size kink, definite breeding kink, raw p in v, a lil bit of cum play. Family feeeelings, Bucky being Bucky, Steve being a simp, jealous bitches, almost catching a case at a gala.

Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

“If you ask me, I’m ready…”

“Is that what you want?” Steve said as his hands gripped your waist.

You couldn't look away from his eyes which were deeply searching yours.

When you moved your hand to his chest, his heart thudded through the muscle and the bone to your fingertips.

You nodded and marveled at how far you both had come in such a short amount of time.

You were sure.

“I’m not going back on what I said, Steve. If you ask me, I’m ready.”

Steve couldn’t believe his luck.

“How much is that promise worth to you, Peach? Because when I make a promise, I keep it.”

His beautiful deep velvet voice had you swooning in his arms. 

“Everything. It’s worth everything, Steve.”

It was unthinkable what you were feeling. But it was oh so right.

Steve’s look was so serious for a moment and then he kissed you again. He flipped you over, torso pinning yours down, abs between your legs. You whined with need as he kissed you, tenderly, his fingers tracing your face.

Then he pulled away.

“Get dressed, Peach.”

“What?

“Get dressed. Pack up. You’re checking out of the hotel.'

You looked at him and cocked your eyebrow.

“Oh. Am I?”

Steve chuckled at your sass. It was so cute. Then he pulled you close and whispered in your ear.

“Yes. You are. Remember I said that I was going to give you what you need, when you need it?”

You shivered at the way Steve handled you.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers.”

“Well, I need you to trust me. And I need to ask you a question."

“Understood.”

Steve kneeled at the side of the bed, those eyes focused on you. He looked like a little boy.

And then he asked you a very grown up question.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal the corridor to Steve’s penthouse at the top of the Rebirth building. There were two doors on the entire hallway, both mirroring each other. 

Steve walked beside you to one of the entrances, his hand resting lightly at the small of your back, a touch both casual and possessive. 

Your mouth dropped open when the door opened on floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Manhattan skyline. 

The view went on forever.

"Jesus, Steve. This is… Beautiful!"

Your eyes shone as you turned in a circle to take in the room.

"Wait until you see the rest."

You were wandering now, your fingertips trailing over the sleek countertops, the rich leather of his couch, and the curated artwork lining the walls. Everything about the space was sophisticated, masculine, Steve.

You wondered how you could lend your touch.

Steve had gone into another room, his bedroom, you imagined, to put your things down. He came up behind you as you stared out of the window, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He kissed your neck as you leaned your head back on his chest.

“This place is… it’s amazing, Steve. I can’t believe we just did that.”

“More amazing now that you’re here. And you better believe it.”

“I have something for you…a wedding gift”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, bringing it in front of you. 

The diamonds on your hand glittered and caught your eye as you reached to touch what was inside. It was a necklace with double diamond solitaires, one cushion cut and one pear shaped, nestled side by side on a thin, gleaming chain.

A moi et toi design.

To match your ring.

You blinked up at him, craning your neck to look him in the eye. He pecked you on the lips.

“Steve…”

He reached out, and plucked the necklace from the box. His fingers brushed the nape of your neck as he draped it around you.

“Moi et toi,” he murmured near your ear. “Me and you.”

You swallowed, your fingers rising to touch the stones on your skin as you gazed out on the city. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“Two stones side by side; one strengthens the other.” 

His thumb brushed over your collarbone, tracing the edge of the necklace. 

“That’s what we are. It’s what you do for me. Make me want to be a better man.”

You exhaled, your lips parting slightly as you turned around in his arms.

“Steve. You are a good man. You’re just doing things in a slightly unconventional way. You’re talking to the queen of unconventional. Remember where we met?”

There you were, being adorable again. The way you’d fought him up until this week made Steve stand in disbelief at how accepting you were of him. And how easily you’d run off with him to Connecticut tonight to become his wife. 

It was crazy, but it was so right.

“I do. I seem to recall meeting you in heaven, because all I remember thinking is ‘who is this angel?’”  

You rolled your eyes and laughed.

“You’ve been hanging around Bucky too long.”

Steve chuckled, tilting your chin up with a knuckle. He was happy.

“You’re right. But anyway, the necklace is for tomorrow, I mean the Gala tonight. Something to remind you that no matter who else is in the room... you’re my wife."

You swallowed at the octave drop in Steve’s voice and he traced your throat with his thumb as you did it. Steve gathered you to him, pressing his lips to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered into your ear.

“Come with me, there’s something else I want to show you. " 

He grabbed your hand and led you down a hallway. 

You followed until he stopped and turned to you with a mischievous grin. Then, he opened the door behind his back and backed in so he could watch your face.

Curious, you followed him inside. 

Then you froze. 

It was a good sized space. Mirrors lined one entire wall, reflecting the soft glow of LED track lighting. You stepped out on the wood floor and realized that it was made from premium materials.

But what really caught your attention was the sleek, stainless-steel pole standing tall in the center of the room. You turned slowly, meeting Steve's expectant gaze. 

"You have a dance studio?" 

"You have a dance studio," he corrected. 

"I arranged for it to be started while we were in Hilton Head and it was just finished yesterday. I wanted you to have a place to move. To feel free while you’re in Brooklyn."

You went to the pole and grabbed it and leaned out, checking it. It was sturdy and conditioned. You twirled a little and came to rest, the pole between the ass cheeks of your leggings. 

Steve’s look became hungry, and his cock jumped in his sweats. If he was thinking of sleep earlier, he was wide awake now. 

And some parts of him were more awake than others. 

“So… you had a dance studio built, for me, while we were in Hilton Head? Me, a woman who was threatening your life?”

The way you smiled at him made Steve’s heart flutter. He nodded and came close and tried to kiss you, but you twirled away from him to the other side of the pole. He flashed you a smile and your butterflies started up again.

“It was right after you threatened to shoot my balls off. I knew you had it bad.”

Steve sighed as if he was nostalgic for your death threats. You laughed as Steve grabbed for you again.

You scooted away from him.

“Don’t touch, Mr. Rogers,” you admonished as your finger wagged in front of those lips. 

Then you pointed, and Steve followed your hand as if mesmerized. He was the one who had it bad.

“Why don’t you sit down so I can test this thing out? Haven’t had a proper dance workout all week.”

Steve nodded and went to sit down on the chaise lounge in the corner of the room.

You stepped forward, and your pulse quickened as you held Steve’s gaze. He leaned back against the back of the chaise, arms crossed over his broad chest, and his t-shirt straining across his shoulders, biceps, and chest.

His blue eyes were focused with an intensity that sent a shiver through your body.

"Music?" you prompted. 

Steve smirked and tapped his phone. A pulsating beat filled the room, the bass vibrating beneath your feet, and causing your hips to sway. You didn’t have your heels and you were in loungewear, but one of those things was to your advantage.

You grabbed the hem of your sweatshirt, teasing a glimpse of your skin as you swayed to the music.

Steve’s eyes darkened and his breath visibly slowed.

You took your time, dragging the cotton up your body as you shimmied, baring the skin of your stomach, then your bra, then your collarbones as your head was hidden for half a second.

You winked when you emerged and you moved closer as you leaned over him and placed your garment on the lounge next to him.

Steve didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But his jaw clenched, and you didn’t miss the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

Then, you turned around, hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your leggings and looked over your shoulder to find him staring at your ass and licking his lips. Steve looked up at you, his blue eyes burning now as you smirked at him and peeled the black material down to reveal your flesh, in black lace, bent fully at the waist. 

Steve’s hands twitched for want of reaching out. He exhaled sharply, restraint hanging by a thread.

You straightened up slowly, twerking and slapping your own ass, holding a cheek so that he could see the lace-clothed split of you. You shot him a saucy wink as you stepped out of your clothing, pushing it aside with the tip of your toe before slowly running your hands down your body. 

You brought your hands up to your face, sliding them down your neck to your chest, then your sides, letting your fingers skim over your ribs, down your stomach, then back up, skirting along your bra and pulling your nipples through the fabric. 

Steve made a low sound in his throat, his control cracking.

It was just as he decided to reach out to touch you that you walked toward the pole on tip toes, the only way you knew how to do it. 

“No touching unless I give permission. That’s the rule in Peach’s Parlor.”

Steve cocked his head, grinning now.

“Peach’s Parlor? So you like it? You taking ownership of the place?”

He was proud that you seemed pleased. You smiled back at him in response, exhaling and letting the rhythm take you.

You started with a slow walk around the pole, each step deliberate, your hips swaying just enough to raise the temperature of his blood degree by degree. 

His smile dropped and his jaw tightened, but he didn’t move, his restraint evident in every rigid line of his body as his eyes followed your every move

You reached up, gripping the pole above your head, then lifted yourself effortlessly, letting momentum carry you into a slow spin. The world blurred for a moment, the mirrors reflecting your every movement as you let your legs extend, toes pointed, body fluid. 

The way you moved was unhurried, deliberate, and so alluring. Steve sighed and bent his head to the side, taking you in. Then he bit his lip, remembering how you felt earlier. You felt so fucking good, your sweet, hot pussy pulsing around him.

He was putting the cart before the horse, but he wanted to be your baby daddy so bad. He head was in the clouds as you hooked one leg around the pole, arching your back as you slid downward in a controlled descent, your body moving with the music, sensual and confident. 

The way your muscles flexed and relaxed, the roll of your hips was mesmerizingly beautiful. You were performing your art for Steve, moving for his pleasure. 

But you were in control. 

And it made Steve remember that this is what it was that made him fall for you in the first place. Damn, he wanted you, and even though you were only steps away, it was driving him crazy. 

When you reached the floor, you dropped to your knees, your thighs spread, fingers skimming down your skin as you stared at him.

Steve rubbed his hands on his pants to ease the itch of his fingers wanting to grasp you.

You stood and grabbed the pole once more, swinging around in another smooth, effortless climb. You wrapped your legs around the metal, suspended for a moment, before twisting into an elegant descent, your body brushing against the pole in a way that made Steve’s balls ache.

When you landed, you moved toward him on tiptoe again, all legs and glistening body, hips swaying, eyes locked onto his.

Steve only moved to put his hands on the back of the lounge, but other than that he was still.

In a graceful move, you straddled him carefully, knees on either side of his slim hips. You were close enough for him to feel your warmth, but were barely touching him. The heat coming from your core made him feral and his eyes were drawn downward to the source.

You felt a tremendous power, so you reached for his chin and tilted it up so he could look into your eyes. 

Steve almost got lost there, but when you whispered, “Good boy,” he forgot how to breathe.

He didn't know he liked that, but the fact that you'd guessed it made you even more perfect for him. 

He covered a whimper by clearing his throat, causing a secret smile to grace your lips as you slowly rolled your hips and arched your back, your tits barely grazing his chest. 

Steve's eyes were everywhere, watching everything, especially your nipples, which were so hard and beautiful through the lace.

He felt like if he could just to suck them for a minute, everything in the world would be alright.

A minute each. 

Maybe an hour.

Steve's breath was hot against your skin, but he still hadn’t touched you. His grip on the chaise tightened, his control hanging by a thread.

You ran your fingers down your body before leaning backward and grazing his thighs and it was just enough to plan out the pattern of his skeet along your skin.

He was sure, with practice, that he could spell out his name.

In one fluid movement, you turned around, pressing your back to his chest, and, lightly, so lightly, too lightly, ground against his rigid cock with slow, deliberate precision.

Steve felt delirious and close to expiring.

“Fuck, Peach… You trying to kill me?” Steve murmured, his voice low and rough. “We just got married.”

Married!

You looked over your shoulder at him and moved your lips close to his, smiling as you saw the muscles in his corded neck tense.  You leaned in, your lips hovering near his ear.

“You're so good for me Stevie… Such a good... big... boy.”

You twerked the last three words in his lap, causing him to exhale sharply and his hands to twitch. You arched, rolling your body against his again. 

And then.

Finally, finally, you let yourself sink into his lap, pressing fully against his cock. He could feel your moist pussy lips through layers of fabric.

And that’s when Steve’s restraint snapped.

His hands shot to your waist, gripping hard, his fingers digging into your skin. You leaned back and his lips found your shoulder, his breath uneven.

You smirked and turned around, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammer beneath your touch.

Steve crashed his mouth to yours, swallowing your laughter in a kiss that was deep and desperate. His hands roamed your body, tracing lace, his need evident in every touch.

“My sweet Peach. Mrs. Rogers,” he growled against your skin, voice thick with hunger.

You reached up to run your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make his head tilt back.

“Yesss. Say Heyyyy, Mrs. Rogers…,” you teased.

One hand clasped his throat, squeezing his Adam's apple lightly as his blue eyes shone from his slitted lids. Steve's cock pulsed in his pants, then he took a ragged breath before he spoke.

“Heyyyyyy. Mrs. Rogers...”

You rolled your hips against his impressive bulge as Steve’s baritone rumbled in your ear. As you reached for the hem of his shirt, he kissed you, grabbing the collar to take it off.

You looked at Steve appreciatively as you bent and licked one erect nipple, then wrapped your lips around the tiny button, pulling it into your mouth and eliciting a small groan from him.

You took your time, enjoying his sounds which got louder and louder.

"Such a good boy making those pretty sounds for me, Stevie."

You licked, sucked and savored him as you alternated from one pec to the other.

“Wanna always be good for you, Peach...” 

Steve gritted it out as you grabbed him by the hair, pulling him into a filthy, long, deep kiss. He grabbed for you and held on as your mouth plundered his.

Then you pulled away.

“I have a question, Mr. Rogers,” you unclasped your bra, then leaned forward and stuffed your nipple into his mouth, moaning as he looked up at you with those clear blue eyes and sucked enthusiastically.

“How is it you married me, and I hadn’t even sucked your cock yet?”

Steve pulled off your tight, wet nipple with a plop and chuckled. Then he got serious.

“Must be true love.”

You felt his cock pound between your legs and knew what had to happen. His fingernails scratched your thighs trying to hold on to you as you moved back to stand.

When he saw that you were going to kneel, he quickly moved a pillow from the chaise for you to settle in front of him. He then lifted his hips from the couch and pulled down his sweats and boxers in one move.

His erection sprung out and you licked your lips, ready to finally feel the smooth skin in your mouth.

"Touch yourself for me, Stevie."

Steve took himself in hand and started stroking from base to head, thumb swiping the drops of precum in passing. His burning gaze was on you but your eyes were glued to what was in his fist. 

“Fuck that’s hot… Wan’ taste you,” you were whining now, feeling deprived. 

“Whatever you want,” Steve whispered in a strained voice after looking into those big, beautiful eyes.  

You ran your fingers over his thick dick all the way down to the heavy, tight balls. 

“So pretty…” 

You kept eye contact as you leaned in and gave him a long, wet lick from balls to head. Your tongue rolled over the soft skin of the large mushroom cap, taking in the dewey drops leaking from it.

You licked down the hard shaft, until you reached the base and ran your tongue over his large sac.

You began sucking on his tip, tonguing underneath, and humming around his head, causing Steve to murmur, “Fffeels so fucking good, Peach.”

He was carding his fingers through your hair as he said it.

Inspired, you took him as far as you could, until your lips were stretched to the limit and tears coursed down your face. You inhaled the musky scent of him in the hair at the base of his cock and looked back up to watch his contracting abs and heaving chest, his open mouth and those mesmerizing eyes. 

This was a fucking beautiful man.

Steve’s big hands gathered your hair and held it, just tight enough to send a zing to your clit. 

“Peachhhhh, that mouth is so fucking good.”

Steve was in love with how you sucked him off. He rolled his hips and found out just how snug your throat really was. When you pulled off, tears were rolling down your face.

He wiped your tears away with his thumb. 

"Y' look so fucking pretty like this, Peach.”

The way you took him all when you deep throated him again sent the cum crawling up his balls. 

“Fuckfuckfuck. Shit.”

You pulled off and released him with a filthy plop, watching as he desperately squeezed his cock at the base, trying to stop the impending explosion.

He reached out for you with his other hand and you climbed up onto his lap as he marveled at your messy hair, your bouncing tits, and fucked out expression.

“You’re a fucking goddess. Wanna cum down your throat, Peach, but don’t swallow our kids. Need ‘em inside you.”

The tip of his cock nudged your entrance, and you reached down and grabbed it, perfecting its position as you sank down on it loving the feeling as he stretched you out again.

You both watched in fascination as your pussy engulfed him preceded by the juices from your wet pussy. Steve’s hands grabbed onto your hips, and you wanted him to bruise you, to have a mark on you from this for days. 

Your head lolled back as you glided down on your husband’s thick cock. He lifted you by your waist and alternated fucking you up and down his dick and thrusting into you, hitting angles he hadn't before.

His grunts and your moans were beautiful music.

“Please look at me, Peach.”

His tone was reverent and you couldn't help but obey. The sounds you two were making sent you right to the edge of a precipice.

“Oh… right…there… right fucking there!”

You keened as you scratched the skin on his shoulders and biceps. 

“Fucking me so good, Stevie…So righttt. N-need you to keep hitting it like that…give it to me just like that. All your cum. Inside me.”

He was hitting those bundles of nerves just right.

“You need it like that hunh? I'll give it to you until it drips out of you... Need it dripping down my gotdamn balls....”

And he proceeded to fuck up into you perfectly. Your hands moved from his shoulders to his hair and you leaned in for a filthy kiss.

He gripped your throat and carefully squeezed to control your airflow. Your eyes began to roll and your cunt clenched down on him. Hard.

"Ffuckk, " He had to grit his teeth to keep from cumming. "Need you to fucking cum, Peach....."

“I- I’m close Stevieeee. Ahhh. Give it. Gonna have all your babies….”

Your pussy started clenching around him.

“Holy FUCK!”

Steve picked you up and placed you on the chaise, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he drilled into you. He slid a hand between you and rubbed your clit in soul-destroying circles.

“Drain these fucking balls...shhhhhitttttt!"

You clutched him close as you felt his cock start and continue to spurt hot cum inside you. As he softened, he sat back on his heels and spread your legs to watch his cum drip out of you. He trailed two fingertips down your sensitive slit and pushed it back inside you, all the while a sly grin on his face.

He caught your eye. 

“Can’t waste a drop.”

“You are filthy slut, Mr. Rogers.”

He laughed. 

“Only for you, Mrs. Rogers.” 

Steve grabbed his t-shirt to clean you both up a bit. Next thing you knew, you were being carried out of the studio and through to his master bedroom 

It was daylight when you were lightly snoring in his arms and Steve was grinning wide, his wife in his arms.

—

The next afternoon, you sat in front of the vanity in Bucky’s penthouse as the hired glam team worked around you and your cousin. The stylist meticulously worked with your hair while the makeup artist added the final sweep of highlighter across her cheekbones.

The two of you had been getting ready together for years, first as teenagers sneaking into her mother’s closet, and now as women preparing for an extravagant event in a high-rise overlooking Manhattan. But this afternoon was different.

Her eyes met yours in the mirror. You had just her the rundown of the day before, complete with the news that you and Steve were married. She’d been quiet for a while, but now it seemed she was ready to talk again.

“You’re really happy, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice soft but certain.

You blinked, then exhaled.

“Yes I am.”

“You and Steve are perfect for each other. "

She leaned over and grabbed your hand, grinning at you.

"This isn’t a race. I’m never gonna be jealous of you, girl.”

You grinned back.

“I’m pissed that I wasn’t able to be there, though.”

You sighed. Your one regret.

“I know. But it was perfect. Just the two of us. We’ll have a party later on, though. And tonight, we’ll celebrate.”

You turned thoughtful.

“The way Steve loves me should terrify me. But it doesn’t.”

She studied you for a moment. 

“Because?”

“Because when I’m with him, it makes sense. The way he looks at me, the way he is with me—it doesn’t feel rushed. It just feels… right.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Your cousin smiled, tilting her head as the hairstylist and makeup artist switched and her hair was being fussed over. 

“I know you think that I feel some kind of way, but I know you girl. I was shocked, but not surprised..”

She laughed and you shook your head.

“Running off and getting married is so you. It’s so Steve too when you think about it.”

You took a sip of the mimosa that Bucky had brought in earlier. You thought what was about to happen for your cousin.

“Real talk. Bucky adores you, Cousin. And I know you. And I’m getting to know Bucky. This engagement and wedding are going to be events. Events, I say. You wouldn’t have it any other way. .You’re about to get some bling to match that jewelry you got on tonight in Vermont next week.” 

You two laughed together, the mood lighter now. 

“You’re right,” she replied. I’m secure. It will happen. And just at the right time for us. And no matter what, Peach. You are never gonna lose me as your biggest fan, no matter what.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, cousin.”

You hugged each other so hard, the stylists had to touch you back up.

As you finished up, the sound of deep voices and approaching footsteps echoed from the hallway. The door opened, and Bucky stepped in first, his navy tuxedo perfectly tailored, his gaze immediately softening when he saw your cousin. 

“Damn Frumoasă,” he murmured, taking her in with slow appreciation. 

“You’re making it real hard for me to let you out of this apartment tonight.”

She shot him a look.

“Smooth, Barnes,” she smirked at him. “Nice suit.”

“What? This old thing?”

Bucky smirked back as he took her hand and led her out of the room.

You rolled your eyes at them because you had the feeling they were being freaky, you just couldn’t prove it.

Steve walked in, ensconced in an impressively tailored dark tux, his presence commanding as always, but the moment his eyes landed on you, something in him shifted. 

You were wearing a short gold sequined gown that showcased your legs, and you felt like a princess. 

Like a wife.

His usual air of control wavered for a fraction of a second, his gaze dragging over you like he was memorizing every inch.

You arched that adorable brow at him, tilting your head. 

“No comment?”

Steve exhaled, stepping closer, his voice rough around the edges. 

“You already know, Mrs. Rogers.”

Bucky chuckled, clapping Steve on the shoulder. 

“Think you broke him, Peach. Congratulations, Mrs. Rogers.”

You grinned, gave Bucky a hug and reached for your clutch. 

Steve reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist as he murmured, “Hold on.”

You frowned slightly, watching as Bucky guided your cousin toward the door, leaving just the two of you in the room. Steve reached into his pocket, pulling out another small black velvet box.

Your breath caught, your heart skipping for just a second.

He popped the top, revealing a pair of dazzling double diamond drop earrings, the perfect complement to the moi et toi necklace resting against your collarbone and the ring on your finger. All you could do was look at them and then blink up at him.

“Steve…”

He smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. 

“Thought you should match.”

You shook your head and laughed.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Steve lifted an earring, stepping close to help fasten it in place and his touch lingered.

“You say that now,” he murmured and then moved to the other side, his lips just a breath away from your skin.

“But you love it.”

You turned into his arms and looked into his eyes.

“You know if you keep giving me gifts like this, you’re going to spoil me.”

His eyes darkened, and his hand came to rest on your hip, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. 

“That’s the plan,” he murmured, voice low, “Mrs. Rogers.”

Bucky cleared his throat from the doorway, breaking the moment. He was leaning against the frame, smirking. 

“Hate to interrupt, but Nico’s waiting. Unless you two want to skip the gala entirely.”

You rolled your eyes at the dark headed man and flipped him off.

"You're going to get enough of watching us like a drama."

"Never. You two are my favorite romcom."

Steve exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he kissed your neck, producing a shiver. Then, lacing his fingers with yours, he led you toward the door.

—

The way the night was going seemed like a dream, arriving on Steve’s arm and watching the reactions. Some were surprised, but most just commented that you were such a handsome couple and gave congratulations.

Sharon was clearly not happy, but fuck that bitch.

Steve hadn’t given her, or anyone else that matter, a second glance.

When the music started, Steve danced with you to all the tempos, even the Salsa when that genre was played. You had a time, and then you two went to the bar to get refreshments.

Sharon chose that moment to show her ass. You barely had a sip of your amaretto sour before she started on her bullshit.

“Steve,” she purred, looking up at him under her lashes and placing her hand on his forearm. 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Steve tactfully removed his arm from her grasp while the fingers on his other hand reached for you and rested low on your back, his thumb stroking a slow, deliberate circle against the sequined fabric of your gown.

“It’s been two days, Sharon,” he replied, his tone clipped. And annoyed.

Your cousin and Bucky moved closer, probably because she clocked what was going on.

Sharon ignored Steve’s tone and turned to you. 

“And you must be the entertainment. Nice dress. Is it easy to take off?”

The words sounded sweet as honey, but you heard the venom underneath. 

“I guess congratulations are in order? I hear you two ran off and got married. I guess that's a choice. It’s probably refreshing, going from someone like Peggy to someone like…Peaches..”

“It’s Peach,” you replied. 

The bitch was silent.

Sharon’s gaze flicked to your ring, then your jewelry, then down the length of your gown. 

“Although you do wear luxury well. Tell me, how does it feel knowing it’s all borrowed? That he’s probably going to dump you tomorrow. Get an annulment and leave your ass in the gutter strip club where he found you.”

You could feel the heat of Steve’s fury at your side, his body tensing like he was about to snap.

Your mouth opened to reply, but your cousin stepped up, anger rolling off of her body.

“You know what’s really refreshing, Sharon? Watching a woman who wants to fuck around with me and my family and find out.”

She lowered her voice.

“And like a cable, we jump hoes.”

The air around you shifted, and a few party-goers slowed their conversations to listen.

Bucky stepped forward as Sharon’s jaw twitched into a twisted smile. Bucky whispered in your cousin's ear. She glared at him and started taking off her jewelry, handing her earrings to him. Bucky shook his head and pulled her to the side while she gave him the business.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that in a negative way.” Sharon simpered. “It’s just the truth.”

Sharon looked between you and Steve.

“You are nothing but negative. You don’t have to worry about my marriage. Or your endowment anymore, Sharon.”

Steve spoke to her, his eyes blazing blue.

You smiled at your man, then took a slow step forward, closing the space between you, lowering your voice just enough that only Sharon, and Steve, could hear.

“Do you think calling me a stripper is an insult?” 

Your voice was strong and steady.

“I own what I do. I’m damn good at what I do. And you?” 

You looked her up and down, eyebrow deadly.

“You’re standing here, burning because even with your family ties, and your desperate little designer dress, the only woman Steve wants is me. He married me.”

You leaned in even closer.

“The difference between us? I don’t have to chase him. I just have to walk into a room.” 

You smiled at her sweetly.

“And he follows.”

The moment the words left your lips, Steve did exactly that. 

As he left her in her feelings,  Steve tossed a comment over his shoulder.

“You just got your ass handed to you in front of half the room,” he mused. 

“I’d cut my losses and walk away.”

One of the staffers turned up at that moment. 

“This way, Ms. Carter. I’ll be escorting you out.”

The four of you watched as she turned red and huffed and puffed on her way out of the door. After everyone around you went back to minding their own business, your cousin hugged you hard.

“I love you. That was perfection.”

You hugged her back. 

“Thank you, Boo.”

You released her as Bucky handed her earrings back and Steve looked at you with admiration in his eyes. 

“You handled that well.”

You smirked. “I know.”

Steve pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead, not bothering to lower his voice when he said, “I’ll remind you how much I love that later.”

Your cousin groaned dramatically.

 “You two are disgustingly perfect for each other.”

Bucky grabbed a bottle of Moet from the table display.

“A toast. To Mr. and Mrs. Steve Rogers!”

Your husband looked at you with a smile. You don’t know what was coming your way as Steve's wife, but you knew it wouldn’t be boring.

[eybefioro]

Happy Valentines, u/catartkd!

My gift for the @goodomensafterdark valentines exchange 💛

(Timelapse and ramblings under the cut as usual :P)

OKAY SO CATARTKD DID SOME AMAZING ARTWORK INSPIRED BY MUCHA A WHILE BACK AND I COULDN'T TAKE THEM FROM MY MIND. That's it 😂 you can find them here:

I really like Art Nouveau. Everything is just so delicate, light and also complex. The curves and the symmetry, it's all so pleasing... and that also extends to the architecture. And one of the things that I find the the prettiest in that architectural style are the stained glass panels and metal work. I mean-

LOOK AT THAT. anyways.

You know what also has a shitton of stained glass?? CHURCHS. Catholic imagery and stuffs like that, and we are talking about an angel and a demon... it just felt appropriate to take inspiration from that too!

(Highly recommend visiting r/StainedGlassHeaven and r/StainedGlass if you fuck with this shit. Humans are fascinating, and the glass work is INSANELY beautiful.)

So I tried to mix all of that - Catartkd's art, Mucha's work, stained glass and religious imagery. This was my brain lol

Did it work? I'm not really sure, but it was fun. Really fun. I loved it and I was able to include a lot of little details that talk about Crowley and Aziraphale, and also ✨️symmetry ✨️. Man. My Brain was so fucking happy with the symmetry. Everything is balanced and has pairs or is mirrored. It scratched my brain sooooo good.

I'm really tempted to point out all the little details that I put there, but what's the fun in that?? The only thing I will say is about Crowley’s hair. I have no real explanation for this but everytime that I saw this type of hair piece/hairstyle in paintings and historical movies I could only think of snakes. I have no idea why. But my brain immediately screams SNAKE everytime I see this shape. So I had to use this shape for naga!crowley's hair.

In my very very basic research for refs I discovered that this thing is apparently French?? So you know, it fits with Art nouveau too in my mind. Same place yk. (Shhhh I know it doesn't make that much sense but as I said, I needed to include it. This is the snake hair after all, the voices in my head said so).

I also played a bit with the composition which was a very good study, but there was two things that I loved the most to learn in this one. The first, was this video I stumbled upon while I searched about Mucha's work:

LINE WEIGHTS. OMG. This is soooo cool. I already use this on a daily basis in my work (we have norms and patterns for line weight we must follow in technical architecture drawings) but for some reason it never occurred to me that I could use it in art??? And that my favorite art works use this very well??? I see this applied constantly in the cartoons I love, in videogames (I'm looking at you point&clicks!!), in classic artworks (like Mucha's)... Idk why I never clocked that, but now that I did I will practice and use that more. I don't think I used line weights in the best possible way in this art work. I feel it could be waaaay better, but I really LOVE how the effect turned out.

The second thing is ✨️body proportion✨️. I was asking for advice and @gribouli as always came to my rescue and pointed out it to me... I didn't know about the head rule-

(This thing)

-and they helped me adjust my drawing and gave me tips and all 😭😭😭 I will never be able to thank them enough. Their support means the world to me and I honestly feel so privileged 😭😭 (I also used Elenthya's wings here again, obv because ever since she explained them to me my life changed)

Just so you can understand this was the sketch before Li's help:

BIG HEADS LOL I know disproportional bodies can be used very effectively (we see them everywhere, especially in cartoons!) But the point is those design choices are intentional. They're choices. These big big heads weren't. I just never studied anatomy and stuff, I'm learning the very basics now, so this was an accident (not a happy one lol).

This is it. I'm really loving learning more about art in practice. Drawing and painting has been kind of therapeutic lately XD and registering the process and the things I've learned in each piece has been especially nice. Being able to look back at my progress is helping me continue!

I'm thinking doing a Steven Universe one next 👀

[kirain]

Part four of my appreciation project!

@iedistis A fic based on their wonderful art piece here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

Morning light streamed through the windows, painting the half-empty bed in molten gold. Dawn—Emmrich's favourite hour. Nothing compared to the thrill of waking beside his beloved, both of them messy and vulnerable from sleep's blessed embrace. It was an intimacy beyond words, a fragile moment reserved for them alone. As she stirred from her slumber, he stood before the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt, waiting—always waiting—for her.

Filomena. His anchor. His everything.

With a slow stretch, she slipped from the bed and stepped in front of him, her movements graceful, her gown ruffled and revealing. Raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulder as she reached for his neck pin, her fingers deft from weeks of practice. This small act of service had become something sacred between them, a silent devotion he anticipated each morning.

He ignored his reflection, instead watching her hands—her beautiful, delicate hands—as she fastened the chains, ensuring the skull clasp sat perfectly against his throat. The act was tender, seductive, and yet, unbearably distant. How he longed to reach for her, to caress her cheek, to break the quiet cadence of her gestures and return the devotion she so freely gave.

But as always, the moment she finished, she stepped away. And as always, he let her go.

It wasn't just him. She did this with everyone.

When Lucanis worried over Spite fleeing in the night, Filomena kept the spirit entertained until morning. When Bellara struggled to tune the artefact, Filomena listened, offering insights long past her own exhaustion. When Harding and Davrin doubted themselves, she was the first to lift them up. When Taash needed help appealing to their mother, she stood at their side. When Neve sought guidance on blood magic, Filomena answered every question, no matter how time-consuming or difficult.

But the worst was the battlefield. She was reckless—always throwing herself in front of others, always making sure no one else bore the brunt of the attacks. She carried everything.

Everything.

And today, as she finished with his pin, Emmrich saw it. In her hands—moving just a little slower. In her eyes—just a little heavier.

"Darling," he said softly. "Are you all right?"

Filomena blinked, the brief pause betraying her feelings before she mustered a well-worn smile. "Of course."

Emmrich winced. As she turned away, he caught her hand—not forcefully, but with quiet insistence.

"Truly?" he pushed, his voice gentle, persuasive. "I don't mean to pry. You've just seemed... distracted lately."

Filomena hesitated before slipping her fingers from his grasp, her gaze flicking away. Truly, he asked. A truth she couldn't speak to anyone, not even to him.

Truly, the weight of their looming battle against Ghilan'nain pressed down on her like a vice. The closer they drew to that moment, the more she feared not just failure, but leading them all to ruin.

"I'm just a little tired," she lied, forcing another placid smile. "Too much activity the last few days. It's been hell on my elegant features." Emmrich frowned at the obvious deflection, but she shrugged it off. "I'm going to read for a bit. Why don't you head downstairs and I'll meet you later?"

Emmrich sighed, concern knitting his brow as she moved towards the fireplace, feigning contentment. He could sense her pain, her facade, he just couldn't discern the cause.

"Filomena..."

"I'm fine, Emmrich," she stressed as she lowered herself onto the carpet in front of the divan, crossing her legs beneath her. "I'm sure Manfred probably put some tea on. Why don't you go wish him a good morning? I'll join you when I finish this chapter."

Filomena flinched at the unexpected touch, her head tilting slightly. "What are you doing?"

Emmrich watched as she grabbed the book of poetry that rested on the cushion behind her, left there from the night before. As she flipped it open, her fingers stilled over the pages, uninterested and unmoving. Even as she stared at the words, she wasn't reading. He could tell.

She wanted space, but he followed anyway, settling down on the divan and caging her within the warmth of his presence. Then, without a word, he reached forward, sweeping her silken hair behind her back.

"Your hair," he said, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "You like it braided, don't you?"

She froze, startled by the offer. "Yes, but I can do it myself."

His hands rushed to her shoulders, grasping them firmly yet gently. "I know you can," he hushed. "But I'd like to, if you'll let me."

A rare flush bloomed across her cheeks. "Do you... know how?"

"Of course. I learned during my years as a mortician."

She nearly laughed, but the weight on her heart smothered it before it could form. Instead, she simply scoffed, her gaze sinking into the fire's glow. With a weary nod, she set the book in her lap, an air of resignation in her tone.

"If you really want to," she relented.

"Thank you, darling."

He started carefully, his fingers weaving her thick, luscious strands with flawless precision. The sensation—his fingertips grazing her scalp, the steady pull and twist—was unexpectedly soothing.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, the thought unbearable.

"No. It's—" Nice. "No, you're not hurting me."

The room went silent, save for the occasional pop of burning wood and the rhythmic glide of his hands.

"I know something's wrong," he said after a while. Filomena tensed, but he squeezed his legs tighter around her arms, his body her sanctuary. "You can talk to me about anything. You know that, yes?"

She didn't respond, her heart clenching.

"Darling, please."

The sincerity in his voice, the way he begged—it shattered her defenses. She swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the hearth, the flames dancing with the freedom she yearned for.

For a long moment, she said nothing, until her voice emerged, low and abnormally diffident.

"I hate that I was put in charge."

Emmrich didn't react. He only listened, working her hair with patience.

"I didn't earn this," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Varric left me in charge, and everyone just... follows. Not because I deserve it, but because they think they have to. 'If we don't fight the gods, who will?' So they joined at my request, never once questioning my reasons or qualifications." Her hands tightened over the book in her lap. "But I wasn't trained for this, Emmrich. I worry that—"

She cut herself off, unwilling to confess the worst of it.

She worried about making a fatal mistake.

She worried about leading him, Harding, Davrin—all of them—to their deaths.

"Well," she exhaled, ready to dismiss it, "I just worry sometimes. It's not worth discussing."

In her mind, she'd shared enough. She may have been Emmrich's partner, but she was his leader as well. He wasn't there to alleviate her doubts and insecurities. She turned a page, acting as though the conversation never occurred.

"I see," Emmrich hummed, tying off the braid with a black ribbon.

He sounded... relieved?

"That," he said, bending down, his breath a balm against her ear, "is absolute nonsense."

"What?"

Before she could turn, his lips brushed the side of her neck. Filomena stiffened, her breath hitching, but Emmrich persisted, shamelessly revelling in her scent. In her fleeting astonishment. He kissed lower, skimming her sensitive skin, his voice an affectionate murmur.

"No one follows you out of obligation, my love." Another kiss. "They follow you because you're capable." Another. "Because you're brilliant." Another. "Because you care."

His kisses trailed lower—sucking, nibbling—then back up, his moustache tickling her jaw.

"Emmrich..." Filomena shuddered.

He smiled against her, pressing another sensual kiss to her neck before gently turning her to face him. Their eyes met, and for a moment there was nothing but quiet understanding between them.

Then, his lips met hers, strong yet humble, aching with devotion. He cradled her chin, holding her comfortably, possessively. Filomena tried to resist, but she moaned, the book slipping from her grasp as she surrendered to her desires.

With a swift motion, she turned on her knees and fisted his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him—and he answered with equal intensity, his fingers tracing the line of her wrist, his body bending despite the protest of his age. He endured it. For her, he would endure anything, so long as it meant he could taste and console her. She opened up so rarely—always giving, never taking. Always putting herself in harm's way. Always suffering in silence.

Today, he wouldn't allow it.

The sound of their coupling echoed through the room, the wet, harmonious sups like a melody, crude and sophisticated all at once. If not for the incessant calling of the world outside, helpless and waiting, they could have stayed that way forever.

As the sun crawled higher in the sky, however, eventually he had to pull away, leaving her breathless but sated.

"Varric was right to entrust his legacy to you," he said, his voice velvet as he brushed his thumb along her reddened cheek. "Whether you see it or not, we trust you. Not because we have to, but because you've earned it. Every second of everyday, you earn it."

Filomena sighed, averting her gaze. "And if I mess up?"

"You won't," he smiled, urging her to look at him, to see how much he believed in her. "We choose to follow you, my darling. We all know the risks, and we know you'll do right by us. No matter what happens."

"Emmrich..." Her voice trembled, a whimper escaping as his warm, hazel eyes rattled her walls, if only for a moment.

For the first time in weeks, the tightness in her chest seemed to loosen.

"You're more than our leader, you're our friend. And to me..." He pressed a final, lingering kiss to her forehead. "To me you're—you're—"

"I know, Emmrich. You don't need to say it."

And she didn't want him to say it. Not yet. Not aloud. She wasn't ready—not for those three words that would make everything undeniably real.

"Darling, it's all right to rely on us every once in a while. That's the whole point of a team. Being in charge doesn't mean you have to do everything alone. We're here for you, just as you're here for us. I'm here for you."

"Come here," he said, pulling her up and wrapping her in his arms.

Filomena withdrew into her thoughts, wrestling with the concept. Her entire life, she had been alone. She'd always had to adapt, to prove her worth, or risk being abandoned. But as she stared up at Emmrich, feeling the warmth of his love and adoration, a timid smile spread across her face.

Filomena gasped, melting into the embrace, her hands gripping his shirt. Maybe—just this once—she'd let herself lean on someone else.

[vidjauser-player-206]

Dae-ho x Pregnant F!Reader

Pairing: Dae-ho x F!Pregnant reader

Triggers: Squid game typical violence and death, brief mention of trafficking, mention of abusive baby daddy, Dae-ho is NOT the father, cursing

Tags: Pregnancy, fluff, 2 endings, 1 angsty ending, 1 good ending

Words: 3.2k

Read on Ao3!

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BlueSky

I have a couple more chapters planned for this, and two endings. Possibly some bonus smut after this is all finished? : ) I've been on such a hype for this fella. I love him so much.

Also happy Valentines everyone!

CHAPTER ONE

The two of you met in the games. You were approximately 8 months pregnant, so close to popping out your child, but not quite there yet. The only reason you were in these stupid games was because you were desperate. Your baby daddy ran off shortly after you had told him about the baby, around your second month of pregnancy. You weren’t too surprised, however, what did surprise you was the fact that his loan sharks started lurking around your place. You had guessed that he had gone fully into hiding, and they sought out the first person they knew he was close to. 

One of the loan sharks had pressed you against the wall, threatening to do awful things to you if you didn’t get the money by the end of the month. He stared at your belly greedily as he said it. 

After that, you feared what would truly happen when the end of the month came. You weren’t sure how you were going to afford to pay such a big debt, but also your rent and impending bills that would come with all the baby related medical appointments you needed…

You knew your baby was a girl, and you feared the worst would happen once they found that out. 

Despite not knowing what you would be getting yourself into, you still found yourself playing Ddakji in the subway station on your way to a doctor’s appointment, which you ended up skipping after getting slapped a few times by the Recruiter, who wasn’t light on the slaps despite your obvious predicament weighing your stomach down. That card you held in your hands felt like your own hope and savior, so you had called and confirmed your information. 

Being drugged in the limo was scary, and what was even scarier was the fact that you woke up in a room of what felt like a thousand people, now in different clothing. Which meant that someone undressed you. This wasn’t where you thought you would wind up. The room only had bunk beds stretched nearly to the ceiling. You never thought that they could go that high. The walls were mostly blank, other than some childlike paintings. It reminded you of a pediatric waiting room but the doctors had forgotten the colorful paint, scaring the children⁠—and you⁠—rather than making them feel welcomed. You could almost smell the foul stench of bleached floors, making your nose crinkle as you got out of your bunk. At least the person who changed you had the decency to put you on a lower bunk. 

You avoided the people who emerged from the bunks, though when you met the eyes of a couple of them, they always fell down to your stomach with a surprised expression. 

You ignored them and proceeded through a big door to a wacky set of stairways that came straight out of a surreal painting, took your photo, and ended up on a field of sand. Once again, you felt like a kid, though rather out on the playing field, ready to play sports in Physical Education. The first game was…Red Light, Green Light? That threw you off. This felt too weird to believe that you were just playing kid’s games for money…What was the catch? 

It would be a whole lot worse than you thought, and your survival was only thanks to Player 388. The number burned in the back of your mind, becoming your lucky number at that moment. 

After the first gunshot and once everyone scattered⁠—being promptly shot once they moved even an inch⁠—Player 456 called for shorter players to get behind taller ones, claiming that the robot couldn’t see things behind the players. 

“Green light!”

The man in front of you turned and grabbed you by your shoulders. 

“What the hell⁠—” You cried and slammed your fists against his shoulders, afraid he was going to pull you in front of him and use you as some sort of human shield. 

“Get behind me.” He says firmly. 

Instead, his strong arms yanked you behind him, and you got a faceful of that number you would never forget. 388. He kept one hand behind him so he could keep his hands on you while the two of you ran. You kept his shirt balled in your fist but let go when you two stopped, fearing you might knock him over. 

“Red light!”

There were only a couple of gunshots. 

With each gunshot, Player 388 trembled, and you could feel through his grip that it was hard for him to sit still when he heard the gunshots. You couldn’t blame him though, you were trembling too. The two of you remained brave, especially him— for not only carrying himself, but you and your baby too. 

You couldn’t help but admire him from behind. A hero…your hero.

In the beginning, everyone only had five minutes to make it across the finish line, now it was down to one. You swore that you weren’t going to make it. Player 388 should have left you there,but he didn’t. 

There was cramping everywhere in your abdomen and below. Your baby was protesting against all the new movements you had avoided throughout your pregnancy. You pleaded quietly for her to stop kicking your bladder. 

“Green light!”

Everyone moved forward again. 

Soon, close to the finish line, a few players behind you lurched forward after tripping, knocking you in the same direction. Player 388 dug his heels into the ground, and it was like running straight into a stone wall. Your body and stomach were pressed right into him, almost intimately. 

“Red light!” The robot’s head spun around, eyes scanning furiously. 

The players who had knocked into you all stood right as the robot’s head moved. They weren’t so lucky, and you heard the gunshots. Thank God you were behind Player 388 because your head naturally creaked to the side as you peered at the bodies that had thumped behind you. You regretted looking immediately. You realized you moved and waited for another gunshot. Though, it never came. 

After what felt like their final minute was up, the robot’s head spun back toward the tree. “Green light!” 

“Come on!” Player 388 spun around, and for a second you saw his face. You could barely register it though, unable to process details in the heat of the moment. All you knew was that he was handsome and sweaty. 

Player 388 grabbed your elbow and you grabbed another handful of his shirt, the two of you booking it. 

Running across the finish line felt like you were running in slow motion, but you felt a wave of relief when you did. You were safe. You were alive. You and your baby made it. 

Your feet caught and tangled on the man’s and the two of you went down, though your fall was cushioned by his body. It didn’t stop the twinge of pain in your abdomen, however, and you feared that the fall might be the thing that does you in, until your mind focused back onto the playing field. 

Other players either made it across the finish lines themselves or they were promptly shot and killed. Your eyes were glued on the merciless scene, and your own pains were momentarily forgotten, until you broke yourself out of the spell. 

You looked down to your body and Player 388’s, tangled together on the ground. His hand was still on your elbow, and only in that second did he lighten his grip. There might be a bruise later on, but you didn’t care. He saved your life.. 

You looked at his face. His mouth was slightly agape, giving a far-off expression, like he wasn’t there anymore. His dark hair was swept back in a sweaty ponytail but strands of his hair were falling on his forehead. You had to resist the urge to reach up and brush it out of his face. You didn’t want to spook him so you kept your hands to yourself. 

There was one last gunshot, and you saw his face flinch, taking him out of his far-away expression and he met your eyes with his dark ones. 

His grip on your arm tightens. “Are you okay?” He asks softly, his eyes casting down to your stomach for only a second. His hand moved to rest on your upper arm. “Are you both okay?”

You cradle your belly and quickly nod. “Yes, thank you. You really saved my ass out there. I thought it was all a game, until…” You couldn’t say it out loud. Instead, you brought your hand to your mouth, fighting choked up tears. Everything was catching up to you, making you feel overwhelmed. You were sure he was feeling the same way. 

His fingers cupped the back of your neck, tugging you forward. You lean your forehead against his shoulder, and he moves his hand to your trembling shoulders to comfort you. You stayed there momentarily but finally pulled back to look at his face, to take in him fully. You were drawn to the sharp yet somehow soft lines of his face. His hair was dark and so were his eyes as they bore down into your soul, almost touching you in your heart in a way no one else’s had before. You were used to expressions of fury, or the scrunched up eyebrows of someone who was screaming at you. This face was different. It brought you comfort when you most needed it. 

You continued, forcing yourself to snap out of the trance this man had you under, “You could have left me out there when that man said for everyone to get into lines. You didn’t have to risk your life for mine.” Yet he did.

“What kind of man, let alone Marine, would I be if I left a mother and her unborn baby out in danger? A piece of shit…That’s the kind of man I would be. Here, let me help you up.”

Player 388 had to untangle your bodies before he could stand. He helped you up by pulling you up by your forearms, then stabilized you when you faltered.

You were about to thank him when the guards led everyone back to the exit. A lot of the other players didn’t hesitate and listened immediately, rushing for the exit. Player 388 wrapped an arm around your waist, hand resting against the edge of your pregnant belly. “Let’s go. I have a feeling we shouldn’t piss these guys off.”

“Yeah…They’re the ones with the guns.”

“Agreed.” He nods his head firmly. 

For once, you didn’t mind that a man’s hands were pulling you somewhere. You just wanted out of that damn arena more than anything. It was a bit awkward once you got to the stairs, so he moved behind you to help you up. Still…you had no complaints for now. You weren’t sure if you had enough mental or physical energy to support yourself at this point. You kept your hand on the edge of the stairs and the other on your stomach, pushing yourself beyond today.

“I think we’re close to the dormitory now, then you can rest.” Player 388 said close to your ear. 

“Thank god,” you said gratefully. 

You would have jumped for joy when you saw those big doors if you didn’t have a whole ass baby in your stomach.

“I’m never taking a bed for granted again…” You sighed. 

“You and me both, let’s get you sitting down…” Player 388 walked with you back to the bunks stairs. 

Looking around the room, you couldn’t be sure of the exact number, but you could tell that the crowd was thinned out by at least a hundred or so. Now, you felt like your swollen belly stuck out like a sore thumb. 

The entire atmosphere of the dormitory completely changed, it was worse than a hospital, you felt like you were in a prison. 

Player 388 interrupted your thoughts, “Do you want to stick with me?” He asked softly, “I think the more people we have, the better off we’re going to be…” He looked down at your stomach. He didn’t have to say it out loud, but you knew he was thinking about saying something about protecting the baby. 

As the two of you walked to the bed, you noticed how his arm felt large around your shoulders, he definitely had a lot of muscles. The pair of you looked like a couple, really. The way he was clinging to you probably gave others the impression that he put the baby in you. You didn’t know the man that well, but if he really was as sweet as he was acting right now, then you wouldn’t have let him become your ex. If you were one of the other players staring at you two, you would have thought, what kind of stupid man lets his wife join these games and what kind of stupid bitch would you be to put yourself in that situation too?

Wait, why were you even thinking of this?

Player 388 stared at you, expecting an answer but not rushing to get it out of you.

“...Yes.” You nod. “But I think I need to know your name first.”

The man nods in agreement. “Let’s get you seated first.”

You were touched he was so thoughtful about you and your baby’s wellbeing. 

Bringing you over to the lower bunk’s stairway, the man helped you waddle over and then sit. He shifts, sitting down on your left, his legs slightly apart as he sits. You knew that soon, all the pain and discomfort would catch up to you. For now, you savored the man’s sweet smiles. The sweetest one you had ever seen, especially from a man. 

“What’s your name?” You reminded him. 

Player 388 put a hand over his chest, giving his head a small bow. “I’m Kang Dae-ho.” He raises his hands and puts his fingers out in an exaggerated way, like he was a cat showing its claws. He directs it towards your belly, like he was giving the baby a little game of charades. Your stomach fluttered. 

No wait, that was the baby kicking. 

Gasping, you had to lean back and hold your stomach for a second. 

Dae-ho’s face fell and he looked down to your belly in concern, his hand coming out to touch it but letting it hover instead. “Are you okay⁠—?”

You nod, releasing a strained gasp. “Yeah…She just kicked me in the ribs.” You take his hovering hand and pressed it to your stomach, watching as his eyes widen even more. 

Dae-ho’s eyes lingered on your belly before lifting up to meet your eyes. His hand rubbed your belly up and down, feeling the small kicks against his palm. “You’re having a baby girl…? What’s her name?”

You smiled bashfully. “She doesn’t have a name yet. I figured it would come to me once I see her face for the first time…Mine is…” You told him your name, the two basking in each other’s presence quietly, at least until the doors opened and pink guards with guns marched into the room. 

Something snapped in Dae-ho and immediately he took a protective position in front of you, his arm coming out to completely shield you as if he expected the guards to march right up to the two of you and shoot you specifically. They didn’t, rather, they stood at the opening of the door. There was one guard who stood at the front, a square mask on his face. There were a couple with triangles, instead of the square, with guns standing behind them. You admittedly cowered and gripped the back of Dae-ho’s shirt, feeling the pounding of your and your baby’s hearts like drums beating with one another. 

A vote. That’s what came next from the guards. It was O’s, those who wanted to stay, and X’s, those who wanted to return home. 

Dae-ho had calmed down, but remained by your side, comfortably rubbing your shoulder and sometimes your stomach. 

You thought you would have time to think about your vote, but the main guard announced that they would do it backwards, starting with Player 456. You looked down to the number on your shirt. You were Player 451. You were going to vote within just a few players. 

“Player 451.” 

Soon, you stood and with the help of Dae-ho, you were helped to your feet. He was perfectly willing to take you all the way down the line up to the buttons but you put your hand on his shoulder and shook your head. “I can do this…”

“Okay…” he responded hesitantly. 

You made your way down the line, both hands cradling your belly. The eyes of the other players glared like birds with claws ready to slice at you for picking the wrong choice. Soon you stood in front of the guard, the red and blue buttons appearing much larger than what you thought they would be. You looked to the red X, and then to the blue O. You raised your hand…and pressed O. The blue light shined on your face. 

It was impossible to look up to find Dae-ho in the crowd. You weren’t sure what his choice was going to be. You hadn’t mentioned it to each other. And if he was planning to pick X, then you probably fucked everything up. 

Without looking up, you made your way to the O side and stood next to a stranger, who gave you a side eye, but luckily said nothing. Dae-ho’s number wouldn’t be called for a while. 

When you finally heard it, you squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to look up as he made his way down and pressed a button. You heard the noise, but couldn’t register which button it was. 

You didn’t expect a warm and strong arm wrap around your shoulders, pressing you forward. You eyes shot open and you looked up, seeing Dae-ho smile down at you warmly. Your eyes moved down to his chest, and there you saw it…a Blue O patch…He had chosen to stay.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily…” The man mumbled and smiled reassuringly. He pulled you back into his chest, hugging you as tight as he could with your belly in the way. 

You smiled weakly and wrapped your hands behind his shoulder blades, unable to say anything. But you were happy and grateful for him. 

The two of you remained in each other’s arms until voting ended. Thank god, your ankles were about to explode. The guards dismissed themselves, leaving everyone to their own devices. 

“I need to go lay down, please. My body is about to explode.” You laughed weakly. 

“I’ve got ya…” Dae-ho guided you back to the beds with a hand on your lower back. He helped you climb into the first bed you could make it to, and pulled the blankets up to your chest. 

You grabbed at his sleeve before he could pull away. “I might need to go to the restroom later —but for now, I’m just going to sleep. Stay nearby?” At this point, your eyes were already drooping, but you couldn’t take your eyes off his goofy grin as he nodded. 

“Of course. I won’t leave you for a second. I want you to sleep and rest, For you and your baby…” He pressed his forehead to the top of your hair. You fell asleep in his arms, memorizing his warmth and smell.

[holypeanuts]

ummmm yapping (kinda analyzing) about the recent ddvau chapter or whatever !! 😋😋

BTW THIS ISNT A POST ABOUT DEFENDING ANY CHARACTERS PLS.. 🙏😞

I'm just yapping about what I'm seeing mostly idk

comic/art creds : @kitsuneisi

OK STARTING OFF WITH THIS PART!!! ^

there's so much that can be taken from this image alone GAHHH

in this chapter hotguy talks about the "view" of grians hospital room (which is CRAZY conversation starter btw 😧) which means he was definitely trying to get the upper hand here. Reminding grian how easy it is to track him, or spot him out.

Considering how grian acts around HG hes very closed off to him- so, in order to get information out of him (<grian), HG chose the more (IMO) authoritative approach. he deliberately chose a way of wording to make grian feel small, vulnerable, and almost more likely to share information due to the pressure of authority.

I mean, it'd be a lot easier to get information out of someone who's scared.

(AGAIN, NOT DEFENDING HOTGUY HERE!!!!This is definitely not a good thing to do, but it's also very common for cops / detectives to use fear or pressure as a tatic to get information out of suspects.)

Pressure makes people crack, which is what HG wants! He wants grian to "crack".

Ok that was way to long. 😞 Sorry chat

ONTO THIS PANNEL ^

We already know grian is standoffish towards HG but with HG's body language I don't think he was prepared for that wall to be put up so quickly..., or at least not to this degree!

Grian is obviously unsettled by HG's presence right now, and since the first part of their conversation was literally HG saying (more like implied but whatever) he was watching him; it makes sense why he is!!

Grian (mother spore) caused a lot of damage to both property and people (even if it wasn't technically grian who did it) he's obviously concerned about the consequences of what happened.

And if the law enforcement is anything like how I'm imagining it is then, he should be concerned about being arrested! Even if it wasn't his fault, he could still very well be blamed for the incident. It was still his body that was being used for the damage.

Okay, I feel like HG was trying to be nice..? Supportive...??? Here.. Like, it reminds me of #those people who're saying they aren't racist but the way they say shit is so ignorant that it makes you like.... Go "umm"... Ykw I mean???

Like it was low-key ignorant considering HG himself isn't actually mutant. So it just makes it worse that he phrased it like that.

I also feel like this was a way to show off the power imbalance here as well. Especially with how HG is practically on top of grian, while grian looks unsettled (and while injured), it really just shows their imbalance even more!!!

Which kinda makes the situation worse! 😭

Okay, so now he's going back to the pressuring route...,

While he's still leaning over grian... (ITS A POWER IMBALANCE THING GUYS I SWEAR!!!! I scream as they drag me into a padded room) oughhhh ☹️

With the way HG said "as far as they are aware, you were possessed by something that gave you wings" and the following up with "as far as I'm aware" I feel like he's trying to hint to grian that he knows something (he doesn't actually☠️) that he (<grian) doesn't want him (<HG) to know! Trickery !! 😮

This is also a very common cop (/ authority) tatic btw! Like saying they know things (while being vague, like, majority of the time) while (usually) knowing nothing. They use it as a way to say "hey, we know things! So it's best to fess up now since we already know LOL. (^_-)"

AGAIN WITH THE POWER IMBALANCE CAUSE WDYM "let's not forget"!!!! At the beginning !! bros low-key manipulative! (｀´）

But manipulation is also needed in this line of work. so while I don't necessarily hate him for trying to get information out that way, I can completely understand why grian does NOT like the way HG is going about this. Being basically interviewed (coughsss interrogated) in this manner is extremely off-putting, stressful, nerve-racking and, annoying to deal with as the "suspect" <idk how else to phrase it sorry 😞

OOOOO OKAY where to start,,

The way he hugs him while basically saying hes kinda fucked if others find out about what happened AGGHHH tearing my skin off WTF IS HIS PROBLEM. 😭😭😭

THE "for now" IS SO OMINOUS.. are we foreshadowing rn chat

"it was just you and me" classic cop line! WOWZERS

But that line is kinda subtly telling grian that he can't hide something from him because he was there to see the carnage! He's basically saying "don't lie cause I'll know" or something like that

^^ (I'D LIKE TO PREFERENCE THIS BY SAYING THIS IS MY INTERPRETATION, YOU CAN SES IT HOWEVER YOU FEEL IT IS!!)

"your secret is safe with me" waiter,! Waiter! More power imbalance please!! 🍽️

THE WAY HG LOOKS AT GRIAN DURING THE HUG AHHHH falls to my knees and shreds my shirt apart in that one werewolf meme style

Umm okkk I think I'm done 🤓

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom. Happy Valentine's Day!

Signed and Sealed

Sherlock wakes alone. He listens and hears John puttering in the kitchen. It’s clear that he’s making something special and not the normal tea and beans on toast. Then he remembers; it’s Valentine’s Day. John has promised to make the day special. Sherlock’s heart skips a beat when he thinks about the surprise on the mantle. It’s evident that John hasn’t found it yet, or he would probably have returned to the bedroom. He turns his head to gaze at his alarm clock. It’s hidden, he realises. An envelope is placed in front of it. Sherlock’s name is written in John’s familiar scrawl.

His focus narrows, and every sound disappears. He reaches out and takes the envelope in his hands, letting his thumb caress his name. The paper is thick, expensive, the colour a delicate ivory. It’s only sealed at the triangle end of the flap. Sherlock’s hands shake minutely when he brings his index finger under the flap to open the envelope. His pulse quickens, and he feels moisture in his palms. Slowly, he pulls out a thick piece of paper filled with John’s letters.

My only love

Were you surprised to find this letter? I hope so. Surprising you is an almost impossible feat, but I promise I’ll keep trying. 

Meeting you has changed my life in so many ways. In fact, you’ve saved my life by just being you. I find that quite remarkable. My annoyance with your antics notwithstanding, I will never ask you to change. 

The man I fell in love with, that is you, by the way, does store body parts in the fridge, the toaster, and on our kitchen table. But he also plays the most beautiful tunes on his Stradivarius, will punish anyone who dares to harm his beloved landlady, and he always makes me feel like the most important person in the room. 

I love you so much it hurts, but I welcome the pain. It makes me realise I’m alive, ready to follow you wherever you go, whether it’s over London’s rooftops, down dodgy alleyways, or walking hand in hand through Regent’s Park.

Always yours, John

Sherlock reads the card twice more, then presses it to his chest. It’s only then he realises that tears are running down his cheeks. He wants to call out to John; he needs to hold him in his arms. Now.

***

John wakes early, and to his relief, Sherlock is still asleep. He wants to kiss his forehead but refrains. Instead, he retrieves the envelope with Sherlock’s name written on it, from his drawer in the bedside table, and places it in front of Sherlock’s alarm clock. Carefully, so he won’t wake the gorgeous man, John goes to the bathroom, takes a quick shower, dresses in a t-shirt and soft pyjamas bottoms, before he walks into the kitchen to start breakfast. He’s promised to make this day special for Sherlock, and he intends to start with the day’s first meal. Scrambled egg, avocado, smoked salmon, and fried mushrooms.

When everything is ready, he puts the kettle on, and moves to the windows to observe the weather. Clear sky, as the forecast said. He turns to go back to the kitchen, when something catches his attention. There’s an envelope on the mantle. With his name on it. Written in elegant calligraphy letters. John’s heart leaps to his throat, and he picks up the item. At the back it’s securely sealed with golden wax. The bee image from the stamp John had bought Sherlock for his birthday, is situated precisely in the middle of the circle. John feels like a savage when he breaks it, but he’s eager to get to the treasure inside. 

The letter is larger than his own, and before he focuses on each word, he takes in the beauty of the elegantly formed script. Sherlock’s handwriting can sometimes be worse than every doctor John has encountered, but after a case where calligraphy had been the solution to a particularly difficult code, the great detective has been obsessed with the art form. John inhales deeply and focuses on the message from his madman.

My John

I once told you that I would be lost without my blogger. It is still true, but blogger is by far sufficient to describe you. What started out as a convenience on both our parts, soon evolved into something else. The pull I felt each time your blue gaze met mine, made me dizzy. It distracted me, and I told myself I should be irked by it, but I couldn’t for the life of me fathom how to push you away. Then I realised I didn’t want to. You became essential, a part of me I couldn’t bear to part from.

You are still an enigma, the puzzle I will never solve. It thrills me to no end, which contradicts everything I know about myself, but I promise you; it is the honest truth. 

Sharing my life with you is a privilege. Loving you is a daily honour. Being loved by you, still blows my mind. I sometimes think I am hallucinating or dreaming, but your solid presence tells me otherwise. You ground me, keep me right.

The pain that pierces my heart whenever you are in danger, is a reminder that I am human and very much alive. When I see the love in your eyes, a love directed at me, the pain changes into a dull ache. And by now I know what to call you – my heart, my world, my everything.

Forever yours, Sherlock

***

Before he can draw breath to call for John, he stands in the doorway, letter in hand. His eyes are bright, full of unshed tears.

“Come here,” Sherlock says softly.

John moves quickly toward the bed, clutching the letter tight.

“God, I love you,” he murmurs before their lips meet.

“And I you,” Sherlock tells him with every shared kiss.

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

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[artstennisracket]

Drunk enough to request Artrick piss kink shame free and off anon 😳

Thinking about the boys just hanging out and drinking and Art needs to pee but Patrick keeps saying he needs to do this first, and they need to finish that first (not even to stop him going on purpose he genuinely doesn't realise Art is about to piss himself) obviously eventually Art can't hold it anymore and pisses himself and he's like oh god, I pissed myself in front of Patrick he's going to make fun of me now and he starts crying. Patrick however is like why does Art look so good crying and after pissing himself? Do I have a piss kink? And then obviously he fucks Art

drunk enough to request off anon is SO REAL😭jinx have i ever said how much i love you? because i do and i hope you love this :) and we all know these aren’t proofread right? lololol

cw: nsfw (18+) piss, dom/sub undertones, daddy kink

Art and Patrick were on the tail end of a bar crawl that night. They are pretty drunk. They had been drinking for the past two hours or so, really pushing the limits of their tolerance. Their fake ids had only gotten them so far because eventually the bartender cuts them off.

They’ve decided to walk back to the dorm since Art doesn’t think he could handle riding in a car right now without throwing up. But Patrick has a few stops he wants to make on the way.

“c’mon it’ll only be for a minute i just want some snacks” Patrick says as he walks into the corner store, one of the only places opened this late.

Art’s stomach turns because the last thing he wants to think about right now is food, he’s too drunk for this. but he still follows Patrick inside. He groans, “fine just hurry up man.”

Drunk Patrick doesn’t really take that into consideration as he strolls up and down the aisles leisurely looking for scooby doo fruit snacks, oreo cakesters, and cheese balls.

Art is getting antsy. He already feels like shit anticipating tomorrow’s hangover but shortly into this trip he realized he really had to piss.

While Patrick is la la land, looking like he’s moving in slow motion. No pep in his step like he has nowhere to be. Art tugs on Patrick’s arm, “c’mon can we go? are you done?”

Patrick has completed his shopping list before he thinks, “oh shit wait i want to get Tashi the doritos that she likes.” He does a 360 turn going back to the chips aisle.

When they get there Patrick sees every doritos flavor imaginable (this store even had international flavors) but he didn’t see Tashi’s favorite, the purple ones.

“they don’t have it man, let’s just go. c’mon i wanna go home.” Art whines, he can feel his bladder pulsing. He needs to pee bad.

Patrick frowns until he comes up with idea, “let’s just ask him at the front, maybe they have it in the back.”

Art is praying to god they do not have it in the back so they can leave.

Patrick makes his way to the cashier, dropping his stuff on the counter. Art follows suit trying to focus on anything other than how badly he needs to go.

The cashier says he will check for the purple doritos in the back and Art feels like he wants to cry.

The cashier comes back, purple doritos in tow, and he checks Patrick out. Then they continue their journey back to the dorm.

They get there about 10 minutes later and Art is so close to relief he can feel it.

Patrick is fumbling around in his pocket trying to find his keys but he thinks he left them inside. Oh god, Art doesn’t know what to do now. He could barely walk straight on their way back from how badly he had to pee. But he didn’t tell Patrick because he didn’t want to seem like a baby.

He also didn’t want to pee on the sidewalk or in an alley way like a delinquent. Patrick did it all the time if he had to go, but Art was too worried someone would catch him. He also couldn’t go if he knew someone could hear him, he gets nervous.

But this time was different and before he knew it his bladder gave up on him. The warm liquid started to run down his briefs. It trickled from his thighs all the way down to his calves. His jeans were soaked, he could feel the fabric getting heavier against his skin. Oh fuck.

Art can’t believe he did that. He feels relieved and petrified at the same time. Patrick is probably going to make fun of him for being a baby and being able to hold it like an adult. Fuck. This is so embarrassing for him, Patrick will never let him live this down.

Luckily Patrick hasn’t looked back at him yet, still searching for his keys. Shortly after he realizes the keys were in his jacket pocket, not any of the million pockets on his cargo shorts, and he opens the door. He turns to look back at Art but his smile slowly drops from his face.

That’s all it took for Art to start crying. He knows the wet spot on his jeans is very visible. Tears running down his cheeks, his face flushed with embarrassment.

Patrick is frozen in place. He didn’t know Art had to pee that bad, let alone at all. If he would’ve known he would’ve convinced Art to just pee in an alley way. But somehow he thinks he likes this better? Art looks really pretty with those tears falling down his face. Too pretty. Patrick can feel himself hardening in his own shorts.

He pulls Art inside their dorm and locks the door.

“ ‘m sorry.” Art gasps out between sobs. He doesn’t really know what else to say and the embarrassment he’s feeling is immeasurable.

Patrick drops his the plastic bag with his snacks by the door before he approaches Art. He stand right in front of Art so their face to face. He slowly lets his eyes drag over Art lower half, subconsciously biting his lip. He doesn’t really know why he’s so turned on right now.

Of course he’s watched ridiculous categories of porn before but never anything like this. Is he into this?

He brings his eyes back up to meet Art’s red rimmed eyes. He brings his hand up to Art’s cheek to wipe away some tears.

“it’s okay babe, don’t have to apologize,” Patrick all but whispers. Keeping his hand on Art’s cheeks he slowly pulls him in for a kiss.

Art is confused but he lets his eyes slips close and kisses back anyway. The kiss starts slow and shy, until it picks up true desires being unleashed. It’s a mess of teeth, tongue, and lips.

Patrick pulls away, resting his forehead against Art’s. He starts unbuttoning Art’s jeans before he shoves his hand into Art’s damp briefs which makes Art gasp, “patrick—”

“fuck.” Patrick whispers under his breath, “you’re so fucking hot.” Patrick continues as he starts stroking Art to full hardness.

“ah— ah patrick” Art whines while Patrick grabs Art’s other hand, bringing it to feel Patrick’s boner.

Patrick keeps jerking off Art with one hand, while he pulls his own shorts down with the other hand. Moving Art’s hand to grip Patrick’s hard cock. Patrick leans in by Art’s ear to whisper, “this is what you fucking do to me,” before pulling Art into a kiss.

Art moans into Patrick’s mouth, making sure to start stroking Patrick’s cock. Patrick moves his hands into the back of Art’s briefs, gripping Art’s ass.

“need to fuck you, please” Patrick groans into Art’s mouth. Without another word Art is quickly pulling off his damp briefs and shorts. He also pulls his shorty over his head.

Patrick does the same, shedding his clothes. He puts Art on all fours before smacking Art’s ass for good measure while a moan escapes Art’s mouth.

Patrick eases two lubed up fingers inside Art’s tightness to stretch him out. Once Art staring pushing back on Patrick’s fingers, greedy, he deems Art is ready for his cock.

He lines up with Art’s hole before pushing in slowly until he bottoms out. “holy fuck Art you’re so tight.”

Art gasps as Patrick fills him up. Fuck he’s so fucking full right now. “please fuck me, please”

Patrick starts slamming himself into Art, making sure to keep a good pace. “you looked so fucking hot pissing yourself. jesus fuck. couldn’t hold it in huh baby?”

Art shakes his head no as he keeps whining, moaning, any sound he can make at this point.

Patrick continues “so you made a big fucking mess didn’t you baby? just for me to see”

Art nods in agreement this time. His head was feeling a little flirty and he wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or not anymore.

“say it, tell me how big of a fucking mess you made.” Patrick said punctuating each word with a hard thrust. He moves his hand around so he can start stroking Art’s cock as he fucks into him.

Art chokes out in between moans, babbling at this point, “i— i—made such a—fuck—b-big mess daddy.”

“holy fuck,” Patrick’s thrusts stutter and he comes inside Art immediately after that. Art comes at the same time squirting all over their sheets.

Patrick collapses next to Art on the bed. He chuckles lightly, “that was…wow.”

Art sits up, “i didn’t know you were into that, thought you were gonna make fun of me.”

“i didn’t know, but when I saw you I just,” Patrick smirks, “- yeah that was good, are we gonna talk about you calling me daddy?.”

Art scoffs shoving Patrick, “shut the fuck up I didn’t mean it.”

Patrick raises his eyebrow, “i don’t know sounded real to me,” he starts to mock Art, “oh daddy please yes make me cum ah-”

Art shoves Patrick again, making sure Patrick is face first into a pillow so he can shut up. It was clear Art didn’t want to talk about it so he stopped, for now.

Patrick starts again, “now we really have to clean up your mess,” he laughs.

Art sighs exasperated, “it’s your fault.”

“i’m not the one who pissed myself,” he says back with a low whistle. Art blushes, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Patrick could sense Art was starting to get a little insecure again so he pipes up again, “c’mon i’ll change the sheets, and you can shower. deal?”

Art nods small smile on his face, “deal.”

[yummyrevivalfluid]

Don't Look At Me With Those Eyes

Senku x Artist Reader Pt.3

Summary: Senku doesn't seem to understand what it means to be an Artists Muse, specifically yours. (Senku doesn't understand love)

Word Count: 1,355

Tag List: @maria-trisha @xtfhtfrj @markerelll @minimissmelody

I think that is everyone that requested to be tagged! If it didn't work please let me know so I can figure out how to fix it!

HAPPY VALETINE'S DAY!!!!

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

My muses are my love

He couldn’t stop the words chanting in his head. No matter what he did, your voice flooded his thoughts.

My muses are my love

Just the thought of you invaded his mind. He’s been lying awake for the past twenty minutes, trying to fall asleep but to no avail. Every time he found himself closing his eyes, visions of your flustered face appeared.

‘Are you thinking of me’ Senku wondered.

‘Is that what it means to be your muse?’. Was he on your mind as you were on his. He wondered if you were also in the same predicament as him…or maybe you’re drawing? Painting? Were you blowing glass? Or whatever crazy art medium you found yourself exploring…

My muses are my love…

Why did you have to plague his mind? What do you mean about your muses being your love? Why did you look so vulnerable as you said it? More importantly why HIM? Is it as Byakuya said before, “opposites attract”. Is it because he’s so different from you, you find him appealing to be your muse? What is he supposed to do with this information?

Torn and confused about what he needed to do with this newfound information, what the information even meant, and what it meant to him, Senku stepped outside to the balcony and watched the stars.

What does it mean to be an artist’s muse?

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

Something has changed, that much you were aware of. But was Senku aware? Since the day you asked him to be your tutor, something has shifted between the two of you. You couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. As far as you were concerned, you treated Senku the same way you have always done…

Lost in your thoughts you didn’t catch the way Senku was staring at you from his desk. Something that he’s been catching himself doing more than he’s meant to. He’s been catching himself staring at you from his desk, in passing at the school halls, even at your home as you studied beside him.

God, I feel like a creep, Senku cringed. It wasn’t your typical space out staring, he’s been watching your expressions, studying your features, getting lost in your eyes…

Wait what!?

He wasn’t sure how long you caught him staring but you were flushed. You quickly averted his gaze and fumbled with your bag and pulled out a sketchbook. The same one he was snooping in. He watched as you begin to scribble your pencil onto the paper…your eyes were shimmering, Senku noted.

Senku was studying you again, and he wasn’t being subtle. Forgetting or ignoring the fact that you caught him just a mere seconds ago. Unfortunately for you his staring didn’t let up for the next few weeks. Every time you cross paths with him, you can see him looking at you. His eyes were softer than what you were used to seeing. His brows still furrowed slightly, but his gaze was gentle as you felt him examining you. Whatever he was doing, you let him. You just assumed he was doing some weird scientific research, and you were his victim.

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

Tutoring you had become a new routine for Senku.  After all the after-school clubs have ended, having cleaned up the lab, Senku met up with you outside of the school’s art studio. He was waiting patiently for you, resting his back against a pillar as he thought of the material, he was going to be tutoring you. After ten minutes had passed, concerned and curious about what keeps you late, he makes his way inside the studio and finds you cleaning up.

“Did you forget the concept of time, airhead?”

“Sorry for keeping you waiting!” you huffed, as you carried a can of paint back to its proper storage. “I lost track of time! I was in the zone. I got new inspiration for my muse!” you laughed.

Muse

The word that’s been haunting Senku’s mind. A word so foreign to him that he doesn’t understand what it means to be someone’s muse. What it means to be your muse.

Senku walked closer to a canvas with a big drape covering the art underneath. He’s assuming it’s yours. It must be. It was the only one out, the only one with cans of paint underneath it. Curious of what you’ve been painting, he begins to lift the edge of the drape. Before he can even process the bits of the painting he can see, he feels your touch on his wrist. He looks at you and he find himself again studying your expression. Studying the look in your eyes.

He doesn’t believe he’s seen this look before. Was it fear of what he was going to find under the drape? Are you embarrassed of what you’ve spent so long painting? Is it the feeling of vulnerability? Showcasing your muse to others but the muse itself.

“It’s not done yet…”, you said softly, almost a whisper to his ears. You watched as he let go of the drape. Hiding your painting.

Hiding your feelings from him.

“What is it?” he asked, as he continued to study you. Watching your expression turned to something he’s been seeing so often. The averted eyes, the flush to your cheeks, the slight stutter to your words. He felt the touch on his wrist fade as he watched you pick up cans of paint from the ground and begin to walk from him.

“…my muse.”

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

Muse…

Muse…

Muse…

Muse…

Muse…

Never has a word frustrated him this much. Seeing the word? The paper suddenly crumbled under his hand. Hearing the word has his eye twitching. A simple four-letter word is haunting him. Teasing him for not understanding. Frustrated that you don’t seem to know the effect the word has on him. Not aware of the feeling he gets when you throw the word around. Not understanding that uneasy feeling in his stomach that seems to get amplified every time he studies you.

“I don’t understand this….” You groaned. You dropped the pencil in your hand as you laid sprawled on your bedroom floor. You waited for Senku’s response. Waited for him to tell you off. You waited for him to call you an airhead. You waited and yet nothing. You turned to look at him and found his eyes already looking back at you. “Senku…”

“Hmm?” he hummed back. His eyes never leave yours.

“Umm…is there a reason why you’ve been…staring...” you asked nervously, unsure what to do under his gaze. You watched as his gaze hardened. Not being able to handle anymore, you finally break away, retreating your eyes to the white ceiling.

“It’s a bad habit.” He replied, as he crawled to the space beside you and laid beside you. You both laid in silence, enjoying the presence of the other. You closed your eyes and listened to Senku’s breathing, until that feeling came back again.

“you’re staring again, aren’t you?” you asked quietly. You were afraid to open your eyes, you don’t think you can handle him being so close to you, his eyes on you…

“Yeah….my eyes bother you that much?” he teased, taking joy as he heard your breath hitch.

“It…flusters me…” you whined, “so stop looking at me with those eyes…”

“What eyes?” he questioned. Has he been staring at you in another way he wasn’t aware? He gets up from beside and crawls over you, he ignores your gasp and looks down at you. Staring at you, studying you, your expressions, your noises. His body hovered over you, his arms caging you in, leaving you nowhere to look at but him. “These eyes?”

He waited for your response, his eyes flickered between your betraying eyes, exposing your vulnerability, and your lips, waiting for your words. Instead, you raise your hand to his face, your fingertips slightly brushing his lips as you cover his eyes with your palm. He feels your body pressed against him as you sit up on your elbows, he can feel the heat radiating off your body. You lean to his ear and whisper, “yeah, those eyes.”

----

A/N: So I'm thinking of breaking away from my original plan of doing only 4 parts to this series. I'm not sure how many parts there will be...I'm also thinking of rewriting the 1st chapter, sort of build more of the frenemies relationship.

Anywayssss can yall guess the song inspo? Theres two! One based on the title and one named dropped. Would you guys be interested in a song playlist for this series?

Mini spoiler for the series?!?! Theres a lyric I want to include in a future part, angst approaching!! Hehehehe

I, I loved you and I still do

Just wanted passion from you

Just wanted what I gave you

I waited and waited

-The Greatest Billie Eilish

....requests open?

[losver07]

GUYS WTF WE'RE AT 100 FOLLOWERS

JSJDJSJFKDNCKDKSKXKNC HELP ME WHAT DO I DO

okay okay first of all THANKS???? like omg jdbckdnckfj im kinda freaking out a little bit i wasn't really aware of how many people actually read my shit on here lmao

OKAY! i'm going to do one of those ask things because i think they're really fun and i don't know what else to do if not that! so yeah!

~ · ★ · ~

moots! (you know who you are hehehe)

you can suggest either of these:

🪐 i write something for you! you tell me what, i'll just write a short-ish thing, either fanfic or any other ideas you give me <3 (you can choose english or spanish too!)

🎨 i make you a lil doodle! digital or traditional, idc, a sketchy portrait or a drawing of a fluffy cat or whatever you wish!

🪞 i tell you what piece of art reminds me of you! and i mean paintings, novels, sonnets, films, sculptures, whateverrr

📼 song rec! pretty self-explanatory but you get a song that i am obsessed with and that reminds me of you somehow! this will probably be very unhinged and very funny AND very gay

~ · ★ · ~

literally anyone (moots included in this too, obviously!)

🗝️ i compare you to something very specific (flower types, kinds of clouds, an specific colour, a feeling, etc. literally anything) and probably give you a weird and lowkey poetic explanation for it!

🌻 i answer a question about me! nothing too personal/private of course, but all kinds of random stuff to make me yap are pretty much welcome!

🪶 i answer ANY question about my current fic BUT only with yes/no (i probably won't be able to hold myself back from saying more but technically i cant ok?)

~ · ★ · ~

friendly reminder too that gossip and rants and overall yapping are very welcome in my ask box so of course feel free to say anything to me now or whenever you might need! <3 i probably sound like im joking but i love to give advice to people lmao

okayyyyy (i feel like ive said okay a lot of times in this post) that's it!! again THANK YOU GUYS<3 i love you all really 😭 i'm tagging every one of you here btw you're not getting away with this heheheh

@clearqueensong859 @ineffably-fucked @ciorann @thatoneguyhu @nonage4life @junkiepunkie @aletharaej @samisamousa @outromoony @magicwithclass @possesedanddepressed @somanyquestions-featuringanxiety @nyx-taylors-version @chaserofstars11 @isalikescherriesandblue @ll-until-the-very-end-ll @the-moon-and-stars-4ever @andreainlove @addsalwayssick @whydousernamesevenexist @wisegirl42 @t1cyh @glitchedmoon5 @the-fandoms-onceler @burningchopshopblizzard @sparklingwatermelo @equippedtolove @bloutwo @g-doggs-blog @kikinkapipi @nonsensicalnonsense00 @wolfstarjunkie @innielvrz @ssutton74 @treefairy-28 @siriuslyreggie07 @brnwynkl @mynametheyspeakof @jesssss28 @eczl1pse @actually-dumb-blonde @rocknr0llz @huskyhaven @vintagetee13 @mayaspeaks @clementineashton @dutifullynervouscreation @hawaiianshirttaco64

(gonna reblog with the other half of you now) <333

[hanibalistic]

I WISH YOU WERE NICER TO ME | BANG CHAN.

genre | minor fluff and angst / platonic au

synopsis | a con man and a computer addict make quite the freelance dream team.

word count | 6.1k+

warning | violence, drink spiking, smoking, alcohol / minor sexual themes, reader is mentioned to have small breasts / no attraction age gap (20!reader & 38!chan) / use of the nickname 'sweetheart' / mentions of dementia, criminal activities

note | chan's character seems tall because the oc version is 182cm. i will likely delete this here once i get the commission art back and switch the names out.

Chan waited until the nursing home was out of earshot to release your wrist. 

He yanked you forward and spun you around to face him. 

His eyes were red, like an uncured hangover, but a red eye has so many causes that you'd rather not narrow it so quickly. For all you knew, he could have been crying, if that was possible for a man like him.

You glanced at his accusing finger before returning your attention to his face. His hair was disheveled, and his face was bare, one less common than the other. He wore a suit, although the buttons barely clasped correctly, and his tie was loose.

He was unprepared enough for you to deduce that the phone call you asked the receptionist at the nursing home to give him was his alarm, and he woke up somewhere other than his home.

He rushed over. He must love his mother.

You knew he did. That's why you paid her a visit at the nursing home. You were curious about truths that would prove him a safe enough partner in crime, and the nursing home hadn't been a good sign when you first found out about it.

A man who cares so much about his mother wouldn't dump her in a nursing home, but a man who doesn't care wouldn't put her in one of the nation's most expensive senior care facilities either. 

There must be a bridge, or many bridges burned somewhere that required this level of security.

You needed to know what bridges they were. His mother wouldn't be the ideal candidate to seek that information from, considering her dementia. Still, you figured you could make a point showing up at a place he never told anyone about.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, his words barely punching through his gritted teeth and clenched jaw. 

"To visit your mom," you replied. "We were having a decent conversation until you barged in and demanded that I leave."

"No–no. No." He closed his eyes and brought his clenched fist to them. His chest heaved up and down as he took a deep, readying breath, and then he relaxed and turned back to you. He licked his bottom lip to rid his mouth of dryness. When his tongue retreated inside, it pulled his lips into a smirk. "I meant what are you doing here?"

"Why did you put your mom here?" you asked. "Why didn't you hire a caretaker and keep her at home?"

His lip twitched. "You can't figure that out on your own?"

"I can make a deduction, but until you tell me the truth, it will remain an educated guess," you said. "Since you are already here, I figured you'd be a good samaritan and tell me the truth."

"How does that information help you?" Chan asked. "You can't possibly use that to screw me over."

"I know where your mom lives. What do you think?"

"You little shit–" he grabbed your shirt collar and yanked you toward him, breathing down your face–"I swear to God if you try anything."

You stared at him. 

He wondered if your indifference to violence was a byproduct of abuse. But he didn't think you've ever looked at him or anything else any other way. Those bland eyes could cross the galaxy and crash onto Earth like a meteorite without making the news. So he thought you must be some version of a sociopath to never feel or express anything.

It wasn't enjoyable to meet someone he couldn't easily read for once, and it wasn't so much an ego destruction but rather discomfort.

Being able to read the room and the mood was what kept him alive. You wouldn't kill him yourself, but you could get other people to do it. A proxy, a hand, a conscience. That's what he was to you, too. Someone to do something.

"If you don't give me a reason to, I won't," you said. "Now, let me go before I scream assault."

Looking around the area, nobody was walking around at this time, but houses were everywhere inside this gated community. If you scream loud enough, some big-headed vice president might come running to your rescue.

He dropped you and wiped his hand on his pants. You pushed your glasses and adjusted them further by scrunching your nose, watching quietly as he struggled with his thoughts.

"What do you want?" he asked.

The nature of his job, or whatever businesses he dips his full weight in, forced him to impermanence.

He switches his phone number periodically, at unpredictable times, and always has more than three numbers under his belt. 

You could access the contacts and messages in the phones he currently owns but not the disabled numbers, so you were here to ask about that.

"Jesus, that's it?" 

He rubbed his eyes and stepped aside to lean his weight against the brick wall next to you. Reaching into his blazer, he pulled out a cigarette pack and crumbled it up after taking the last one out. He dumped it on the floor, and you watched it roll off the slope.

Your nose itched when he blew the first buff. You figured he was a chain smoker. He always smelt like a gross mix of smoke and perfume. 

Through the smoke and squinted eyes, you found his exhausted features. "I didn't think you smoked cigarettes."

He chuckled through his nose. "This will blow your mind. I drink, too."

"An alcoholic?"

"Not enough."

"Then who cares." You shrugged. "I thought you would be more of a cigar person."

"They're the same. One just has a better packaging and reputation," he said. "But yes, I am more of a cigar person."

"I'm learning a lot today."

"Yeah, well." He cleared his throat. "I don't usually talk to my clients this much. Most of them don't show up at my mother's nursing home."

"Most of them think you're an orphan," you pointed out. "You do a good job fabricating your past, but I suppose it'll be a hassle to get a gated community to welcome an outsider without credible wealth and even harder to get a multinational bank to cover your tracks."

He furrowed his brows. "You looked into my bank accounts?" 

"Just the statements."

"That's basically everything," he said.

"Hmm." Your hum was a disagreement, and you tilted your head. "Not really.”

You knew he manages four bank accounts, two of them being savings accounts with a questionable difference in amount, one of them being a regular checking account, and the last one was an account dedicated to his mother's medicine and life expenses.

He has two credit cards and uses them regularly—based on deals and percentages. Other transactions are done through bills to leave no records.

"That's more than the statements!" he exclaimed.

You hummed again; this time, it was in thoughts, and then you nodded. "I suppose."

He took a drag of the cigarette and sighed. 

He knew a minor scope of your capabilities based on the jobs you've paid him to do previously. Intel collection and anonymity were your specialty. It didn't make much difference that you decided to meet him in public, considering he has no records of what you have done nor the evidence to prove it.

It didn't make much sense for you to have the kind of money you do, but he was a man of no questions. He never asked about the businesses you dabble in or how you do what you do. As long as the envelope is thick, frankly, you could be a mass murderer, and he wouldn't care.

This discovery of you loitering around his financial secrets was only a decent surprise. You did it all on your own, too.

"You didn't need to come all the way here to find out who I worked with," he said. "You could have just asked me."

"I wasn't here only for you. I also came here to meet your mother," you said after nudging your head toward the nursing home. Ignoring his eye roll, you returned to the subject at hand. "Anyway, I didn't think you'll give away information just like that."

"You're right. I will lie to you," he said. "But there is always some truth in a lie. That's what makes them credible enough to be believed in. The rest is up for you to figure out."

You raised your brows at the mention of unnecessary hoops you must go through for some basic information. It wasn't as if you could do anything with them. Knowing whoever he ended on bad terms with wouldn't benefit you now, considering you have no alternative to his role in your operations.

You only wanted to know to take precautions or build a silent network. Whatever was suitable for your cause.

"You can give it to me straight," you suggested. "Cut to the chase."

"I can't think of one person working in this business who would do that." He laughed before peering at you. "Even you lie."

"I try not to," you said, not to defend yourself but to tell the truth.

"You should start getting comfortable with it," he said.

"I'll try my best."

"Mmhm." Pushing himself off the wall, he dropped the cigarette on the floor and stepped on it, cutting off its air as smoke released from his mouth.

You looked up at him once he neared, and you watched each other in a moment of dull silence before he reached a hand up to place it on your head. 

He didn't move, awkwardly keeping his hand in place as his body reminded him that he never knew how to be gentle with someone else, and it took over the wrongful instinct.

"You do whatever you have to do," he said. "As will I."

You blinked, glanced down in thoughts, then back up at him. Your movements were precise and observable, sometimes resembling a robot. 

Chan never knew people's facial features could move this way. It was mildly eerie, with the middle of the scale being a generosity granted thanks to your pretty face and young age. If you had been ugly and old, you would just be eerie.

"I already do whatever I have to," you said.

He shifted his weight and tried to feel for the cigarette under his feet. 

"That's great, sweetheart."

He shouldn't have thrown the cigarette away. 

You have never seen Chan in a simple shirt and sweatpants before. 

The existence of a dull attire propelled you to believe that he had a life outside of being a con man, which he must have, but you suspected that it was a seventy-dollar t-shirt and not an off-brand top.

You asked him to dress normally for today’s meeting, and he met the goal a little too perfectly. Even the foundation and minor contour were gone from his face, and his lips were more chapped than usual. 

"You look like you can be my neighbor," you commented.

“You live in a hellhole. Your apartment is four hundred square feet,” he said. “I would never.”

"You used to live in an apartment of that size," you said. "Back when you were still a child."

He rolled his eyes. "What else do you know about me?" 

"Nothing more than what I told you last time," you said. "Your mother mentioned an apartment estate. I assumed that was where you grew up."

He ignored you, but you were correct. He did grow up in a hellhole. The roof leaked whenever it stormed, the fuse sometimes blew if they turned on two electrical appliances simultaneously, and the walls were thin. 

At least the sex noises were arousing for him as a teenage boy, but the marital arguments and children screaming were the worst.

The environment was made somewhere tolerable by his mother being there. He loves her even though she has been callous, stressed, and overworked since his father’s dramatic departure. 

Chan never understood why his father had to be so dramatic about his romantic feelings. That man should have lied about falling out of love and cheating instead of actively pursuing a more desired life. 

"What are we doing here?" he asked.

"I have a job offer," you replied curtly before stopping him by tapping his arm.

A cold breeze brushed over his skin when you opened the locker. Several bags of frozen food landed in the shopping cart under his hands. He looked down and grimaced. 

The variety of your meal choices was mind-boggling—orange chicken, sweet and sour chicken, teriyaki chicken, and General Tso chicken. The whole coop. The last time he was in your apartment, he saw unfinished cup noodles and opened bags of cream cakes that should be refrigerated if not consumed.

You were intellectually well put together, but good heavens, you live like a toddler spoiled by a disastrous uncle.

"This isn't healthy," he commented as he began pushing the cart to follow you.

"I know," you said. 

"You have money. Why don't you order takeout from restaurants?" 

You pursed your lips in thought.

It was convenient, you liked to think. They were effort with a reasonable portion and were easy to consume with something else because they take up such little space. A full meal wouldn’t fit on your desk, and they’d require more attention to eat, so you would miss out on what was happening on the screen.

You were also making up for eighteen years worth of a strict diet your controlling mother imposed on you. It has been two years since you were free from the horrendously stale meals, and you did it by forcing your parents to cut contact by disappearing.

They never looked for you. Last time you checked, they had a newborn child.

Theoretically, you feared for that replacement, but you have never feared for anyone but yourself. You weren't sure if you could.

"I wonder why," you replied with a solemn tap to your chin, mimicking a thinking motion without forcing your face to move an inch. You then pointed down the aisle. "Hey, you might want to close your eyes when we get to the chips section."

Chan scoffed as he leaned his forearms against the cart handle. "Fine, don't tell me."

"I wasn't planning to." 

He rolled his eyes. "What is the job?" 

"A dirty cop," you said, reaching an arm up for a bag of chips on the top shelf. "Or, more accurately, his son."

"You don't mean to ask me to make conversations with a cop, do you?" He whistled softly as he went over your head to grab it for you. He grimaced at the packaging but threw it in the cart anyway. "Horrible flavor."

“It’s sour cream and onion. It’s a widely accepted flavor,” you retorted, focusing entirely on the row of crackers. “Also, I don’t need you to talk to him. I’ll do that. I just need an entrance pass to a club you frequent.”

"Which one?"

"The Inferno Lounge."

"There's a cop in there?"

“Multiple, but they don’t care,” you said. “They don’t record their reservations online; their guest lists are handwritten. I couldn’t change anything if I tried, so I need you to help me sneak inside.”

While the guest list was logged physically, the nightclub would upload its expenses and customers online at the end of the day. You spent several nights scrolling through the lists with chip crumbs at your fingertips, checking out anyone worthy of your interest.

Against your assumptions, most law enforcement officers who frequented the nightclub were old and experienced. Alcohol and private rooms were boldly (or carelessly) purchased with credit cards. As for drugs, even if they wanted to, you doubted the provider took smart payment.

When you passed the candy section, you picked up a cherry lollipop and unwrapped it, popping it in your mouth. You kept the wrapper in your jacket pocket, saving it for the register later.

Chan sucked on his front teeth, his lips jutted out in thoughts. 

You didn’t suggest letting him bring you as a plus one because that would create an association. If one of you gets in trouble, the other will get involved indirectly. It was good to take that precaution.

Turning his head to eye you up and down, he asked, "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

“Tell them you just turned twenty-one, and this is your first night out drinking. For good measure, ask them where the bar is, he said with a snap of his fingers. “They’ll let you in just like that. You don’t even need me there.”

"Dress skimpy but casual," he added with a chuckle. "Kind of like how you are now."

You glanced at your feet. You buy all your clothes based on comfort. The ideal items could be worn outside and to sleep, so you wouldn’t have to change.

"So, pajamas."

"Yeah." He nodded. "What do you plan to do?"

"Find the guy and take his phone," you said. "I just need to transfer some data."

"You don't need me for that," he pointed out.

"I don't," you said.

"Right." He smacked his lips softly. "Again, this could have been a text."

"It could have, but I wanted to ask you something," you said after pushing the lollipop to the side of your mouth. You shoved your hands in your pockets and turned to face him fully. "Your mom said something about a clinical trial the other day. What is that?"

He pursed his lips and felt them twitch upward into a smirk. He didn’t think about it too much at first, but a nurse at the senior home put him up to it. 

With the help of a selected group of patients, a famous brain surgeon at a metropolitan hospital was trying to find a way around a nearly impossible disease. He didn’t care too much about the cure, but rather, he’d like his mother monitored and checked on periodically, so he took her to the screening test.

She wasn't selected. He wasn't too upset about that.

Lowering his head, he ruffled his hair and stood up, sniffing, shaking the jitters out of his body. “It’s no big deal.”

 “It’s for her dementia.” You peered at him, biting on the hard candy. “I didn’t know they were doing research on the disease.”

"It doesn't concern you," he said. 

You wiggled your nose to rid of the oily glasses. You were biting down just a stick now, and you played with it using your teeth. "Fine, don't tell me."

You'll find out on your own.

The rest of the shopping trip was silent. Chan did not excuse himself and continued to walk the shopping cart around the store as you pushed more unhealthy food into the basket. He went ahead when you were at the cash register to buy a packet of cigarettes at the corner area. You waited for him by the automatic doors, stepping close to trigger its sensor whenever it closed, and walked out when you noticed he was paying.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, stuffing his thin wallet inside his pocket. 

“I hope so,” you replied. “I’ll probably live.”

“It’s a nightclub. When it comes to people your age, they don’t tend to kill you,” he said. “They do something else.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. Reaching into your shorts pocket, you took out another lollipop and unwrapped it, popping it into your mouth. Chan furrowed his brows when you pulled it past your lips and a soft pop. He was sure you stole that.

“Why don’t you old folks sleep with people your age?” you asked.

He noticed your tongue was red. He scratched the back of his ear with a grimace. “Is that a genuine question?” 

“All my questions are genuine.” 

“Then I don’t know,” he replied. “Haven’t had any trouble with women my age.”

“Yet.” You glanced at his appalled expression as you pushed yourself off the wall. 

Approaching him with a waving lollipop, you brought it up to his face and pressed it past his lips. He parted his mouth to welcome the sweet cherry taste, his teeth clamping down on the stick to keep it from sliding out. 

“Try this for a change,” you said. “It’s better than smoke.”

He hummed. He didn’t think so.

Your drink was spiked. It wasn't a surprise. Why else would they let a nobody inside an esteemed nightclub if not to take advantage of them?

The man who put the pill inside your drink did a horrible job of hiding it, or you were more perceptive. The dimmed atmosphere, loud music, and flashy disco lights would have made it impossible for anyone else to notice, but you did, almost too clearly.

However, holding onto the intention of not bringing attention to yourself, when the man questioned why you weren't drinking from the glass, you took a sip to get him off your back.

None of your observation skills mattered because you put yourself in the same position as those who would fall victim to such tricks.

If anything, you were in far worse shape.

Since the man continued to chase you down, which hindered your task to find the dirty cop, you talked him down over the loud music. The last you heard of him was a string of cuss words as his friends held him back from making an even bigger scene.

That alerted people of your presence, but you managed to fade into the background again until you finally came across your target.

You realized how terrible you were at pickpocketing. Even the drunk air couldn’t save you from being a suspect in thievery. 

You quickly became the center of attention again, except this time, it was to be arrested and not to sleep with. Or perhaps it'd be both. You never know at places like this.

The thirty minutes (for the drug to kick in) counted down while you stumbled around corners and through hallways. You suspected you were walking deeper into the nightclub rather than out of it, but at least the confusing layout must be as disadvantageous to you as it was to your pursuers.

"There they are!"

"Shit," you muttered and picked up your pace.

The hallways looked identical. They were decorated with a dark color scheme and stained with sensual lights flashing through tiny door windows. Bad vocals, cheers, chair creaks, and screechy moans all sounded like forks on a plate. 

Looking behind your shoulder when you heard rapid footsteps approaching, you turned back to face a dead end a few rooms ahead of you. If you turned back, you would only be met with your demise, so it has to be one of the few rooms present. You have to choose. Choose quickly.

"Aggressive much–" Chan paused. His eyes widened when he saw you. "It's you."

You clenched your fist and released the tension. Immediately, you reached for the switch by the door and dimmed the ceiling lights. Ignoring Chan’s confused questions, you brought the gadgets from your jacket before taking it off and throwing it aside. The next fabric to go was your tank, and you threw that somewhere on the table instead of the floor.

"Woah–slow down?" He laughed when you shoved him onto the couch and got on top of him, your legs straddling his thighs and your hands gripping his shoulders. He instinctively held onto your waist, his big hands warm against your skin. "Jesus, sweetheart. Are you into me?"

"Help me," you said quietly. "They're looking for me."

He raised a brow. The initial shock died down gradually, and he checked his surroundings. 

Two phones were lodged where your bottoms met; yours and the cop's, he suspected. Your skin was cold as ice, and goosebumps lined up your shivering arms, which he wondered if it was from the cold or fear. Looking higher up where your nipples perked, he realized he never noticed your chest was so flat.

Behind your shoulder was the hallway light. Chan barely had the chance to hear the commotion before the door bursts open. He didn’t need an explanation to piece the problem together. There wasn’t much that could happen in a nightclub besides the usual.

You squeezed your eyes shut and his shoulders tighter. Just as you were about to lean forward, hoping to hide your face somewhere in the crook of his neck, he slid his hands up your side and pressed his thumbs against the side of your breasts, pushing them together. 

Your back straightened into a soft arch, and a surprised gasp broke out of your lips. Chan peeked over your head at the intruder, one brow raised and his smirk almost condescending. “Are you staying for the show or?” 

Flabbergasted, the man apologized and slammed the door. You didn’t say anything at the sound of the door clicking shut. Instead, you picked up the phone and attached one end of the black cable to it. You grabbed the other phone, the one with a dirty screen, and attempted the same thing. 

Chan watched you miss the charging port several times before he took them from you, getting it right on the first try.

You turned his hand to show yourself the screen and tapped on it, your barely opened eyes darting around, trying to read the tiny words on each pop-up. 

"You're here," you mumbled. 

"I am." He shrugged. "I frequent this place."

"Pervert." He didn’t say anything back.

Your chest heaved with difficulty, and you were clumsier than usual. Chan tried to catch your eyes, but you were too focused on the task. Once he noticed a significant difference in your behavior, he touched your forehead with the back of his palm.

"Lightweight?" he asked.

You grumbled, "Drugged."

His hand dropped from your forehead, and he chuckled. “Tough luck.”

Once the phone showed that the transferring process had started, you sighed and dropped it on the side. You felt horrible, and trying to make sense of your bodily reaction made you feel even worse. Your brain was fighting too hard with your body just trying to relax.

"You're shaking a little," Chan pointed out. "It can't be the drug. It's supposed to relax you.” He poked your abdomen. “You’re not cold either.” 

You glared at him through your lashes. The ringing in your ears grew louder the more you fought the drowsiness. He watched you nonchalantly, without a smile or a frown. This wasn't too amusing to him, you supposed. He hasn't pushed you off either. If anything, he kept steadying you by the waist whenever you dozed off.

You couldn’t sleep before when you were on your feet, still running from the cops. But now that Chan was here, you figured you could take a breather. 

“I panicked," you said. “I feel fear.”

"That's alarming," he said. "You don't seem to feel anything at all."

You lowered your head, blackness fading in and out of your eyes. "Contrary to your belief, I'm not some sociopath without feelings."

"Lots of talking for someone so sleepy," he mused slowly, squeezing your cheek before he reached inside his coat pocket. 

He pulled out an old wooden box and opened it with a faint squeak. Inside were three cigar sticks. He took one out and carefully placed the box next to his leg on the couch. You watched with mild curiosity as he lit up the end of it before putting it between his lips, taking a long drag.

"Have you tried smoking before?” he asked. “This should help you calm down.”

You grimaced and shook your head. He smiled; somehow, this fact was amusing. Tipping your head up gently, with his fingers wrapped over your chin and jaw, he muttered for you to take a huff after he brought the cigar to your face. 

You sniffed, trapped on top of him, and lacked the inhibition to reject the suggestion, parted your lips for him to put the tip in. You inhaled, feeling the hotness spread over your mouth.

He released your face to let you exhale, his fingers grazing a line down your bare chest to your belly. You shivered at the feeling, puffs of smoke coming out in shock, and he recalled the way you reacted when he barely touched your breasts. 

Either you were correct that you do feel emotions, or your feelings were limited to how you biologically react to physical touch.

He has to admit the latter made you so much more tolerable.

"There you go, sweetheart. Good job," he said, pulling the cigar away. "But next time, maybe more smoke in your lungs and less in your cheeks."

You frowned. You reckoned if you had let it travel to your lungs, you would’ve gotten the harsh awakening you needed. But you didn’t; you kept the smoke in your cheeks, and it did almost nothing but make you drowsier. 

Blinking slowly, you looked up at Chan, who hadn’t tried anything inappropriate. You knew he had no ill intentions despite not avoiding your naked torso because if he had them, you would have felt it underneath you, and you would just have to bet that it keeps being that way.

Wiggling forward to get closer to him and find a better position for your numbing legs, you dropped your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. You relaxed against him; the buttons on his shirt might leave a faint mark up your chest.

"Hey," he whispered as he peered down. "You're not sleeping on me, are you?”

“I want to sleep,” you muttered. 

“I already paid for this room.”

“You can have sex some other time,” you said. “I have to sleep now.”

“Can you at least sleep on the other side of the couch?” 

You didn’t respond and he knew he wouldn’t get you to even if you were awake. He rolled his eyes and threw his head back on the couch. If he wasn’t sitting on his coat, he might have taken it off for you to use as a blanket. He doubted you were cold, though. Your skin has grown warm, and your breathing regulated itself. 

Leaving the room with all the security cameras would be a hassle. You’d have to figure out how to hide your face to avoid getting him in trouble. As for the man who barged into the room, he was willing to take a bet that he could lie about your presence in the room. Plenty of people loitered the nightclub. You couldn’t be the only person with your hairstyle and body size.

Inhaling a puff of smoke, he watched them go up the ceiling after he released it. 

Flashes of his conversation with his mother after you left the nursing home captured his attention. He tried to deter her from talking about you, which he did, but it wasn’t after she mentioned that you seemed like a good person and told him to be nice to you. 

That’s how he maintains friendships, she nagged. But you weren’t his friend. You weren’t anything to each other.

You breathed softly atop Chan. He brought his hand up to your hair, hot air boiling out of his mouth into a tragic exhale when he couldn’t will himself to do something comforting. His hand slid down to your arm, where he squeezed gently, and finally, it stayed at your waist to keep you close and steady.

"You owe me, kid," he muttered.

When a woman came by to provide him services, he shooed her away.

The back of an alley was the last place Chan expected to find you. Seeing you beaten and bruised was less surprising, considering your inability to socialize.

“I thought I heard something,” he said, crouching before you. 

He scanned your face briefly—a pair of cracked lips, a nosebleed, a bed of grabbed hair, and spots of purple and yellow developing around your eye. You were holding onto your abdomen, too.

"Karma came and bit you in the ass or what?" he asked.

“Maybe,” you mumbled. “I met them when I was at the nightclub. One of them was the man who drugged me. I chewed him out in public, so I’m guessing that’s what he was mad about.”

"Mm," he hummed with intrigue. "You shouldn't have done that."

You rolled your eyes. The pain has gradually faded from being noticeable, but you continued to feel wrong somewhere, like a misplaced bone or a sprained joint. It felt heavy as the hit but not like a weight. You have never been beaten before, so you had difficulty explaining it to yourself, and the lack of knowledge agitated you.

"This wasn't my fault," you said. 

"That's not the point," he argued.

"Then what is?"

"Why would I know?" Chan shrugged. "I didn't get physically assaulted. You did. What did you learn?”

Nothing. You have learned nothing because there was no lesson to learn from events that otherwise shouldn't have happened. 

You could learn about natural phenomena, a dessert recipe, or even the making of a pharmaceutical drug. 

A petty man choosing to retaliate against a trivial matter has no value and isn’t natural. It has no reason to exist. It just did for some incalculable reason. Therefore, it was not worth even you, someone who must make sense of everything, to try to understand it.

The only thing the event shed light upon was that you were better than him, not because you put yourself above physical violence but because you wouldn’t be bothered by something so minuscule in the first place. 

You being better wasn't a learning lesson. You already knew that.

"Take me home," you said. "I will pay you the gas money."

"I have an electric car right now. Maybe later."

He scoffed light-heartedly as he grabbed your wrist and threw your arm over his shoulder. You pushed your weight up with his help and exhaled through the discomfort. Chan peered down your shirt and raised a brow.

"They just beat you up?" he asked. "They didn't try to touch you or anything?”

You pursed your lips. There was an attempt, but you couldn’t shut your nasty mouth up for so long that they decided they didn’t like you enough anymore. Whether that was a miracle was debatable; you thought you would be left with fewer bruises if you had stopped talking.

"No."

"Sweet," he whistled, "virginity preserved."

You clicked your tongue and pushed your palm to his face. The velocity wasn't enough, so you gave him a proper slap before a round of random violence ensued.

He tried to stop you verbally, insincere apologies leaving his lips. However, the more he spoke, the worse you felt. Suddenly, you understood your perpetrator's urge to beat you up. 

"Hey, stop it! Stop it!" He shielded his face for a while before reaching for your shoulder and harshly throwing you toward the wall. "What is wrong with you?"

Your back whined in pain when it hit the wall. Once you dropped to the ground, you lay there and did nothing more to stress your body out. 

Turned out you weren't so much better, after all. If anything, you were so much worse than everyone else.

Chan tidied and dusted his clothes with short strings of curses leaving his lips, complaining about his good deeds going to waste on you. Glancing at your lifeless body, he sighed and shook his head. You could do whatever you want. 

Stepping over you, he walked to leave the alley when his phone rang. He paused to pick it up. 

"Hello?"

The voice on the other side was feminine and firm. She introduced herself as a doctor, apologized for a mix-up in some examination results, and congratulated him on his mother’s acceptance into the clinical trial.

"Yes, no problem. I will bring her over next week as scheduled," he said. "Thank you so much, doctor."

The line cut without static. He pulled the phone away from his ear and squeezed it to ground his thoughts. 

There was only one person he knew who not only knew about his mother’s condition but could also switch around digital information like that—you.

Putting his phone away, he sighed and turned back around. He knelt by you and carefully slipped his arms under your side, adjusting his hands on your shoulder and hip.

"She was nice to me." You peered up meekly. "Your mom was nice to me."

No hospital, no police station. You were heading home, he knew. He swallowed a knot before hoisting you up into his arms. Your glasses were broken. He left it there.

He was warm, like last time, and safe, if you’d call him that. 

"I bet she was."

[churomo]

ur shadowvanilla art was SOOO GOOD AURGHHH i need to know how u feel about the new episode....

FHANK YOUWWW!!!! tbh i used to be kindof indifferent about shadowvanilla ? i only really came back to pull for awakened pv but . then i played episode 8. and oh my god i get it. i freaking get it.

there’s so much to be said about them but what Really gets me (even outside shipping lens) is sm being unable to accept pv’s offer of friendship because he refuses to embrace truth and vulnerability the same way pv embraced doubt and deceit. they yearn for each other in ways that can never be truly reciprocated in the ways they want because despite how similar they are they are so so different. they want each other’s company but under Completely different circumstances and that’s why sm chafes at the end despite being offered what he wants

tldr this is all to say i liked it a lot and want them to interact again soon . pleek

[tubbytarchia]

(Okay I did see Twitter was not allowed to be mentioned so feel free to delete this)

May I take a gander at Twitter being upset over drawing Gem with antlers? This is coming from someone who also draws Deer!Gem, antlers, hooves and all. Cause if it’s the reason I’m thinking off, clearly none of them saw Gem’s follow up post on tumblr that she’s fine with deer art, she just likes variety too.

And yeah I got into a tiff with someone on TikTok because I said “yeah the popular hybrid headcanon I see of Gem in both hermitcraft and the life series is a deer hybrid” only the the op to reply back “um actually life series Gem shouldn’t be drawn as a deer :/” which Gem never said herself… all she said was that she would lien variety…

Anyway, keep it up with the antlers.

post getting long woo putting it under cut

I spent 20 minutes looking and couldn't find it, but it was a screenshot of reddit that was being shown to me. In it Gem was indeed talking about how she liked to try new things with her skin and that she'd like to see as much from fanart too, and capped it off by saying that the deer skin was still her favorite and she still enjoyed seeing art of it regardless. So, obviously that was the typical witchhunter who looks for any excuse to police people instead of even reading through the thing they're showing me as "proof". It's honestly a big reason I keep drawing Gem as a cervitaur. Because I can draw whatever I want

Regardless it's stupid of people including CCs to try and police you. This is a fandom and you can draw whatever the hell you want forever. It's reasonable to avoid showing things to the CCs they might not want to see, but outside of that, they don't get to dictate what you can or cannot draw. Gem and Pearl have never had bad intentions though, I'm sure of that. They're newer to this kind of attention than most other CCs they work with, especially after the growth of the gempearl ship within the fandom after Wild Life, and don't seem to understand yet what their place within a fandom is, and that it's not something they can control. Which is so understandable and reasonable

Unfortunately, even if I trust them to always have had good intentions and never to actually police people, any CC ever making even the vaguest boundary is going to be used like a firearm against the fandom by other fandom goers, because fun is banned and they need to protect their beloved content creators from. something? From being drawn with antlers? Otherwise they get depressed and stop making youtube content and kill themselves or something? In my opinion there is absolutely nothing to rationalize this behavior

That's why I only use Tumblr (and Youtube) because those kinds of hatemobs are horribly abundant on twitter and I assume TikTok as well, knowing what I know of that app's general userbase age. My only hope is that these people are 13 years old and that they will grow up

Edit: I found it

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash

playlist: spotify

Sae-Byeok had always been good at keeping her emotions in check.

She had spent years perfecting the art of masking—hiding every flicker of vulnerability behind a cold stare and a sharp tongue.

But right now?

Right now, standing in that doorway, watching you kiss No-Eul—She felt like she was burning alive.

Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms, but she didn’t say a word. Didn’t let a single emotion crack through the mask.

She just turned and walked away. Not quickly. Not in a rush.

But with the kind of deliberate, controlled movements that barely hid the storm raging inside her.

She didn’t stop when Ji-Yeong called out from the living room, asking where she was going.

She didn’t stop when Se-Mi glanced up, raising an eyebrow at the look on her face.

She didn’t stop until she was out the front door, the cold air hitting her like a slap to the face.

Only then did she let herself breathe. Only then did she let herself feel it.

The anger. The frustration. The overwhelming, gut-wrenching jealousy.

It wasn’t fair.

She should’ve been the one.

Not No-Eul.

Not anyone.

The thought made her stomach twist, her jaw tightening as she ran a hand through her hair, pacing along the sidewalk.

She had been so stupid.

She had spent so much time pushing you away, keeping things at a safe distance, convincing herself that she didn’t need to say anything because it had always just been there—unspoken, but understood.

Hadn’t it?

Hadn’t you felt it too?

But now, standing out here while you were still upstairs with No-Eul, she realized maybe she had waited too long. Maybe she had already lost you.

But you were still trying to catch your breath.

Your lips still tingled, your heart still raced, but the moment was already gone, shattered as soon as Sae-Byeok had walked in and left without a word.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to step back.

“No-Eul,” you started, your voice unsteady, “why did you—”

She looked at you blankly. “Because you needed it.”

You blinked. “What?”

No-Eul’s gaze was steady, nonchalant as always. “You needed someone to pull you out of your own head. You needed to feel something other than stress for once.”

You opened your mouth—then closed it. She was right, but it still felt wrong to admit it.

No-Eul exhaled. “Look, I’m not gonna stand here and pretend it didn’t mean anything, but…” She tilted her head, watching you carefully. “You weren’t thinking about me just now, were you?”

Your breath hitched. “No-Eul—”

“It’s okay,” she murmured, a small, almost resigned smile tugging at her lips. “I knew before I kissed you.”

Guilt twisted in your chest. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.”

Silence.

Then No-Eul sighed, stepping back fully, hands in her pockets. “Go after her.”

You hesitated.

No-Eul raised an eyebrow. “You want to.”

You swallowed hard. “She looked…”

“Like she was about to kill me?” No-Eul nodded slightly. “Yeah, I noticed.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t even know what to say to her.”

No-Eul shrugged. “You’ll figure it out.”

You hesitated for only a second longer—then turned toward the door.

Because as much as everything had just changed, as much as your heart was still racing and your mind was still spinning, there was only one person you wanted to see right now.

And she was already outside.

The night air was cold against your skin, but you barely felt it.

You were already moving, your heart pounding as you pushed through the front door, stepping outside into the dimly lit street. Sae-Byeok’s figure was already in the distance, her dark silhouette cutting through the quiet.

She walked fast, shoulders tense, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket.

But you weren’t letting her go this time.

Not like this.

Not without a fight.

You sprinted forward, your footsteps echoing against the pavement. “Sae-Byeok!”

She didn’t stop.

Didn’t even acknowledge you.

Your chest tightened. “Yah! Will you just stop?!”

Still nothing.

You gritted your teeth, pushing harder, running until you were close enough to grab her wrist.

She yanked it away immediately, whipping around, her face twisted in frustration. “What do you want?”

You swallowed, chest heaving. “To talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You’re lying.”

Her jaw clenched. “Go back inside.”

“No.”

Sae-Byeok exhaled sharply, turning away again. “I don’t want to do this right now—”

“I don’t care what you want,” you snapped, stepping in front of her. “Because I know you, Sae-Byeok. You’re running. Again.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “You don’t know anything.”

You took a step closer. “I know you better than anyone else. And I know that when things get complicated, when things get real, you do this.” You gestured at her, your hands shaking slightly. “You push people away.”

Her expression hardened. “Maybe you should take the hint.”

The words cut deep, but you didn’t move.

Didn’t back down.

Because you had seen this before.

You had felt this before.

That night at the Kang house—when you had walked out, feeling like you didn’t belong, feeling like no one had seen you. She had come after you.

She had fought for you.

And now, it was your turn.

“You’re mad,” you said, voice quieter now. “I get it.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “You don’t.”

“I do.” You swallowed, forcing yourself to hold her gaze. “You walked in and saw me kissing No-Eul. And you hated it.”

Sae-Byeok’s eyes darkened. “Shut up.”

“You hated it,” you repeated, stepping closer. “Because you wanted to be the one kissing me.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Sae-Byeok’s entire body tensed, her breathing sharp, her fists clenched like she was trying to hold something in.

Then—

A low rumble in the sky.

A drop of rain hit your cheek.

Then another.

And then—

The skies opened up.

The rain poured down in thick, heavy sheets, soaking through your clothes within seconds. But neither of you moved.

Neither of you ran for cover.

Because this storm wasn’t the one you were focused on.

It was the one between you and her.

Sae-Byeok stared at you, water dripping from her hair, her lips parted slightly like she had something to say but couldn’t force it out.

So you did it for her.

“I’ve liked you since middle school.”

Her breath hitched.

But you weren’t stopping now.

“I liked you when we were just kids, when you were nothing but sharp edges and quiet stares that scared everyone else away.”

Sae-Byeok’s face was unreadable.

“I liked you when you teased me, when you called me fake, when you rolled your eyes every time I tried to be nice to you.”

You took a shaky breath.

“I liked you when I realized you weren’t just cold—you were careful. That you weren’t mean—you were just scared.”

The rain was relentless, pounding against your skin, but you didn’t care.

Didn’t feel it.

Not when everything inside you was already unraveling.

“And I never stopped.” Your voice broke slightly. “Not once.”

A long silence.

Sae-Byeok didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

And for a moment—just one fleeting, desperate moment—you thought she might actually say something back.

But then—

Her expression hardened.

And with a voice like ice, she said—

“I don’t like you like that.”

The words hit harder than the rain.

You blinked. “Sae-Byeok—”

“Go home.” She turned away, her wet hair clinging to her skin, her fists trembling at her sides. “There’s nothing here for you.”

And then, without another word—

She walked away.

Leaving you standing there.

Alone.

In the rain.

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