#and it still looks like pigment despite the messiness

[averycutesalamander]

finished the 2.6 story and promptly blacked out and wrote this in a feverish haze. minor gore warning (it's really mild but still). also this is up on ao3 if that's your preference. comments always appreciated but not obligated 💕 xoxo love yall

Boothill tries not to sleep very often. 

He doesn't particularly need to, either; he can get away with around a dozen hours every week if he pushes himself – which he often does. The only time he sleeps with any consistency is when he's with you, in the interim between his long journeys away. 

He doesn't often have pleasant dreams, but when he does, it's always when he's sleeping by your side. His particular favorite is an impossibility, as dreams so often are. 

He's back on Aeragan-Epharshel, playing with Clementine. She's a bit older, now – around ten. She's still just as sunny as she always was – though he hasn't quite managed to get her to stop tugging on his hair; perhaps he should be content with her progress so far, considering that she never pulls hard anymore. He's outside with her on a blessedly warm fall day, painting stones with the pigments you made by hand; the holidays are a few months off, and Clementine wants to paint customized stones for everyone she can think of, aunts and uncles included. (She told him very decisively that she'd make his rock on her own. It has to be a surprise, obviously.) He'd argue that her painting is far better than his, but he still makes one for you – a messy collage of your favorite colors on a shiny black stone, forming a smeared mimicry of the night sky. 

When she tires of that, he hauls her up onto his shoulders and heads inside to badger you, disturbing your reading. You banter; you chat; you help Clem clean up, then dot her little forehead with kisses until she laughs – that sweet, warm laugh, like the chime of a bell. After that, he helps you out with dinner, the aroma of casserole filling the entire house. Clem lingers by your feet, clinging to your pants as you chop vegetables plucked from the garden that morning. She looks up at you with those dewy doe eyes, pouting dramatically until you relent and give her small chunks of veggies; you're so used to her habit of begging like a dog for scraps that you bring out a little more vegetables than you need every time. He watches on with a tender, lovestruck smile, perfectly content. 

When he woke up from that dream, it was to the silence of your bedroom, his eyes burning and his chest aching something fierce. He looked down at your sleeping form sprawled over his body, your limbs tangled and your face soft with sleep. With his hands shaking slightly, he shifted to hold you just a little tighter against him, savoring your weight, your warmth, your smell.

That dream will never be a reality, but at least he can fulfill some morsel of it. 

It's rare for him to be so fortunate as to have sweet, peaceful dreams like that one – despite the irreconcilable yearning they're tainted with. Most dreams – such as the one he's having right now – are not so pleasant. 

Smoke clogs the air, so thick that it burns his lungs. Flames press in on all sides, licking at his heels, searing his skin. The smell of death, of burnt hair and flesh, of ash and misery, is so oppressive that he feels like he's suffocating under the weight. A cacophony of screaming echoes from all around him, cannon fire bursting in his eardrums, but through the noise, he hears it – the shrieking wail of a child in pain, piercing straight through his heart. 

He's running, clamoring through the fire, stumbling over the rubble of destroyed homes and corpses whose roasted, blistering hands grasp uselessly at his ankles, their croaking voices begging him for help; his instincts urge him to obey, to haul them out of the fire and carry them to safety, to tend to the wounds of his family – but he knows in his heart that there's no use. There is no safety here, nowhere to bring them, no way to treat burns so fierce that they've bared bone and sinew. 

But there's a dash of hope in his heart, because that girl's crying is so clear, so crisp – he must be close. Yet no matter which way he turns, no matter how fast he runs, no matter how far he sprints into the carnage, he can't find her. Her cries turn sharper, more anguished; she sobs his name, pleading, begging, but her voice only seems to be getting further away. His chest heaves, his tears evaporating from his eyes before they can spill, his flesh melting from his bones in a slurry of fat and muscle. Why can't he find her? Where is she? Why did it come to this? Why, why, why–

“It's okay, bee.” 

A soft voice echoes in the back of his head, nearly muffled by the deafening noise battering him from all sides. He collapses to his knees, completely spent, his whole body disintegrating into ash. He's burning, he's burning, but so is Clem – he can hear her screaming, louder and louder, piercing clean through his skull. He has to find her, he has to get up, he has to–

“Wake up, honey. It's okay. I've got you.”

The voice is a little louder now, and it feels like his body cools slightly, like the flames have been slightly dampened – but a moment later, they roar back to life with a vengeance. This can't be happening; this can't be real. He can't– 

“Wake up.”

He jerks awake with a gasp, his whole body shaking like a leaf. He can hear your voice in his ear, your arms wrapped tight around him, his head nestled against your chest as you slowly rock him back and forth. He's already clinging to you, arms locked around your waist, but he pulls you in even tighter, desperate for an anchor. His breathing skips as he sobs, not a tear to be found, his body aching with phantom pain.

It takes a few moments for him to even process your words. “You're alright,” you murmur softly, stroking tenderly through his hair, your other hand tracing soothing circles into his shoulder. “Shh, shh. It's okay.” 

Mindlessly, stupidly, he blubbers your name, nearly incomprehensible in his distress. 

“I'm right here, baby. I've got you.” You tighten your hold slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Breathe with me, sunshine. Can you do that?”

You take a deep, slow breath, your heart beating steadily in his ear. On instinct, he mimics you, his lungs stuttering in his chest. The air of your exhale tickles his hair, and his own warms your skin, taking with it a bit of his tension. Inhale, exhale; slowly, his hydraulics begin to relax. Inhale, exhale; his hands grow a bit steadier, his palms flattening against your back. Inhale, exhale; he swallows heavily, the fear bleeding out of his veins. 

The two of you stay like that for some time, your breathing keeping him grounded, letting him clear his mind. “I'm… I'm sorry,” he rasps, so soft that it's nearly muffled by your skin. 

You shush him softly. “Nothing to be sorry about, honeybee.”

He doesn't even have the energy to rebuke you; as the terror flees his body, exhaustion rushes in to fill the gaps. After a moment, he murmurs, “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I'm okay.”

He can practically feel the gentle, concerned furrow of your brow. “Are you sure? I don't mind staying up to talk with you, if that'll make it easier.” 

He shakes his head, burrowing a bit further into your chest. “You're helpin’ just by bein' here, honey.” Slowly, he begins to rub circles into your back, just as you're doing to him. “This is just fine.”

He can sense your hesitation, can hear it in the beat of your heart. He lifts his head to kiss your collarbones, shamelessly savoring the scent of your skin. 

“I'm okay,” he whispers. “Just get some rest for me, sugar.” 

You're silent for a beat before finally sighing, your body relaxing against him. “If you say so.” You lean down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Promise you'll wake me up if you want company, alright?” 

He smiles, a tender, shaky little thing, then presses his ear to your chest. “Sure thing, pumpkin.”

Thankfully, it doesn't take too long for you to drift back into a light sleep, your breathing deepening, your heart slowing next to his ear. Your natural rhythm soothes him so efficiently that he might've fallen back asleep if he weren't actively trying to stay awake. He distracts himself by stewing over your plans for tomorrow, how he'll spend his precious time with you. 

He'll make you breakfast in the morning, he decides – though he'll have to be careful not to disturb you. He always loves watching you wake up, and he's sure it'll be even better if it's to a fresh plate of food. 

Yeah, he thinks, his lip quirking fondly as he nuzzles into you a bit more firmly. That'll be good.

[paintedpawz]

SO LAST NIGHT, OUR TABLET FINALLY CAME! So even though I don't like medibang all that much, I drew a quick something since I need an icon so...

YIPPEE TBH PIGMENT! 🥳

[tommybaholland]

doing their s/o’s makeup

featuring: third gym squad (aka kuroo, bokuto, and akaashi) 

kuroo

catches you trying to follow along with a makeup tutorial

would definitely be the one to say, “you don’t need all that makeup, babe.” 

but insists on helping you anyway

“c’mon kitten, please? i’ve seen you do this, like, a million times.”

you let him do it under conditions that if he does a good job, he gets something and vice versa if he doesn’t 

he starts with primer (even though you told him you had already put some on) 

he puts on a little more, enjoying rubbing his hands over your face 

“you have such nice skin. and i love squishing these cute cheeks.” 

he’s very gentle when dabbing the foundation/concealer on your face with the sponge but also very careful to make sure it’s all blended in 

he skips right to eyeshadow after that, telling you to close your eyes

definitely takes any chance he can get to kiss you while your eyes are closed 

“okay. okay. i’m sorry, beautiful. i’m actually going to do it now.” 

becomes very attentive to what the girl is doing in the video and then basically acts like he has his very own youtube channel, saying what he’s doing out loud

“okay so now we take this fluffy brush, and i guess i’ll blend this into your crease.” 

“it’s crazy that people are do this for a living. i feel like i could do this.”

he ends up skipping a lot of the steps because he feels “you don’t need all of it” 

you tell him that it’s all a part of the process but he’s like, “okay but i’m the one doing your makeup.”

next time you’re doing his makeup and it’s going to be the whole nine

“no, you’re not coming anywhere near me with makeup. except maybe for that one fruity lipgloss that you like...where is that, by the way? no, i just wanna smell it..and maybe taste it.”

doesn’t do your mascara because he doesn’t want to accidentally stab your eye so he leaves that alone

moves down to your lips and of course he goes for a red lipstick

has you close your eyes and pucker your lips (so he can kiss them again)

you humor him but then tell him to just put the lipstick on 

this is definitely his favorite part because the colors adds emphasis to your already beautiful lips; he can’t look away 

holds your chin as he carefully applies it 

“okay now rub your lips together a bit. there we go.”

cleans up any places where it got messy with his thumb

“okay baby, you can look now” 

he’s actually done a pretty decent job, despite skipping a lot of steps 

“i did pretty good, right? right? i think you look great”

you eventually admit that he did good and ask him what he wants 

“thank you, sweetheart. now let me mess up that lipstick..” 

bokuto

goes absolutely crazy with everything 

but he loves the idea nonetheless

declines to watch a makeup tutorial to follow along with and claims he knows what he’s doing 

so you lay out some stuff for him to pick from and it becomes an amusing game to watch him try to figure out where to start 

“no don’t tell me, babe. i’ve watched you do this before, just let me think..”

he does pretty alright but not without several missteps 

tries to use a powder brush with concealer until he finds the egg-shaped sponge he had seen you use before 

he isn’t super gentle with it, using fast, quick patting motions to spread it all over your face 

“haha i guess this is why they call it ‘beating your face,’ right babe?”

he attempts to do everything and use everything

you picked a palette with a good range of colors and neutrals 

which he can’t decide what to use and ends up blending several colors onto your eyes 

the pressed glitter definitely catches his eye 

“can i-- is it okay if i use my finger, babe?” 

you compliment him on how intuitive he is with it 

“i just wanna make sure i do it right!”

he even attempts to do your eyeliner 

wants to do your mascara and is very, very careful about it 

his favorite part to do is probably highlighter because it makes your cheeks glow so pretty 

he notices that some of the products have a fragrance to them, sniffing some of them for further inspection

“hm is this what you do to make you smell so good?”

lips come last and he picks your favorite fenty lip gloss that smells (and tastes) really good, like starbursts candy

he puts it on you and then goes “okay one more thing,” then he kisses you, getting gloss on him

“mm i see why that’s your favorite.”

he lets you look at what he’s done and it’s kind of a mess

your concealer isn’t blended all the way, your eyeshadow has so much colors that in just blends into one blob with glitter on top 

the eyeliner isn’t too bad, he tried to do some little wings 

there’s a lot of highlighter on your face, like more than you would use normally

“maybe it’s better when you do it..you should do my makeup sometime!”

you can’t blame him for trying and his enthusiasm makes it all the better 

akaashi

he’s actually very fascinated by the whole process

he appreciates that you put so much effort and care when doing your makeup 

he finds it really relaxing and satisfying just sitting there and watching you do it for some reason 

so he’s dumbfounded when you turn around and ask him if he wants to help 

“i don’t think i’d be much help, baby. i’d rather just sit here and watch you do it.”

you plead a bit, telling him that you know he’s seen you do it enough times that surely he could do it better than he thinks 

he eventually caves and sits down next to you at your desk 

at first he looks intimidated by all the products laid out on the desk so you help get him going by picking out a few things that you were going to use

he inspects each product carefully before deciding what to do first

he starts with your eyeshadow, picking up a fluffy brush 

“you use this one a lot so i guess i’ll start with it. but..oh. there are a lot of colors in here hm...i just don’t want to mess it up”

you reassure him in saying that’s the fun of doing makeup and you can do whatever you want 

he feels a little more at ease with that but has one request 

“can i have a kiss before we start?”

you grant him his request and he feels good enough to begin

he tries to think about what you would do, based off what he remembers when he sees you with makeup on 

but he finds himself having trouble remembering clearly, as he’s always getting lost in your eyes

he decides to stick with the neutral colors, thinking they’d be safest 

he’s smart enough to see the ones that you seem to use the most, given the dips and brush marks left in the powders

he mixes a few of the matte neutrals together before applying it to your crease 

he freaks out a bit when the first touch to your eye leaves a pigmented blob and tries his best to blend it out evenly 

then he moves on to a pretty shimmery shade for the lid 

by now, he’s feeling pretty confident in his makeup skills, and wants to try eyeliner 

he hesitates at the black, knowing there would be no going back if he messed up 

he’s been witness to lots of cursing as you’ve tried to do your eyeliner in the past 

you offer him the brown one and he agrees that its more manageable 

gives you little wings on the outer corner of your eyes and also uses it to emphasize any freckles or beauty marks on your face like he’s seen you do before 

that was probably his favorite part because he sees that makeup brings out the very best and unique parts of you

he doesn’t even want to look at the eyelash curler 

“those things are like torture devices, baby.” 

after he’s done with your eyes he decides that’s enough for his makeup artist career

but he’s actually done a pretty good job

you thank him and tell him it’s great before showering him with kisses on his face

“you’re welcome, bebe. even if i messed up bit, you still look so beautiful.” 

hey there haikyuu night! sorry i’m late again! requests very much welcome..

[spencersawkward]

omg i’m so glad u have a tumblr!! ur literally my fav mgg fic author ❤️ i’m a hoe for that man can u do sleeping together for the first time with like an age gap or something spicy lmao

hi omg thank you 😊 that literally means the world to me! also thank you for requesting one of my fave things to write haha i love first-time-having-sex-together tropes. happy reading! 

summary: reader is an artist who needs some inspiration, preferably from her new boyfriend.

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, age gap, creampie, a little breeding kink, oral (male receiving), kind of Dom!Matthew vibes, dirty talk, praise kink with a hint of degradation as well (not super prominent). 

word count: 4.4k

relationship: Fem!Reader/Matthew

masterlist

I straighten up and bend backward a bit to relieve the pressure on my spine. my hair is falling out of the knot on my head and I push a stray piece behind my ear, placing the wooden paintbrush between my teeth. aside from the warm, mellifluous tones pouring from the speakers, the apartment is silent.

I've hit a creative wall, it seems. every time I've tried to paint this week, I find myself standing above a stretched canvas with nothing but a frown and crossed arms. even little details feel wrong to add; the empty space is taunting me. it doesn't help that my thoughts have been flooded with memories and fantasies of Matthew. we've been on a couple dates now, sweet outings that leave me fluttery inside. I remember the words he says, the shape of his smile and the curve of his jaw, like they've been been in my mind forever. he's elusive, however, and hasn't initiated anything sexual with me. I think he's afraid of coming on too strong. there's a considerable age gap between us, but I don't care. I want him all the time-- whenever I'm at work, or trying to paint, all I can think of is how good it would feel to have those strong, veined hands on me.

christ.

before I can lose my courage, I text him. if anything can inspire me, it's his presence. likely, he's at work and won't be able to respond or come over, but it's worth a shot.

I'm just sliding my phone into my back pocket when the response comes in. a smile spreads over my face; he'll be over in half an hour. in the meantime, I'll sweep the background with shades that remind me of him: rich, emerald greens, honeyed tones that reminisce of his eyes. he'll pop against any backdrop.

I'm bent furiously over my work when he tells me he's arrived, and my heart thuds in my chest. even after hanging out several times, the butterflies are as alive as ever. they flood my stomach while I buzz him into the building.

"hi." he greets me when I open the door, curls messy. he must have just come from work.

"hi, Matthew." I smile up at him. his gaze travels over my face, my body, taking in my appearance for a moment.

"you look lovely." he says it genuinely, despite the fact that I'm literally wearing a paint t-shirt under a pair of rummaged overalls. I forgot to fix my hair, too.

"thanks." I blush, about to turn away when he bends down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. it's the first time he's said hello that way, and part of me flushes with the knowledge that he's attracted to me right now.

"now," he looks around my apartment as I step back to let him in. "what can I help you with?"

"I have a small favor to ask." I spin the paintbrush between my index and third fingers, reaching out to take his wrist and pull him towards the couch.

"anything," he replies, then sees my setup. "is this your studio?"

"slash living room." I chuckle. Matthew sits on the soft cushions before staring up at me. I don't miss his pupils dilating as they travel over the shape of my body. instead of allowing myself get distracted, I gesture to the wet paint on my canvas. "I need you to model for me."

"like, be your muse?" he beams at the notion, incredibly pleased with himself. I like this about Matthew; although he can be self-deprecating and doesn't take himself too seriously, he appreciates my admiration.

"oh, hush." I giggle. he laughs, reclining on the couch now that he knows why I invited him over.

"how do you want me to pose, Picasso?"

"well, let me re-orient myself." I hold up a hand, grab the abandoned easel, and try to get everything set up. he never takes his eyes off me.

"why were you painting on the floor?" he asks, slightly amused. I jerk my head toward him, narrow my eyes.

"it's my process."

"no judgement." he holds up his hands in surrender. I place the canvas carefully on the easel so that he can't see my work, then gather up my paints, palette, and brushes. there's a moment of pure silence when I frown as I glance between his face and the chasm of space awaiting its representation.

"you look tired." I observe. he lets out a sound that resembles a laugh.

"I am."

"how long did you sleep last night?" I ask as I start painting, focusing on the shape and planes of his face. if I don't get the composition exactly correct, I'll have to throw the whole thing out.

"three hours." he says this like it's normal. my eyebrows shoot up.

"three hours? why?"

"I had to work on lines." he shrugs.

"don't move." I order. he suppresses a grin.

"my sincerest apologies."

"uh huh," I dip my brush into a pale skin shade that I've mixed to match his pigment. "you need to get more sleep."

we continue on like this for a while, making light conversation while I get down the basics of my portrait. I can't handle anything that requires more than a fraction of my attention while doing this, and he seems to appreciate my concentration.

that said, it's beyond difficult to focus when he stares at me like every movement is magical, something he wants to memorize. I feel pliable under his watch, a little bit like a doll. he could bend me every which way, ask me to do anything, and I would give in. and who could blame me?

my thoughts slip into darkened territories, and the hue of my cheeks must do the same, because he gets this mischievous smile on his face that I can't ignore.

"what are you thinking about?" he asks softly.

"hm?" I turn to him. "oh, nothing."

"really?" his brows lift in that intimidating, delightfully entertained way that sets my skin on fire.

"I..." I trail off, wondering if I should give into the chaos in my mind. the thoughts that slash through my psyche whenever I see the width of his shoulders, the fit of his shirt. "I should have asked you to pose nude."

Matthew blushes-- actually blushes-- when I say this, his head dropping momentarily as a grin takes over his features. when he lifts his gaze to mine again, there's a different look in his eyes.

"yeah?"

"mhmm." no taking it back now. "I think that would be too distracting, though."

"how so?" the corner of his mouth tugs up.

"you know why." I avert my attention, only once flitting back to him. his tongue darts out over his lips and he holds contact.

"say it." he dares me. the tone of it, slightly dominant, makes my stomach flip. quietly, I swallow the lump in my throat.

"I have trouble keeping my hands to myself."

we stare at each other, words finding and dying on tongues in the silence.

at this point, my painting has been somewhat abandoned. brushstrokes sit unaccompanied by actual structure, except for the general godly shape of his face, and I'm clenching the utensil between my fingers as if to channel the sexual tension elsewhere.

"is that right?" he notes my absolute stillness and stands up, walking toward me in a relaxed, confident gait. all I can do is look up at him when he stands before me. the top button of his shirt is undone, and I can see the smooth skin beneath, each of the other buttons awaiting my fingertips.

"yes." the word is messy. he runs his index finger over the shell of my ear, bends down, whispers so low that the phrase almost gets lost in the air.

"me too."

he plants a gentle kiss on my jaw, hand reaching tentatively to rest on my waist. I can feel the caution in his actions, the worry he has about pressuring me. I'm cognizant of every breath he takes, especially the hitch when I give into myself and kiss him.

his mouth is warm and soft. the tension twists and knots between our bodies, roiling in the empty space as we resist the energy still. but I don't want to resist. I know that I want this, and he seems to want it just as much.

"Matthew." I pull away, his teeth tugging gently on my bottom lip.

"what is it?" his eyes, dark, search mine. my pulse quickens beneath my skin.

"I want to be with you."

"you are with me." he chuckles lightly, glancing at my features. the full circles of my eyes, the bloom of pink spreading over my cheekbones.

"no," I shake my head. "I mean... I want to be with you."

"you want to have sex?" he asks, clarifying. I nod eagerly, though he frowns a bit. "are you sure?"

"do you not want to?" I try to keep the disappointment out of my face. maybe I misread the situation. the most we've done is make out on his couch and once in an Uber on the way back from our first date. but there's a sweet, burning sensation whenever I see him, something I want to dive into. I want him; I've wanted him since the moment we met.

"of course I want to," he says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. relief loosens my chest. "I just don't want you to regret anything."

"I couldn't ever regret this." my eyes travel over his frame, over the little scar beneath his chin. he angles my face up to examine my features. there's a smirk on his face.

"then what are we waiting for?" his hands move to encircle my waist, tugging me to him like I'm something long-awaited, like he needs my weight against his. our lips meet again, my head tilting as we kiss deeply, my fingers twining in his soft hair. I'm standing on my tiptoes as I do it, and one of his hands reaches down to squeeze my ass. he grunts as my pelvis moves against the quickly-forming hard-on in his pants. I can feel it against my stomach as he ruts against me just slightly. I smirk.

"sit on the couch again." I whisper when I pull away. he's holding my face with one hand, staring into my eyes with the kind of dominance that tells me he knows exactly what to do. but I appreciate that he follows my request, pulling my hips toward him as he backs up and sinks onto the cushions. he sits, awaiting my next move. when I sink onto my knees and settle between his legs, he bites hard on his lip. I don't move at first, willing to draw out this beautiful moment when he's watching with undivided attention.

"what are you doing down there, sweetheart?" he feigns innocence when I give him my doe eyes. I run slender fingers over the erection in his pants, his quickened breath an indicator of just how needy he secretly is. I revel in it.

my free hand wraps around his upper thigh, digging my nails in slightly. he's so gorgeous, and the tension of his muscles beneath me is enough to break my resistance. I start to palm him through the fabric, torturing slowly while he runs fingers through my hair and tries not to buck up against my touch. I finally get around to undoing the button on his pants. he waits impatiently. I tug them down his legs, lingering on the waistband of his boxers. when they come down as well, another kind of knot forms in my tummy. he's perfect.

"oh my god." he throws his head back when his dick hits his stomach, the pleasure of releasing it its own sensation.

"hm?" I wonder aloud, wrapping my hand around the base and starting to slowly pump him. he raises his head to look at me.

"you're just... doing so well." he breathes. I grin at how easily I've got him; I was worried about being too shy or him being more experienced, but he's greedy for me. I love the power I have right now.

I surprise him by flattening my tongue against the underside of his cock, dragging it up over the throbbing vein and pausing at the top. I let him stare at me with my mouth hovering over him, the head resting on the tip of my tongue. he moans when I begin to kitten lick the precum that leaks out, grip tightening in my hair as it comes out of the ponytail I made earlier. the veins in his arm clench as I sink slowly onto him. my cheeks hollow. his jaw drops open, dewy skin catching the light, as I start to suck on him.

"fuck..." he trails off. I begin to bob up and down, doing tricks with my tongue and swirling around the head, savoring every single second. his desperate touch, the way he bucks his hips up involuntarily when I try to take him to the hilt, all of it causes me to moan. vibrations draw out sinful noises from him as well, those heavenly sounds that he litters with my name. my hands rest on his thighs at first, then move up to rest on the warm, taut skin of his abdomen. I crave every centimeter of his skin, his contact, especially when I can feel the rushed rise and fall of his panting. I give him full use of my throat, sliding over him and moaning with every tug of my hair. he mutters profanities, praises me, struggles to keep his eyes open just to see me peek up at him from beneath my lashes. his expression tells me he's got plans for me.

"if you don't stop, I'm gonna cum, baby." he groans, smoothly tugging me off of him. there's a slight popping sound and I settle onto my knees, staring up at him. the smile on my face is unmistakable. I love that I can do this to him. I grip his legs and pull myself up into his lap, drawing myself across him just before his erection, glancing down at it. his hands rub over the tops of my thighs, tracing over the curve of my hips and resting on my ass. I start to roll my body down, my lips finding his throat as I suck and bite. my tongue licks over his Adam's apple and he shudders, drawing me closer so that my stomach brushes his cock.

"stop teasing." he starts to undo the straps of my overalls, chuckling a bit to himself as they fall easily. I blush.

"pretty sexy." I joke. Matthew suddenly grabs my chin, holds me in place so that I look him dead in the eyes.

"you're perfect." he smiles admiringly, then toys with the hem of my t-shirt. I reach down, pull it off and toss it somewhere in the room. I'm not wearing a bra, and Matthew slides his hands up my waist, ribcage, pausing just below my tits. when I grab his fingers and place them over me, his dick twitches.

"excited?" I smirk. his fingertips seem to have a mind of their own as they begin to toy with my nipples, the pad of his thumbs teasing me. I sigh, chest pushing out towards him desperately. he holds my body like he's worried I'll crumble, but also in a way that connotes a deep longing. something spilling over.

"can I take you to the bedroom?" he asks me breathlessly, one of his hands leaving my chest to stroke his own cock. the sight makes me groan helplessly while I grip his shoulders and grind against his lap. he picks up the pace for himself. "I can't wait any longer."

I nod eagerly, gasping when he stops touching himself to pull up his pants, hoist me up into his arms, and stand, carrying me with surprising ease down the hallway of my apartment. I point him to the correct room and he laughs when we get inside.

"you're messy." he laughs, although I'm not sure if he means the scattered papers around my bedroom or the whine that issues from my throat as I reach for his clothed dick while I'm pressed to him. it's sitting against my navel and I want to see his undone expressions.

I ignore the playful comment; he lays me down gingerly on the bed, straightening up to gaze at my figure before I push the rest of the overalls down my legs and cast them off. he lets out a giggle as I pout at the work I have to put into getting naked.

"stop laughing..." I blush, smiling. but I'm giggling too. he grazes the inside of my thigh, unable to keep from touching me while I discard my panties.

"I'm sorry." he laughs in a way that shows he isn't sorry at all, but the soft kiss he plants on my lips tells me it's all endearing to him. I wrinkle my nose slightly. for the first time being naked around him, I feel surprisingly comfortable. he watches me with a quiet adoration, like I've spun sugar and gold between my fingers. unable to contain myself anymore, I grab fistfuls of his shirt and undo the rest of the buttons. every second that his skin isn't against mine is a new kind of torture. it comes off easily and then the pants come off, too, until we're just staring at each other.

"do you still wanna do this?" he speaks carefully with me. I don't know where to look-- at his perfect chest, stomach, the purplish bruises already forming across his throat, or his enraptured face. it's almost overwhelming, and the waves of desire crash over me, hindering my words.

"yes," I nod. "yes, yes, yes." the word keeps falling from my lips even as he crawls on top of me, burying his nose into my collarbone and kissing feverishly. one hand supports his arm beside my head while the other reaches down to part my legs. I sigh at the cool air that's interrupted by his dick rubbing over my folds. he starts to grind down, drawing out every second of foreplay while I try to catch my breath. my eyes tilt to the ceiling, fluttering shut. I bask in every sensation. his warmth, his weight, all of it presses down.

"do we need a condom?" he asks softly, his cock throbbing against my center.

"birth control." I shake my head. he nods against my skin, allows me to tangle my fingers in his curls. "I'm clean."

"me too." I reply. he grabs my hip and yanks it towards him, pulling his chest away to straighten while he lines himself up at my entrance. he's concentrating on the place where our bodies meet, eyes full of lust when they peek up at mine.

"tell me if you need me to stop." he says softly.

"okay." I can't think of anything else. every cell of my existence is consumed with thoughts of impatience, and when he slides into me, my thighs tense and my mouth drops open.

"Matthew... oh my god." my voice is more like a mewl, in shock as my walls squeeze around him like they're trying to reject the sudden pressure between my legs. his jaw clenches, sinking into me until he reaches about halfway.

he lets out a surprising groan, leans down to kiss my shoulder as he finds a sweet spot. our chests are pressed together and, judging by the way he wraps an arm around my waist and lifts my torso to his, he likes the feeling.

we stay there a moment, him trying not to hurt me. but then I lift my pelvis up, trying to take more, and he inhales sharply.

"do something," I beg him quietly. "please."

I feel his lips curl into a smile and he pulls his face up to see my expressions. his hips push forward, my body sliding up the bed with the force. he watches my eyes roll back, my ribcage expand, my face overcome by pleasure. his gaze is unrelenting with lips slightly parted as he begins to thrust in and out of me.

I'm already a panting, moaning mess beneath him. he touches his nose to mine, swallowing each other's breaths while he moves.

"is this how you want it, baby?" he smirks, getting lost in his own lust. I nod and he gently turns my face to his. "tell me what you want."

"more." I sigh, hips again raising to meet the thrusts that are growing more forceful each time. my nails drag up his back, the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair and tugging at the ends. he sinks his teeth into my neck lightly and moans. I wrap my legs around his torso.

"such a pretty girl..." he growls in my ear. his grip on the sheets tightens when I clench myself around him, drawing him impossibly closer to my core. I can't help the helpless moans spilling out of me. I'm insatiable right now, scratching at his shoulders until I'm sure I'll leave red marks. he groans lasciviously at the clawing, ramming into me with an unrelenting voracity.

"oh my god," I yelp, back arching as he hits my g-spot. "right there, Matthew." my pleas fall on receptive ears: he holds me tighter to his chest and pounds into me.

"you like getting fucked by older men?" he whispers dirty things in my ear and I nod quickly, hardly able to speak through the ungodly sounds escaping my mouth. I cling to him and he lets me, treating every limb like it belongs to him.

"yes-- fuck, yes." I moan, almost sliding out of his grip from how hard he goes.

"you can take it," he breathes out, fingertips digging into my ribs while he holds me up. he's leaving marks that won't go away for a while, remnants of the full power of his desire. I want more, writhing and using my limited mobility to grind against him. he chuckles darkly over my skin. "look at you."

"Matthew, I'm gonna--" I gasp when he slams into me particularly hard. "I'm gonna cum."

"good." he shudders slightly, that attitude showing again. he reaches his hand up a moment to run through my hair. "cum on me, princess."

my lips part and I try to gulp down air, but it's impossible with the way he's holding my attention. the thing about Matthew is that he's so sweet and gentle that whenever he looks at me like I'm a plaything, it shocks my insides. they turn to jelly, eager to please and quick to satisfy. he switches so easily with me, and he doesn't even need to request my submission. I give it more than willingly.

"fuck me..." I pant out, feeling my pussy start to clench over and over around him. my orgasm fuzzies the edges of my vision, creeping up my spine until it's arched. "oh fuck-- Matthew!" I practically scream while my frame gives out. I'm shuddering, crying out at the absolute euphoria wracking my body.

"scream my name, baby." he groans, his own orgasms approaching quickly. the fluttering of my cunt around him is causing the vein in his forehead to throb. he rocks into me, the headboard knocking into the wall while he nears the edge. "such a good girl for me."

I nod and meet his thrusts with my hips while I ride out my orgasm, inadvertently finding myself wound up again. the pleasure of his fingers when they reach between our bodies to rub my clit causes me to buck into him, whining mercifully while he gets me off again.

"oh--" he sucks in a breath when I squeeze, keeping him here with me. "you feel so good."

he starts to lose control, hips juddering to get as deep as he can get.

"can I fill you up, baby?"

"yes." I reply immediately. he smiles a little, lifting me up more so that he can hold me under my ass while he pounds into me so deeply, I can feel his dick brushing my cervix.

"oh my god," he moans, the sound desperate as I feel him twitch and spill inside of me. he keeps pushing as though to keep his cum within me, panting over my skin. "such a tight little cunt."  

the circles on my clit, combined with the sinful things he continues to say, cause me to whimper and climax all over again. I moan his name, absorbed in the warmth of his seed in my stomach.

"you want more?" he slows his thrusts but pleasures me through my orgasm while I nod helplessly.

"I'll cum in you again tonight." he promises, taking my shaking, weak form as a sign to withdraw. both of us wince at the sensitivity until he lays me back down on the bed so gently, it makes me question if what we just did was real.

neither of us speaks for a moment, trying to regain our composure as he rolls down onto the mattress beside me. I stare up at the ceiling, feeling him drip between my thighs.

"that was..." he turns his head to gauge my reaction. I don't even bother to hide the satisfied grin on my face.

"amazing."

"yeah?" he rolls over onto his side and places one large hand on my stomach. his touch makes me bloom.

"mhmm." I hum. his face is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, a beautiful sight that makes me want to kiss him all over again. I didn't know it was possible to feel this way for someone so quickly.

"can I get you anything?" he smiles. I don't say anything at first, only reach out to cup his face in my hands and pull him to me for a chaste peck.

"no, thank you." I rub my nose with his. "I'm gonna take a shower and make something to eat if you want to join me."

"definitely." he examines my features once more as if to assess damage. but there's only pure joy painted across my face. "are you sure I didn't go too hard on you?"

"you can go harder tonight." I tease.

"what about your painting?" he suddenly recalls the project lying in the living room.

"rain check." I shrug. he laughs, wraps an arm around my waist.

"alright, then."

[sorcerersofnyc]

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 3/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife's friend and his friend's wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Chapter 3: Sam and Bucky try to understand your relationship with Zemo. It isn't complicated, but he remembers a time when things very much were.

Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo's wife's name is Heike because of comics.  The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact)

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won't say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

A fresh breeze filters in through an open window, swaying the room as Helmut’s words take root.

“Partner?” Sam leans forward in curiosity. “You mean like a life partner or a partner in crime?”

“Yes,” is Helmut’s unhelpful reply. He sends you a conspiratorial smile, one you return with a roll of the eyes.

“Helmut and I are engaged in a… civil partnership,” you explain, “for legal reasons.”

“Amongst other things,” he adds.

“Yes, amongst…other things.” A deep honey-like scent wafts into the room from the kitchen as you share a fleeting glance, a private moment despite the scrutiny of James and Sam. You must have put on a pot of tea.

“That should have been in the reports,” James narrows his eyes and examines the room carefully. “Why doesn’t anyone know about you?” Despite his position on the other wall, he angles his body toward Sam, ready to defend against any traps you might spring.

"Well…" you tilt your head in contemplation, "there was a significant delay in the processing of our paperwork. Nothing was documented until after Helmut’s prosecution."

"How much of a delay are we talking about here?" Sam asks, turning his assessing gaze toward Helmut as if to ask, ‘did you do something?’

"Around—what was it, Helmut? A year and a half?"

"18 months," he agrees. “Our paperwork seemed to have gotten misplaced. It's so difficult to find reliable lawyers these days.”

Sam didn’t seem to believe him.

"I'm his spouse on all official records,” You cut in before either of the two to speak, “but I'm sure you understand why privacy is important to me.” When he testified to his crimes, he made it clear that he had no accomplices and the investigation proved the same. The lawyer ‘misplaced’ the paperwork long enough for public interest in his case to die.

You didn’t need that sort of public scrutiny.

Sam seems to agree.

“We would never compromise your safety,” He assures you. He has his own family, people he loves with targets on their backs. He thinks of them as he addresses you.

The teapot whistles in the background.

“Thank you.” You smile and excuse yourself from the room. “The tea is ready.”

Helmut wants to pull you back to him, but he settles on meeting your gaze as you make a hasty retreat through the archway.

You’re gone all but a few seconds before James begins to speak.

"OK Zemo,” He says, his voice low and threatening, “it's about time you tell us what's going on—your partner? Really?"

"I’ve no reason to lie, James—but perhaps you’re not used to honesty,"

“Not from you," James lurches forward like a beast seeking prey. He glares down at Helmut, a mere arm's length from Helmut’s chair.

Helmut doesn't doubt Jame's violent intent, but he isn't particularly afraid. He settles back in his chair, moves his hands along the length of the arms, and brushes a thumb across the cool metal of the gun strapped beneath.

"Simmer down, Buck.” Sam lifts his hands. “This is weird enough as it is.”

James hesitates but relaxes his defensive stance.

"She doesn't seem to like me and Sam," James continues, reclaiming his position on the wall. “I don’t plan on waking up with a knife in my back.”

“She would never do such a thing, it's far too messy." Unbothered by their altercation, Helmut rises from his chair. He moves toward the bay window and liberates a copy of  Arsène Lupin, gentleman-cambrioleur , from the floating shelf.

Before James can say whatever it is he wants to say,  Sam intervenes once again.

“What I think he means is, 'how do we know we can trust her?'”

"You won't come to harm under her care, you have my word."

His word.

James scoffs at the mere suggestion. Trust isn't something that exists between them and it never would.

But the air is so thick with tension and he can hear the unspoken words that linger in the air: ‘What about your late wife?’

So Helmut flips through the book absentmindedly, stopping at a dog-eared page.

“My companion,” he begins to explain, “she was my wife's dearest friend.” He glances up from the pages of the book to meet Sam’s gaze. “She lost her husband when your friends made Sokovia into a battleground so I found it prudent to ensure her wellbeing.”

They're quiet—finally—and Helmut finds their discomfort pleasing.

Turning his attention back to the book, he reads a line you underlined.

'Quel dommage que je ne sois pas un honnête homme!' What a pity that I am not an honest man!'

“Would you like some honeybush tea?” Your voice cuts through the silence a few moments later. You stop at the threshold and gaze back warily gaze wary.

“I expected Helmut to be alone, but I have other drinks too.”

“The Tea is fine, thank you.” He sets down your beloved book and walks across the room to meet you. Ever so gently, Helmut coaxes the tray from your hand and sets it down on the center table.

“I made lunch as well... si comes ese tipo de cosas .” You mutter, leaving the room once again.

Helmut pours himself a cup before gesturing toward the tray.

"Please, you are guests; have a seat, enjoy some tea." Grabbing the book with one hand, Helmut returns to his favorite chair.

James doesn’t move an inch but Sam takes the seat near the window. His body sinks into the fabric with a sigh.

“Hopefully Torres finds Donya soon. I don’t want to impose for too long.”

“She really is a lovely hostess.” Helmut takes a seat and returns the book. “I intend to enjoy her hospitality while I can.”

***

At first, living with you was easy; Helmut stayed out of your way, he spent his time conducting research and it was quiet.

But the walls were thin and noise echoed through the open vents—He could hear you crying late at night.

He wanted to help, but he had no temporary comforts to offer. The only thing he had was his anger and his plan. You’d rest easier with the Avengers buried in the ash heap, he told himself. That day, when you hugged him, he felt as though you encroached on something, something that would break if he failed to tread lightly.

When you looked as though you wanted to talk or share a fond memory, he mentioned something about the old-fashioned décor and suggested that you change something. He bought you books from the shops he passed on the streets, jars of pigment, and blocks of clay.

He observed you, found what you liked, and got them for you.

“Thank you,” you’d say with a smile, and that was more than enough for him.

He didn’t expect you to return the favor.

But then you’d do things like make him breakfast (always with black coffee and a side of bacon, his favorite.) You’d buy pillows in the same specific shade of burgundy to accent the walls. You’d leave the paper on the kitchen island and kept a jar of honey with the tea.

And he hated you for that, for doing the things Heike would do, for sharing her habits, humor, and sensibilities.

‘Good morning, Helmut,' you would say in the morning, 'Would you like to visit the market with me?’ or, ‘Helmut, you can’t survive off coffee, aren't you hungry?’

He’d refuse you every time.

It was difficult, disappointing you,  but the thought of enjoying a pleasant breakfast, or taking a stroll through the market hurt even more.

He could still feel their bodies buried beneath his feet.

So he opted for uncomfortable silence, and unsteady peace, the ghosts of your loved ones a wall between you.

*

Weeks went by and he continued his research. It took a while, but Helmut could see the steps of a plan unfolding in his mind.

He wouldn’t be the one to send the Avengers to their graves, he’d make them kill each other—and for that, he would need the Winter Soldier, James Buchanan Barnes.

So one day, after reading and rereading the S.H.I.E.L.D.  files he managed to decrypt, he told you he was going on a trip.

“There’s business that I need to attend to.”

“You’re leaving?” You looked up from the clay you were molding. It hadn’t yet taken form, just a sad lump of grey. “For how long?”

“Not long.” He promised, “I’ll be back soon.”

But he returned two weeks later.

Exhausted, Helmut had just taken off his shoes when you walked upstairs to meet him, red power on your hands.

“Helmut! Where were you?” You demanded before you took notice of your tone, the accusation present in your voice. You amended your words quickly.  “I was worried... I missed you while you were gone.”

“My apologies,” was his unsatisfactory reply, his back still turned.

When he finally turned to look in your direction, you wore a troubled look upon your face, and the look reminded him of Heike.

It was the worry of a soldier's wife, of someone waiting by the door to greet an unknown future.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, genuinely this time, and placed a hand on your shoulder.

For a moment that you would reject him. He was certain you considered doing just that, but when you didn’t move or knock away his touch, a strange sense of relief filled him.

You sighed.

"When you've gotten settled, come down for dinner.” It was an order, he realized, not a request.

"Of course." An amused smile tugged at his cheeks.

"Where did you go?" You asked, lingering by the door as he set down his bag. He wasn’t dressed for business in his drab gray jacket and worn shoes.

“I visited an auction house out east."

“An auction house?” You tilted your head and assessed his clothing again. “To bid?”

“Not exactly."

Not at all, really.

He tracked down information about an auction where fanatics were gathered to bid on HYDRA paraphernalia. He hoped to find the book that once belonged to the Winter Soldier's handler, but it wasn't didn’t exist amongst the garbage he found there.

The trip hadn't been a complete waste, however. He managed to rid the world of a few dozen agents and others who would support their cause—but he wouldn’t tell you that.

"What I hoped to find wasn't there.” He settled on saying.

“It took you weeks to do that?”

“I needed to visit Berlin as well. My family collected many cars over the generations. I’ll take you to see them one day if you like.”

Helmut had no plans to get you involved in his plan to end the Avengers,  he couldn't. But he remained true to his word and joined you for dinner that night.

He helped you set the table and you ate paprikash (which, he assumed, you made for his benefit more than your own.)

"Ozenik suggested I make it," you explained. "It was never my favorite but it was fun to make."

"You did a good job."

"Thanks...I thought was time to try something new."

He agreed.

You ate dinner together the next night too, and the next, and the next night after that.

Helmut grew to enjoy the time you spent together—it was a pleasant change of pace.

Even so, he had his ‘business’ to attend to. He would still have to leave.

Sometimes he would go for hours, sometimes he’d be gone for days, and sometimes entire weeks would go by and Helmut wouldn't call or even text you.

And you were frustrated.

Once he returned home to find you painting angry red lines across what might have been an abstract swirl of blue and gray.

One evening discovered you rearranged the dining room completely.

Then one day, during dinner, you attempted to bridge the gap between you once again.

"I received a message last night," You began, "a reminder that I purchased tickets to see a play last year.” It was summer, but the season had been unusually rainy, confining you inside for most of the week. “I’d have to travel to see it but it might be fun. Would you like to see it with me?”

"I'll be gone again soon," Helmut told you. “My apologies.”

You frowned.

"I haven't even told you the date. How do you know you’ll be busy?"

"I have plenty of work to keep me busy through the end of the year." His reply hung in the air for what felt like an eternity. He didn’t even bother to look up as he continued. "If you need to travel, I'll speak with Oeznik about arranging that for you."

You looked down at your plate, sighed, and set down your utensils.

"It's fine." You told him, but it wasn't. You were angry at his rejection, at his nonchalance.

"You know...you don't need to force yourself to be here with me, Helmut." You stared directly across the table at him, meeting his gaze. "We don't have to stay together if you don't want to. I have my benefits from the veterans association now so...if there's somewhere else you'd rather be-"

"There isn't." Helmut looked at you, his eyes dark piercing. "How could you think that?"

“How could I not when I never know if you're going off to the market or leaving for weeks?” A dangerous edge crept into your voice and you didn’t bother to amend it. “What sort of 'business' are you conducting? You won't even tell me."

"You don't need to worry," he tried to assure you, but his weak appeal only seemed to make you angrier.

And that anger, your anger,  frustrated him to no end.

Who were you to question what he did with his time?

Heike always understood when he was gone for longer than expected. When he returned, she greeted him with joy and relief, not accusation and scorn.

But you...he didn't know what he expected from you.

You weren’t his wife, you weren’t involved romantically. You weren't even friends, not really.

So really, what tethered him to this place?

What he planned to do was dangerous; he might not even survive. He fulfilled his promise to see after your well-being, did everything he said he'd do, and yet...and yet…

You sighed, huffed really, and gathered your plates quickly.

“I’m trying, I’m really trying but I’m tired, Helmut,” you told him. “You go and move us to this...this ritzy tourist city and what am I supposed to do? Find friends with similar life experiences? I can’t even sleep through the night and you...you just...” You take a breath as you turn away, leaving with your half-eaten plate.

“I don't... I don't fit in here.” You confess resignation carried in your voice. “I don’t think you understand that and I don’t think we’re good for each other either. ” You decided. “We’re too different. I appreciate you trying to help me, I do, but… but maybe I should leave.”

***

Thanks for reading! You’ve come so far and soon you will be rewarded. Next chapter we’ll see the steps Helmut took to amend your relationship. And in the present timeline, we get to see something super cute (something that involves hand-holding, perhaps?)

Feedback is very much appreciated. Please tell me what you think!

Tag list: 

@actuallyanita

@fillechatoyante

@viviace 

@buckyandlokicanhaveme

Previous | Next

[starlightinhumanform]

24/7: Chapter One

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Loceit, Platonic Demus, Platonic Logicality 

Summary: James (aka Janus) works the graveyard shift at a open-all-night convenience store. Logan is a college student who stays up way too late, way too often. While pulling all-nighters, he often visits the store James works at. As time goes on, James begins to care about Logan as more than just a customer. 

Warnings: Moderate Language, Some suggestive jokes, Mentions of ignorant/negative sentiments regarding vitiligo, Mentions of intoxication— some implied to be underage (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: College AU, Coffeeshop AU but weird (that’s literally the best way i can think of describing it), Mutual Feelings, Fluff 

A/N: — Janus’ name in this AU is James (mostly because when I began planning this, his name hadn’t been revealed). I may still include his name by writing in a name-change but we’ll see lmao — I do not have vitiligo and do not personally know anyone with vitiligo; Janus’ experience with the condition is based entirely on my research. That being said, I did my best to give an accurate representation but I do not claim that it is flawless in anyway. If there are any improvements you think I can make in this area, please please let me know 🖤🖤🖤 Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3   Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

James’ first shift started normally. That is, as normally as he could assume 24 hour convenience store shifts could be. It’s not like he had much experience with it.

Being his first day, he had assumed that the manager would’ve at least stuck around for a while. Instead, the woman had pointed out the bathroom plunger— advising him to not let anyone steal it— told him how to use the slushie machine, and said that if someone tried to rob the store, let them take the money; she even showed him the quickest way to open the cash register. Then she left within the first hour of James’ shift.

James didn’t mind being alone but he couldn’t fight down the frustration at his manager for abandoning him without actually telling him anything useful. He kept worrying that someone would ask a question that he couldn’t answer. What if the customer got angry and then he got reported and lost his job on the first night? Not to mention every time someone walked in, he was ready to bargain for his life with the $225.67 and a random condom in the cash register.

The adrenaline was getting to his head, stirring up usually dormant worries. He couldn’t stop glancing down at his hands. They were warm tan, patterned at random with lighter splotches. He had a condition known as vitiligo which made areas of his skin lose their pigmentation. For the majority of the time, it wasn’t a big deal; the worst part was the weird looks people gave him and even then, he could usually brush them off. Still, there was always the occasional idiot who felt the need to say something rude or inform him that he showed signs of demon possession. He hoped beyond everything that one of those incidents didn’t occur while he was alone in the store.

Thankfully, the only customers for the next few hours were a couple groups of teenagers at varying levels of intoxication and a traveling family made up of two parents suffering from highway-hypnosis and a small child who tried to climb into one of the drink refrigerators.

By one in the morning, the flow of incoming patrons had completely stopped. By that point James had already thrown back an entire 5-hour Energy drink and reorganized the chip rack— twice .

When the entry bell finally rang again at around two, James’ head was buzzing so badly he wasn’t sure if he had imagined the sound or not. A young man walked in— college aged with messy hair and glasses. He disappeared into the rows of brightly coloured plastic bags without a word and so quickly it made James once again question whether or not he was hallucinating.

It wasn’t until the man had made his way back to the counter, setting down a bag of chips and a couple energy drinks, that James was sure he existed. The man’s hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in two days and his dark circles were so deep they could be seen from beneath his squared glasses. Yup, definitely a college student.  

Despite the obvious signs of exhaustion, the man was undeniably pretty. Counter to his tired scowl, his eyes were bright and alert, framing a sharp nose. The way he kept his strong chin tilted slightly upwards and walked with purpose gave him the appearance of someone who actually knew what he was doing with his life— so basically, the opposite of James.

James was hardly ever self conscious about his appearance but this man— this stupidly pretty, oddly perfect man— made James squirm just a little bit, made him wonder if he was living on one side of some scale while the customer lounged on the other side. James tried to shrugged it off, focusing on the items in front of him instead.

The man spent the entire interaction at the counter muttering to himself and never once making eye contact. It was a little strange, but he was cute and James was bored so he decided to just appreciate the entertainment while it lasted.

It wasn’t until James went to hand the man his receipt that he seemed to even become aware of James’ existence. James held out the thin slip of paper, apparently causing the man to flinch backwards. His reaction was strong enough to make James wonder if he was one of those people— the type that thought vitiligo was some sort of deadly, contagious disease.

His eyes darted up quickly, his gaze sharp as it scanned over James’ face, “You’re not the normal cashier.”

He was taken aback by the accusing tone in the man’s voice, “No, I guess I’m not? I just got hired; the other guy got let off… something about trying to steal the plunger.”

“Oh,” His face transformed into a noncommittal scowl that James simply could not read, “Expect me regularly.”

The man turned on his heels and walked briskly to the door as James stood frozen and mystified behind the counter, “Oh, uh… see you soon then.”

——————

James woke up to the smell of something burning. He didn’t even remember dragging himself home and collapsing in his bed but based on the smell bothering him he evidently had made it back. No one could burn food quite like his roommate.

“Remus what the fuck are you doing?” James shuffled out to the kitchen where his roommate was poking at something on the stove.

“Making lunch.”

Based on his bed head and near-complete lack of clothes (Remus always slept in booty shorts and nothing else) James could guess that he had woken up only a few minutes earlier himself, “Dude that does not smell like anything humans should eat.”

Remus gave him a wicked grin and James decided not to push the subject. He walked out of the room with a sigh and hoped that the smell would clear up soon.

He made his way into the living room, sitting down and flipping open his laptop. James groaned at the lack of new email notifications. No new emails meant no new job acceptions.

“Guess I’m working the night shift again.”

James was grateful he got the job at the convenience store— no question. Getting a job as a college dropout was both necessary and nearly impossible at the same time. He was lucky to get a job at all and being a graveyard shift, he got paid nearly double the normal wage for his position. For now, his sleep schedule would just have to suffer.

——————

The weeks drifted by and James fell into a dull, but easy rhythm. He would go to work every night, spend the hours rearranging chip bags, guarding the plunger, and— if he was lucky— the pretty college boy would come in for a few minutes to grab salty food and a caffeinated drink.

James wasn’t sure when it became “lucky” for the man to come into the store. Maybe it was lucky because he was entertaining, always preoccupied and wandering around the store like his mind was a hundred miles away. He had this odd sort of duality— somehow both spaced out and intensely focused at the same time. It was like he was concentrating on the dimension beyond the one James was living in. He floated through this world, always preoccupied with world in his head. It was endearing and intriguing and James found himself looking forward to seeing the man. James wanted to see the world inside his head, to know what was so captivating that he had no use or interest for what was outside of it.  

The student was quickly becoming his favourite customer— something James never thought he would have— and he genuinely enjoyed having a chance to talk to the other guy. He was handsome, obviously intelligent, and, if given the chance, James definitely would’ve asked him out for a drink.

As it was though, James looked awful in his uniform so he would never have the confidence to make a move the only times he ever saw him.

James started to watch for him. The man came at least once a week, always between midnight and four in the morning. He must have lived nearby because he always walked over instead of taking a car like most of the other patrons. Either that, or he lived further away and walked all the way just for a bag of chips and an energy drink.

It was a Thursday like any other when he walked into the store and James’ curiosity got the better of him.

“So,” James leaned across the counter as the man sat his items down, “you come around here often?”

He tilted his head quizzically, “Yes? I do come here often? You’ve seen me.”

“No I— it was a joke,” James resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was… not going the way James would have hoped, “What’s your name? We might as well get on first name basis since we see each other all the time.”

“I’m Logan,” Logan seemed surprised by the question.

“I’m James.”

Logan gave a curt nod, “I know.”

“But— how? I—“

“It’s on your name tag,” And with that, Logan turned and marched out of the store.

——————

Logan laid on his back, arms and legs spread over the entirety of his bed. The only leftover space of the bed was occupied by Patton, one of his housemates.

“So how did the all-nighter go?”

Logan groaned, “Well… it sure as hell did go all night. I’m so fucking tired.”

“This is what you get for viewing the entire American university system as a challenge.”

He squinted up at Patton. With his blond hair and round, smiling face he looked like the direct inversion of whatever pale little zombie Logan currently felt like, “I gotta stop staying up so late.”

“I don’t know, you kind of seem to like it,” His housemate patted his leg and stood up to walk out of Logan’s room, “By the way, where do you keep going? I hear you leaving the house, like, super early all the time.”

Sunlight was streaming through his partially open blinds. It was probably quite pretty but to Logan it just looked like a headache-inducing glare. He threw a pillow over his face, muffling his voice as he answered, “Booty call.”

Patton laughed as he stopped walking, “Yeah right. The day you answer a booty call is the day I will shave my head.”

Logan shifted the pillow slightly to look at Patton again. The man’s hair was his prize possession, like a curly fluffy cloud that he kept as a pet on top of his head. Logan didn’t know how Patton could afford the time and money he put into his hair. What he did know, however, was that Patton would never risk its safety. Logan frowned in (mostly) fake insult, “You really think there’s not a single person who would send me a horny text at three in the morning?”

“Nah I think there are quite a few people who would do that. I just doubt there’s anyone you’d actually find worth answering.”

Was there anyone he would actually answer? Logan stared up at the dark fabric above him. The pillowcase was a deep navy blue and if he really squinted, he could see the weave of the thread, a thousand random threads coming together to make a greater whole. The way the individual pieces created something far larger than themselves was fascinating to Logan. He had never given it much before, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find a random individual worth making something together.

In the darkness covering his eyes, a vision of the convenience store cashier flashed across his mind. The face he saw was light brown and across that warm canvas, lighter portions sprawled. For the first time, Logan began really thinking about that face. He had sharp features, tired eyes, and when he smiled with lips sloped upwards at a lopsided angle. His skin reminded Logan of the glossy photos of nebulae in his astronomy textbooks— bright splashes breaking up the sameness of the night sky. How had he never noticed that before? What was his name? James.

He heard the creak of their old floors beneath Patton as he walked out of Logan’s room. He probably thought Logan had fallen asleep as he lay there in silence. He was far from asleep, though. His mind was racing, trying to find the missed connections and continually finding new ones in the process. His eyes flickered as previously unrecognized thoughts began surfacing. And they didn’t stop. How had he never noticed?

“I’ve been going to that convenience store down the street,” Logan called as Patton walked away.

James.

Maybe there was someone for him.

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[rebelliouslygrey]

Nikolai Lantsov Writing Sample

Perched at the bow of the Volkvolny, a modest schooner with two sails to its name, Nikolai watched the waves part for them, spraying water in protest at the interruption. Salt in the air clung to his skin, burrowing into his pores, baked by the rays of the unobscured sun though clouds closed in from all sides, threatening its momentary freedom. He could feel the rough dryness left behind tightening his cheeks and calling his pigments to the surface. The tan was natural but an additional aid in his disguise. Out there he wasn’t a prince or a soldier, he was a privateer. A man who had no home, only his vessel, no occupation except the direction of the brightest coin shine. Men like that were not pale from the sheltered privilege of roofs and walls. They worked by the light of the sun and slept by the caress of the moon.                                                                                                              

The life of a privateer could be as grueling and disappointing as it was rewarding. Raids could end in nothing but a body count and lost ammunition, contracts could be broken and messy, and competition was not short-handed. He glanced down at the new planks that had been installed after their last run-in with other privateers out for the same treasurers. All the loss was worth the freedom, the adrenaline released by the graze of a bullet. Out here he had earned everything, the shirt on his back, the wood beneath his bare feet, and the loyalty of the crew that pulled the sails and put their lives in his hands. Back there, in Os Alta, he was too often coddled and handed what he had not merited. It made his skin feel gritty, no matter how many hot baths they drew him. He preferred this kind of filth. The dirt that caked and shadowed the hallows of his ankles and the crevices of his toes. Aches and pains from a hard day of pulling ropes and the burns that lined his palms from it. Surrounded by the smell of earthy scent of seaweed and sharp sting gunpowder.

Nikolai took a deep breath of this particular aroma, the nostrils of his fabricated crooked nose flaring. He ran a hand through the ruddy appearance that clung to his normally sandy blonde curls, which cropped tighter at his forehead but were at the mercy of the wind to the back. They’d been outrunning the rallying storm for the last hour. Luck it seemed had run out for them and he could feel the clouds beginning to spit upon them. Without a sound, as though weightless, he felt the presence of one of his most trusted crewmates approaching.                                                                      

“Captain we’re close,” she informed him, waiting for the order. Nikolai looked out over the folding sea, towards the stretch of land framed in docks for trade and travel. The final checkpoint to start their next contract. One given by his own parents, he snorted at the thought, the irony never got old. He gave a firm nod and pushed off the bow, turning in a flurry of coattails and commanding confidence. Every eye on the ship fell to its captain as he made his way down the deck to the helm.                                                                                                                              

Tamar and Tolya, tied for his seconds in command, began to shout the orders for going ashore. Sails flapped back into place, stubborn in some places, wishing to dance with the wind instead. Nikolai guided the boat towards their docking station, the few additional crew already gathered and properly drenched with the rain that picked up the closer they drew to the banks.                                                                        

“Drop the anchors!” he shouted, competing with the howl of the wind. Tolya led the task, easily the strongest of the crew, tossing the anchors over the side with the ease of one throwing a pillow. The ship lurched to a stop but continued to bob on the waves curling and crashing to greet the raised walls of the seaport. Fishermen hauled their catch inland, some dumping them into crates and barrels. Merchant workers hastily loaded and unloaded cargo from ships. He could tell them apart even without the items in their hands, the fishermen did not flinch as droplets clung to their eyelashes or soaked their clothes, while the merchant workers cringed and shivered against the cold. The thick smell of the herring overpowered the more pleasant smell of the gunpowder, but even that he didn’t mind. He lived for the richness of this frenzied lifestyle. “Land ho,” he whispered to himself, grinning at the never-fading thrill he got from the phrase.  

The downpour assaulted his curls, trying to flatten them to his head, despite their refusal to cooperate, instead frizzing and sticking up at odd angles. Releasing the helm, he padded along the damp deck, the cold sinking into the arches of his still bare feet and releasing the ache of sea blisters. He’d barely stepped a foot onto the edge of the ship, holding tight to a rope to swing back onto the deck when he was confronted with a fury of a woman. She looked ready to pounce and rip his throat from his neck.

Nikolai blinked into the blues of her eyes, stormier than the sea around them. The sunny tint of his own hazels trying to part those thunder clouds. He squinted through sheets of rain at her, strips of dark hair clung to her face and contrasted the bright shade the wind had kissed onto her cheeks. He eyed the bag at her feet, clearly, she’d never set sail in her life. A newer soldier perhaps. Finishing his sweep of her, he broke into a grin, she would be fun. He pushed off the ship and gracefully landed on the dock.

“You’re late.”

“I’m late,” he repeated tonelessly, as he began to circle her, chin resting in the crook of his hand. “Oddest thing, it seems the sea lost its pocket watch and didn’t track the time. I’ll let it and its partner the wind know you are displeased with their performance Miss…” He lifted a brow expecting her to fill in the blank of her name. Her tirade of displeasure continued and he rolled his eyes, soon mimicking the opening and closing of her mouth with his hand, pinching and unpinching his fingers. Nikolai had encountered her kind in his army career, high on the power of a silly coat and badge. They thought they could order around anyone who did not wear the same, judgmental, and utterly insufferable.

“I hope tardiness isn’t something you’re in the habit of, or I might find myself fond of feeding useless sobachka to the True Sea.”

Sobachka? Nikolai looked at her blankly, several petering bars of rain passing before he turned his attention to the sea, considering it. “You know, it does look famished.” His eyes fell to her bad. “And we don’t have room for this on board.” Without a second thought, his heel knocked her bag into the sea, waves soon devouring it. Tamar had appeared at his shoulder, lips pressed into a tight line to contain her laughter.

“The cargo has been loaded captain and the members of the contracted crew are below deck,” she relayed the progress that had taken place during the detour of this exchange. “Well,” she eyed Zoya wearily, “all except one.”

“Thank you, Tamar. Tell them to hold tight, we’ll leave soon. I have an errand to run. Unless our new Velikaia Knazhna wants to captain the ship without me? I know schedules are very important to her,” he said with a contemptuous smile in Zoya’s direction. Nikolai thought himself rather easygoing, there were only two things that released the claws of the fox, those who tried to captain his ship and those who betrayed their country. The intricate art of sailing was lost to those who had never learned the true beauty of it. Ships were an instrument, they needed tuning, strings and keys needed replacing or greasing, tender touches as well as rough to produce the proper notes, the strumming, and striking of ropes like strings eliciting pitches that varied in speed. Compositions that were so underappreciated by the likes of the woman stood there practically steaming the rain from her skin in anger, those who would rather stretch the strings until they snapped to attempt to arrive faster at the end of the song, splitting reeds by not properly soaking them first, and altogether losing the rhythm of the symphony in haggard haste, utterly tone-deaf.

Nikolai mirrored the crossing of her arms against his chest, two bulls set to charge one another. What an interesting contract it would be indeed.

[rostovs-lover]

ultra-colour

Roger Taylor x reader | the end has a makeout | gender neutral reader | fluff, all fluff | wc. 955

Roger asks you to do his makeup, you’re taken aback by how nice he looks.

so apparently i can’t write anything over 975 words, also - I CANT EVEN EXPLAIN HOW HARD THIS WAS TO POST LITERALLY NOTHING WAS WORKING

     Roger was perched on the cold bathroom counter, eyes bleary and hair messy, a mug of hot tea clutched in his hands. Although not fully awake yet he had started to perk-up, rambling about a new song Fred was working on, the gig they played last night, the latest thing Brian had done to bother him. You listened intently, smearing translucent pearly powder over your eyelid. Despite not being a morning person at all he enjoyed the mornings like these, where he could talk about anything on his mind. There was also the added perk of watching you, perhaps his favourite part. He would occasionally pause during his rant, sipping hot tea and fawning over you over the rim of his mug. He liked watching you do your makeup, smearing translucent pearly shadow over your eyelids.

     Roger set down his mug and picked up a small black tube, BIBA MASCARA BLACK written across it in big gold letters. He rolled it between his fingers, untwisting the cap and pulling out the wand, “(Name)?”      You looked at him through the mirror, closing the lid to your eyeshadow tin, “Rog?”      “Would you-” He gestured the mascara out to you, “Would you do my makeup?”      It wasn’t a shocking request, he often wore stage makeup but he always did that himself so hearing him ask you threw you of kelter a bit, “Of course,” You smiled at him, “Could you scooch to the edge there so I can stand between your legs?”      He did as requested, setting his hands on your hips as you got settled, “Getting between my legs already-” He shook his head, “At least buy me dinner first.”      You rolled your eyes and flicked his forehead, “Hush,”      Roger grumbled, rubbing at the spot as you gathered a few products, “What’re you using?” He asked, leaning to look at what you were doing.      You presented him with a small palette filled with an assortment of pigmented powders, “You pick.”      Roger considered, very seriously, for a few moments before deciding on a pretty rose colour, “That’s nice, I like that one,”      Cradling his cheek and turning his face towards you, you went to work brushing the pigment over his eyelids. He sat still, uncharacteristically patient as you carefully applied the colour. He began to get fidgety, one hand drifting to the hem of your sweater and rolling the material between his fingers. The brush clicked on the linoleum bathroom counter and he opened his eyes, watching as you set down the eyeshadow and rooted around for something else.      “Can you look at the ceiling for me?” You asked, brandishing the tube of mascara he had been playing with.      He rolled his eyes and looked up, “If you blind me with that I may have no choice but to leave you.”      “I have done this several times and I have yet to lose an eye, you should be just fine.” You unscrewed the lid, dousing the spool in viscous black product, “On the off chance I do blind you though, where exactly do you plan on leaving me to?”      “Brian’s,” The retort was very matter-of-fact.      “Yeah?” You snorted, running the mascara wand up over his long eyelashes.       You slid the wand back in and ran a thumb under his eye, wiping away a bit of loose powder.      He looked back at you, taking in the soft pink on your cheeks and nose bridge. A cocky smile graced his features, knowing it was him who had done it, “You alright?”      “Hush,” You rolled your eyes, a thrust a lipstick in his face, “Look at me.”      “I’m really a bit worried you’ll overheat.” His thumb brushed over your cheek to emphasize his point.      You batted at his hand, “Open your mouth would you?”      He did, obviously repressing a remark. You held his chin, tilting his head up to run the colour over his lips. His tongue darted out to taste it and he recoiled when it was bitter, not at all like the soft vanilla scent. Roger could feel the powdery eyeshadow and smooth lipstick, very different from his typical stage eyeliner. And you, the blush had spread down past the neck of your top. He stared, eyes running over your face, down your neck, following the scarlet dusted over your features and in that moment Roger was as captured with you as you were with him. He slid his slender fingers around your wrist, tugging softly, “Come here,”      You leaned forwards, noses bumping as you kissed. Roger’s hands were warm, something you hadn’t fully noticed until now, one of them running up the side of your neck, slipping into your hair to get more leverage. He nipped at your top lip, tongue slipping into your mouth. He tasted like toothpaste and the Marlboros he had smoked last night and it was simply him, Roger. He pulled back, pecking the corner of your mouth and starting down the side of your neck. He grinned when you gasped, teeth scraping against your soft skin as he gently sucked at the spot, hand braced on the other side of your neck. He looked up at you through thick, mascara coated lashes, tongue grazing over the mark he left. Your fingers carded through his shaggy, unbrushed, blond hair, “I love you.” The words were soft, almost inaudible and he sat up, pressing his nose to your cheek to whisper in your ear.      “I love you too.”      There was a soft lull as he examined you. His brows furrowed, thumb brushing over one of the spots he kissed on your cheek, “Does lipstick stain?”      “It depends on the colour, why do you ask?”      “I-” He giggled nervously, “I got it all over your face.”

[lotorsshoulderpads]

Merla HCs for the soul

General Culture HCs ⭐ Her home planet is called Orulla ⭐ Ever seen that part where Zarkon says “no one knows where she’s from”? That’s because her and her people are from a place akin to VLD’s quantum abyss in terms of how the place functions. Trying to get in is a death wish so the place has yet to be discovered. ⭐ Her race is all one sex, and their secondary sex characteristics are more inline with that of a human female ⭐ But if you went there you might not notice bc gender expression is all over the place ⭐ Gendered pronouns are a wild concept to her bc “why is the gender of the person in question at all relevant, that’s like having a different pronoun for each hair color” ⭐ They do, however, use different pronouns depending on what they’re talking about. They have pronouns used for people, a word similar to “it” for inanimate objects, and another pronoun used for animals. ⭐ Like in Spanish, their language has formal and informal versions of the word “you” ⭐ The only reason they design their armor to overly highlight their bodies is because they realized it freaks other people out to fight an “all female” army and they get embarrassed as fuck when they get their asses beat by a bunch of ladies ⭐ Way more lax about nudity than a lot of other planets. The idea of modesty is more applied to one’s behavior, like their humility, rather than their clothes. ⭐ The most popular colors/materials for clothing is dark green and purple, red, silver, and gold. ⭐ Most of her people have darker hair, ranging from a black or purple color through magenta and dark pink to red. Eyes are typically the same color as the hair, and skin ranges from gray to a desaturated dark blue color. Most have a gray-blue complexion ⭐ Popular makeup trends are lipstick a similar shade to the skin, but darker or more vibrant, and killer eyeliner. ⭐ Her species is actually incapable of blushing, but after discovering it in other species they found it absolutely adorable and now blush is a popular makeup product. ⭐ Body mods are also very much A Thing in her culture. Piercings, tattoos, scarification, tongue splitting, all sorts of things, and they’re very popular. It’s sort of a right of passage, if an unofficial one. Once someone becomes an adult it’s sort of expected to get something done. ⭐ On that note, getting body mods are also seen as highly inappropriate if the individual who has them isn’t an adult. Something as simple as piercing your ears is jaw dropping to them if you’re a kid. ⭐ On her home planet, people aren’t considered adults until age 20 ⭐ Her people’s life expectancy is around 100-110 ⭐ Her people are also known for doing some funky fun hair stuff. Lots of elaborate braids, curling, and such. Shaving down parts of the head and even the whole head used to be really popular, and is now making a comeback in their mainstream culture. Shaving the entire head is seen as a sign of rebellion or mourning, depending on the context. ⭐ Animal motifs are The Thing in their fashion, particularly birds atm, as they are associated with power and royalty thanks to Merla’s affinity for them. So feathers, things shaped like wings, things with wing patterns on them, etc, are in. ⭐ The average adult of their species is about 6′1.5

Merla HCs ⭐ Age 23 at debut ⭐ 6′0 ⭐ Call her vulture ugly and she will fight you ⭐ Her bird is named Onyx ⭐ She raised that bird from the minute he hatched ⭐ Her telepathic abilities only extend to making people want to do things and getting a vague idea of what someone is thinking about at any given moment. She can’t truly force someone to do something and if she uses too much power she gets migraines. ⭐ She gets along better with animals than with people ⭐ Big Lesbian ⭐ Kala from Voltron Force is her older sister but Merla thinks she died a long time ago ⭐ Merla also has a sister 8 years younger than her named Dyla ⭐ Merla herself actually has a rare pigmentation issue. Her whole color palette is much paler than normal. She’s like an albino of her species in a way. ⭐ Merla has multiple piercings, including several in either ear, a septum piercing, and snake bites. She used to have a tongue piercing but then she got her tongue split and it’s kinda hard to have both ⭐ As for tattoos, she also has more than one, but some are more important than others. On her chest she has vulture wings around an “angel eater,” a flower that, in her culture, means “don’t get too cocky, ya lil shit, you’re still mortal.” On the inside of her right bicep she has an old proverb, “the river goes, and with it the stones.” It means that, yeah, people can make you promises, but ultimately as life goes on things could change and the only person you can really count on is yourself. ⭐ Heart breaker. She doesn’t like getting into actual relationships, she finds them... messy. So when she finds someone she actually likes she dips. And as a Queen needing to one day provide an heir, this is troublesome. ⭐ Merla had a good relationship with one mother and a bad relationship with the other. One, Arella, was a kind hearted woman, who died due to complications having her 3rd child. Merla calls her “mother.” Her other parent was a cold woman who was only interested in herself. Merla simply refers to her as “that woman” or by her first name, Zenaran. ⭐ Dyla was born prematurely, but even if she was carried to term she still would have been a sickly child. To this day she is a very delicate girl, who Merla will protect at all costs. She stands at 5′5, four inches shorter than what’s average for her age. ⭐ Merla herself had complications relating to her birth, but Dyla got everything she had, then some, and dialed up. ⭐ Unlike Dyla and Merla, Kala had no issues in regards to her health and birth. Not only that, but she hardly resembles her other two sisters. This has led to rumors that perhaps the three sisters don’t all share the same two parents, but that Kala is actually a half sibling to Dyla and Merla. ⭐ For several reasons, Merla refuses to acknowledge these rumors and has made no effort to look into them. ⭐ Dyla has not left the safety of their home palace in many years, and hasn’t been off-planet since her toddler years. ⭐ Kala and Merla were close. Kala expected the very best of her little sister, and always pushed her to succeed. ⭐ Mama Arella was a usually kind woman who lacked a backbone, but it’s rumored that she slept around outside her marriage and Merla, despite not really wanting to think about it, also has suspicions in regards to her mother’s faithfulness. ⭐ Arella was monochromatic, having black hair and grey skin. She looked like an old school cartoon character come to life. ⭐ Zenaran, much like her wife, wasn’t very faithful. However, she didn’t bother to hide it. As the one of royal blood, she was the one of higher status and could pretty much get away with whatever she wanted. Plus being an execution happy tyrant also helped. ⭐ Zenaran had long, dark red hair and blue-grey skin. ⭐ Kala is 2 years older than Merla and bore a striking resemblance to Zenaran, with dark red hair and blue-grey skin. ⭐ Dyla, age 15, is a bright and kind girl, despite her rough start to life. She has white hair and dark grey skin. ⭐ Dyla and Merla have an odd relationship. Merla is, on one hand, very much devoted to her little sister, but on the other, dismissive of the younger girl’s thoughts and wishes. She sees Dyla as fragile and incapable of taking care of herself, thus needing constant supervision and someone to make decisions for her. Dyla, though she understands where her sister is coming from, grows increasingly frustrated. ⭐ There is only one person alive who knows the origin of Merla’s powers, and it’s the woman who Arella had an affair with. ⭐ Dyla also has powers like Merla’s, but aside from the Muses teaching her how to rein them in, she doesn’t really know how to use them.

Muses HCs ⭐ The Muses of Norn weren’t kidnapped, they came with Merla willingly ⭐ She sought them out in hopes of learning to control her telepathy ⭐ Now it’s just. Merla and her squad of pretty girls. Sappho and her gal pals. ⭐ The Muses of Norn are named Thetis, Sura, Ceralean, Penelope, Era, Josephine, and Melody. ⭐ Thetis is 22 and the leader of the muses. She stands at 5′5 with blue hair and eyes, and a light brown complexion. She is associated with leadership and honorable conduct. ⭐ Sura is Thetis’s younger sister, age 21. She has redish-pink hair and blue eyes and is 5′6. Her complexion, like her sister’s, is light brown but dotted with freckles. She’s the muscle in their team. She is associated with sportsmanship, combat, and strength. ⭐ Ceralean, age 21, functions as second in command. She’s the analytical type. She’s ghostly pale, with dark blue eyes and hair, standing at 5′4. She is associated with academia. ⭐ Penelope is the oldest at 25 and is the mother hen of the team. Blonde, brown eyes, stands at 5′11, and has a lightly tanned complexion. She is associated with domestically, crops, and the changing of seasons. ⭐ Era, age 23. She has red-brown hair, dark pink eyes, dark brown skin, and stands at 5′7. She is associated with liberation, freewill, and is considered the protector of young women. ⭐ Josephine is the youngest at 17. She’s a little bratty, but they love her anyway. She has black hair, brown eyes, light brown skin, and stands at 5′2. She is associated with childhood, rebirth, joy, and is considered the protector of children. ⭐ Melody, age 19, is the quiet, soft one. Stands at 5′5 with blonde hair and green eyes, and a fair complexion. She is associated with the fine arts and humility. ⭐ Note that they haven’t aged since the became muses, so they’re all technically much older than their physical age. ⭐ The Muses were once mortal women, who ascended to a sort of deity-type status. ⭐ Although the Muses cannot age or die of old age, they can still be killed. ⭐ Thetis, Sura, and Ceralean have a strong, familial type bond, despite the fact that the 3rd isn’t actually blood related to the first two. Sura and Ceralean butt heads often, and Thetis has to play mediator. ⭐ Sura and Era tend to be a bit more loose canon than the other muses. They get into all kinds of trouble together. ⭐ Ceralean is rather protective of Melody and in turn, Melody has a bit of a crush on her.

[ms-meredith-milton]

FIC: A Model Patron, 1/?

BLAME @sabrecmc FOR THIS!!!  :)

No idea how far I’ll get--that’s why I’m not putting it on AO3 yet!--but when I saw the prompts @sabrecmc was floating around, one of them bit me and wouldn’t let go until I wrote this down.  So whatever gets written is a gift to Sabre while P&P is playing hide and seek with my muse!

Fic: A Model Patron

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Tags/warnings: BDSM; pre-serum Steve; prostitution / sex work; Great Depression; power imbalance; age difference; eventual graphic kinky sex!

Original Prompt (though I’m taking it in a rather different direction): Prompt 9:  Smol hooker Steve, so I was thinking that it could be Depression-era sort of noir-ish vibes.  With the economy in shambles, lots of people, including many Irish immigrants, turned to selling their bodies to have enough food to eat, but who would want someone like Steve?  Or so Steve figures.  But, he hears about a guy who has been trolling the docks looking for a very particular type of person for certain “special clients”.  Steve’s no stranger to pain, so he figures he can handle it and if it puts some food on the table, it would be worth getting knocked around a bit. At least he would be getting paid as opposed to the usual running his mouth situation.  Or, how smol, 1930’s Steve enters the world of bdsm and finds himself ensconced with a particular reclusive millionaire with very specific tastes.

A Model Patron

When Steve had first accepted a gig at the Academy, he had expected to be humiliated: his imperfect body, frail and small, exposed to a circle of elite art students whose ranks he’d never be able to join.  

But he hadn’t been humiliated by the modeling at all.  The students had been courteous, though distant distant, and as Steve sat on the raised platform, above them, he’d been their muse.  Steve was the center of their devoted concentration, at once a person and an object, as the Master walked around the room commenting on someone’s shading across the curve of Steve’s ribs, or how to capture the jut of his hipbone, or the right pigments to convey the fading bruises on his cheek and arm (remnants of Steve’s last scrape). 

Steve hadn’t hated it; he liked it.  Liked to be looked at, liked to be transformed into artwork.  It had made his blood sing and his body hum.  And his miserable, treacherous body (his goddamn traitor cock) responded for all to see. 

That had humiliated him and he’d vowed not to go back, even when the kind, old professor delicately assured Steve he wasn’t the first model to respond to observation in a physical manner. 

But Mr. Cavalli had recently let Steve go when his business took another bad turn; the pinch in Steve’s stomach and the danger of being turned out in the cold was enough to conquer far greater humiliations.  He needed steady work, but one solid gig would stave off disaster.  

Steve shifted nervously in his seat and stared at the student work displayed in the hallway. Fine, but generic.  Steve didn’t care for it.  (And couldn’t help thinking he’d be capable of better, given such fine paints and canvass--not to mention lessons.)

“Can I help you?” Professor Ellis asked politely as he stepped out of his office and saw Steve waiting. His greying beard was meticulously trimmed, his old brown shoes carefully polished, and his old fashioned jacket well brushed.

Steve scrambled to his feet, glad he’d taken such care with his own appearance. 

“Professor Ellis,” Steve said, holding out his hand.  They shook.  “Steve Rogers here.  I modeled for your life drawing course a few weeks ago.”

“Yes, of course,” Professor Ellis said with a smile.  “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Rogers.”

“And you, sir,” Steve replied, heart racing nervously.  The professor looked at him expectantly. 

 “I--” Steve faltered.  “I’m here to inquire if there might be any openings for models again.”

The sad expression on the professor’s face was answer enough.

“I’m afraid we got more applications than usual and we’ve already hired our models for the upcoming session,” he said gently.  “And we’re operating on a reduced budget, so we have fewer slots than in previous semesters.”

Steve’s stomach dropped.

“I understand, sir,” Steve said in a hollow voice, then added after a moment’s hesitation, “Perhaps there’s a waitlist in case a model cancels? And, I-- I understand that funds are tight for the Academy; I could accept a reduced rate if there’s any opportunity that opens up.”

Steve knew he reeked of desperation, but instead of withdrawing awkwardly the Professor only looked softer.  

Then a sudden change--he cocked his head to the side and frowned, scanning Steve up and down.  

“Was it my advanced drawing course in October you sat for?”

“Yes, sir.”

The professor nodded and hesitated before speaking. “Actually, I may be able to refer you for something after all.  Won’t you step into my office, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve followed him, only barely managing not to trip all over himself in his eagerness.  

The Professor began shuffling papers across his messy desk, clearly looking for something as he spoke:

“Not long after you modeled, a young woman--afraid I’ve forgotten the name!-- came in to look at some student work and show it to the collector she works for who sometimes acts as a patron to promising young artists. He liked young Mr. Winslow’s drawing from that class and purchased it directly, though sadly no additional patronage seems to be forthcoming thus far. But a few days later one of this young lady’s colleagues came by to reiterate the collector’s satisfaction with the work.  And with its subject.”

At last the Professor found the card he’d been looking for, but instead of handing it to Steve he held it, frowning.

“I was given to understand that the collector she represents may be interested in dabbling in some . . . unusual art work of his own.”  

There was something odd in the professor’s voice and Steve started to worry that the old man wouldn’t give him the referral card after all.  He held his breath as Professor Ellis finally looked up and met his eyes.  

“The Academy has very high standards for how we treat our models,” the Professor said almost primly, “and it is our policy not to refer our models to unknown parties. But since it seems you may be”--a delicate pause as he selected the right phrase-- “in a difficult position . . .”

Steve’s cheeks heated even at the careful euphemism, but he took the card without hesitation when the Professor held it out.

“Thank you, sir,” Steve said, trying not to sound stiff.

“Of course, Mr. Rogers,” he said, still a little melancholy.  “I hope the position proves satisfactory.  I wish you the best of luck.”

They parted and Steve finally looked at the card. 

All it said was “Miss Natalie Rushman” and a phone number in Manhattan.  

>>>

Steve was fifteen minutes early for his interview, so he paced the side streets nearby killing time since he didn’t want to look too eager (or desperate).  And Miss Rushman had offered to meet Steve at a pub near the Academy instead of making him travel all the way to her offices in upper Manhattan, saying she would be in the area anyway.  When he’d asked how he’d recognize her if The Old Pony was crowded, she’d replied that she’d find him--then reminded him that she’d ‘seen him before’ in a tone that made him blush.

At exactly 3:59, Steve stepped into the pub, blinking as he adjusted to the dim light.  A voluptuous redhead in a beautifully cut green dress approached him immediately with a slight smile.  She extended her and greeted him in a deep voice: “Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers.”

It was strange; she looked so familiar, like someone he had seen around his neighborhood from time to time. But he was sure he’d have noticed such a high class lady in his area, so it was probably just a passing resemblance.  (Or his exhausted mind playing tricks on him.)

“Very nice to meet you, Miss Rushman,” Steve replied.  

“Please join me.”

Steve slid across from her in the small corner booth near the window.  

“Thank you for taking time to meet with me,” Steve said.

“Likewise.  Thank you for meeting me here,” she said, green eyes sparkling.  “Please allow me to offer you a drink--compliments of my client.   What would you like?”

“Coffee if they have it.”

She nodded.  

“What’ll it be?” the barkeep asked Steve.  

“One coffee and one vodka,” she answered.

The bartender gave Steve a queer look, but didn’t say anything. Miss Rushman studied Steve’s face with an intense expression while the man brought their order.  Steve flushed, then turned brighter red as the man set the coffee in front of her and handed Steve the vodka.  She traded their drinks immediately, paid, and raised her glass saying, “Cheers.”

“Good health,” Steve replied. He wrapped his chilled fingers gratefully around the warm cup.

She took a sip and leaned back in her seat, still examining him.  

It was the strangest interview he’d ever been to and Steve was starting to feel an echo the professor’s uneasiness.  His blush was spreading down his neck and he started to drop his head awkwardly, almost bashful, then reminded himself that he had nothing to be ashamed of. Steve raised his head again and threw back his shoulders. 

“Yes,” she said at last.  “I think you may be a very good fit.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, trying to reign in his temper. “Perhaps you could tell me more about the position now?”

Steve couldn’t quite keep the impatience out of his tone, but her smile widened despite that (or perhaps, oddly, because of it).

“Quite so,” Miss Rushman said, leaning forward to fold her hands on the table.  “I represent an unusual and eccentric artist who has been searching for a . . . special muse.  He’s had single sessions and even a few repeats with models before, but never formed the artistic bond he craves, which is one it would take time and trust to nurture.  Something more collaborative.”

Steve sipped his coffee and nodded, intrigued.  

“My client values his privacy,” she continued. “He is exceptionally wealthy and well-regarded and can compensate you very handsomely for your services.”

“Would I know any of his work?” Steve asked, thrilled (and more than a little bewildered) by the idea that a luminary of the art world--both rich and famous?--might want him as a muse.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Miss Rushman replied smoothly.  “His wealth and renowned are based on industry, not on his purely private artistic achievements.”

Steve tried not to let his disappointment show.  

“I must warn you that the artist can be . . . difficult.  Fickle.  Hard to work with.”

Steve nearly snorted. Sounded like every artist ever.  And this one was a rich industrialist to boot?  He’d probably be a terror. But Steve could handle that. He’d handled worse.  

Miss Rushman continued.  “He can be harsh, but he is not by nature cruel. He’s brilliant, arrogant, and impatient.”

She took another sip of her vodka.  “Are you still interested?”

Steve nodded. “Very much so.”

“Good,” she said with satisfaction. “Would you be free for a meeting sometime soon? Tomorrow perhaps?”

Steve tried not let his relief show.  

“My schedule is very open tomorrow,” Steve said, trying to sound confident.  

She smiled. 

“Excellent.  If you are still interested at the close of our meeting, I will provide some funds for travel expenses. This is separate from the salary.  For your initial session, the artist would pay you 100$.”

Steve couldn’t keep the shock off his face and it undoubtedly doubled as she continued.

“But perhaps you’ll find that you’re busy tomorrow after all,” she said, “when you understand the exact nature of the . . . art.”

Another sip of her vodka. Steve’s stomach began to tighten up into knots; there was something decidedly unnerving about all of this. He felt like he was always missing something, like he couldn’t read between the lines.

“If you accept the position, Mr. Rogers,” she said, leaning forward, her expression intense, “you would be the canvas for his art.”

“Pardon?” Steve said, cocking his head to the side.  “You mean that he’d . . . paint on my body?”

Hardly seemed like that would require such princely pay or all this mystery.

“He might,” she answered with a hint of a smile at her brightly colored lips.  

“But he mostly works in a different medium--the relationship between pleasure and pain.”  

Her voice was low, intimate, almost a caress. Steve’s heart began to race as she continued: “He likes control. Intricate patterns of rope twined around the body. Leather cuffs. Chains.  And he likes to inflict pain and make it show. Bruises. Scratches. Sometimes welts.”

Steve took a sharp breath. A few moments ago, he’d felt chilled but now the pub seemed far too hot.

“So, this so-called ‘artist,’” Steve said tightly, “wants a ‘model,’ he can tie up and beat?”

“A vulgar way of phrasing it, but not entirely inaccurate.”  She waved a hand dismissively and finished her drink.  “But he’d want to make it good for you. And he would hurt you, but he would never harm you.”

“What’s the difference?” Steve bit out. 

“No lasting damage. His tastes aren’t particularly extreme and he has exceptional control. As I said, he’s not by nature cruel.”  

Steve couldn’t keep back an incredulous snort. (Not cruel! Just wanted to pay for the pleasure of beating somebody up who couldn’t fight back.) 

Her expression tightened and she added in a grave tone, “And if you change your mind at any point and tell him to stop, he will.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” Steve asked with a glare.

“Believe what you like,” she answered smoothly. “It is the truth.”

With that, she slid abruptly from the booth and took a small envelope from her purse.  She placed it on the table.  

“Funds for travel expenses to Manhattan and a good meal on the way,” she said briskly.  “Noon tomorrow at the enclosed address if you’d like to meet him and continue the interview process. If not, then I wish you well, Mr. Rogers.”

She took one step away from the booth, then turned back to add in a soft voice, “He isn’t always a nice man, but he is a good one.”

Then, as if by magic, she seemed to vanish in the crowd.  

Steve’s coffee cup shook in his hand; he set it down abruptly with a clatter.

It was quite some time before Steve collected himself enough to go home, envelope secure in his inner breast pocket, right above his too-rapidly beating heart. 

[tsubaki3192]

250+ Follower HCs! Spending Time With Their Kids [Nobunaga, Kenshin, Yukimura

Requested by: @nad-zeta​

Aww Thank you so much Love! <3 

Yuki added on her request! :3

Warnings: .... YUki’s became crack I’m so sorry... so I’m putting that at the beginning lol

Tags underneath cut! Let me know if you wanna be (un)tagged! :3

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

Yukimura:

a…. Girl?

Hmm… I dunno. Haven’t put much thought into this one. But it’d be funny if his child was a girl.

He… Doesn’t know how to react to his baby girl.

Maybe it’s bc he has no idea how to treat her, but when she’s a baby, he does talk and interact with her more

Okay, let’s timeskip to the future and your daughter is now…. 7.

Yukimura probably has a tendency to avoid girls other than MC, and I think that also goes with his daughter… Not because he doesn’t like her, but because he has no idea how to care for her.

She grows up with a ton of toys… But….

QUESTION WHY ‘Daddy won’t spend time with me’

YOU’RE LIVID- Tbh, I would smack him for that and Shingen or Sasuke wouldn’t even be able to hold her back, and Kenshin would be impressed….

He does end up spending time with her tho.

It’s awkward at first

And then he opens up, even if he’s grumbling about the messy makeup and mess at the end of the day.

It’s not surprising that since Yuki wasn’t in her life, she usually goes to Shingen for help bc he’s been so open

Yuki actually cries at that, but only with you… there was this one time she actually caught him crying, so she started crying and it became this mess of “Stop crying” “no u-”

They bond pretty quickly after that lol

LOts of outings and helping Yuki to sell goods :3

Any piggy backs

Yes.

Lots of piggy backs

He has become so cute wtf

Kenshin: 

A boy…. then a girl... I think.

So I stan an overprotective father here for his daughter, in the very least.

That’s not because his son is ‘too weak’- It’s the fact that culturally and in that time period, he’s supposed to be the stronger one.

Kenshin teaches him the art of sword-fighting from the age of 5, but soon realises that he’s much more into Senbon and, well… Flowery stuff. It’s good, in a way, since his son has quite the feminine face shape and your eyes. It’s a very good thing, actually. He’d make a successful ninja- 

So that’s what he becomes, xD 

Together with Sasuke, Kenshin trains him in the art of ninja skills. It’s significantly more interesting to him, maybe because you’ve told him random stories you’ve read from your time. 

There’s fluff time too- You pretty much bring all the warlords together and teach them how to sew. Yuki too, because Shingen and you have told him it’s the exact same thing as sewing a wound and practice is good.

Kenshin’s baby girl is a complete treat to the whole family.

You know she’s bound to be spoiled in the same way as you- With probably twice as much gifts as he gives you, and his special fatherly-love.

“I hope you remember she’s a baby, Kenshin… No stop- A dagger isn’t suitable for a baby-”

So it’s a lot of cooing, playing with toys given to her by both Shingen and Kenshin and cuddles… 

YES CUDDLES ARE EVERYTHING-

Ironically or not, the boy also becomes protective of his mother and his younger sister, no matter how young he is. He’s spent quite a bit of time with Kenshin, after all.

Ngl, but I think when the girl is older, she’s not gonna like the over-protectiveness. So expect a lot of ninja work by her brother, joined by Sasuke bc Kenshin doesn’t trust everyone to be safe xD

She still, notices them tho….

*Cue scolding by Daughter bc of of irritation*

MC does nothing to help bc they honestly deserved it xD

Nobunaga: 

A son… I mean what did you expect?

So Nobunaga and his son are the most endearingly domineering… pair?

I mean your son’s personality stems directly from Nobunaga, despite having your looks and that does make you wonder why, since you spend the most time with him.

Nobunaga’s probably the busiest man on Earth. So when he does find time to spend with his son, they’re the most mischievous pair. You’re not even surprised when Masamune joins in one day, with Mitsuhide just chucking away at the sight.

Hideyoshi doesn’t even try when they get to this messy point, and to be fair neither do you. If you stopped them, they’d casually rope you into the mess.

You’ve long learnt to leave them be when they’re like this.

You pretty much take over the castle when they’re playing- Can’t have the castle’s structure falling apart because of a handful of idiots, right?

Hideyoshi still hasn’t learnt his lesson, it seems-

The two of them are always thieving konpeito from the kitchens and screwing around the castle in the most ridiculous ways.

You swore they had somehow once gotten hold of some black paint (or was that charcoal?), only to end up fully covered in the colour…

You only found out after nearly giving Nobunaga a back massage- His back was COVERED in the pigment. Obviously, your son had dropped a handful and some down his clothes and back.

Honestly? You just sighed at their antics and dragged him by the ear to the bathhouse. And you can’t even say anything when he drags you in, fully clothed.

When Nobunaga does spend time with his son, the adrenaline and joy just lasts until the following morning when he’s slept it off. It’s very different from the type of adrenaline from war- Less stress and fear, and more joy and… out of control actions.

So expect an extremely hyper Nobunaga when you both retire to your bedroom…

Mitsuhide: 

A girl. I don’t budge. … Okay, maybe a baby boy in the future, but for now? Just a baby girl.

So Mitsuhide’s one of those ‘I-never-expected-to-be-this-happy’ or ‘I-never-expected-to-one-day-have-a-family-of-my-own’ warlords.

So when you announce you were having a baby, he just… freezes. Like one of those signature ‘holy-crap-what’ freezes. 

He’s so silent you swore you broke him. But when you reach out to press a hand against his cheek, he turns, presses a deep, loving kiss to your palm. He’s exceptionally gentle with you now as he draws you to his chest, thanking you for every miracle you’ve given him.

So I also headcannon that Mitsuhide’s the epitome of practicality y’all… Like he’s so busy he doesn’t have time for anything he deems ‘useless’... or will he buy things that will never be used.

So expect some gender-neutral toys and tiny clothes for your young one, even before she’s born.

Did I mention he’s also quite protective of you? That doubles or triples when he finds out you’re pregnant. And again, when he finds out it’s a girl after birth.

Literally. It has to be either him or Kyubei with you and the ‘little one’. AT ALL TIMES.

Mitsuhide’s the only one he’ll allow to care for the your- and his- daughter when you’re busy with something. On occasion, it’s Kyubei, but it does mean that he and his daughter must be in the same room.

More than often, this ends up with Mitsuhide being W E A K for his daughter’s laugh and dropping his work- That can always be finished later, after all.

Dress up. Make up. Toys. Games. Anything. Mitsuhide would literally kill for some time with his daughter.

When she was younger, Mitsuhide used to cradle her against his chest, whispering sweet stories or singing to her as she giggled from the vibration of his low voice.

Now that she’s older, he spends his time with her carefully. Teaching her with gentle teasing- Something she’s become accustomed to 

NGL, but Kyubei ends up being her ‘older brother’ figure when she grows up.

The look on Mitsuhide’s face when she says she wants to marry Kyubei is gold.

Just don’t let Masamune hear okay?

Tagging: @tsuki-no-usagiii​ @unstoppablelinda​ @zavannahmj​ @nad-zeta​ @thesirenwashere​ @ikemenmitsuhide​ @choi-jiyu​ @nuttytani​

[laserdog10]

Gentleness

*Jaune was a descendant of Salem. Hardly anyone could believe it, even the Witch of Grimm herself, but all it took was glance to the knight and she knew. He was of her blood. And it didn’t take long for him to embrace the “gifts” of her when he saw his best friend, Ruby, in the claws of his great...times-how-many-resets-on-Remnant aunt. Witnessing this awoke something within him, a ceaseless rage and relentless of losing another loved one had...brought something out of him, deep in the depths of his mind and body. For a split second all he saw was a blood red, then violent screaming, his own voice almost sounding like that a wild beast. When he came to, Salem was a ragged mess, her hair pins broken, her face marred by claw marks and her body riddled with gashes from Crocea Mors. The Witch had no real option but to flee, leaving the group of heroes dumbfounded at what their friend had become; his eyes were no longer the calm sapphire blue they once were, his skin and hair bleached of all pigment, black vein-like markings adorned his temples almost reaching his eyes. The worst of it was his teeth and nails, his canines nearly protruding from his closed mouth, while three inch claws adorned each of his fingers. Both teams were too afraid to move, thinking he’d snap at any sudden movements. However, the red reaper knew better, Jaune would never hurt his friends, whatever possessed him to brutally attack Salem did not mean harm to them. It had saved them, protected them, protected Ruby.*

-Later in an abandoned motel in Mantle-

*The knight and reaper secluded themselves to a room, away from everyone else. Ruby had hung up her cloak and Jaune had removed his armor, leaving them alone on the bed, Ruby sitting in his lap while he cradled her. Occasionally she’d stroke his hair whenever his breath would quicken or become ragged.*

Ruby: You doing okay?

Jaune: Yes? No? *sigh* I don’t know...everything feels so surreal, I can hear better, I’m stronger despite not looking like it, I just...I’m half-Grimm now, what do I do with that knowledge, let alone I’m related to Remnant’s greatest enemy?! *he said in exasperated fear, subconsciously clasping onto Ruby*

Ruby: Ow!

Jaune: Sorry! *his hands shot up away from her* Still getting use to my strength.

Ruby: It’s okay! Also wow you’re nails are sharp. Er, can we even call them “nails” anymore...? *chuckles*

Jaune: *somber smile* You’re so easy-going about this, how are you not afraid of me or keeping your distance like everyone else right now?

Ruby: Because I know you, Jaune. I know you wouldn’t hurt us, you saw what Salem looked like when you came to. No Grimm would ever do that in a million years, that was all you. You protected us, protected me. That’s more than enough to not be afraid of you.

Jaune: Ruby...

Ruby: And besides...*adjusts herself to face him, pressing her forehead against his*...I don’t remember a Grimm being this gentle.

*Their surroundings became a blur in their peripheral vision, their eyes focusing on the other’s, silver pools of purity met blood pits which were slowly changing back to their original soft sapphire blue. Without realizing, the knight and reaper leaned in to join their lips, their hands carefully exploring the other’s back, Ruby raking her hands through Jaune’s messy spiked hair. Jaune’s clawed hands caressing her body, bringing her closer to his, their heartbeat’s rhythms eventually almost synchronizing...Ruby pulled away.*

Ruby: Wow...*breathless*

Jaune: That was...unexpected...*also breathless, slightly less so*

Ruby: But it wasn’t...

Jaune: Unpleasant?

Ruby: Hehe, nope.

Jaune: Good, but small question...*with swift movement he lifted her up and planted her on the bed, his form now looming over her, leaning in close to whisper*...still think I’m gentle?

Ruby: *giggling, wraps her legs around his waist* Care to test that out~?

*They resumed their heated makeout-*

*THUNK* “WAH!”

*-is what would’ve happened if not for both of their teams listening in on them...*

Ruby: *red* What the heck?!

Yang: It was Nora’s idea!

Jaune: *red* Nora!

Nora: LIES!!! Yang got scared because she thought you would do something evil!

Yang: Filthy traitor!!!

Weiss: Well you are half-Grimm now, so we expected to...eat her or something?!

Blake: But with what’s happening now, this was a stupid idea and you’re doing just fine.

Ren: Mmm. *nods in agreement*

Jaune: Okay, now can everyone please leave?

*So they did (with difficulty as Weiss and Blake had to drag Yang whom was giving the Grimm knight the stink-eye, followed by a giggling Nora, having found a reason to laugh at the predicament instead, which left the ever stoic ninja of Team JNR to stand in their doorway*

Ren: Juuuuust in case you two get “frisky,” here. *reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small packet and tosses it to them* Can’t have you two taking care of a kid whilst saving the world.

Ruby/Jaune: *atomic red* OUT!!!

*With that out of the way, the leader duo were left to themselves again*

Ruby: Soooo...wanna get back to it?

Jaune: Maybe not, I’m tired. *moves off of her and lays next to the reaper, embracing her*

Ruby: Ahh, okay then. *nuzzles up closer, “Sweet dreams, my knight...” she said to herself, whisked away into her sleep*

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Pigments

Art Teacher Molly! Based on a set of head canons I posted a little while ago

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment on Ao3!

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Caleb’s school had been a handful of rooms in the town hall building. He and the other children of the village had been roughly divided into two groups by age and taken by either the town’s only cleric, a dwarven priestess of Erathis who’d been sent to Blumenthal years ago to establish a strong faith amongst those people of the earth and had remained despite the local’s pleasant indifference, or the herbalist whenever she left the store with her nephew. Caleb would complete every task set for him within ten minutes and, instead, would be allowed to sit in the corner and read while the other children staggered their way through multiplication and verbs and basic Dwarvish. He read everything that could be found within the building, even staying in during playtime. The herbalist would share her tea with him and bring him scones when she could see that his parents were having a rough month.

Even as everything between who Caleb was now and that small child with unruly red curls and hollow cheeks and big eyes, even as all of it cracked and broke and rotted away for a number of reasons, it wouldn’t take much to bring him back to that little room. The dust motes dancing through the sunlight slanding in through the windows and falling on the blackboard with lines and lines of loopy handwriting that was clearly made to draw intricate sketches of plants and write labels on bottles of strange green liquids. The taste of flour and sugar baked together on his tongue, heavy with cherries, nettle tea, the taste of reassurance that maybe his stomach wouldn’t ache so bad when he went to bed that night, that maybe his mother’s heart wouldn’t break quite so much when she saw him. The promise of new words, so many it felt like he could barely hold them all in his mind, but he’d still always want more. Feeling like maybe one day he would be somewhere that would appreciate him for everything he knew.

It didn’t take much to send Caleb back there, to remind him of his days at school. Any little similarity would do it. But standing here, in an actual school, all he could think was how different it was from his own.

Molly’s hand hadn’t left his own since they’d gotten into the taxi. Caleb thought that meant the date was going well. The thought gave him a happy warmth in the bottom of his stomach, though he was very aware of his own inexperience. He wouldn’t really know if it was going well one way or the other, he had next to no data to fall back on.

But there was something in the way Molly kept stealing glances at him, leaving Caleb to just catch the slightest edge of his glance, the way there would always be a smile on his face whenever it happened. Almost as if just the sight of Caleb still sat beside him was enough to make Molly smile.

The hallways were left by the wide windows to alternate strangely between pitch black and wonky squares of yellow streetlight. The only noises were their own footsteps and the muted rumble of cars and voices outside. Of course, at nearly midnight, there was absolutely no one in the school.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here so late?” Caleb finally asked, his voice reverberating off tiles in shadow that he couldn’t even see.

Molly turned a little from where he was determinedly leading the way through the corridors and up the silent stairs, “Of course.” His hand, the one that wasn’t entwined with Caleb’s, reached into his shoulder bag and flashed a red lanyard with a faded, blurry picture of a far younger purple tiefling, “I’m staff. And you’re my guest.”

If he couldn’t see the staff badge for himself, Caleb wouldn’t have been able to believe that the loud, extravagant, naturally hedonistic singer he’d been dating for a month now was a teacher by day. The idea of Molly being an authority figure was like trying to imagine a fish climbing a tree or a shark swimming backwards. Something just wasn’t right about it.

But there was his name on the door they were approaching, Mr Tealeaf, neatly typed out in large, rounded letters surrounded by childish cartoons of paint brushes and easels, clearly added by whoever had made the sign in an attempt to make it brighter. But the stickers that had been placed around it with a heavy, generous hand and the graffiti style doodles done in loud, colourful marker were undoubtedly the work of Molly himself.

“Also I leave stuff in my classroom all the time,” Molly added, a little bashfully, “They gave me a key after the one time they found me trying to climb through the window. Someone called the police.”

Caleb had to smile at the mental image, “What did you forget that time?”

Molly suddenly seemed very interested in his keys as he put them in the door, “Uh, my phone.”

Caleb’s smile grew, “The same thing we’re having to come back here to get right this moment?”

Molly turned and poked him in the chest with a finger tipped by a long, deep red nail, playfully challenging, “What’s your point, Widogast?”

“Nothing at all,” Caleb showed his palms, his grin not fading at all.

Molly flicked his tail at him and disappeared into the classroom, “I wouldn’t bother but it’s got the cinema tickets on my email…”

Caleb nodded along, more absorbed in looking around. Even with the light off, the small space was a riot of muted colour, there wasn’t an inch of the walls that wasn’t covered in an art piece of some description. One was groaning under what looked like three classes worth of crookedly sewn embroidered patches, one dripped with just as many watercolours, one had bunting haphazardly strung up that boughed under a store’s worth of bead bracelets and paper flower garlands. Even things that couldn’t be pinned up found their place; the long banks of sinks that circled the room like a moat had sculptures standing sentinel, frozen in the act of listing slightly to the left or right.

Where there wasn’t displays of work there were boards on different artists and movements, one about Frida Kahlo backed by loud, patterned fabric, one about Van Gough set against a recreation of Starry Night done with twists of blue silk. The others were people Caleb had never heard of but he was sure he’d know everything he needed to after reading all of the carefully typed out squares of information.

Though the colour could only slightly be seen with the lack of light, Caleb could practically smell it. The scent of charcoal and pigment and fresh paper was on nearly everything, buoyed by strong coffee and sugary tea. Less pleasant was the slightest smell of stagnant water, probably left in paint trays and clinging to brushes, though it was mild enough that Caleb didn’t mind.

Molly went straight to his desk while Caleb was still staring, digging around in drawers that looked like they were overflowing until he came up with his phone, “There you are, you bastard. Yasha said she was going to super glue it to my hand if I left it at work again, let’s hope she’s forgotten that...”

Caleb made a soft noise of affirmation, ninety nine percent of his attention still on the room around him.

Molly gave a soft chuckle, “Do you like it? I know it weirds some people out, they can’t imagine me actually doing this as a job.”

Caleb’s eyes flickered over to Molly, managing to pull himself out of a sudden hyperfixation on L. S. Lowry. He allowed himself a long moment just to look at him, standing there in the half light. Though all they’d been planning to do was go to the pictures and get a few drinks afterwards, he was dressed as extravagantly as ever. Enough piercings to make his ears droop a little, a shirt made of nothing but glittering mesh patterned with stars over a tight vest and leather pants tucked into boots that went up to his knees. Not much on display but everything hinted at, his tattoos vibrant even in shadow. He looked as far away from a teacher as anyone could imagine.

But Caleb could see touches of him everywhere in the room they stood in. He saw him in the messiness of the desk but how he clearly knew where everything was regardless. He saw his guiding hand in every single work of art on the wall, he saw him in the gushing praise scribbled in red pen on the front of the pile of test papers near his computer. He saw him in the tin of biscuits right by his elbow, ready to be brought out at a moment’s notice for a child who was having a hard day or who’d achieved something after trying so hard.

Or a child who maybe hadn’t had any breakfast that day.

Caleb felt his lower lip wobble dangerously for a moment but he quickly brought it under control, managing to smile, “I don’t think it’s weird. I can’t imagine a job more perfect for you.”

Molly beamed at that, some pride warming his eyes now as he gently touched a piece of paper lying on his desk, a pencil drawing done in bright colours that was clearly meant to be himself done by a child that had clearly just been introduced to Cubism.

“Well,” he was even blushing a little, around the edges, “I do enjoy it. And that is about the nicest thing anyone’s said to me about my job.”

“Well, it’s true,” Caleb leaned against one of the tables, one hand awkwardly seizing his arm, though the smile on his face was undeniable, spreading across his face the more Molly kept looking at him like that.

Molly twirled his tail between his fingers. Was Caleb thinking wishfully or did he always do that when he was feeling charmed? His eyes roved over his desk, looking like he was trying to decide whether something was a good idea or whether it would come off as dorky.

“I...I have something for you,” he eventually grinned, eyes flickering up to Caleb, “Call it a prize for coming on this rescue mission with me.”

“Oh?” Caleb leaned forward slightly, hoping it might be a kiss.

Molly swept up, ringing slightly as he went with all his adornments, “My students were learning about mosaic and glass work? So we did a little jewellery making and seeing how I have to demo everything, I ended up with this…”

Caleb suddenly found something small and smooth in his hand. He looked to see a bracelet, a simple loop of black string with rounded, oblong beads in alternating sea green and vibrant blue.

“They’ll really bring out the colours of your eyes,” Molly murmured hopefully, “They always remind me of the sea so I guess I must subconsciously have been...thinking of you? While I made it? I must have always meant to give you it, even before I realised it.”

Caleb’s mouth opened, hoping words adequate to express just how much the gift meant to him would just come pouring out. Of course they didn’t, he was just left stammering until he stopped himself and just looked Molly in the eye as he slipped the bracelet over his skinny wrist.

“I love it, Molly. Thank you.”

Judging by Molly’s face, Caleb’s eyes must have said what his words couldn’t. That was when he got his kiss, sweet and gentle, coloured in moonlight.

And the bracelet would stay on his wrist all night. And the many dates they’d have after their slightly delayed trip to the cinema.

And the years they’d have together after that.

[diamondgore]

"do it. i dare you." iceangel

"do it. i dare you."

Warren’s not good at parties. He gets drunks too fast and leaves with the first boy that gives him attention. So that’s why he took Bobby with him to this one not knowing that Bobby’s social awkwardness combined with his lack of social grace means they leave thirty minutes after arriving. 

It’s a cool night. So they walk back to Warren’s apartment where Bobby orders Chinese take out from the restaurant down the street. Bean curd for Warren, and broccoli and beef for Bobby. Usually they’d also order spring rolls, but it was too late at night for Warren’s stomach to handle anything fried. 

Bobby puts the phone down and walks into the bedroom where Warren’s sitting at the boudoir wiping off the mascara and concealer he was wearing. Warren says it’s the only for parties, the make up he wears, but there were occasions where he wore it to class or even to go grocery shopping with Jean and Hank. Despite the cockiness, Bobby knows there’s a little bit of insecurity behind Warren’s mask. 

“I dunno why you always wear this stuff.” Bobby says, picking up a tube of lipstick, “Seems exhausting.” 

He uncaps the golden lipstick tube. It’s a warm red color, somewhat muted. He’s seen Warren wear it before. 

“It’s fun. I like it.” Warren states, before grabbing another cotton ball and wiping his eyes. “You should try it sometime.” 

Bobby eyes the lipstick in his hand. “Don’t think I could pull it off. Plus it’s kind of weird when men wear makeup.” 

It’s half insecurity and half jealousy. 

“Do it. I dare you.” Warren leans onto the wood of the boudoir. “It’s cowardly when someone refuses a dare.” 

Bobby’s still seventeen years old underneath all the muscle and training. He isn’t going to let Warren win this, as silly as it may seem to everyone else. Bobby screws the bottom of the tube and then gives himself a hard look in the mirror. He was going to do this. 

His lips are much thinner than Warren’s. Warren was born with nice full lips, and Bobby took a lot after his father for most of his facial features. He carefully applies lipstick trying his best to stay within the lines with his shaky hands. He doesn’t quite like how it looked at him when he’s done. It looks awkward, like it’s not supposed to be there. 

“I don’t feel any fun.” Bobby says to Warren, returning the lipstick to him. “I feel a lot more ugly though.” 

“The fun part isn’t the lipstick itself, Bob.” Warren caps it, and then places it back into the drawer. “It’s when you kiss someone with it.” 

“Really?” Bobby asks, turning towards Warren. “Wanna prove it?” 

Warren smiles, and nods. They’re friends, and what’s a kiss between two friends?

“Yeah, come here.” He pulls Bobby down by wrapping his arms around his shoulders and gives him a kiss on the lips. Bobby obliges, and returns the kiss. The lipstick is messy and sticky, but Warren’s right, a kiss like that is a lot more enjoyable. Bobby doesn’t know why he likes kissing Warren so much, but he writes it off as the lipstick. 

When he pulls away, Warren’s covered in red pigment. But they don’t get a moment to talk about it, since the doorbell rings and their dinner awaits.  

[krowedkraft]

gamers ive done it again

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786357/chapters/49398521

im gonna... put an excerpt. of the chapter. right here,, hope you like it mdudes

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The moon had just begun peeking her head over Hermitland, chatter filling the crisp night air. It wasn’t a rare occurrence for all of the hermits to be together, but this one was special. Tonight, a meteor shower was going to pass over Hermitcraft, and everyone wanted to see it.

The Architechs and Stress were chatting around a makeshift campfire, roasting marshmallows and currently laughing their heads off about something Iskall has said. A few others had set up a game of cornhole that False and Doc were playing quite competitively, with Wels, Python, Joe, and Cleo all watching and cheering them on.

It was nice.

Xisuma had taken his helmet off, letting his messy hair flow in the night breeze. Although he had a bit of trouble breathing properly, it still felt great. He shut his eyes, leaning back and taking in a deep breath.

It wasn’t long before X could hear some people excitedly saying that it was starting. He opened his eyes, seeing in his peripheral all the hermits getting onto blankets they had spread out on the grass, staring up at the sky.

The sky was marvellous.

The stars fell in sheets, dancing across the heavens in an abstract mess of natural beauty. They shone brighter than ever, so bright, in fact, that shadows had found their way onto the grass.

It wasn’t often Xisuma saw stars like this. It wasn’t often he saw stars at all, really. Most of the hermits usually paid more attention to phantoms and unfinished projects, and he was no different in that aspect.

The meteor shower was beginning to die down, now less of a shower and more of a light drizzle. The occasional star would whizz by, but other than that the hermits had begun to return to a few festivities like PVP or roasting marshmallows.

Everything was peaceful for a few hours. The only sounds were the gentle chatter of the hermits who decided to stay despite their tiredness and the crackle of a dying fire. Xisuma was nodding in and out of a light nap when someone started saying something about a red star.

“Nah, that’s pink,” Scar observed, looking up at the strangely-pigmented star in question.

“Don’t even argue. It’s red,” Grian responded.

“It doesn’t matter what color it is, I think it’s getting closer,” Doc said, standing to get a better look.

Xisuma opened his eyes and saw a meteor high in the sky, falling down right in their direction. All weariness left his limbs as he was suddenly filled with adrenaline. The star was going to hit Hermitland.

People started running as it got closer, abandoning the blankets and the food and the unfinished cornhole game. Xisuma narrowly jumped out of the blast range, being propelled forward straight into a tree trunk.

[mintseesaw]

Fierce and Delicate

Part 2: Felicity (link in masterlist)

Pairing: jungkook x reader Genre: angst (and a bit of fluff), husband!au Word count: 10k Warnings: implications of depression Summary: ⇀ Jungkook and y/n had been brought in two different worlds. Jungkook living an unfortunate life and y/n being controlled by her parents all her life. Despite the imperfect relationship, they completed each other like a puzzle there is. 

Jungkook has one promise he intends to keep: to always make you happy. In the process of fulfilling your wish he had once declined you of, he kept a secret from you. And unintentionally, he has done more damages than expected…Every action, and every decision… could be blamed by the flawed past.

You thought life was about living monotonously, where in a definite point of your life you reach a certain step in the platform and as years passed you move forward in the next… until you get to the final stage—you’re not even sure what it is. For you, it was bound to be simple…and ruled. By your parents. Study-work-marriage-kids-grow older and older and much older. Plain and uncomplicated. Happiness? Passion? Dreams? Disregarded. From your parents’ perception, at least.

Until Jungkook came into your life. Certainly, he did. But it was you who saw him first. Serving liquor drinks to the customers while you were left astonished by the sight of a captivating figure in front of you, who in return did not even spare you a glance. You have never seen someone as beautiful as he is. And even though he depicts the exact imagery of the word perfect, you tried not to be allured by his exterior beauty. Only when you saw what’s inside—who he truly is, the character behind the beautiful face with a tall and athletic figure, was when he truly piqued your interest. Is it possible for a person to possess so much beauty in a single person?

Your happiness was ineffable when you married him. It was a simple civil wedding yet, the most important day in your life. Because in that day, your dream was sealed, legally. To be with him forever. Not even the objection of your parents could stop you.

For you, the only option is him. To have him or no one else.

It was a secret. Your relationship with him. Because you knew your parents would never approve of him. He was the complete opposite of the ideal husband they wanted you to marry. That’s why they highly objected when they came to know about your engagement with him. It was horrible and you felt sorry for him for he didn’t deserve the mistreatment he received from your parents.

Two years after, being married with him consisted a simple life. And anything but dull. You’re contented and happy. It is what you have dreamed of. Far from the life you had before—grandiose, yet a lonely one.

You got up much earlier as per usual, to prepare breakfast, and make two cups of coffee – one with milk for you and a strong black coffee for Jungkook. What’s unusual is that Jungkook is still snuggled up in the bed. Strange. Although you always get up earlier than him, he always is the one who wakes you up, first. He would stare at you for awhile, until he it’s time to wake you up and tickles you to pull you out of your slumber.

You remembered he came home very late last night. He must be extremely tired. It gives you pride how hardworking he is. At the same time, it worries you because knowing him, he tends to forget taking care of himself when he gets too engrossed with work. His cruel and unfortunate life taught him that.

With the hopes of achieving his dream, he worked himself out tirelessly to pay for his college expenses. The reason why it took him 6 years to obtain his degree.

A year ago, he was promoted as an IT specialist in the same company you’re working at. He was accepted few months after you both got married and a year after you were hired in.

Although both of you work in the same building, you barely see each other in your workplace. Their department’s office is floors away from yours. With that, you only see each other after work hours. It was reality. No two working couple can be together all the time. Citing your own parents.

Jungkook lets you be in charge of everything in the household–except paying the bills and taking care of the expenses. Even though you’re earning more than he does, he never allows you to pay for the things that you purchase. Arguing, he is the provider of the family so it’s only necessary for him to cater to your every need and want.

You quickly got ready while waiting for Jungkook to wake up. Warm shower. Dressed up. Make-up done. Blow dried hair. Almost an hour had passed. Still, Jungkook is sprawled in between the sheets.

You sat down on the bed on his side. He was lightly snoring, mouth ajar. Your heart instantly warms up as you stare at him lovingly. Reaching out to his muscled arm, you finally decided to pull him out of his slumber.

“Time to wake up, my sweet bun.” You cooed gently. You were not sure if he heard you. He loves sleep as much as he loves doing his passion for art when he finds the time. You felt bad cutting his sleep short because unfortunately, he needs to work. Both of you have to go to work. In time. You shake him lightly, an attempt to wake him up. You thought it was no use, until he stirred a little. He was slightly moving when you tangled your fingers in the seams of his soft locks, gathering a small bunch of strands to play in your fingers.

“Kookie,” you attempted, again. You knew, this time, it worked because he let out a low groan. Stirring. Eyes still shut. He looks exhausted even with his eyes closed. Worry suddenly engulfing you.

“You okay? Do you want me to call in sick for you?” He caught your wrist and kissed the inside of it.

“Don’t worry, Jagi. I’m not sick. Just a little more sleepy.” He replied, hoarsely. His morning voice. Tired eyes met yours, rewarding you with a lazy smile. Bunny teeth showing, eyes suddenly fluttered closed from his expression. All of a sudden, in one swift movement, he was pulling you closer to taste your lips. The sweet gesture only took a second or two but your inside still tingles as he pulled away with a grin not leaving his face. Mumbling a “I miss you,” against your hair and you only hummed in reply, as a light pigment of red tinged your cheeks.

“Up now, sleepyhead. Let’s eat before we go.”

You drove the car...which you never do. He was about to object when he saw you standing at the side of the driver’s seat, but you quickly shut him off threatening him of abstinence for as long as you want. Now, he was not happy about it. It was evident even with your eyes fixated on the road, you could see him in your peripheral vision. His lower lip protruded in a pout. Arms folded in his chest as he avoided an eye contact with you.

“What…” you let out a small laugh. He looks so adorable sporting a sulky face, yet so handsome wearing his suit and tie work uniform. Handsome enough to attract the attention of the female employees, male ones even. If not for the wedding band occupying his ring finger or the fact that he is married to one of the corporate lawyers of the company, you bet they would try to flirt with him senselessly. Well, some fearless colleagues of him still try, just behind your back of course.

“You always have your ways with everything, it’s unfair.” He softly whined. You chuckled. Couldn’t he just stop being cute? You wanted to pinch his cheeks and kiss his lips but you’re driving.

“That’s not true. I only decided to drive today because you looked tired. And you couldn’t have let me if you insisted.”

“How can I stand a chance, you threatened me with abstinence!” He huffed, eyes sneaking a glance to your direction. For someone who looks so mature and intimidating with an athletic body, he sure acts like a one big baby.

“Not my problem if you can’t control your needs.” Truth is, you don’t have much control to your own needs as opposed to your verbal threat. Somehow, you were scared he would really challenge your threat. He doesn’t need to know that.

“You should stop being so sexy and irresistible, then.”

In mock disbelief, you tilted your head in his direction.

“Wow, so now it’s my fault you’re weak enough to challenge me?” Playful smirk now gone, covering it with a serious expression.

He glared back as he contended, “I’m not weak. Want me to prove it?”

Your eyes rolled. “Physical strength, sure Jeon Jungkook.“

"I will drive the car, later. No more threats.” He demanded, softly. When he realized what he just said, he cleared his throat, nonchalantly. He wont be able to drive you home later. He has to work.

You muttered a faint, “Fine,” unaware that Jungkook is suddenly being consumed with guilt.

You two parted at the lobby. Jungkook bid you goodbye with a sweet peck in your lips. It lasted for only a millisecond. A familiar scene. Yet, employees inside lobby couldn’t help but watch it unfold, everyday.

~

Night came. You were waiting for your husband. It was lunch when you received a text from him telling you he’d be late again and he would ride a cab home. Now it was past midnight. Swamped with worry, you had checked your phone for the nth time looking for signs of him being just fine. Reaching for your phone, about to call him when you heard a soft ding in the area of the doorway. Indicating that the door had opened.

Finally, you sighed in relief. He’s home. With your heart still at an unsettling beats, you scurried your way through the door.

The first thing that you noticed is his exhaustion clearly evident like he was about to pass out. Your eyes skimmed his figure from head to toe, looking for any signs of inflicted bruises because you could almost see pain in his eyes. It was then you took in his appearance. His dress shirt slightly disheveled. Tie undone. Hair a bit messy. And eyelids drooping, almost covering half of his irises. Nonetheless, he still looks breathtaking. He could be snoring and you’ll find him adorable. Or stuffing his mouth full until his cheeks were swelling with too much food in his mouth and you would still be in awe at how gorgeous he is.

You went on your tiptoes and treated his plump lips a sweet peck. It was only meant to greet him because you missed him as the last time you saw him was in the lobby. However, he didn’t pull away. His hand finding the back of your neck, pulling you closer. Soft lips brushing against yours. He tilted his head, urging your mouth to give him more access. Dominance on his favor, he particularly bit your lip. A smirk adorning his face when a low moan emitted past your lips. He misses you, too. You can feel it through his lips inaudibly communicate with yours.

His gentle assaults to your lips didn’t last long but enough to make your senses tingles, and too blissful to make your mind spinning that left your heart fluttering. If not for his initiative to pull away, you didn’t think you would have the energy to stop where this would lead.

Sweet, he thought. He hummed in appreciation nipping your bottom lip. It was all he needed to somehow ease his beat-up body. If only love-making wouldn’t consume so much energy, he would’ve initiated it because, right now, he wants to feel you, to be inside you, to feed his soul with your love.

“Did you have dinner, yet?” He rested his forehead against yours. His eyes remained closed. Exhaustion etched on his flawless face. He didn’t want to you to witness this.

When you came in into his life, you have always had the goal of looking out for him. Something that he failed to do all his life. Ever since then, your first priority is his well-being. No one had cared for him the way you did for he was used to doing it with other people. And when he’s had a taste of your kind soul…so sweet, so addicting, how it reached even the darkest and deepest emotions kept  within him– he couldn’t just let you go, anymore. It was then he knew you were the one he was waiting for, the one whom he was preserving his love for. It doesn’t matter how hard this is for him. As long it’s for you and as long as you don’t witness this ever again. He reminded himself to tell you not to wait for him, anymore. To ease the guilt that was creeping into him.

“I just want to rest.” Kissing your temple, he headed upstairs. Your fingers interlaced with his, dragging you with him.

He only let go of your hand when both of you got inside your shared bedroom. A growing concern slowly engulfing you as you watched him moved languidly. Few seconds later that felt like hours for him, his bare back visible from your sight. Dress pants pooled in his feet as he scurried for something to change inside the closet. He seemed to be taking his time choosing an article of clothing. It was not the case, though. He was spacing out, barely functioning.

You couldn’t watch the scene, anymore. You went to his side, rescuing him from his dilemma. To prove his broken sense of his now battered mind to process an action, you easily picked a cotton pajamas and an over-sized cotton shirt both neatly stacked and folded right in front of him.

Throwing the pajamas in your shoulder, you gathered the cotton shirt in both hands. Fingers collecting both sides of the fabric vertically to easily maneuver his head on the hole. He didn’t even complain when you pushed it up on his eye level, instructing him to put it on his head. If it were in any other circumstances, he would whine and snatch the clothes in your hand, not wanting you to help him dress because he said he’s not a baby. Buttoning his dress shirt and helping him with his tie being the only exceptions.

Arms on the hole, pajamas tucked on his waist. He mumbled a thank you as he finally completed the simple task which in his beat-up state seemed to be a complicated one. He sauntered towards the bed.

The moment his back met the soft mattress, exhaustion finally hitting every core of his body. Groaning as the material felt so comforting and good against his worn out back.

“Jungkook,” A hand reached out to his arm, caressing the skin as if it could help him relieve his exhaustion. The smooth, velvety pads of your fingers felt like heaven against the burning muscle of his arm. It took the remaining energy of him to swallow down a moan threatening to come out from his throat.

“Hm?”

“You’re late again…”

“I’m fine, Jagi. It’s necessary for the project. Just until the launch and we’re good.”

“The launch? But that’s next month. Won’t that be too much–”

"Let’s sleep, my love. I’m too tired to function. We’ll talk tomorrow, is that okay with you?” You didn’t reply anymore knowing that you would eventually fail to properly talk to him in his state. You let out a sigh. You’re more than worried. What if he comes home tomorrow like this again? You were just concern for him. A weird feeling mixed with confusion consumes your mind as your inquiry was left hanging. As easy as that, thoughts started swirling in your mind like the devil it was.

With his eyes closed, he pat the space beside him, silently commanding you to lie down. Once you occupied the space, he lightly pulled you against him. Your cheek pressed down his chest, his lips pecking your temple before he nuzzled your hair. You closed your eyes with a heavy heart. Hand stuffing the material of his shirt out of habit. Seconds after he breathily confessed his love for you and just about you return it back, breathy snores were already coming out of his mouth.

At least, he didn’t forget. It was his habit to tell you that before you two fall asleep every night. In some nights, he would mumble sweet nothings with his love confession as his conclusion. In other nights, it was more than that. He would show you…once, twice, and more until your lungs hurt because you were chasing your next breath.

To your dismay, this went on for days. And the talk that he promised never happened. You were disappointed because this is the first time that it happened. Is it really possible to have shifts this long? The current law about labor only prescribes no longer than 12 hours for an employee a day. Suspicions started to cloud your mind. Maybe…it’s something else? You were quick to shake the thought away. He didn’t give you a reason to doubt him even though his time spent at work made you see and talk to him less. And you couldn’t just barge in inside the HR department demanding answers why your husband is having more than 12 hours of shift. Rumors spread like wildfire in your workplace. If you let your emotions take over, you’d do just that and in no time talks about you and Jungkook will be the next hot topic in your workplace.

It should not surprise you that he is so dedicated on his work. He’s never not hardworking with everything he does. Even with the part time jobs he’s had in the past. And in spite of his longer shifts at work, he remained caring and sweet to you, regardless of the lack of intimacy. He does not forget to give you a kiss before you two part in the lobby of the company and greet you in at night. He did not miss the chance tell you sweet nothings just before he’s put to slumber, despite how tired he was. You have no right to be suspicious. He was only working so hard for the sake of you, right? You forced the thought in your mind as an overwhelming feeling of turmoil envelops you so bad you were losing the ability to think sensibly. Keeps you awake at night until the early hours of morning. You don’t even know why you couldn’t just ask him what’s been bugging you instead of letting it eat your inner peace ever so slowly.

His consistent sweet gestures, reassurance and simply his presence you barely see kept you sane, temporarily.

It was one of those nights that you started to doubt his whereabouts when your nose caught a hint of alcohol. You knew, in particular, he didn’t drink. He gave you a kiss and you failed to taste a lingering liquor or any unpleasant flavor from his mouth. Aside from the alcohol, you did catch a mixture of other scents you cannot even pinpoint where he got it from. Did his workmates drink while they work? You were so confused and bothered at the same time that a literal dull ache sat in your head from thinking too much.

You followed him as he went straight to the bedroom. Unlike his hasten long strides, you were taking your time. Contemplating how to bring up your discovery.

His work clothes already changed into a sleepwear when you got inside. He was getting ready to sleep. You didn’t expect him to do anything else aside from sleeping. But you have to speak with him, now, or you’re not sure what it would cost you from prolonging your own agony.

“Can we talk?”

Jungkook was surprised with the tone of your question. He raised an eyebrow in confusion as he took in your presence. Is there something wrong? He admitted he has been busy with his work that your nightly conversations before you two sleep were halted. And now it seemed he was missing something. He promised to himself he would make it up to you when he saves enough money. He will take you to the island you’ve been googling about, even how expensive it is.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know, Jungkook. You tell me. Why do you smell alcohol?”

You saw his face stilled. His body went rigid. You couldn't quite decipher what his expression is giving away. Is it guilt?

He tried to conceal his surprise hearing your inquiry. You weren't supposed to know and he wasn’t supposed to tell you. He knows how being at the pub owned by his cousin became a sensitive issue for you. Right after Jungkook graduated, you asked him not to work there, anymore.

He cleared his throat before speaking, “I…uh…went to Brews.”

Your eyes narrowing at his answer. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Jin’s bar?” You pressed more. You were growing irritated realizing you know so little of his whereabouts, especially when he’s been to a place flocked with sexual predators. What else you don’t know about?

“I’m- I’m sorry…It was so sudden–”

“You could’ve at least called your waiting wife…”

“I didn’t– didn’t know you’d wait. I told you not to.” It was true. You received a text with the same reason he was using since the past few days. Should you really just not wait just because it’s what he told you? You want to make sure he’s okay and see it for yourself. That’s the only assurance you want to be at peace, especially knowing how Jungkook can go beyond his limit when it comes to work. A memory of him being rushed to the hospital because he couldn’t breathe properly all of a sudden while he was in his late night shift at Brews crossed your mind. The doctor said it doesn’t have anything to do with his heart. It was over-fatigue. And you’re scared it could happen again with the amount of time he’s been spending at work. And his unplanned meet-up with Jin, or so he said it was.

“You can’t just assume I won’t. Jungkook, I’m worried about you. You can’t expect me to sleep peacefully until I see you in one piece.”

“Jagi… I’m sorry…”

“We’re barely talking now. And I don’t know what’s really going on.”

“We’re fine, right? And you have nothing to worry about. I’m fine,”

“Are you really just working…or you have other plans you don’t tell me about? Just like your little meet-up with Jin…” You contested. His eyes in a matter of seconds turning darker, displeased with your answer. Jungkook felt offended as your inquiry is taking in a different route. He easily picked up what you were trying to do. You were silently accusing him. He may be keeping a secret from you, but he would never do that to you. Not when his madly in love with you that he couldn’t see himself living without you in the future.

“Are yo--what do you think I was doing?” Your determination to confront him deteriorating when you meet his burning gaze. Lump forming in your throat, making you suddenly mute. The thoughts that were consuming your mind suddenly gone as you searched for something to support your implication. “You think I’m cheating on you?” It is unfair for him. He has been nothing but caring to you, showing you how much you mean to him and he was not perfect– far from it. But he only wants you to trust him.

“No! Just…” You fumbled with words to say, “You were slipping away from me. What else would I think? You smelled alcohol and you didn’t tell me you’ve been to see Jin.” Sorrow filled you up that you feel your heart could burst from the possibilities that there might be someone who could fill your spot in his life.

“Have I not shown you how I feel? Is it not enough that you couldn’t put your trust on me?” As hard as it was spoken, it hit you just like that. Like a brick crushed against a concrete wall so hard it broke into pieces. It was your doubt that was crushed into crumbles. Once again, you were lost of words to say. Your head lowered in defeat. He could read your apology by the looks of your expression even if it was left unspoken.

“I…” Your mouth closed as you find your voice retreating from hesitance. The need to let out an apology dissipating into the thin air, right in front of you. Blinking your eyes, as if to free them from the moisture threatening to spill out.

“Rest your mind and trust me. Don’t ever doubt me, again. We won’t talk about this anymore.” The dull ache that’s been sitting in his heart because of his insecurities now replaced with a new kind, seeing you question his faith in your marriage. Afraid of where this confrontation would lead, he has to stop it before you get to know more even if it means showing you a cold facade. It wasn’t the right time for you to know.

“Jungkook…” You wanted to say sorry despite your inner voice telling you he’s hiding something.

“Sleep, Y/n.”

You felt so disappointed to yourself. More so that he became upset with you. He’s right. You didn’t have a reason to doubt him. It was just your mind making things up.

An idea suddenly crossed your mind, and just how fast it came, you were quick to shut it off your mind. But… would it hurt you to consider it? What else would it cost you more than Jungkook’s disappointment to you to talk to one of his colleagues without his knowledge? Is it right to do it?

Even if it isn’t, you realized you need to do it. For your own peace.

You whispered his name, wanting to apologize for stirring up an argument, unintentionally. But he didn’t answer. You failed to see if he’s still awake because his back was turned to you. In grief, you decided to sleep all your thoughts away. Hoping that tomorrow will be better in your favor.

~

The following day, you decided to talk to Taehyung– Jungkook’s closest colleague in the company. You texted him to meet you during the break. You couldn’t even eat because of what happened last night. Might just used the time to talk to his workmate.

A weird feeling sat still in your stomach as you see the tall, handsome and young workmate and close friend of your husband approaching in your direction. He bowed to you in respect. You did the same.

You were never good at reading people. But you could easily decipher the confusion dancing around his face. That you never meet him without Jungkook, and now you requested for him to meet you up out of nowhere behind Jungkook’s back. Maybe Jungkook would eventually know because Taehyung’s loyalty lies on Jungkook just as expected.

“Hey. I’m not sure why you need to see me. But it sounded urgent. So…” Taehyung intentionally left his statement hanging.

“No, it wasn’t but I need to talk to you about something. Maybe we should go outside?” You offered as you didn’t want others within your workplace to hear your conversation.

“Sure. Why do I get the feeling this is something serious?” He joked. You looked at him meaningfully, before you headed out of the lobby, remaining silent. A small cafe sits across the building, and you were going that way having Taehyung tailed you behind.

“Uhh.. is it? I’m sorry about that. I’m guessing it’s about Jungkook? Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah, we are.” You couldn’t just tell him you had upset your husband last night because you were suspecting him of something you cannot put to words. As you reached the end of your short journey, you entered the glass walled cafe. Taehyung, being several inches taller than you allowed him to see all the tables from his eye level, made him quickly choose a seat for two and maneuvered you towards the table.

“Maybe, we can order something before we…uh talk?” You offered. Hands fidgeting, nerves consuming your system. Why are you even nervous? You’re only going to ask him. It doesn’t mean your suspicion will be confirmed

“I’m fine, I just had my lunch before I came to see you. What about you?”

“No… I uh couldn’t…” Eat. The word was left hanging at the tip of your tongue. It would be embarrassing to let him know you had lost your appetite to eat since you’ve started getting suspicious of your husband.

Clearing your throat, “So…uh…you may have known that Jungkook is taking longer shifts for almost a week now. Right?” Taehyung nodded, telling you he has an idea of you were talking about.

“Uh…most of the team are. I was not one of them, fortunately. It must have been hard for them. They said the bosses are demanding tight confidentiality with the project after a hacker tried to get an info.” You heard that same story during a meeting, a week ago. So your husband is really just working? Taehyung’s expression remained serious, no sign of pretense was showing. Or maybe it was just you trying to convince yourself there was really no ordeal going on.

“That was what I heard. But, you guys haven’t been out, have you? Like…hang out or something?” Taehyung may be that innocent charmer from the IT department, and avoids drama in the workplace at all cost. But your question put him off guard. He quickly caught an implication.

“Not with me, no. Perhaps… are you worried for something else? You feel something is up? I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. You should talk to him.” You already tried and he ended up being mad at you, you argued mentally. Perhaps, there really is nothing to be suspicious of? That it was just your mind playing tricks on you? That Jungkook really is just at the company until after midnight together with his workmates in an inhumanely shift?

Suddenly a wash of exhaustion coming over you, your shoulders slowly slumping. This was going nowhere.

“I know. I just… Can you… just not mention this to him?”

“Of course, I wont. I hope you two settle whatever this is before it gets worse.”

“Thank you,Taehyung. And I apologize for bothering you… it was just me being paranoid.”

“That’s not a problem. You don’t have to worry, though. Your husband loves you.”

You heaved a long sigh. See, there’s nothing. It’s just a stupid nonsense accusation. It was a dead end.

In spite of wanting to see him and try to clear things up, you’re scared you will upset him more or that another argument happens.

When Taehyung left, you went straight to the restroom. Locking yourself up in one of the cubicles, needing an outlet to let all the emotions that have been sitting there– in your heart. You couldn’t stop the tears despite your efforts of trying to wipe your cheeks dry.

He loves you. He never fails to remind you how much you mean to him. Every night and every chance that he get, he tells you how he feels. The way he kisses you, touches you… gentle, and full of passion. And when he makes love to you…it is a blissful moment tinge with his possessiveness marking you as his which lingers to your skin, to your lips. He is your only lover. Yet, you knew it was different. The way he did it with you is different from his past experiences. 

Your overwhelming emotions let the moist in your eyes flow uncontrollably. And as you fall deeper, submerged through your emotions, a slight spell of dizziness washed through you. And it made you snap from reality. You had to stop. In that moment, the urge to see the person occupying your thoughts all this time is so powerful that you didn’t realize too soon as your fingers quickly typed in a text for him until it was too late, your thumb had already pressed the send button. To: Husband Hey You didn’t expect him to reply right away. Or even give you one. Maybe, you can call him later, instead? You were fine with whenever. Just… you need to see him. To your surprise, he replied seconds after you pressed the send button. From: Husband Jagi? Hey, you alright? To: Husband I’m fine, just want to see you. Can I? From: Husband Right now? To: Husband If you’re not busy… From: Husband Where are you? I’ll come to you. To: Husband The café across the building. From: Husband Okay, Jagi. I’ll come down in 15. Reading his last reply, you straightened yourself up. Trying as much as you can to wipe your tear stained cheeks clean. Heaving a sigh, you headed in front of the lengthy mirror thankful there was no one else in the restroom to see your mess of a face. You had to be decent enough when he sees you. You shouldn’t have cried too much, now you couldn’t hide your puffy eyes even with your extreme efforts. And despite using a darker shade of eyeshadow to put some color to your eyelids, it was no use. You hoped Jungkook wouldn’t so much as noticed the evidence of your little episode.

When you walked out of the restroom, you went to the table positioned at the farthest corner of the rectangular shaped cafe because it was the least public seat.

Everything was okay. You and Jungkook were happy and contented together—in the midst of a blissful marriage for almost two years now. Sure there were arguments and petty fights here and there. But this—you never experienced this before, ever since you got into a relationship with him. That you sense, even in the slightest bit, that there is something going on.

It was not just what your instinct telling you that he is keep something from, it was also him that works himself tirelessly. Seeing him how he much he pays attention to his job brings you nostalgia. The same Jungkook you met back when you were still studying and he was balancing two or three part time jobs and few classes in college. He wanted to finish his degree and he did. But it was never easy. Life never did go smoothly on his favor, as opposed to yours. He had to earn everything he had and wanted. Even his basic needs were deprived of him. He was lucky if he had three meals in a day. Because he was always in short of money and he had to pay for college fees, his food allowances were sacrificed. Jimin, his bestfriend since high school, told you that. Your husband would never share that with you. It broke you down…how a beautiful person and a pure hearted soul could experience so much miseries in this world. You wish you could take all his pain away…if that were possible.

That same Jungkook was resonating in him, again. It was agonizing to watch him suffer.

“Hey…Jagi…” A familiar voice called you softly, pulling you out of your abstraction. He was standing there right in front of you. Smile adorning his face, like he was happy to see you. You didn’t say anything. Lost for words. What would you even say to him? You made him upset. Until he bends over to plant a small peck in you cheek. You blinked, not really sure how you’re supposed to act after what happened last night.

Only after a few seconds of silence between the two of you when you decided to whisper, “Hi,” and to your dismay, it came out awkward. In the hopes of trying to send him an indication that his presence gives you comfort, you tried to smile sincerely. Because you were really happy to see him. Having thoughts about his past is just not helping you to lighten up your mood just as much as you want him to see.

He sat on the chair across your seat, staring intently at you. In a matter of seconds, his smile was replaced into a worry tainting his beautiful face. You couldn’t stand the intensity of his gaze so you shifted your attention to your fingers.

“Jagi…have you been crying? Are you alright?” He knows you like the back of his hand. Your eyes easily becomes puffy and red when you cry. Looking at you now, he could already tell even if he didn’t word out his thought. After the little confrontation, you two didn’t exchange words with each other since then. He felt bad shutting you off last night and he was too ashamed to initiate a conversation earlier this morning. You avoided him in the morning like the plague, anyway. So he didn’t expect receiving a text from you so suddenly.

“Hey… I’m sorry–”

“Why are you saying sorry? It’s me who should apologize.” You sniffed, and seeing you like this triggered his guilt— regret, and grief intensifying the forlorn emotion so strong it was making his insides weak, helplessly. He watched you wiped your tears in haste.

“I made you feel this way, didn’t I? I hate it… I hate seeing you like this. Please stop crying, Jagi. It’s making me weak.” Witnessing you in this state with so much vulnerability right in front of him is the last thing he wants to see, especially if it was him that had caused it. He could beg on his knees if it is the only way to make you stop.

“I’m fine. I just needed to see you and… to apologize. After what happened last night… I wanted us to make up.”

“You have nothing to apologize.”

“But…you’re mad!” You quietly exclaimed, interjecting his statement.

“I was, yes. But to myself. It’s my fault. You wouldn’t be like this if I didn’t give you a reason to.”

“I’m sorry…” He didn’t speak. Yet, his eyes that had never left you since he came here stared at you with so much passion that he was almost soothing your sorrow away. Almost.

“D-Do you…do you trust me?” His voice was meant to be calm and tender. It broke, as fear was slowly consuming his heart. That you couldn’t give him answer. Too afraid to admit you couldn’t put your trust on him, anymore.

Nodding your head more than twice while breathily replying, “Yes,” as if to give emphasis to the intensity of your answer from his query. He was quick in his feet to gather you in his arms. Muttering sweet nothings to your ear, too engrossed with his emotions to care about the eyes around that watched them in awe perceiving them as a lovely couple on a sweet daze in the early stage of their romance.

Relief washed over him. Now he just needed to work harder to save up and end his wife’s sorrow.

~

Jungkook You were asleep when he got home that night.

He was relieved you didn’t see how beat up he was. He was relieved you didn’t see him getting home at two in the morning. He didn’t want to make it harder for you just as it was for him

Jungkook almost crawled his way to the bedroom. He’s been aching to touch you and kiss you. Despite seeing you everyday, it was not enough to keep himself from missing you. The thought of you gives him the strength to wake up everyday. You are his determination to work harder to give you a decent life. It may not be luxurious like the life you had with your family. But he’s trying to provide everything for you. It’s his duty to worry about making ends meet as the provider of this family.

To fulfill his promise of keeping that happiness to you is to do the things you want. It was one fine day a month ago, you brought up your desire of wanting to have a late post-marriage honeymoon with him, since you never had one before. He didn’t miss the sparkle in your eyes as
 you talk about your excitement going to a beautiful island with him. His eyes also never missed how your face fell when he told you he couldn’t leave work, yet. It felt like his heart was torn into pieces seeing how you’ve gone quiet and caught you later on sniffling quietly in the bathroom.

He never felt so helpless in that moment. He couldn’t just tell you the truth. That he cannot afford to bring you to Maldives. That was what he discovered on your laptop’s search history. Although he was unsure, he promised you. You two will have a vacation. He just needs to look for a part time work to make it real. He agonizingly endured the past exhaustive days in order to save up. Though he was not sure when he would get enough money for the vacation he’s planning for the two of you.

His arms wrapped around your body. Nuzzled your hair to smell your lavender scented shampoo. You’ve been using it for quite some time after he told you he loves the scent. He whispered a sweet, "I love you” before sleep consumes him.

~

It was Sunday. You were not supposed to wake up earlier than usual as it was a day off of work. This is the only time you get to wake up whenever you want. However, a blaring sound of a phone ringing stirred you up much earlier than you want. You tried to search for the source of the sound from your position. However, you can only move your head as warm muscular arms were wrapped around you that restricted your desire to get up. You carefully pried his arms away not to wake him up just yet, slowly and carefully wiggling your way out of the bed.

It was Jungkook’s that was placed on the coffee table near the closet door. Reaching out for the phone, you quickly pressed the answer button, hoping not to wake him up. You answered it without knowing the caller’s name as you walked towards the far corner of the bed. You peered behind your shoulders, your husband remained still between the sheets. No sign of consciousness just yet. Sighing in relief, you pressed the phone against your ear.

“Hel—” The caller interrupted before you even got the chance to speak.

“Jungkook-ah! Don’t worry about your shift tonight, I found a temporary staff.”

Caught off guard, you blinked. He sounded familiar. W-what did he say? What’s going on? Consciousness slowly coming back to you as your mind trying to process his words.

The moment you recognized the owner of the voice, it’s almost so hard to utter his name. You wished it wasn’t him because it would make sense. “Seokjin?”

“Wait—oh is this Y/N? Is Jungkook there?”

“Yes its, Y/N. My husband is still asleep. I’m not quite sure what you mean?” you muttered, confused. And anger so quick in fueling within you, that it was blazing enough to hear your insides crumble into ashes as you finally comprehend the news he unintentionally spilled to the person your husband has kept it from.

“Oh, just tell him he doesn’t have to work tonight.” Even though you heard him the first time, tiny pieces of hope still tries to convince you that you didn’t hear him right. Last time you checked, Jungkook is not working in his cousin’s bar. He would never lie to you, right?

“Work? In Brews?” You whispered shakily. It makes sense…just as how much your mind is contradicting what he said, it made sense. 

“You—you don’t know? Oh, I’m sorry about that. I’m not sure why he didn’t tell you. All he asked is to give him a part time here.” You felt his sudden concern. Yet, it was overpowered by your husband’s betrayal. So this is what he was keeping to you. He lied to you?

An urge to throw up the muffin you had barely touch last night suddenly wants to surface from your throat. Your hand flew up in your mouth as your chest constricted from so much emotions. It took so much of you to choke the sob threatening to spill from your mouth any second now.

“He’s working as a what?” It took everything in you to calmly utter another question. Because you didn’t know what you were capable of, when your emotions are at bay. You didn’t want to regret when it’s too late.

“The usual, bartending. I hope you’re not mad. Anyways, if you want I’ll tell him not to come anymore if it worries you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell him myself. Thanks.” You quickly ended the call. A million thoughts reeling inside your mind, tormenting you with the reality. It must be a dream— no, a nightmare. And you just wanted to wake up. In his arms. Where you feel safe and unharmed. His arms that comfort you, and protect you from the world. But here you were, awake. Meters away from the man, who you thought could protect you from any harm, is also the same man who could inflict so much pain in your heart right now.

Staring at his sleeping figure snuggled up in the bed, you fought back the tears that were trying to come out. You’ve done a lot of crying since the past few days and now it made you realized just how weak you really are.

You can feel your whole body shaking from the burning anger. You didn’t know how long you were trying to calm yourself. Why did he have to keep this from you? Why did he make himself suffer? You felt so betrayed, you’re afraid you cannot control yourself from breaking. No—you were breaking. The rational in you tried to convince you to hear his reasons. That maybe, it would help to understand his action—his lies. Did he want to intentionally hurt? Knowing that bending over your agreement with him would emotionally cause you pain?

You remained glued to the corner of the room, turning your gaze away from him. You decided to go out of the bedroom to breathe some air despite the fury that’s telling you to wake him up and confront him about his lies. It was not just about him hiding it from you, it was the fact that he went back working at Jin’s bar when you asked not to, years ago…

When you met Jungkook, you realize he was not just a part-time student and a bartender with a pretty face. Everyone likes him. Unlike you who has few friends given that you are aloof and introvert, he has a lot of friends despite being shy and reserved. He was not only liked by people, he was also everyone’s favorite. By everyone means even the customers of Brews– especially female ones. You witnessed with your own eyes how eager the female predators were in trying to gain his attention. Even so much as offering him a huge amount of money to make him date any of them. Everyone’s advances were turned down. He was polite to turn them down. They were customers, after all. You didn’t like it one bit, especially the sexual advances happening here and there being Jungkook as the prey didn’t dissipate. You never questioned his loyalty, because you felt the sincerity of his feelings to you. It was the bold women who kept hitting on him despite turning them down that bothered you.

Working there again behind your back, brings you pain more than it fuels your ire. Why did he want to go back there, anyway? You don’t even think it’s for money. You both have it securely in the joint account you opened two years ago. He always tells you he takes care of everything–even the household expenses. It was the reason why you saved your own salary securely in the bank for you both have a spare when he runs out of it and for the future—kids and all that stuff.

Suddenly, you heard a movement. And you knew it was him because there’s no one else in the apartment other than you and him. He’s awake now. You saw him first before he did. You were at the kitchen. And when he found you, he made his way to you. He was half naked, and if you weren’t so consumed with intense forlorn emotions, you would have adored how tone his body is despite being married to you for more than two years.

His eyes smiled before it reached down his mouth seeing. He was about to bend over to plant a kiss against your mouth to greet you, his mouth only millimeters away from yours when you turned your head in another direction. Lips ending up pressed in your cheek. He slowly stepped back in confusion. Seeing a blank face painted in your face, he sensed the tension slowly building up in the thin air despite being unaware of what you just discovered.

“Is something wrong?” He tried to reach for you. A habit of his when he sense an argument is coming, thinking that it would help ease your mind.

You held out his phone.

“Jin said you don’t have to work at your shift tonight.” The moment you dropped the bomb, he knew it was over for him. There would be nothing but to face your impending ire.

You calmly placed the phone in the counter top before you turned around. In a lightning speed, he caught your arm, placing you much closer against him. You couldn’t stand his touch. Not when you’re fuming with anger and broken in sorrow. You could just melt down and forgive him right there and then.

“Jagi…hear me out please.” You tried to push him away. And you know you have no match with his strength. His frame towered your body. Arms firmly holding your shoulders. His eyes sought your raging gaze. The same eyes that showed you so much passion, love, happiness are now staring with so much emotions. One of which you were able to decipher was the guilt. Jungkook knows he has no match against your steely expression. You were standing so close to him. Yet, your eyes were giving it all. It was your heart that was burning with so much pain.

“Don’t touch me.” You gritted out. Jungkook didn’t release his hold of you. Afraid that you might vanished in front of his eyes. You were just so consumed with your anger that you don’t care how he begged for your attention to listen to him. “Jagi, please… Just give me a minute.“

"No. A lie is a lie. Let me go, Jungkook.” You seethed, yet so calmly spoken. As you pushed him one more time, he loosened his grip against your body which gave you the opportunity to step away from him. And for the first time of the day, you looked straight into his eyes. His eyes danced with so much regret, and fear as you shoot him with emotions he never wanted to see coming from you.

“Please… Y/N…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” his hands pushed forward as if he was trying to reach out to you— except they were frozen mid-air. Not moving in between the space of the two of you.

“You didn’t mean to what? To lie? To hide this from me? I thought we agreed you wouldn’t come back there to work.”

“I’m sorry, Jagi. I know you’re worried. That would be the last time, I—I promised.”

“I just don’t understand what is this for-”

“You know how I feel about providing everything for you. I just want to be able to give everything that you need.” You took in every word he said, in the hopes of being able to understand his side. And as you try harder, his words, no more than a consolation, only felt like a knife slicing down the hope of you being needed in return by the same person you have been needing of.

“It’s all about you providing for me? Then what about me… I’m working too… to help you. To save up for our future.”

"I need you, by my side, as my wife…”

It’s true. He needs you and only you. With this thought in mind, he failed to understand what you simply hoped for as his wife. He failed to see that all this time in this marriage, you were waiting for him to treat you equally as rhe one he can lean on in everything he takes care of. Sure he lets you in charge of the household—cooking, buying groceries, doing the laundry like you wanted to, preparing and decorating the house for special occasions— it was just that. Everything else were left on his capable, experienced hands. Not letting you have a glimpse of the cruelty of living a simple life…

“We’re married and that means the two of us should work together. Why do you always try to carry everything? Do you even know how that makes me feel? It was worse than how my parents controlled me all my life.”

“It was not my intention. I want to give you a decent life, if I can’t give you a grand life.”

“I told you over and over I don’t care about my life in the past! You’re my husband, not some guardian who has to tend to my every need. I also want to feel like you need me like I do to you,” You sighed, “Why are we going back to this discussion anyway, you’re not even listening to me.” More than the anger that kept fueling inside you as the two of you skirted deeper into the confrontation, it was out of frustration that made you snapped the words that continued to spill forward.

“When have I not, I’m always eager to listen to whatever you say. It keeps me sane to know I’m making you happy.”

“Then why did you lie?! We’ve agreed you won’t ever take another job–more so at Brews.”

“I just want to save up–”

You were growing more and more exhausted as a wave of confusion hit you. There were too many emotions flooding your mind. Too much for you to take it all in. Now, you just want to vanish for a moment in the hopes of all your miseries fading with you. You don’t want any of it, anymore. “Why do you want to save up? We have the money…”

“I wanted to give you the holiday, to surprise you for our wedding anniversary. Isn’t that enough reason to save up?” Just like that, your heart felt like it was being ripped out of you. And you were just there letting it unfold you how he forwardly disregard the money that you worked so hard of… for the two of you, for your future family.

“Why did I even put all the money I worked hard for in our account if we don’t ever use it? I’m done with this argument. I get it, you don’t need me when it comes to my money.” You were about to turn around, away from him. Away from this all because the more you argue with him, the greater the damage it’s inflicting on you. You feel so stuffy with the pain sitting in your heart. Having a glimpse of the sky, and the sun might calm you down. You want to go outside. But he stopped you even before you took a step away from him, catching your arm in his hand.

“Wh-what? What do you mean? I told you to save them up. They are yours.” As if his words have burned you, you tried so hard to distance yourself more away from him. Full of pain and exhaustion, you let out a shaky breathe. As if a single ounce of air could take away all that’s hurting you. You wished the world would stop spinning so you can turn back the time…before all of this had happened. Far from the ordeal that is standing so tall and so destructively between you and Jungkook. Now you have to face the reality. That all this time, you were never really wanted by someone you love so sincerely, so passionately. Just like how it was in the past. With your parents.

Slowly recollecting the past, you recounted, “You know, I saved up one time when I was in middle school to buy my parents gifts for Christmas. I could buy them that with their own money, but I chose to save up because I thought it would be more meaningful if I sacrificed a little for them. And when Christmas came, my gifts were left unopened under the Christmas tree like the rest of the gift decorations. The next day, all of the gifts were thrown away including the ones I bought for them. It shattered me, because I didn’t know the same people who nurtured me to be someone could also make me feel useless.”

“Y/n...“

Silence.

Despite your efforts of understanding him, you failed to see the truth in his eyes for you were so hurt with his lies, with the past resurfacing like a slap on your face...you failed to understand that his action was caused by his fear. He was lacking, said your parents. Their judgment has been branded on his mind since then. And one day, when you get tired of this simple life that took so much of him for you to have– you will leave him. To go back with the life where you have everything or be with someone who deserves you more than he does. It was that fear that drove him to take all the hardship away from you. Because you were not used to it. You were that delicate flower in a garden full of grasses that needs to be taken care of cautiously. Jungkook is used to the pain and miseries of the world. So he took all of it. To keep you from blooming. To keep you from giving beauty to the garden that is his life.

Now he’s watching you lose your beautiful petals–all because of his flawed perception. You might be as tender as a flower, but Jungkook’s love made you grow that you learned to be strong and in time, his love made you strong.

“That’s how I feel, right now.”

Your life, even before you were born, was already planned by your parents. Guiding–more like controlling your every move, every decision, every chapter in you life. Everything they wanted for you is the only option. Yours are not even heard of, or spoken. In the process, your passion for writing was long forgotten. And you didn’t complain. You thought you had no right to. Every need, every want and more were offered to you all your life. You had friends who struggled to live independently because their parents couldn’t afford to support them or who are simply poor that eating three meals in a day cannot be guaranteed. So you appreciated everything you have, until it was all there’s left from you. That simply living was breaking you apart.

Your parents love you, as much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise. The only offspring of their marriage born after 3 years of trying, and consulting from medical practitioners. It was the reason why your life was programmed only with their desires. You understand, it was to secure your future because you’re the only they have. As cliché as it sounds, you were the obedient daughter every parent wants. Were.

Years passed. You learned. Academically? Excellently, yes. But that’s only it. Perhaps, it sounds fulfilling and a fruit of pride for your parents. Deep inside, rotten. With passion and dreams kept deep through your soul, withering. Nothing else can grow it back to life. Or is there?

The only thing that kept you sane was your interest in learning things. Your favourites— history and
 art. You explored your way through libraries and museums. Your sources of both distraction and temporary happiness.

College came and taught you more than what academic lectures and books have offered. You realized your situation is no ordinary. Because you met a lot of rich students along the way but they have lived differently, on the path that they wanted to take. Unlike you.

People may have perceived your family as the perfect one, and you as a someone who has everything. They were wrong. You missed that one thing all your life. Freedom. And so, one day, you tried to negotiate it with your parents. To live on your own while you finish your degree. They objected, you were not surprised. But the thirst of freedom needs to be quenched for your own sanity. For the first time in life, you didn’t talk to them for days, even weeks. Until one day, they went to your dorm. Fetching you for Christmas break which you had no plan of spending with them. You were supposed to spend it by yourself. To explore, to find yourself.

They tried to convince you to go home. Even offered you a new car. Ridiculous. Nothing can make you changed your mind.

Until they agreed. Favouring your request. But their condition, you will only live independently after graduation.

“I just want to feel needed,” You whispered. Like a dam that couldn’t hold too much water flowing from the stream, tears pooled out of your eyes, blurring your sight. The hole that has slowly healed from years of Jungkook’s effort, you could feel it, again. Slowly breaking you. Is it impossible? For a person to make you whole, and for him to break you again? The worst part is you couldn’t hate him for it.

“I do… I need you, Y/n…please…stop it now. I couldn’t stand seeing you like this.” Jungkook was not sure what he was pleading for. He wanted to take all your pain away. It was too much for him to take watching you break right in front of his eyes. He promised you. That it would be different. Living with him would be different. That he would do everything in his power to make you happy, which you never was all your life. In the process of keeping his promise, he realized he was only doing the exact opposite of it. He was making you suffer more… and now it was breaking you.

You nodded. Even though you’re not sure, anymore. He wouldn’t lie to you, right? He needs you, you wanted to believe what he said. And you smiled bitterly just as you remembered that the cause of this dispute were his lies.

He cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. He whispered pleadingly, “I need you…”

It was a rough year in law school when you met Jungkook. It was your first time going to a bar. Jihyo, your friend, persuaded you to go with her. Saying you needed to unwind because it was the stress that caused you quite a few failed exams. Your freedom? So close to your fingers. Just one more year before your graduation.

But meeting him was the plot twist of your life. Suddenly, it was him that you wanted, it was him your soul is craving for.

The deep, dark hole in you that scarred your whole being slowly healed. Jungkook was there, providing you with everything you didn’t know you were craving for all your life.

His personality a breath of fresh air. He was older than you but seems younger by heart. He is beautiful—perfect even. But not arrogant. Adventurous but responsible. Struggling in life but never giving up. He’s had flings but preserves love for the right person.

And then there was you. Nothing you have to be proud of. Nothing you can brag and share with him just as much as he did to you. You learned a lot from him—generally, in life, through his stories.

He’s the light to your dark, and dull life. He is everything that you’re not, but everything that you need of. And the one you desire. He taught you everything he has, and in the process, you fell hard. You knew it was happening. The moment that you laid eyes on him, it was over for you. Only months after dating with him without your parents’ knowledge that you accepted the fact. That he has owned your heart since the first time.

He was there. He caught you. Cherished you. Loved you with all he has, in the most tender way he know. For him, he has nothing to offer but his love… so fierce… the only thing he can give to you sincerely… so deep even your soul craved for him. And as delicate as you are, you have loved him with the same amount of intensity as his. For him, it is enough. Your love for him is enough to see the beauty in life. For him, it is you.

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mintseesaw © 2019

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A/N: Let me know if there are any typos and errors as I wouldnt find the time to edit this just yet