#and what about hips that aren’t round or violined.

[coffentyme]

Hey google, how do I reconcile my gender dysphoria and my idea of what’s considered to be an attractive and desirable man?

… Google?

Hello???

[sweetbunnykook]

Utopia (M)

Adopted!JK x Detective!Noona - Oneshot/Drabble

Warning: taboo relationship (FYI: JK is in college here!), LIGHT SMUT, angst 

Word: 1,200

Synopsis: Jungkook won’t let you deny him any longer.

Jungkook watches you from the bed as you shrug your long ebony wool coat off your shoulders. The blinds are shut, the bedroom door is locked, and the old yellowing lamp – the only light source in the room – is dimmed. He relaxes further into the cloud soft mattress as you sigh and roll your neck from side to side, your exhaustion just as evident as your frustration even in semi-darkness.

He knows all about it. He knows that you enjoy dragging the blunt end of that clear glass dildo you keep hidden in the bottom drawer up your soaking wet clit when he’s working in his own room. He can smell your cunt when you’re sitting under the shower drowning in shame as he tip toes into your bedroom and smells your panties and damp sheets, relieving himself with the sound of your pleasurable sighs and hums from the bathroom. His skin prickles with sweat and his eyelids droop as he takes you all in – your deep chestnut locks, your caramel feline eyes, your lithe fingers unscrewing your earrings before you lay the gold gently into a cushioned box.

Jungkook meets your eyes when you glance back at him, eyes falling down to his uncovered chest for a second before you turn away. His pajama bottoms – the only item of clothing save for his boxers underneath – hangs low at his hips. If you looked longer, you would be able to count the amount of hairs that followed his happy trail.

It dawns on you that Jungkook – looking like this – doesn’t intend to leave and sleep in his own room tonight. After what happened weeks ago, after you let yourself be carried away by a few glasses of wine and let him have a taste of your needy cunt, you’ve been adamant about sleeping alone. You’re fine alone – or at least partially as your toys keep you company when your body craves his touch.  

But it stops here. It must, for your own sanity, and for his as well as you can feel the warmth of his hard gaze even when you’re turned away. It’s too early in this strange and draining relationship to allow yourself to knock down the walls and-

“Mom.”

Jungkook breathes into your nape, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing until your stomach tightens. When did he move behind you?

“You smell so good.” He nuzzles further into your skin, hands moving over the swells of your breasts to undo the first button of your collared shirt. “So sweet…”

You clasp your hand over his wrists, halting his urgency. “I-I think I want to sleep alone for tonight. Okay? I’ll see you in the morning.”

You take one step away from him towards the clothing rack, folding the clothes you know are meant to be thrown into the laundry basket.

“Goodnight, Jungkook.”

“I locked the doors.”

“I said goodnight.”

“I closed the blinds.”

“Jungkook, please-”

“I want you, mom.” Jungkook whispers, sending a tremor through your body that makes you jolt away from him even further until your hips jam into the clothes-filled rack.

He continues. “I’m sick of listening to you cum when we’re barely separated by a wall. I want to be the one to make you feel good. Don’t you want to feel me, mom? Feel all of me inside you?”

“Don’t say that, Kook. You’re…you’re so young and…you don’t mean it. I raised you to be too dependent on me when I should’ve-”

“Stop it!”

He grips your upper arm and yanks you back towards him until you look up at his furious glare, his usual round and innocent eyes now sharp and full of desperation.

“I know what I mean, mom.” He breathes, eyes glossing over.

You can’t deny that the proximity of his warm and solid body near yours is making you unable to think straight.

“I’m a man.” He takes your hand and brings it to his chest where his heartbeat lays under your palm. “I’ve grown and,” he drags your hand further up his neck before moving towards his breastbone and dipping down his sculpted abdomen. “I’ve gotten stronger. Bigger.”

When your fingertips reach the edge of his waistband, he uses his other hand to tip your chin up towards his gaze and away from the squeeze of his lower abdomen as he relishes the ache of arousal.

“Let me take care of you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Just say the words, mom. We’re past this, aren’t we?”

You sniffle softly, shame poisoning your veins.

Jungkook moves your hand underneath his waistband and over his hardening cock, cursing underneath his breath when your fingers automatically curl around his length through the thin black boxers.

“Feel me. Feel how much of a man I’ve become.”

“Kook-”

“Please, mommy…” he places his forehead on your shoulder, letting go of your hand inside his sweatpants as he runs his palms up and down your violin waist. “Please love me…make love to me like we’re lovers…”

Hot and cold. You’re unsure of how you were able to push him back onto the bed as he rests his full weight onto you to keep you from running as you’ve been doing since the last time you let him have a taste of the forbidden fruit. Underneath you, Jungkook keeps his hands still at your waist, peering at your pencil skirt riding up to your thighs as you straddle his hips. He could’ve sworn he saw the gates of heaven when you unbutton the rest of your blouse and shrug the material down your arms, letting it fall to reveal your bra-clad breasts.

“Can you…” your voice shakes and Jungkook sits upright on his elbows, listening carefully.

You’re trembling, as nervous as a virgin he thinks, amused, and deathly afraid of what will follow in the morning. Jungkook trusts that you’ll truly see him for what he is now – the only man who belongs in your life; your lover, your best friend, your son.

“Turn off the lights?”

You nod, your fingers tracing swirls down his solid tanned chest. The years pass by in a blur. Your Jungkookie has grown and now he wants more, demands more, and is not willing to budge when he has his eyes on what he wants.

Maybe that’s one thing you taught him well.

Jungkook chases after your lips and moves his tongue swiftly over your mouth. His hands remain steady on your waist once more and he relishes in your hesitant tongue responding to his need to be closer, to be smothered. When you reach behind you to undo the clasp of your brassiere, Jungkook flashes a smile.

No more running. No more waiting. No more begging. It’s just you and him.

“Okay.” He giggles softly, so not like the boy who wanted to prove himself a man. He stretches his arm towards the lamp and pulls on the copper cord hanging from the edge.

The room engulfs in darkness.

Your lips find solace on his neck where his mole should be and you close your eyes.

“I love you.”

His breath his hot next to your ear, full of mirth. “I love you more.”

[macaroni-rascal]

Waxing poetic idea: virtuosity

First of all, what a concept for a waxing poetic, we love the pun, we love it all. Second of all, I have no idea just how long this has been sitting in my inbox, but better late than never, I suppose!

When I think virtuosity I generally think about music, so for the purposes of this post, I am going to focus on how Virtue and Moir are masters of musicality, as I can make a separate post about their general talent and skating skills.  

I truly believe that Tessa and Scott were (and continue to be) the most musically inclined ice dance team ever. It’s nothing new, but Paul MacIntosh their old coach has spoken before saying there as just something natural about them and their ear for music, Tracy Wilson commented on them  as juniors and early in senior as a team that really listened to their music and that they used their edges and knee bend to match the rhythm of the dance, etc. It was obvious that this team just had a certain ability and flow that went above and beyond what had been previously seen in the sport. 

They were ice dancing to music, not figure skating to background noise.

There was always an impression that music meant a lot to them, and the emotional connection they felt to music was very important, the program they hated the most (Malaguena) was because they didn’t chose it themselves, and the program they had the most trouble with emotionally (The Seasons) was because they also couldn’t form a connection and tried to force something. The stunning thing about Tessa and Scott’s skating is that nothing ever looks forced, it all seems to be placed and done to maximize their ability, the music, and the art of figure skating. So, cmplpete with hyperlinks as well as gif credit, lets get into it.

I say that Valse Triste is one of my favourite free dance of theirs, but I don’t think people get just how much. In terms of how much a song can be elevated by movement, VM did everything correct with Vale Triste. 

This perfect moment in the beginning where the music is drawn out and sweeping and so their movements match perfectly, I just love the ina bauer moment right on that first long violin sound, followed by Tessa’s nice deep long edge and then another sweeping movement. Also, the last lift directly on the crescendo of the music, when Tessa raises her hands into the air when the silence holds, and then again, that lovely piece of silence  while Tessa is balancing on Scott and his squat. Then the last moment with Scott’s arms and the violin again... All of this matches the music so well, it very much feels like they had this choreographed already, and then Jean Sibelius wrote Valse Triste for them. So stunning.

Umbrellas of Cherbourg was just a piece of mastery in terms of hitting musical highlights. The first lift was so effective, all the of the step sequences were musical and lilting and joyous. I also love the moment in this gif, the abandon in their movements echoes the abandon in the song as Catherine Deneuve sings “je ne peux pas, je ne peux pas” and it really does feel like they can’t help but move this way. I don’t need to understand French to feel it, they made the movement match the music so well that it becomes universal. Special shout out to the fucking stunning backwards inside edge they both hit as they go around the corner. *chefs kiss*

What I also love about their virtuosity and their musicality is that they never really settled. They picked a very difficult piece of music for the Olympic year because it was the only music they felt any connection with. It was a hard program because they really took time to highlight the music, and the accents are quick and staccato. What’s stunning, is that I think anyone who watches/knows vm can perfectly hear the music that should be playing over the gif, and nothing else COULD be playing. So often, especially recently, I watch  ice dance programs if feels like any generic music could be on and it wouldn’t change much. Tessa and Scott could never. Every movement and every moment is deliberate and on theme.

Tessa and Scott’s dance holds are a literal thing of beauty and should be studied. That doesn’t have much to do with what I am writing about currently, but I thought it needed to be said. Nights and Days is an all time favourite programs. We love a wango. I love the opening especially and how they go from a nice easy arm movement to two quick poses, then Tessa’s moment with that leg and giving that face, that hit the opening notes so well, only to have the music really begin with their leg kicks.

Let’s talk about how a waltz goes counterclock wise on a dance floor and is quick-quick-slow and Tessa and Scott started their program going counter clock wise around the rink, and having their movement begin slow-quick quick, slow-quick quick...because I’m never not thinking about it

There are so many moments in their free dance to Hip Hip Chin Chin that I desperately love and that I have yet to see gifs of it. Besides the stellar and iconic opening footwork, the coolest twizzles (accenting the drums with their transition into each twizzle), and some very cool lifts (I mean, hello temptation lift), I love the step sequences and the transitions in this program so much. Some favs include:

Tessa’s booty pop to the drums and her arm on “rhythm”

Tossing Scott and a literal hip hip chin chin

Hitting twizzles and free legs on beat

Tessa just in this moment and her arms

The “I can’t resist” moment and the silence as they just pull in on beat, throw their hand up on beat, and hug on the ice sensually 

That little kick they do in the step sequence right on the double beat

Anyway, that program is a fucking wonder and the fact they only did it once fully in competition is a small tragedy.

Tessa’s twizzle from the Waltz goes on right on that stunning lick of effervescent music lives rent free in my head and will until I die.

As does the extension and flair Tessa gets in this one small hand and arm movement. More character in this tiny little one second gif of carmen than in the entirety of Davis and White’s Notre-Damn that year, quote me.

Carmen, in and of itself, is so fascinating and intricate from a music standpoint, they hit all the moments so well. Tessa’s second leap into the air on the curve lift, the ending pose for the  twizzles, that rad as hell and incredibly difficult transition where Scott all but throws Tessa face first into the ice and she lands in a sort of lunge that took all season to perfect. I could go on.

I truly am, one day, going to make a post about Dream a Little Dream and how it is the best short dance program ever performed. In terms of virtuosity it is unmatched. Again, it is that type of program where you can so easily hear the music playing the background because everything just...fits. I can hear Ella crooning “stars shining bright aboooove you” as Tessa rounds around Scott and his arms flow along with the melody. I also love the moment with “sycamore tree” and the transition there. Shout out also having the solo lady twizzle in the finnstep right on the boom of the music. There are too many moments to count. The whole program is magic.

Another special shout out to the latch step sequences and especially how they changed the diagonal step so that Tessa’s double twizzle hit right on the music and created such a moment. I also love the straight line lift and how with the changes made so it was timed perfectly to be in a moment of silence between lyrics. Tessa and Scott know how to use the moments of silence and stillness just as much as they know how to use the moments of intensity and attack.

Moment of appreciation for the guitar lick during the rumba where they kick in as they get that chocktaw key point before the inside 3-turns. Iconic behavior.

What I love is that they dig deep into their music, really listen, and really try and make their movements and their program not only match the music, but elevate the music to the point where you hear things you maybe didn’t before because it never got highlight in that way before. 

I love that they aren’t afraid to not only hit the big, in your face “rooooxaNNE” moment, but it’s that they chose to put it at the end of their twizzle sequence which needs perfect timing, perfect synchronicity, and perfect attack. Not to mention, the amazing head-head moment with the violin right after. But then! It’s not just the end of the twizzle sequence, because they also accent the music every where in between because the first set is on beat to the music as is the second set which leads into their arm transition in character and then we get the big moment. With Tessa and Scott, their musicality is such that they create these little micro pockets of moments amidst one giant moment that is their full program; because the twizzles fit perfectly in the program, but the twizzles also stand alone as their own moment of tension and release -- just magnificent.

Off topic, but gosh it always amazes me just how fast they are going into and through this lift. As I’ve mentioned previously, it’s not just the big accents they are hitting, but the small ones as well. It took me half the season to realize there is a lovely little piano lick right as Tessa backflips and rises up into position, just as the music is rising along with her and once again, it just feels right.  No other teams owns the ice and owns their music quite like them. Because it’s not just that they are so musical, its that they have the ability to skate to all of these different types of music, and look at home in every single one. In that, they are objectively unparalleled.

When Tessa and Scott skate, it almost feels like the music is asking them to create something, and is ultimately grateful for them doing so.

[jaskierswolf]

Dearest Wolfie, I am here to humbly request some Jaskilion vampire smut pls 🥺

Dear Buttercup

Prompt: Frottage/grinding/scissoring Relationships:  Jaskier (netflix)/Dandelion (book) Rating: E Content Warnings: vampire sex, sex magic, frottage, biting, blood drinking. Summary: Jaskier gets caught in a thunderstorm, luckily there's an appropriately spooky house near by to shelter in.

For my darling @dani-dandelino and also my last prompt for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Art by @dapandapod

Lightning shot across the sky in a vicious streak of blinding light, and there was a resounding clap of thunder that made the ground shake. Jaskier’s hair was stuck to his forehead as he tried, with very little success, to shelter under his guitar case. He blamed Geralt for this entirely. The bastard had gotten into another fight with Yennefer and Jaskier was left to find his own way home from the pub. He wasn’t drunk, just mildly tipsy and sorely lacking a driving license. It had been too late to catch a bus so here he was stomping through the park in the middle of the night, during a fucking thunderstorm. The old house in the centre of the park looked like something out of those stupid horror movies that Geralt and Yennefer liked to watch. It looked haunted during the day, but at night… fuck. It was something else entirely.

So naturally, Jaskier wanted to have a look. He was soaked through to the skin and shivering. His house was still a good hour away if he didn’t get lost, which, if he was being completely honest, he probably would. Directions just weren’t his strong suit, and everything looked the same at night. The house, despite scaring the shit out of him, looked incredibly tempting. It would be warm. He could dry off. Maybe the owner would even let him stay the night, if they were kind.

And if he was really lucky, they might not kill him.

He laughed and he wiped his nose, pushing his sopping wet hair off his forehead and away from his eyes. His fringe immediately fell forward again.

“Oh fuck off,” he muttered and shook his head, wrapping his arms around his chest in a futile attempt to stay warm. “Stupid Geralt, stupid Yennefer, bloody fucking thunderstorm.”

The large wooden doors creaked open, startling Jaskier from his pity party. There was candlelight flickering in the hallway and the sound of a violin singing from somewhere in the house. Jaskier crept forward, cocking his head as he peered inside. The house was extravagantly decorated in burgundy and gold. From the porch, Jaskier could see a faded painting of a young man, dressed in old-timey clothing, regency if he had to guess. It was rather Mr Darcy. The young man was tall and slender, with a mess of golden curls that just about covered his ears. Jaskier couldn’t look away. The man was beautiful, with soft pale skin and rosy cheeks, a smile that could outshine the sun. He had a long dark blue tailcoat, and there was a small white dog bouncing at his feet.

But it was his eyes.

Beautiful cornflower blue.

Utterly stunning.

The door slammed shut behind Jaskier and he spun round, arms flailing, “Oh cock!”

The sound of the violin stopped. The house fell eerily silent. Jaskier could hear his own heartbeat hammering in his chest and he pulled at the edges of this shirt, flexing his fingers and tapping out a rhythm on his leg. Nothing helped. He was pretty certain he was about to die. The worst thing was he couldn’t even remember entering the house. One minute he was admiring the portrait from afar and the next he had his hand raised, ready to trace the sharp cheekbones of the handsome blond.

“I haven’t had a visitor for a long time,” a mesmerising tenor voice lilted from the top of the stairs.

Jaskier jumped, almost falling over as he twirled again to face the mysterious owner of the murder house. His mouth fell open as he saw the beautiful blond at the top of the stairs. His skin was deathly pale, and his hair now fell to his shoulders in a cascade of curls, but there was no denying that it was the same man from the portrait. Blood red eyes glowed in the darkness, never blinking as he peered down at Jaskier with a haughty expression. Gone were the elegant regency clothes from the portrait. Instead, the blond wore an unreasonably sexy lingerie set, black as the midnight sky, with garters strapped around his thighs. On each thigh above the garter was a holster, with an elegantly decorated hilt; daggers.

Seriously, who the fuck carried daggers in this day and age? Surely you needed a license for that?

But on the mysterious stranger it just seemed to work. He was timeless in his beauty.

The fine silvery silk robe trailed behind him, and he raised one perfect eyebrow, looking considerably unimpressed. Jaskier’s eyes widened as he realised he still hadn’t said anything, too busy gawking at the angel before him…

Or perhaps the devil.

There was no way this gorgeous creature was a man from god. He was too sinfully tempting.

“Ah, bollocks,” Jaskier stammered. “Well, you see I just- there was a teeny problem with my ride, and then the storm, and well… the wine. Oh the wine, it was absolutely delectable, you have never tasted anything as delicious, a true blessing from the gods themselves.”

He was rambling. He knew he was and yet he couldn’t shut up. Jaskier just kept talking, letting his wine fuelled brain spew poetry about everything and nothing. He talked about Geralt, the flowers he’d seen on his walk, the stars that had been glittering in the sky before the clouds had ruined the view. He talked about the way the river shone in the moonlight, and Geralt, and the cute adorable kitten he’d seen sheltering in an alley… and well… about Geralt.

“Forgive me, dear fellow,” The man finally interrupted with a wave of his hand, “but if you are quite done, I’d like to ask what you are doing in my home.”

Jaskier blushed, glancing between the very much shut door and the handsome figure before him. Gesturing wildly between himself and the door he stammered, “The door? It- it- ah, well, it just sort of opened.”

“And you walked in? I must say, you really have no sense of self preservation. Pretty little thing though, aren’t you?”

Jaskier scoffed, putting his hand on his hips. “Little?!”

“How old are you? Barely twenty by the looks of it,” he smirked, a long finger brushing Jaskier’s cheek. “So young.”

“I- I-!” Jaskier spat out, “You! I’m twenty five!”

“A child,” the man hissed.

And Jaskier’s heart jumped. He froze, an icy feeling creeping through his veins.

Fangs.

Red eyes.

Definitely immortal.

“Oh fuck, fuck!” Jaskier fell backwards, tripping over his own feet. “You’re a vampire! No. No, no, no. This is a joke. Fuck!”

“Vampire,” the vampire scoffed. “How rude! I have a name, buttercup.”

“I- how- oh cock,” Jaskier whined.

But before he could flee, the vampire’s hands were around his neck. The bastard moved faster than light. His pale skin a blur as it pressed against Jaskier’s throat, lifting him from the floor.

And Jaskier, in all his idiotic horniness, was starting to feel rather aroused by the whole thing. Sure, he was scared shitless, but if the vampire didn’t kill him…

Well…

Jaskier really hated his dick sometimes.

“So, ah- umm, will you do me the pleasure of telling me your name?” Jaskier squeaked, gasping for air.

The vampire chuckled, a beautiful melodic laugh that could charm aphrodite herself. “Finally, some manners, darling. My name is Dandelion, you would do well to remember it.”

That was… promising.

“A flower for a flower?” Jaskier suggested, praying that this would not be his last night on earth. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Oh, my dear Julian, I have no intention of killing you. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a monster, unlike the villain that turned me. Now, he was an utter cock. He didn’t even ask! Day before my wedding, unbelievable.”

Jaskier laughed. Was the vampire, Dandelion, actually telling him his backstory? What the fuck had he walked into?

“That’s… unfortunate?”

“It was a complete disaster, my darling Henrietta married the deplorable Valdo Marx instead and I had to flee to the shadows like some bloody monster. It gets lonely.”

Jaskier blinked, feet still dangling as the vampire held him by his collar. He was struggling to breathe, his cock was hard in his pants and he was almost certain that he probably would survive the night. “Can’t- breathe.”

“Oh, poppycock! I am ever so sorry, dear boy,” Dandelion cooed and dropped Jaskier to the ground. “Better?”

“Yeah, yup.”

Dandelion inhaled deeply, “Oh, you do smell good, really good.”

This felt more like what Jaskier would expect from a vampire encounter. Before he could even respond, Jaskier felt himself being thrown back against the nearest wall, Dandelion’s cold body pressed up against his. The vampire ran his nose under Jaskier’s jaw, a low moan falling from his lips. “Talk about fine wine. You, my dear buttercup, smell utterly irresistible.”

Jaskier whimpered, his hands nervously gripping Dandelion’s silk robe, fingers intertwining in the soft fabric. He wasn’t really sure what was happening but he knew he liked it. Getting fucked by a vampire, there were worse things in life, especially when the vampire was as pretty as Dandelion. Jaskier wondered whether his eyes really had been such a dazzling blue before he was turned into a creature of the night. Red eyes burned like fire instead, the pupils almost completely black.

It should have been fucking terrifying.

It should have.

And Jaskier thought he’d never seen such a beautiful creature as the man before him. There was a scrape of teeth against his throat, and Jaskier groaned, helplessly baring his neck to give the vampire better access. He’d never thought getting his blood drained would be so alluring, but he was achingly hard and feeling heady with arousal at the mere thought of it.

The vampire just laughed and pressed a skin to Jaskier’s neck. “Eager little whore, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“Now, now, patience,” Dandelion purred, making Jaskier shiver. “First we need to get you out of those clothes. You must be absolutely freezing, where are my manners?”

“Fuck your manners,” Jaskier grumbled, yelping as Dandelion scooped him into his arms and flew through the house. “Oi! Watch it!”

“Such a fragile little flower.”

“I- You, oh fuck off,” Jaskier protested weakly, because to Dandelion, he was fragile. He was human, mortal, weak. Despite looking like the stronger one of the two, Jaskier was like a glass rose compared to the glimmering diamond that was the vampire.

Dandelion fussed around him in a blur of silver and blonde, peeling Jaskier’s wet clothes from his skin, bringing him a steaming mug of sweet tea. It was all… kind of nice?

The vampire had said he was lonely after all, and maybe Jaskier’s blood would taste nicer if he was not miserable and cold. How was he supposed to know?

“Dandelion?” Jaskier asked, cocking his head as he looked up at the pretty blond from the pile of soft silk sheets on the bed.

“Yes? Did I miss anything? It’s been a while since I’ve had human company.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile. He’d been in the strange house less than any hour and yet his head was spinning from the rollercoaster of emotions, fear, arousal, panic, and now whatever this was, a sort of fondness perhaps?

“Everything is perfect, Dandelion, but why- why am I here? I thought… you’re a vampire. I smell good? Didn’t you want to- to-, you know?”

Dandelion giggled and perched on the bed next to Jaskier. “Sweet buttercup, I would never drink from you unless you wanted it. It’s not expected of you. I can go without.”

“You can?”

“But of course! And I’m not about to fuck you when you’re shivering, and reeking of fear, no matter how hard your cock is. I have standards, Jaskier.”

The vampire had standards. Of course he fucking did. “I’m not afraid now,” Jaskier whispered, “And I want you to drink. Come on, trapped-”

“You’re not trapped.”

“- in a vampire’s house, in the middle of a thunderstorm. It practically writes itself.”

“And yet, I made you tea?”

Jaskier laughed, “Yes.”

“Well then?” Dandelion breathed in a soft low whisper that made Jaskier’s skin tingle, “Perhaps a kiss?”

This time it wasn’t Dandelion’s hands that forced that air from Jaskier’s lungs, but his words. Jaskier swallowed, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as Dandelion approached him. The daggers had been removed from their holsters and set aside on the table, but the rest of the vampire’s ensemble remained. Jaskier, on the other hand, was as naked as the day he was born, only the silken sheets to protect his modesty. His cheeks warmed under the heat of Dandelion’s gaze, a blush that he was sure bloomed right down to his heart. He nodded dumbly, unable, for the first time in his life, to find the right words.

Dandelion’s skin was like ice as he cupped Jaskier’s cheek, their lips barely a breath apart. “You really are such a pretty flower, I love beautiful things.”

Jaskier whimpered as their lips met, ice and fire, vampire and human. Their breaths mingled as Jaskier eagerly parted his lips, and Dandelion’s tongue slipped inside his mouth. Jaskier had kissed a lot of people in his life but never anyone quite like Dandelion, centuries of practice served the vampire well, and Jaskier was left breathless and panting in mere seconds. His arousal from before reared up and he moaned wantonly against Dandelion’s lips.

“Divine,” the vampire murmured as they parted, and he pushed Jaskier backwards against the bed, their legs entangling so that Dandelion’s thighs pressed against Jaskier’s cock, “simply divine.”

“Dandelion,” Jaskier moaned, his head falling back onto the pillow.

“My venom won’t harm you, darling,” Dandelion whispered, his lips pressing against Jaskier’s neck, “but it will enhance your pleasure, dull your other senses so you know only me, my lips, my hands. You’ll be more relaxed than you ever thought possible…”

“Yes,” Jaskier answered Dandelion’s unanswered question.

The vampire sank his teeth into Jaskier’s skin, sharp pain soon subsiding into what could only be described as the most intense pleasure that Jaskier had ever felt. It was heavenly, magical, a blessing from god herself. He vaguely heard himself moan, arching his back off the bed as he thrust against Dandelion’s thigh. Every movement sent wave after wave of never-ending pleasure through his body, fire burning in his soul. He whined when Dandelion pulled away from his neck, rocking into Jaskier’s body, unheard praises whispering into his ear. When their lips met once more, Jaskier could taste his blood on Dandelion’s tongue.

It was addictive. He wanted more, more, more. “‘Lion,” he slurred as their bodies rocked together.

“Shh, little buttercup,” the vampire cooed, brushing Jaskier’s fringe from his eyes, before biting once more on his shoulder.

Jaskier keened, his orgasm shattering through him as he bucked up against the vampire. It seemed to be an eternity before he came back to himself, covered in cum and his own blood on Dandelion’s bed. The vampire in question was running his fingers through the thick hair on Jaskier’s chest, blood staining his lips, smearing down his chin. He looked as fucked out as Jaskier felt, smiling serenely as he hummed under his bed.

And his eyes were cornflower blue.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed shakily. “Did you…”

“Mhmm, not long after you. What a sight you made, truly stunning? I really would love to paint you one day.”

Jaskier groaned and rolled over, grimacing at the mess but too tired to care. “If the sex is that good, you can paint me every fucking day.”

“Oh, darling buttercup,” Dandelion cooed, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder where the bite mark was beginning to heal. “You and I are going to get along splendidly.”

[cno-inbminor]

inpetus

a/n: watched ‘burlesque’ today and got an idea stuck in my head!! this is the unedited result of it. 

warnings/genre: mature settings, ft. kuroo & fem!reader who’s an exotic dancer/stripper, unedited, some angst

wc: ~3.0k

-

What am I doing here?

That’s the first thought that runs through Kuroo’s mind when he walks down the concrete steps, his coat fluttering at the ends from the draft that breezes through. A small, neon arrow bolted to the brick wall offers the path to what many would consider as indulging in sin, an uncontrollable desire and want. “It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen,” his co-worker had expressed to him with wonder in his voice, one that he preferred keeping at arm’s length. “Take advantage of your bachelor days,” he had been told while clapped on the shoulder. “Being married is only fun for the first two years and then it goes to shit.”

Disgust had coursed through his veins at those words – they were greedy men who held the financial world in their hands, convinced into a delusion that nothing in the world could measure to their expectations. Constantly complaining about how their partners were never good enough, weren’t pretty enough, didn’t have the right body type, were too busy bitching at them for leaving their sock strewn around the house, their list of demands went on and on. Kuroo, only 25 years of age, felt lucky to be a consultant at a world-renowned investment firm in Tokyo where every morning, he rides an elevator 45 floors up through a fiberglass and steel skyscraper in one of his many tailored suits and sits at a desk by the window. At any point, he can stand from his chair and gaze out towards a wonderous view of the city with a cup of tea in hand, ignoring how ironic it seems to be when the higher the floor, the more entrenched they are in the smog.

Kuroo hadn’t meant to reveal that he might have been feeling a little lonely. He had some sake running through his veins when his co-workers pressed on as to why he didn’t have a partner or someone to go home to every night, and after kindly but vehemently refusing their offers to set up blind dates for him, they had spoken to him of the place. An environment underground that made you feel alive, that reminded you of the unspoken beauty in the mundane of everyday life, that left your soul winded at the fact that such a place could exist on this earth. “You should go when you’re feeling down, if you catch my drift,” the main proposer of this new adventure had snickered, elbowing the man on the other side. “It’ll be worth the money.”

Part of him felt shy once he had slipped through the metal door, coming to a stop at a stand with a woman, a guard, a red velvet rope, and blackout curtains. Kuroo took a cursory look at the sign and pulled out the exact cash he needed for the cover fee, a heftier one than usual, according to his co-workers. The woman thanked him sultrily, nodding to the guard to grant him access. When the velvet rope was unhooked and the curtains pulled back, Kuroo stepped into a new world.

The dark shadow from the entrance had been replaced with soft lights of crimson and chateau rose, blending in with icy hues of blue. Faux-crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling in the faintest royal yellow, yet they were second to the harsh colors on the stage before him. Granted, there were numerous round tables before him, but with no desire to be seen as the poor, nervous newbie, he sat at one that wasn’t directly by the stage, but wasn’t too far from it either.

Part of him had expected the air to be filled with smoke and fumes of alcohol, yet instead, there was a hint of something floral. Whatever it was, it had instantly relaxed his nerves and put him at ease. He had only been sitting for a few minutes when a waitress came into his view to take his drink order. Naturally, she was gorgeous, her outfit shaping her curves sensuously and slightly revealing, yet leaving just enough skin covered to be desired. He gives a side-thought on how his co-workers would have commented on her being an ultimate tease, but wipes it from his brain as he orders a glass of cabernet sauvignon. She scribbles it down on a notepad before giving him another look, slightly tilting her head to take him in.

“Is it your first time here?” She enquires in a genuinely curious tone. Kuroo is thankful that it’s too dark for her to see the faint blush on his face as he nods. At first, he’s worried she’ll poke fun a little bit, but instead he’s given a warm, inviting smile. “In that case, welcome to the Covet Noir. You’re in luck today, one of our best dancers is showing her new routine tonight. When she’s done, I’ll let her know to give you a special visit. It’s something we do for any new clients.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Kuroo immediately replies. “I’m just…observing today?”

“Very well then. She’ll want to come, but you have every right to refuse. Though, after you watch her…I’m sure you won’t want to,” she says cheekily, sending him a quick wink before weaving between the tables towards the bar. Kuroo focuses on the stage again where a few men and women seem to be freestyling to some faint jazz over the speakers, some by poles and others with just the floor. They seem to be at varying stages of nudity, though none were fully nude. Their styles of dancing seemed to cater specifically to the audiences nearest them, accepting the tips given.

The waitress returns with his libation, silently setting it before him with a square napkin. He pulls out a couple large bills and hands it to her, to which she thanks him for and pockets it in her waist apron he didn’t notice last time. As if on cue, the jazz ends and the dancers saunter off stage, their hips swaying as they disappear into the darkness. A soft tenor speaks into a microphone somewhere off-stage.

“Ladies and gentleman, thank you for joining us this evening. I hope you enjoyed our wonderful dancers just now – aren’t they absolutely riveting?”

His pause leaves enough time for the patrons to give a polite applause, though some were more bold in their praise with short ‘whoops’ and affirmations. “We’re glad to hear that,” the tenor continues. “Now, with a new performance she’s been working on, please welcome our one and only, Camellia.”

The overhead lights are shining on the stage once again, though the red seems more harsh and daring. He and the other clients give a small applause as the sound of heels clicks against the stage, and everybody seems to be waiting with bated breath. The anticipatory air overwhelms him as the clicks come to a stop and suddenly, a bright spotlight is cast center stage.

You, Camellia, stand just inches away from another male – while the male is rigid and muscular in all the right places, you are more soft and highlighted in curves, body in a knee-length dress the color of Kuroo’s wine that possesses a slit that’s dangerously close to the top of her right thigh. Even from Kuroo’s distance, he can see your lipstick in the very shade of the blood that runs through their veins and the dark, winged eyeliner.  

Low string instruments creep into the speakers in a familiar tune, followed by the sharp entrance of a contrasting soprano note played by a violin. Your movements are quick and crisp, yet your body seems to always be moving, sensuous and delicately smooth. Kuroo is absolutely enraptured already, his body already leaning forward and wine forgotten. As much as he despises his co-workers’ lustful habits and thoughts, they were right about one thing: the beauty in everyone’s dancing is unlike anything he’s ever seen.

His eyes never leave your figure, subconsciously encoding every movement into his brain. It isn’t until about halfway through your routine that he feels his mouth is dry, and even as he lifts his glass to his lips to let the bitter liquid slide down his throat, he makes an effort to never miss a second. At one point, you are facing his direction and Kuroo finally understands the meaning of the waitress’s words: your eyes, the shape of them, the color, the intensity and fire in them, he feels as if he’s ready to jump into them, willing to be consumed by the flames. But you are turned away and spun into your partner’s arms, hands splayed over his shoulders as his own creep down the arch of your back.

El Tango de Roxanne, Kuroo finally recalls the name of the song playing, though it’s a slightly altered instrumental version of it. He had been roped into watching Moulin Rouge many years ago by an ex-girlfriend in high school, who had showered praises on the scene for this song. While he couldn’t match her enthusiasm at the time, he had understood her reasons. Yet with the current performance before him, he would argue that this is more beautiful, even without all the aesthetic cinematic cuts.  

Before he knows it, the routine is done and he’s clapping along with the other clients. It’s almost thunderous, and Kuroo takes a quick look around him, only to notice that the space had filled up significantly since he had arrived. Yet many were beginning to trickle out as the lights dim again and an ambient jazz song washes over them. Kuroo contemplates on leaving, the waitress’s words echoing in the chambers of his brain. He’s so focused on his decision-making that he doesn’t notice the star of the show making their way to his table.

“I’ve been told you’re new here,” you interrupt his thoughts, donned in a silk robe and hair undone from the bun it had been in. Kuroo startles and looks up towards you incredulously, a whirl of shock and embarrassment and being caught off-guard stewing in his gut. Your eyes seem frozen on him and somewhat mirror his emotions, but they quickly soften. Kuroo watches you slide into the seat next to him, your robe slipping off a shoulder and revealing the black lacy bralette you’re wearing. He finds himself gulping as inconspicuously as possible, directing his gaze towards your face that’s currently grinning at him.

“Do you need help speaking?” You ask with a teasing lilt. Your voice strikes triggers a feeling of déjà vu within him.

“I’m sorry, I suppose I was still thinking about your performance,” he musters out, desperate to save some reputation he believes he has. “Am I allowed to buy you a drink? As a way of saying thank you?”

“Normally, yes,” you reply, your tone now gentle and calming. “I’m not quite in the mood for a drink right now, but maybe next time. You came on a good night.”

“The waitress told me the same thing,” he chuckles, fingers sliding his wine glass in a circle against the tablecloth. “You’re a wonderful dancer. Do all of you have stage names as flowers?”

“Most of us, but some others wanted a different stage name.”

“Do you dance here full time?”

You shake your head. “Only part time. Something I like doing, as well as earn some extra money on the side.”

“Ah, I see.”

Silence falls over you two. However, you sigh and begin to stand from your chair. Of course, Kuroo would rather you not leave, but you have other clients to visit, and this was only a one-time special conversation for a new visitor.

“Will you be coming again?” You ask gently, as if you’re worried this’ll be the last time you see him. Your tone surprises him – he feels wanted, he feels like you, specifically, want him to return to this underground escape. But he knows he’s not special, that it’s just business for people like him to fall to your siren calls.

“Maybe,” he smiles. You step closer and into his personal space, causing him to twist slightly so he’s more directly facing you. Even though he’s sitting, with his height, you’re barely towering over him. He only needs to tilt his chin up a little bit to meet your gaze, trying not to flinch when you place a hand on his thigh. Once again, your eyes trigger something within him – in most circumstances, he would probably be feeling unsure of what to do. Yet now, he feels comfortable, as if this is something he normally experiences.

“I hope to see you come back then,” you murmur, in a way that’s only reserved for this job, before pulling back, your hand lingering on his thigh. Kuroo remembers his manners and hands you a few large bills, more than what he had given the waitress. You take them between your right index and middle fingers and tuck them into your bralette. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he replies as you saunter away. He downs the rest of the contents in his glass before moving to pay his tab at the bar counter. Soon after, he’s greeted by the black curtains once more, the guards letting him through and past the red velvet rope. As he steps into the night air with his coat shrugged on, he feels the stark contrast between the world behind him and the one in front. The floral scent has been replaced with the city air, his nose wrinkling at the stale cigarette smell mixed with general pollution.

About an hour later, he’s in bed back in his modest, minimalistic apartment, his two-year old cat stretched out in the space between his arm and the side of his chest. Donned in nothing but briefs and gym shorts, Kuroo stares at the ceiling, reliving the memories as much as possible. Your dance, the passion, the atmosphere, it had been something he thoroughly enjoyed, much to his chagrin. He wish it hadn’t been his co-workers who introduced him, but perhaps he was somewhat thankful for them.

In sleep, he dreams vividly. He’s suddenly back in Nekoma High School, red jersey and shorts on his figure, walking a cart of volleyballs past a cheering audience. His eyes are searching the stands for someone, landing on a girl donned in his spare jersey. He feels his mouth split open into a cocky grin, but it falls when he sees the face on the girl. Your eyes, the winged eyeliner, the lips blood-red, cheering for him—

And he’s thrown into the next sequence.

This time, he’s in a café, one he recognizes to be close to his parent’s home. He’s in a casual button down and jeans, sleeves neatly rolled up past his elbows. His foot taps against the ground and he feels the sensation of waiting for someone, eyes shifting between the window and his phone screen. Familiar hands cover his eyes and he finds himself playing along. “Ah, who could it be?”

“Who else would it be?”

The words are spoken in your voice, the same softness with the slight lilt, and he’s turning abruptly to look at this girl. Once again, those eyes, the makeup, your lips—

Yanked into the next sequence.

He’s sitting on the couch in front of his TV – his parents are gone, and he assumes it’s his ex-girlfriend that’s got her shoulders with his arm slung over. A movie plays on the screen as the girl munches on popcorn from the bowl in her lap.

“Tetsu, you have to pay attention to this scene, okay? It’s genius,” she says excitedly, shifting closer to him. Kuroo plants a kiss on top of her hair as he focuses on the movie, looking out for this clip that she seems so passionate about.

But his eyebrows furrow when the beginnings of El Tango de Roxanne begin to play, dancers on a large stage with Ewan McGregor’s face cutting in.

“First, there is desire. Then, passion. Then, suspicion. Jealousy, anger, betrayal! Love is for the highest bidder, there is no trust. Without trust, there is no love!”

A wave of affection for this girl washes over him as she sings along, her voice attempting to match the intensity of the man’s on the screen. Instead, it only comes off as absolutely adorable to him, and he gives her a tight squeeze. The rest of the scene passes by in a blur, but he feels impressed, the pain of Ewan’s character, the dreadful chill that ran down his body.

“That’s probably the best part of the movie,” she sighs happily. “Do you agree? How freakin’ genius it is?”

“I can see it, yeah,” he laughs, looking down at her. But for the third time, it’s your face, your features, your hair—

He sits up abruptly, startling his cat and causing it to give him a sleepy yowl. His chest is heavy and panting as his brain trudges through the visions, his dreams playing on the back of his eyelids. His body falls back and his head hits the pillow, an arm strung across his eyes. One night and you’re already haunting your dreams, but why? Why was he so comfortable with you? Why did the song take him back to happier times? Why was it that your eyes made such a deep impression on him? Why…

His eyes snap open. It hits him like a ton of bricks. The breath is removed from his lungs and he can’t believe it.

Camellia is you. You are his ex-girlfriend.

A pain wrenches his heart, twisting it horribly so. Feelings that he had long buried, memories he had long filtered and filed away, were all swimming to the surface again – he almost wanted to scream or cry, he wanted to run to a court and jump serve balls until his arm falls off and his legs fail him, he—

After all this time, he opens the lid on a truth he wishes he didn’t know: in all these years, he was still in love with you.

And even now…he still does.

[yourenbybuddy]

Underrated things about women I find sexy:

Armpit hair + tank tops (actually a powerful duo)

A grown adult. The societal expectation to be completely shaven at all times is WEIRD. Body hair isn’t dirty and personally, armpit hair showing in public is so attractive and powerful to me. “This person is so confident!” is what comes to my mind.

Stretch marks!! They look like lightning bolts!!!

Stretch marks connote change in the body. Whether you’ve had a baby or had a growth spurt or went through some weight gain/loss, I think it’s amazing that your body can accommodate to that change! Stretch marks look like lightning bolts or tiger stripes anyway!

Tummy rolls, visible belly line + crop tops

Omg. This is one of my favorite combos. Whenever I see a non-flat stomach and a crop top, my heart soars. It only encourages me to wear crop tops too. Regular waistlines need to be normalised. Disney princesses have the most unrealistic waist line I’ve ever seen. Sweetie, where are your organs??? I ALSO LOVE WHEN YOU CAN SEE YOUR BELLY LINE THROUGH YOUR DRESS/SHIRT, ITS SO SEXY TO ME. IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT.

Natural breasts that aren’t perky/saggy b00bs

Mmmmm yes honey. Those bralettes or bandeau tops whenever women choose not to wear a bra and there’s the natural weight of the breasts, just resting you know, just chilling,,, SO HOT. You don’t have to have your t1ddies up to the skies. Bras are uncomfortable anyways 🙄 With the standby jabby underwire, I swear I actually have permanent marks from them on my rib cage. Let those puppies hang, give them a break you know. I love to massage them after a sore day of having to wear a bra all day 😣 n1pples through the shirt? 🤭 yes please

HIP DIPS

Round hips are pretty, don’t get me wrong but hip dips?? HIP DIPS LOOK STRONG. Something about hip dips gives me this atheletic build look to it. I love the nickname ‘violin hips’ too 🥺 It’s so cute. Whenever you carry something and it’s too heavy, so you rest it on your hips for leverage- UGH YES.

[grapenamjams]

Tavern Nights

Genre: Fluff, slight NSFW

Characters: Julian from the arcana and my apprentice Eliza

A/N: i really wanted to write about my favorite dumb doctor but I am not super proud of this one but I still figured I post it because maybe someone will enjoy it? 

a little bit about my MC

Her name is Eliza (she/her. Female.) She is 5′2 has brown wavy hair, brown eyes (with specks of green) she also has adorable freckles across her nose. she just wants her red haired doctor to be able to get some rest lol 

Tonight was a rare night indeed. After weeks of telling Julian that he needed a vacation Eliza was finally able to negotiate with the doctor to take the weekend off, although she had hoped to get more days off, at this point she would take any number to see him not worry about work, and one of the ways that makes Julian forget and not worry is by looking at the bottom of a couple of tankards. 

The Scarlett haired doctor slams the wooden cup down onto the table breathing out a loud Satisfied sigh. “Ah! DRINKS ON ME!” He yells, a eruption of ‘cheers’ and Hollers sound out inside the the rowdy raven. The sound dies down transforming into the usual chatter that bounces off the walls of the small warmly lit tavern. Eliza looks to Julian who has a huge smile, warming her heart to see the happiness on his handsome face. “Julian, honey you already said that... after every drink in fact” she giggles, the alcohol going through her body making her Susceptible to laughing more than usual. ”It has to be said after every drink dear! it makes The experience more authentic!” He grins at her before accepting another pint from the server. Good thing that the tavern owner knows Julian and does not put those words on their tab. 

Eliza sipped on her glass, letting the bitter liquid make its way down her throat, she wasn’t much of a drinker like Julian was a soft buzz through her veins was enough for her. She heard a few distinct shuffling in the corner and then a upbeat tune starts to play. “Oh ho the band is finally here!” Julian brightens up. Eliza sees people start pushing tables aside creating their own dance space in the middle of the tavern. Before she knows it a crowd already formed, stomps and cheers ringing out through the small space into the night outside. Neighbors already turning over in their beds hugging their pillows to their face to block out the lively music. 

Julian slides out of their booth and stretches a bare hand towards her, his gloves and coat discarded the moment they walked in. “May I take this stunning women out to dance?” He grins. without missing a heart beat Eliza laughs “you certainly may!” she takes his hand and Julian pulls her out of the booth and into his arms. “Wonderful, lets dance!” He laughs and takes her to the crowd of people. 

The music that was playing had a group dance to it, Julian leaves Eliza on one side of the line as he goes to the other one in front of her. Both lines skip side to side in the beginning and Then her line starts forward having a little skip to the step until they are face to face with the other line, Julian smiles at her and then she skips back. Julian’s line repeats the step, when Julian is close to her he leans down and gives a quick peck to her lips before he’s pulled away, Eliza’s heart skips a beat. her line then goes Forwards again but this time they duck under the other lines raised arms trading place, a ‘woooo’ is let out when they do this, Then another as Eliza raises her arms for Julian to duck through going on her tippy toes for his large frame.

 Both lines face towards the band and start clapping on beat as people from the two lines meet each other at the start and dance their way down the open middle, then the next pair went and another until she was met with Julian. He grabs her left hand and spins her around showing her off to the crowd a cheer is heard for them and Eliza blushes. He then puts his left arm around her waist and begins to lead her down the clapping line. When they reach the end he still holds her close, moving side to side with her. Then as the last people paired up the music changed, this one faster with the violin going full out. An even wider smile breaks across Julian’s face he looks at her and raises his eyebrows “ready?” but before she could say anything, Julian leads her forwards his feet skipping at a faster past almost hopping at times, Eliza had no choice but to try to keep up with his pace at first making her stumble on her feet at the fast movements, hearing Julian's laugh above her gave her brain a different type of buzz as they danced around the tavern.

 Forwards, backwards, to the sides Julian moved Eliza all through out the space. Spinning her and him around to the sway of the music. He loved seeing her tilt her head back and laugh still holding on to him letting him lead her. She brought her head back up keeping the smile on her face all the way through the song. Once it ended, the crowed clapped and cheered for the band. In a matter of seconds a new song ringed out over them. It was a much calmer pace but still upbeat tempo it was a chance for the participants to catch their breath. 

Julian spines Eliza out in front of him taking a good look at her figure, feeling something hot come over him. He pulls her back to his chest and very much like her own is moving up and down trying to catch their breaths. Julian's hands travel down her body and land on her hips, making a shiver pass through Eliza’s spine. she wraps her arms around his neck and he pulls her towards him making their hips move together. 

Julian bends down to whisper in her ear. “You look absolutely ravishing tonight my dear” his voice husky and low, breath fanning over her heated neck. Eliza hums “hm you think so?” Julian lifts his head a bit his lips ghosting over her jaw “absolutely, the thoughts that I’m having right now would get any man in trouble” Eliza smirks up at him “well lets see how much trouble those thoughts will get you in” Julian's eyes flicker to hers, darkening with desire before he crashes his lips to hers. He kisses her softly at first but then he feels her hands go through his hair , pushing him against her deepening the kiss. he has to suppress a groan that comes from his throat by tightening his hold on her hips. Julian then parts from her lips to kiss her neck. He kisses her twice before both of them hear a mans voice come up next to them 

“Julian you lovesick man treat your women to a room!” The pair snap their heads towards a man dancing with his partner. Julian and Eliza turn bright red at being caught. Eliza hides her face in Julian's chest smiling and shaking her head from embarrassment. Julian recovers and laughs at the man with confidence although in the inside he’s a flustered mess. “will do! thank you for the suggestion my good man” the man laughs and takes his partner away. Julian looks down at Eliza who still has her faces hidden in his chest holding the lapels of his Semi open shirt to cover her face. 

“That was embarrassing” she says against his skin, Julian chuckles and puts a finger to her chin making her look up at him. “It shouldn’t, what’s wrong with two people that love each other show a little bit of affection, huh?” Eliza bites her lip trying to Suppress a smile. Julian sees and tugs her bottom lip away from her teeth. “I want the whole world to know your mine and I am yours” he gives her a kiss and pulls back again. “If anyone has a problem with that then...send them my way I’ll give them something to talk about.” he smiles making Eliza shake her head at him, the embarrassment leaving her. “You’re so dramatic” she wraps her arms around his neck again as the next song picks up. “Darling, aren't I always?” He grins and begins to lead her through the next dance.

* * * 

 After a few more dances and after a few more Emptied tankards Eliza thought it was time to start heading home. She finished her last drink, the lightness she felt throughout her body still let her be aware of what was around her so she could get herself and Julian safely home.

 “Another round, please!” Julian says to the server who is picking up their plates and many cups. “A-actually I think we’re done, can you round our tab please?” The server smiles and nodes before walking away. “Awww why so soon?” Julian pouts at her. Eliza lets out a giggle “because if I don’t get you out of here, you’re gonna start dancing on the tables and once that happens there’s no getting you out of bed the next morning” she pushes his chest lightly, Julian laughs at that

 “aaand I want to do things tomorrow with you, so I can’t have you laying in bed all day” Julian smirks and grabs her wrist that stayed on his chest, pulling her towards him looking her up and down “but my dear we can also do ‘things’ while laying in bed all day, right?” he leans closer and Eliza matches his smirk but leans away from him raising An eyebrow “with a pounding headache? I don’t think so” Julian smiles and lets out a breath “you’re right” he wraps his arms around her in a tight hug and mumbles “I want to spend the whole day with you with a clear mind, yeah?.... ‘cuz I love youuu” he says squeezing her tight against him squishing her. “Ilya....can’t...breath” she says laughter bubbling inside her. he slackens his hold on her and she looks up at him to see a worried expression on his face “I’m sorry Eliza, are you alright?? Can you breath now?” His hands are on her face checking her like as if she in fact was having trouble breathing from his hug. She places her hands on his “Im fine Julian” his face shows that he is relived “oh good” but a smirk comes just as quick “but are you sure? If you need mouth to mouth, I’ll gladly provide” she pulls his hands away from her face, knowing that this walk home was gonna be a interesting one. “I know you would” smiling, she leans in and kisses him, Julian lets out a satisfied sigh but pouts when she pulls away. “Now come on let’s go home”

 When they stepped out of the tavern Eliza didn’t realize how hot it was inside of it. The night air hit her like a wave of cold water, she shivered a bit and fixed her coat around her. The position of the moon overhead as they walked home told her it was well past midnight. Julian was staggering next to her half humming and singing a song from the band that played, he was hunched down with an arm over her shoulder, she insisted on him putting some of his Weight on her so he wouldn't fall on the uneven cobblestones that the lanterns barley helped light.

 Julian lays his head on top of hers and breaths in “You always smell like a field of flowers my dear.” He slurs, Eliza lets out a amused laugh “really? I just danced and was inside a smelly tavern for the last few hours, I Smell far from a field of flowers” she feels Julian shake his head into her hair “not trueeee, you smell of roses and your hair is so soft like..like soft angel wings!” His voice coming out slow and deep. He pokes her cheek “Your skin is also so soft like...” he pauses trying to find something to compare it too. “Ah! Like a baby’s-“ “don’t you dare finish that sentence” Eliza cuts him off. Julian barks out a laugh rocking both of them, Eliza tries to quickly steady them both. 

 “What I’m trying to tell you is that your beautiful, my love” his arms go around hugging her “I love you, you know that? I’ll never know how I got so lucky” He nuzzles his head on top of hers. Then sucks in a breath “I-I truly do love you Eliza! Its the truth! It’s not just the alcohol ‘talkin, I mean it! I really do. With all my heart” he sounds desperate for her to understand his feelings,  his pout being heard in his voice. Eliza’s heart warms at his words and actions.  she can’t help but to smile and puff out a laugh. She places her hands on top of his around her making him stop his rambling and she squeezes them reassuring him. “I know Ilya, I love you too” she tilts her head up to him and he gives her a kiss.

* * * 

 Once they entered through the door Eliza let out a relived sigh to be finally back home. The shops incense filling her head. Something wooden landed on the floor with a thud, quickly followed by a sluggish voice “s-sorry my bad” doing a spell to turn on the lights Eliza sees Julian trying to pick up the table he had crashed into but he was swaying forward in the processes missing it, clearly dizzy from drinking. She chuckled, going over and steading the table. She grabbed Julian again “Let’s get you upstairs and into the shower, hm?” Julian nodes but the movement makes his head swell. with a bit of a struggle trying not to fall back down the pair make it upstairs. Eliza helps shed Julian's coat, gloves and boots while he tries to do the same to her but Eliza laughed as she moved away from his grasps making Julian whine in protest.

“Alright, go take a shower” she tugs him towards the bathroom but Julian doesn't go inside, instead He looks at the bathroom and then her with a smug look “you know. I’ve heard that Vesuvias water source is getting low...” he leans in closer “shouldn’t we do our part in saving it?” 

‘Gosh why is he an adorable idiot?’ Eliza thinks as she rolls her eyes amused. but As much as she loves the idea she wants him to relax so he could rest thoroughly tonight and be fresh for tomorrow and also.... she  liked teasing him “we can save vesuiva’s water problem” she smirks and leans up to kiss him but pauses “later, for now go get in the shower you smell” she goes back down to her feet and pushes him gently towards the bathroom.

the doctor frowns but then his eyebrows shoot up “is that a promise?”

“It’s a maybe” she replies

“I’ll take it!” And without saying anything else he goes into the bathroom.

* * * 

Julian comes out of the shower looking refreshed. his wet hair still dripping on to the towel around his neck. After telling him to drink some water Eliza goes inside the bathroom to take a quick shower as well. It felt good standing under the warm water, letting her body Wind down from today’s activities. She steps out of the shower and changes into her night clothes. When she enters the bedroom again Julian is sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her, the glass of water she put for him empty. his hair still wet and dripping into the towel. She places her used one on a chair, “why is your hair still wet?” She asks

“I was waiting for you.” She turns to him an eyebrow raised in question “for me?” Julian's cheeks get a tint of pink on them “I...wanted you to dry my hair...” he averts his eyes. A smile makes its way across Eliza’s face “so you waited this whole time for me, so I could dry your hair?” Julian nodes his head looking up at her walk over to him trying not to laugh.

 “Julian you could get a cold” she says, sitting on his lap her legs on either side of him, his hands instinctively going to her hips. He looks up at her and gives her one of his grins “good thing I’m a doctor that has a lovely nurse to take care of him” Eliza laughs ‘what an adorable idiot’ she cant help but think again.  she takes the towel around his neck and puts it over his head. “Mmhmm sure, a nurse that will spend the entire day hearing the complains of a doctor that got a cold more like” she says and shakes the towel against his hair. Julian chuckles at her response, closing his eyes.

 Once his hair was deemed dry by Eliza she starts to run her fingers through his scarlet hair making Julian lean into her touch, resting his head on her shoulder. With the feeling of her surrounding him and with the calming silence of the shop, even maybe due to the salty bitters in his system. Julian’s tired mind couldn’t help but to wander, thinking of all the moments that he had missed with her because of his work. 

How many breakfasts ,lunches, dinners  had he missed with her? How many of her smiles and laughs had he not seen or heard? How many nights like the one they had tonight could have happened? A guilt came over him as he heard Eliza’s voice. “all done” he lifted his head to look at her, even though she had said she was finished her fingers still ran through his hair slowly, making curls with her finger.

“Thank you”

Eliza hummed “No need, I don’t mind”

He moved her closer “I mean, thank you for everything.  thank you for putting up with me, for being by my side for being here.” He pauses and sighs, he starts to rub her sides “I know.... I haven't been with you as of late. I’ve been so busy with work that I haven't been giving you the attention that you deserve... a-and for that I’m truly sorry, I certainly don’t deserve-“ Julian gets caught off by Eliza kissing him, when she pulls back he stares at her wide eyed. She places a finger to his lips and shakes her head “none of that kind of talk anymore, understand?” 

Knowing if she didn’t stop him he would go on a talk that would only lead to a dark place. Julian goes red “but its true I-“ she kisses him again and he smiles against her “understood” he says and kisses her again. Eliza pulls back, she puts one hand on his shoulder while the other one swipes away a already formed curl from his face. “Ilya. I love you and with that I understand that you love the work that you do which in turn makes me proud and happy. You don’t have to be sorry, we get moments like these don’t we? And I appreciate them even more when we do.” she kisses him again and he sighs happily “Thank you” . Eliza traces a finger down his cheek and following his sharp jaw “besides, I have you all to myself for three days and I plan to use that time wisely” Eliza insides do a somersault at what she just said, this confidence definitely coming from the alcohol in her system. She tries to not blush but fails as she sees Julian also redden but gives her a smirk.

“My love, you can’t say those types of things to me right now, I will not be able to sleep” he shifts under her, making her cheeks warm up, he captures her lips in his kissing her softly she kisses him back just the same. after a moment Eliza reluctantly pulls away looking at his hooded eyes. “But sleep we must. If we want energy for tomorrow’s activities” she says rubbing his shoulders.  the doctors eyes flicker with interest before falling back onto the bed bringing Eliza down with him. She lets out a startled laugh on top of him and fixes herself on the bed. “Then sleep we shall, so tomorrow’s festivities come faster” Julian says letting out a soft chuckle, wrapping an arm around her waist putting his head close to her chest wanting to be held by her, she complies his silent request. “Someone’s eager” she teases him stroking his head again, “can’t blame me” he mumbles heavy eyes starting to close “goodnight my love” he gives her a small squeeze Eliza smiles into his hair giving him a kiss “goodnight Ilya”

[fericita-s]

Beginning After The End (Part 3)

Part 1   Part 2

Thank you @the-spaztic-fantastic​ for your awesome contributions to this, including the whole framework for this chapter.  Her exact words were: “You really wanna f*** up some people, do a compare/contrast piece where it switches between her meeting Elias and her re-meeting Hubert and how she decides on both in scene by scene cuts.”  So, here it is, meant for maximum pain! 

***

Elias sent flowers to the print shop every day after their dance at the ball.  Thea’s parents were pleased, then amused, and then annoyed as every surface of their small store was covered and the fragrance made everyone who entered sneeze.

“Please tell this young man he may court you before people start thinking we’re florists,” her father said, looking up from his work with inky hands and a pleased smile.

***

“I hope you’ll stay,” Elias had said when she told him her parents approved the courtship but only planned to stay in Arendelle long enough to make the print shop profitable before they sold it and sailed back to their family land in Denmark. 

“I hope you’ll give me a reason,” said Thea before turning and walking further into Hudson’s, waving to Maddie and joining her at a table.

***

“If you’re leaving, don’t return here,” Thea told Hubert when he said he’d come back and visit.  “I can't bear it, waiting on a ship to come in.”

Hubert looked at her, steadily, and she didn’t see any anger or hurt in his eyes. Perhaps he understood.

“Then come with me.”

She began to cry.

***

“I love you,” Elias said, and it was like a groan, like a confession causing him pain.  His hips were flush against hers and she could feel the hardness there, could feel as well as hear his words as he half-whispered them into her ear. “I know we can’t get married right away but can we soon? May I talk to your father?”

She answered with a kiss, which was perhaps not what Manners Mistress had taught about courtship, but Thea didn’t see how she could respond any other way.  If she could melt her body into his, she would, and not mind one bit if she lost herself in the process.

***

“I know you don’t love me,  I know it's not love right now. You’re still grieving. We’re both mourning.” Hubert looked so earnest, so plaintive, and his kindness brought more tears to her eyes so that she wasn’t even looking at him anymore.  She covered her face and wiped at it with clumsy hands and then Hubert closed the distance between them and hugged her to his chest.

“Can’t we mourn together?  Make a new family?” Her ear was pressed against his chest and she could feel the rumble as he spoke. She took a few deep breaths and his hands dropped from her shoulders at this sign of composure. She drew back from him, but there were only inches between their faces and the space felt charged with a passion made from despair.

“Oh Hubert. If you want a family, find a young woman with child-bearing years ahead of her.  I’m sure mine are over.”

He shook his head. “I know they aren’t mine, but I could love Sasha and Vadik and Elias like they were.  Sasha could study music in Antwerp.  The Ecole speciale de musique is world-renowned! And you know Vadik would love to have an adventure in a new place.  Little Elias would get along fine, and you can bring as many of your own staff as you’d like. I won’t replace Elias. I won’t. But let me build a legacy.  Let us help each other.”

Thea shook her head and kept her eyes on the floor, on a spot just in front of him. “What you’re longing for, I don’t think I can give you that.  I think I don’t have any of it left.”  

“I meet plenty of young women and they make me feel like a lecher.  I could be their father in age and none will speak to me as easily about aquaculture and art. None could converse with dignitaries or business associates and help secure deals by virtue of her hosting.”

Thea gave a small laugh. 

Hubert smiled.  “We have a long friendship.  Is that not a basis for a good marriage?”

She began crying again but she put a hand up to keep him away. “Would you give me someone new to mourn?”

***

The first time they made love it was rushed and awkward and wonderful, desperation and longing finally fulfilled as Elias gently tugged at layers of clothing and pressed himself to her.  She sought the skin that had been hidden underneath his shirt and trousers and ran her hands along the hard muscle there, wondering if she would always feel this way, so urgent in her need of him. She hadn’t wanted to wait until the wedding and he had let out a sigh of relief when she told him, better than any marriage vow could be in her ears. Then, after the wedding, their nights together still felt like stolen time as his frequent expeditions made each leaving and each homecoming equally urgent and passionate.  Had she known even then their time would be too short?

***

The first time with Hubert was slow and unhurried. Like they had all the time in the world, and she supposed they did.  

Too much time.  

Hubert said he had been feeling the crush of time now that three dear friends were dead, that it would run out before he was ready.  But she felt cursed with it.  

All this time to survive. 

The elder Calders and the royal couple had died with their beloveds and she somehow had to make a life without hers. 

This would help her forget. 

It would feel good. 

She lost herself in his gentle and generous caress, his whispered words and his hands rolling down her stockings and pulling her body to his.  These were not frantic fumblings in the dark corners of a house between teenagers, ears alert to the movement of parents in upstairs rooms.  He took the dressing robe from her shoulders and she stretched her hands across the broadness of his chest, losing herself in the pleasure of his body against hers and the rhythm and heat they made together. It was a feeling of fullness, of pleasure, and it had been so long.

After, he pulled her trembling body against his and she cried, saying “I forgot, I forgot.” 

But even she didn’t know what she meant.  Did she forget what pleasure was like? Did she forget Elias? And was that a relief or tragedy? Hubert didn't ask and she was relieved he didn't. Instead his hands stroked her hair and pulled the coverlet over them as he murmured to her in a language she didn't know.  

In the morning when they awoke to the sound of Sasha practicing her violin and Vadik running down the steps and calling for Sara, Hubert pulled her tightly to himself again and offered new vows.

“I promise to help you forget when you want to forget and to help you remember when you want to remember.”

But she didn’t know which she wanted just then, so she tried to make light of it.  “Just promise me you won’t get on a boat.”

He lifted himself off of the bed and then lowered his head to kiss her firmly on the lips, more as a sign of agreement than a sign of passion but Thea felt the stirrings of desire at the sincerity and kindness in his words: “I promise.”

***

When Elias died, she was pregnant with their third child and it kept her alive, this remnant of her husband. She watched her body swell and grow in familiar ways and when the baby boy was born she saw his face and spoke the name of who she missed, who this baby looked like, who she wished could see what he had made and left behind. “Elias,” she whispered, as the baby grasped her finger with his fist. 

“What a lovely name, dear,” said the midwife. “It suits him.”

***

Hubert was the first to guess, even before Thea herself. His hands were on her breast and around her middle as they lay together in bed, the quiet of the house like a blanket of calm around them.

“No, I don’t think so. I haven’t had a cycle since little Elias was born, and that’s been over a year now.” She spread her hands over her middle where a roundness was evident.  “Perhaps you are just feeding me well.”

“Eat as much as you like.  More for me to love,” he said as he nuzzled his head into her neck and her heart sped at this declaration of affection and stuttered over the hope of new life.  Now that it was spoken, she wanted it.  But it was too dangerous to hope.

***

Elias was slightly drunk and reeked of cigar smoke when she placed Sasha in his arms for the first time, sleeping and wrapped tightly in swaddling.  Thea hoped to be sleeping soon too, every part of her felt heavy and tired though her joy at seeing their daughter in his arms was so wonderful, she closed her eyes, trying to commit it to memory so she could paint it later. The lines of surprise on his face, the reverence with which he held her. “Oh she’s beautiful,” he said. “Well done, Thea.”

***

Hubert was surprised, and Thea too, when a very tiny baby boy followed a very tiny baby girl after a mercifully quick labor.  Thea might have worried about their size but for the loud cries both made.  The midwife washed and wrapped them both quickly, placing one in her arms and one in Hubert’s.  Thea wasn’t even sure if she had the boy or the girl and the midwife was busy wiping her with a clean washcloth and only spoke Flemish so she didn’t ask.

Hubert kissed Thea’s sweaty brow, such joy in his face that Thea could feel it reflected back onto her. “I knew you were a remarkable woman. Two at once!”

 ***

“I love you,” Hubert said, and it was like he thought it a burden to her or an inconvenience, like he was worried she would feel obligated to love him too. He called her “dearest” but she only called him “dear,” and she knew he noticed the lack of the superlative when he dropped that endearment entirely.  He chose a new one each time he addressed her, mostly in the German native to his mother.  Liebling and Perle and Engel. Sometimes in French: Mon coeur, mon tresor, and even mon chou to make her laugh. 

She called him Hubert and that was enough for him, for now. At least she hoped. Too much of her was still faded and lost in grief. But waking up beside him every day in a new kingdom in a new city without the glare of the fjord and the creaking of boats, she thought she might not be faded much longer.  

The twins stirred in their bassinet and Hubert picked them up, cradling one in each arm.  He turned to her and smiled.

[c-atm]

fighting flirty: Special match Bonus Match pt2

Steven and Lion skidded out of the pink portal in front of Connie’s place.

“Good job, Lion.” He smirked as he rubbed his companion skull in appreciation. He turned toward the  residence, more specifically the second window where he saw the light of candles and the silhouetted curves of Connie behind royal blue curtains. He took a low, excited breath before feeling Lion nudge him forward with his head, towards the door. “I’m going.” He chuckled as he gave his beast cat of a son a playful headbutt. “ Go head home.”

Lion gave him a gentle growl and a knowing look, before roaring another portal and jumping in..

Steven turned around and started toward the door, digging for his set of keys out of his jacket.

Nervousness…

Excitement…

Wanting...So much wanting

These are what fueled one Connie Maheswaran's actions as she ran through last minute checks.

"Ok, got the body paint and glitter." She turned to the assortment of small jars filled thick liquid of different colors with brushes in them and a couple soft plastic paint spreaders beside  them. Next to them was a large clear bowl of  body glitter that seemed to sparkle like stars

"Comforters for us to lay on or kneel on as we paint and play." She turned her gaze down to the floor at four large navy blue comforters lined up in a square reaching the west wall to the east and taking up the whole center third of the room.

"Vanilla and Jasmine scented candles." She looked at the four candles placed at corners, of the room, away from them and their supplies, giving the dark violet room a natural sensual glow..

She folded her arms with pride, looking at her setup. "Hmm. Ok..Now for the last 'oomph' of ambiance. " She turned her head toward the ceiling.  "Play February 15th, playlist."

At her command, the sounds of violin, bass, piano and sax began playing a sensual, jazzy ballad in a nice low background volume. "Perfect." She congratulated herself as she shook the nerve off her, bouncing on her toes.

'This is gonna be a good night. Just some alone time with Steven, no different from today or any other time, except..' She felt her face raise In temperature ' It's not. Not at all… ' The grin on her face gained more excitement by the moment.

"Calm down Connie... You're supposed to be calm, cool, collected. Flirty, seductive. " She whispered to herself. ' Yeah, but my heart won't stop thumping and my grin won't fall and I can't stop feeling hyper and for what?! ' She groaned running her hands through her hair, before dissolving into embarrassed and love-filled giggles. "For him. Always for him.” She breathed deeply  “You know what's really bad.. I like it. This feeling of enamorment. God damn it!” She smiled  as she shook her head, biting her lps. “How did it come to this?”

“I don’t know, maybe we teased a bit too much.”

Connie stood straight as she felt shivers down her spine at the sound of his husky voice and cool minty breath in her ear. The feeling of his lips on her temple and whiskers on her shoulder, making her sigh out a laugh. “How much did you hear, Mister? That was a private monologue.” She rubbed his left cheek while kissing his right. Enjoying the feel of his hair upn her skin “Rugged.”

“Somewhere around ‘For him, always for him’.

“The good part”

He chuckled at the amorous tone and the affectionate touches. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you did somewhere between entertaining Little Homeworld and charming gems and girls alike.” She teased kissing the corner of his mouth. “I missed you too, though.”

“Missed you more.”

“Oh? Doubtful.”

“And why is that huh?”  

“Hmm” She moved away from him walking forward  to the center of the room, before turning towards him with her hands behind her back.” Look at what I did for you.”

Steven did take a look at the room and the work she put in, feeling touched and appreciated...His eyes went to her outfit and the feeling of hunger rose within him as well.

Connie arched her right brow before giving him a smirk “Mister?” Her voice dripped with carnality. Her left hand finding the edges of the bow and giving it a slight tug. She laughed at him licking his lip. “In time Mister.” She let go of the bow, chuckling a bit at his blushing face.

“Little minx. “ He growled as he walked up and wrapped his arms around her resting his hands on her ‘heart’..

“Being a bit handsy aren’t we and it seems so intentional as well.” She wrapped her arm  around his shoulders pulling him closer,

“It is.” He grinned as he squeezed her, getting a delighted gasp from Connie.

“So bold, Mister. Is this what i’ll be dealing with tonight?”  

“Tonight..” He gave her a clipping kiss, releasing it with a ‘Chu’.

“Tomorrow..”  he gave Another.

“Beyond..” And another.

Connie bit her the corner of her lip. “Oh..Such an exciting prospect.”

“It’s only right, since you came up with such a daring idea and declaration, Heartberry.”

“Well, then..Here's another one.“

Steven's eyes widened just a moment as he fell rhythm into Connie’s kiss. He groaned as she lured his tongue into her mouth with her own, before having it and his bottom lips sucked on gently, it was exhilarating and so passionate, he couldn't help but give her bottom a grab while a small moan escaped.

“Mhmh..MMM..Squeezing again? “ She teasing through the kiss rocked her hips side to side within his hands. “Might have to be careful wearing things like dresses and skirts around you, Bottom man.”

“You don’t wear...Mmm.. skirts and dresses much.” He broke the kiss to look at her blushing impish face  “Though it doesn't matter what you wear. You're too bewitching  to not want you in my arms.”

"I think you mean palms, Grabby."

"Those too." he  gave her a snicker that tugged at her heart.

“You dork..Thank you Steven.” she gave him a few tender kisses holding his cheek as she did.“ Not only are you loving, and kind but.. “ She looked at his bare torso, his round belly, with abs and strong pecs. “Hhhoooo~ Oooooo." She breathed out. Nodding her head in appreciation

"That's a compliment if ever." He chuckled as she traced her index finger upon his stomach looking both innocent and seductively.

"It's the damn truth." She stated in defiance. "Not to rag on someone else's preference, but I just can't see the appeal of a slim, thin partner. Not when the alternative is…”

Connie nipped under his chin making him shiver. As she spoke in a luscious tone “Big..”

“Husky.” She trailed down to his throat placing mini love bites upon him. Sighing as his grip on her seat got tighter.

“Burr~rrly.” She purred as she placed more bites from his neck down to his chest, her hands roaming down his back to the seat of his sweats.

“Ey!” He yelped as he got a squeeze of his own. “Whose grabby now, Minxy?

Connie shrugged before giving him a quick peck and moving back. “Ok. I think we had our fun.” She gave him a grin “ So now, it’s time we get down to business.”

“And by business you mean.”

“Fun.” Her grin lowered to a gentle loving smile. “ Sweet, heartfelt fun.”

Steven hung his head to the side as he watched her gather the art supplies and lined them beside the comforter.

When she was done she signaled him to sit down beside her. “Come here, Mister.”

Steven sat down crossed legged looking up at Connie, holding his chin in intrigue. “Hmm. So what is this all about?”

“Didn’t I say I want you to make art of me.“

Steven nodded. “You did, but if i suppose to make art of you, I need a canvas”

She shook her head. “Mister, I thought it would be oblivious.” She signaled to the paints and to herself.

“Hmm?”

“I’ll say it again.” She took his right hand in hers guiding it to one of the paints, a strawberry pink. “I want you.” She slowly dipped his index in swirling it around a little.“To make..”   She pulled the pink covered digit, the slight nervous trembling of his hand making her feel a bit more bold and teasy. Slowly putting the tip right under her breast. “Me…’ She trailed his finger to the center of her stomach,sighing at the cool feeling of the paint. “Art.”

Steven red faced and stunned, could only watch jaw-dropped as she took his paint stained finger and sucked the rest of the paint off. Giving the digit a little kiss before looking at him through half-lid bedroom eyes and a bitten lip.

“Tasteful art.”

Her sensual tone and leer sent lighting through his spine forcing him to sit up straight, at attention. “Ooooh whoo.” He exhaled an exaggerated breath that was hidden in his chest, beaming in delight.

Connie bent over from the waist, giving him a gentle and luscious kiss. “You’re so cute, Mister.” She gave him an impish giggle. “So...Did I do good or did I do great?”

He looked at her with adoration“Ni, My best friend, Jambae, Heartberry. Come here”  He tapped on his thighs.

Connie maroon cheeked, sat between his thighs, nuzzling and sighing as he held her close; his arms wrapped around her torso kissing her shoulder and neck.

“I can’t believe you would do this...How long have you been planning tonight?”

Connie looked away feeling shy. “Umm. Heh.. About two weeks.”

“Two weeks? Did it take that long for the paints to come.”

“For the brushes, candles and comforters."

"Steven narrowed his eyes." What about the paints?"

Connie felt her face grow hotter as smirked, coolly. "It's no big deal...Just learned to make body paint and glitter out of  fruit, chocolate, and candy."

"What?" Steven's voice was filled with admiration and adulation for the woman in his arms.

"Anyone can learn how to make edible body art." Her voice was nonchalant as she waved her hand. "Not a big deal."

Steven looked at his knight with an arched eyebrow but didn't say anything.

Connie shook her head before sighing. "Fine, you know what. It is a big deal." She placed her hands on top of his."Tonight Is a very big deal. ..To me."

"I figured as much… Especially when you talked about submission." He kissed her temple. "We've already done things that could be considered giving ourselves to each other."

"True...Something I'll never regret" She snickered and kissed his whiskered chin. " But I'm not just talking about the physical and teasing aspect of 'US'

"Oh I know...You're not one to use words like submission and yield when talking about yourself." Steven growled feeling her soft lips. "So it begs the question. What's this really about? What you're submitting too?"

"I said you, but In context. I 'm submitting  to being a bit more...Romantic? ... Fanciful for you. " She breathed out an awkward chuckle. " I mean, it's not a surprise trip or a great big gesture like you would do for me. Intimacy is more my style."

"Connie, this wouldn't have to be because of today?"

"Not just today…" Connie turned around to face him, her legs around his hips, arms around  his shoulders. She gazed into his deep brown eyes, the candle lights making them look more like bourbon than almond.  "For everyday... For every time you reprimanded me for working too late, and making me relax...Every time you listened to me babble on about the newest project at R&D, college class, book, tv show or whatever."

She felt the rising chuckles aching to come up. "For every time you come find me after we argue, to comfort me and be comforted by me Hell, for every time you opened up and allow yourself to be comforted by me…."

Steven chuckled " Most people wouldn't  thank someone for that."

"Well I am." She kissed him gently before placing her forehead to his. "I thank you for trusting me enough for that...For making me feel trusted…"

"It's not hard too after all we've been through. You always have the best intentions for me."

"Of course,I do. You're important to me. " She gave him another kiss."How could I not. After all the times you made me feel loved and cherished on every level, through gestures grand and small. Made me feel safe and protected without making me feel weak and demure."

"Not that anyone could, you paragon of humanity." He teased before pulling her closer to him by her hips. "Besides, you know I find your pride and strength completely irresistible."

Her heart swooned and her temperature ran a little hot under the collar at his baritone whisper.

"Mis~ter" She purred a sigh when he started kissing the left side of her neck .Blushing without shame. "That's another reason why you don't make me feel needed.." She chuckled as he nipped and sucked on her neck. " You make me blush, squirm, trembling, and moan..You make me feel desired, hungered for...wanted." She ran her hands through his lock massaging his scalp and getting a pleasure growl from the hybrid.

" You are and you do the same for me." Steven looked at her loving and carnal smile,giving her one of her own. "Every growl, snarl, exaggerated, breath, and float brought through t your teasing touches, sly glances, playful words and other sensual mannerisms. Proves that. " Steven  caressed her cheek causing her to beam. " The best part of it.

" It's out of love. Carnal in action..but "

"Generally, cause we love each other."

"As expected from my 'compliment'.' She

kissed his palm, before kissing his lips. "It because of that.. I wanted to do something. special. To show you that, I love you." She rested  her head upon his "And despite us not being in a relationship..My heart is yours.. and yours alone."

"Mines is yours, You know that Connie." Steven reciprocated." We don't  need to be in  relationship to be together. We agreed."

'I do. so that why I wanted to do something to celebrate that. Not because of the day or anything, but because..I love you.. " She giggled as she wiped her eye. " Got me being schmaltzy. You know, I love you." She took her a breath.

"Such a lovey-dovey berry I have." he teased as he held her close hearing her rapid heart against his own.

She held him just as close "Only and always for my precious and treasured Mister..." She chuckled before she pulled away with a smile " So.. Now that you know why..There only one thing to do..Given the set up." She teased before dipping her finger into a brown paint.

"And what's that?" Steven looked surprised  at her poking his tanned nose and staining it with the chocolate colored and scented paint.

"Paint each other in the colors of our sweet affection." She chuckled before licking the chocolate off him. His surprised and blushing face making her laugh more. "I told you I had a plan for them chocolates."

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- fifteen

Sherlock Holmes fancies you.

           It’s taken you longer than you’d like to admit to come to this conclusion, but once you did, sitting there in the middle of a game of Cluedo, it was like the skies opened up. Not because you you’re going to act on it now – well, maybe, but you haven’t decided; he is fun to mess with, though – but because all of his little actions make sense.

           How…gentle he is toward you. Yes, the two of you have your arguments, but they are never real. They are always playful, teasing, both of you trying to get a rise out of the other – and it works. But you knew when he picked you up and carried you to the cab, and when he put you in his bed – you knew that day that something was different. It was just put on the back burner because of obvious reasons.

           You were trying to write it off as something else, of course. Because he’s Sherlock Holmes, he doesn’t have friends, so why would a man like him have a crush? But one thing you kept forgetting to remind yourself is that underneath all of that, Sherlock Holmes is still very much a human being. And the chemistry of a crush is extremely telling.

           Like his dilated pupils.

           When he saw you yesterday morning– afternoon with only the jumper covering your body, his pupils dilated. You wrote it off as his eyes widening, because who wouldn’t be shocked by a woman opening her door in only her jumper? But it was there. There is no denying it.

           Especially not when you saw it again, when he looked at you while playing Cluedo. There was a hint of a smile there when he explained something to you, but it was all in the eyes. It’s always in the eyes.

           That is why Molly’s accusation comes as such a surprise to you.

           “Do you fancy him?”

           Your sandwich stops halfway to your mouth as you give her a strange look. “Who?”

           “Sherlock,” she replies, like it’s painfully obvious, then lowers her voice to say, “I think he fancies you.”

           You place your sandwich down in front of you, smirking. “What makes you say that?”

           She shrugs. “He talks about you differently.”

           “He talks about me?” You raise an eyebrow. Consider this research. This is yet another thing to add on to the growing list.

           “Well, I asked him about you.” Maybe not, then. “I asked where you were. Because he was experimenting for your case. And because he’s normally with you.”

           You ignore the last comment. “My case?”

           “The one with Tony and Allen?”

           “Oh, right,” you chuckle. Hearing their names sometimes still hurts. “But no, uh, I don’t fancy him.”

           Molly smirks. “He said the same thing.”

           “What about you?” You ask, switching things around. You noticed the ring on her hand, but you want her to be the one to tell you. “Anyone in your life?”

           “His name is Tom,” she smiles, then holding up her left hand. “And we’re…”

           “Engaged!” You grin. Bloody hell, everyone is getting engaged. Do people not have anything better to do with their lives? “It’s so pretty!”

           “He’s really sweet,” she begins to gush, and you let her. “He’s got a dog, and we go to the pub on the weekends and I’ve met all his friends and family.”

           “That’s lovely,” you smile softly. “I’m happy for you.” You feel like you say that too often. You’re happy for someone else. Does there ever come a time when you’re happy for yourself?

           “Thank you,” she chuckles. “So, if you don’t have anyone in mind…what’s your type?”

           “My type?”

           “Yeah, who do you like?”

           “I don’t really have a type,” you laugh awkwardly, picking through your bag of crisps. “The realest relationship I’ve had wasn’t technically a relationship…we never labeled it. And he’s— It was with Tony.”

           “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.”

           “It’s okay,” you shake your head, not wanting her pity. You’ve had enough pity the past few weeks to last a lifetime. “In the past. But I’m not really cut out for the whole relationship thing, so. It’s fine.”

           She gives you a look, and you almost want to ask her what it’s about, but you decide against it, returning to your lunch.

 ~~~

You fancy Sherlock Holmes.

           It’s the only possible solution, he thinks to himself. As of right now, he only has subtle evidence at best, but your pupils dilating during Cluedo, now that was telling. He hasn’t been close enough to you to feel your heartbeat, but he thinks he will try to do that as soon as possible.

           But “as soon as possible” is rather hard for Sherlock to accomplish with how secretive you’ve been the past week. You’re sleeping in until noon – which he supposes is a good thing because you do need your sleep, but you are retiring to your flat before eleven almost every night. John doesn’t worry about this because he just assumes you’re getting well-rested for a change, but Sherlock senses something different. Something that comes about because you’ve also been having lunch with Molly an awful lot. Not to mention the few days when Mary has visited, and you’ve practically been attached to her at the hip as well.

           So when Sherlock hears a creak down in your flat – unmistakable, really – he practically flies to the window to look out. With narrowed eyes, Sherlock watches you disappear down the sidewalk, glancing over your shoulder only once, but not up at the window where he stands.

           Interesting.

           He could follow you. That would be the easiest solution, but then again, nothing about you has ever been easy to him. He might as well presume this is the same.

           Instead, he grabs his lock picking kit from his room, and ventures down to your flat. Quickly opening your door, he sees the source of the creak he heard earlier.

           Your window. It’s cracked open and left unlocked.

           Now, Sherlock could sit here and wait for you to return, or he could do what he does best, and try to get a rise out of you.

           With a small smirk, he closes your window and flicks the lock, making sure it’s secure before he leaves your flat the way he came, also being sure to lock the door behind him.

           He pockets the kit and skips up the stairs to make a cup of tea.

           And then he waits.

~~~

You curse loudly as you check the time on your watch. You’re smart enough by now to know not to take your phone with you when you’re going somewhere you don’t want your brother to find out about – for example, the drug den. You aren’t even sure where you heard it called that, but you’re sure that’s what John would call it, knowing him.

           Sprinting as fast as you can through the streets, rounding the corner to Baker Street. John will be leaving for work soon – wait, does he even have a shift today? There’s no time for you to contemplate that. It’s best to just always assume he has a shift.

           You smile in relief upon seeing the window of your flat. You’re home free in just a few seconds.

           Or so you think.

           Your face falls when the window doesn’t budge. You swore you left it open like you always do. Cracked just enough, almost locked, so that you can still weasel your way back inside. But this time, you examine the lock, and it’s fully locked. Completely. You don’t even have anything with you to open it.

           You step down off the crate, ignoring the shakiness in your legs as your mind starts thinking. You don’t have your keys with you, so how the hell is this going to look? Knocking on the front door, very obviously looking like you’ve just come back from getting high – because you have – asking to be let back inside?

           Then it dawns on you.

           Who is the one person who would know where you’d been? Who would catch on to your little late-night behaviors quicker than anyone else?

           The answer is obvious.

           And he opens the door after you knock only one time.

“Don’t tell John.”

           Sherlock raises his eyebrows. “I haven’t said anything.”

           You quietly and slowly shut the door behind you, not wanting to wake Ms. Hudson – or John, especially not John. “But I know what you’re thinking.”

           “What am I thinking?”

           You sigh. “Can we at least talk about this in my flat instead of out here like a bunch of disrespectful hooligans?” You turn the door knob, already knowing it would be unlocked if Sherlock Holmes was sitting outside it.

           Sherlock does follow, and you hear him shut the door behind him – quietly, thank God. You glance at the clock, muttering a string of cuss words afterwards. You really hadn’t expected to be out this late, but now here you are, stumbling into your flat with Sherlock on your ass.

           “Go on,” you turn to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “What do you know?”

           Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock begins. “Those are the same clothes you wore yesterday, and you’ve been out all night, not a difficult deduction. You left through the window because you didn’t want me to hear the door but forgot to remember I look out the window when playing the violin. You haven’t slept.” He pauses. “Your pupils are dilated intensively and not from the lighting because the sun has yet to rise. You’re sweating, but not from scaling buildings, though that is plausible as well.”

           You nod. “Okay.”

           He sighs suddenly, causing your eyebrows to furrow.  He takes a few steps forward, and if you were sober you probably would’ve had enough sense to take a few steps back, but you don’t. You stay put, watching him in confusion as he gently takes your hand, his eyes watching you as he pushes the sleeve of your jumper up your arm, revealing the few injection sites from earlier.

           You avert your eyes, not wanting to see his expression when his thumb grazes over your veins. You don’t see the pain that fills his eyes, or the worry that follows when he sees older spots, confirming his suspicion that this has been happening for a while. A week, maybe two. But not only before that, from earlier. Years.

He’s disappointed in himself that he didn’t say something sooner. He suspected it but didn’t want to jump to any conclusions in fear of his growing sentiment clouding his brain. It turns out he should have let his heart rule his head.

           “I know an addict when I see one.”

           “I’m not an addict anymore,” you counter weakly.

           Sherlock raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you?”

           “I don’t need a lecture from you. From you of all people.” You yank your arm away this time, pulling your sleeve down harshly. “Go ahead and tell John if you must. I know you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

           “I’m not going to tell John.”

           “Why not?”

           “Because you are.”

           “I’m sorry?”

           “You care for John, you have since you met him. You’re going to feel guilty and you’ll tell him. In your own time.”

           “With all due respect, Sherlock Holmes, I’ve kept more from you and John than you’d think.”

           “Yes, I know,” he replies, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you detected a hint of sadness in his tone. “But this is different, isn’t it?”

           “I don’t know,” you pause. “Maybe.”

           He smirks, turning for the door. As he said before, he knows an addict when he sees one. And if you are anything like him, you’ll want a shower right now.

           “Hey, Sherlock?” You clear your throat when he turns back around. “It’s for a case. The Congregation.”

           “I’ve used the same excuse,” he gives you a look. “But why?”

           “I figured out to be drugged, Tony and Allen had to be vulnerable. As tourists, at a café. But I don’t sit down in a café.”

           “No, you get high,” he deadpans, furrowing his eyebrows.

           “Exactly,” you reply, entirely serious. “But it is just for the case.”

           He nods, but still looks like he doesn’t believe you. Which is fair. You’re not even entirely sure you believe yourself at this point. “You should still talk to John. Every instance when I didn’t, I wish I had.”

           “Why can’t I just confide in you?”

           Sherlock looks confused for a second before replying, in that tone that says why don’t you see the obvious, “Because John worries about you.”

           You raise an eyebrow. “And you don’t?”

           “Worrying takes up too much of my time,” he replies, but he’s smiling, a playful glint in his eyes.

           “Right,” you tease. “Says the man who locked the bloody window and waited up for me.”

           He looks down a little bashfully, almost like he’s embarrassed of his own actions. You shake your head, taking the few steps forward needed to close the distance between the two of you.

           You stretch up on your tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Good morning, Sherlock Holmes.”

           “G-Good morning,” he stutters, giving you a strange look.

           You see the light pink blush dusting his cheeks and you smile in satisfaction, sauntering off to your bathroom for a shower. You hear Sherlock leave your flat in a bit of a rush a second later.

[fluffyunicornofdanger]

Living a Little

Author’s Note: This has taken sooooooo much work because I had the hardest time coming up with a plotline but I finally figured it out. I plan on turning this into a series with probably five parts. And I just want to thank @rogertaylorsbitontheside and @waymorecake4me for helping me with this. I probably wouldn’t have posted it without both of your help. I don’t know, I’ll just have to see where it goes when it comes to making it a series. This is my first John Deacon fic so it might not be that great. Feedback on it would be amazing and I’ve decided to do headcanons, so send in requests. And I don’t know how much I will be posting this week as my school blocked tumblr. Something I’m so HAPPY about. Anyway, I hope you guys like it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist

70s!John Deacon x Reader

Part 1 of maybe 5?

Part 1/Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5

Summary: You get dragged out of your comfort zone by your roommate, even though she knows you never go out, due to your studies, to a rock concert. Of all places. But maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all, when you met a very interesting, certain bassist. And he just so happens to find you interesting too.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: None, except that it’s written in 3rd person

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Y/n’s roommate asked, entering the living room where Y/n sat on the sofa surrounded by notebooks, her textbook in front of her. Alice wasn’t that surprised, Y/n wasn’t one for outings... Much like the one they were supposed to take.

        Y/n shrugged, the answer obviously right in front of her.

        “Oh no,” she stated, coming over to her roommate. She quickly snatched the book out of Y/n’s reach, closing it on a page about the different blood types. With her hand on her hip, she shook her head at the girl in front of her.

Y/n looked like a wreck. Her hair was pinned against her head from the night before and she hadn’t even changed out of the t-shirt and shorts that she’d worn to bed. She was too wrapped up in studying to even think about doing anything else; however, Alice wasn’t having it. Y/n was stressed, whether she was willing to admit it or not, and it was way past time for her to get out of the house and go somewhere besides work or class. She needed a break and if she wasn’t going to give herself one, then Alice was going to force her to. “You’re going to go and get dressed and brush your hair-” She pointed to her bedroom. “-and we are going to that concert. No ifs, ands, or buts. You’re going whether you like it or not.”

        Y/n groaned, pushing a piece of hair out of her face. She knew it was no use arguing. Alice always got her way. She never backed down from anything and Y/n knew that this time it was no different. She didn’t want to go to the concert, she’d made that very clear before Alice had purchased the tickets, but she knew that she would end up being dragged if that’s what it took to get her there. Pushing herself off the sofa, she gathered up her notes and placed them on the coffee table before heading to her room.

“What do you even wear to a rock concert?” she asked herself, looking at the clothes hanging in her wardrobe. She’d never been to a rock concert before and wasn’t sure what to expect. Y/n had always loved music, being able to play both the guitar and piano and managing the violin, but she never really listened to much music. She would rather play it than listen to it, as it was often a distraction when she was trying to do work. And most of the records she owned were classical or instrumental, not something that most people would want to listen to.

Y/n grabbed a striped long sleeve shirt that tied at the bottom and a pair of trousers before heading to the bathroom to clean herself up and brush her hair. It didn’t matter to her what she was wearing as she had no plans on going to another concert anytime soon. And it wasn’t like anyone would want to talk to her. Everyone seemed to look past her to catch Alice’s eye, so it’s not like she was going to meet anyone.

Twenty minutes later, her roommate was tapping her foot impatiently at the front door. Glancing at her watch, she let out a sigh. “Y/n, if you don’t hurry up we’ll have to fight our way to the front!”

Y/n shook her head as she emerged from her room, fixing the knot where her shirt was tied. “I think our eardrums would give out on us, so I think I’m doing us both a favor,” she smiled, grabbing her coat off a chair in the kitchen and her wallet off the counter before heading to the front door.

Walking to the door, her roommate smiled at her. It was the first time in days that she looked less miserable than normal. Alice knew how hard Y/n was working towards her degree, but she also knew that all that work probably wasn’t doing her any good. It had made late nights and little sleep normal for her, causing dark bags under her eyes in the mornings. Y/n finally looked a little more alive and Alice hoped that the concert would help even more.

Spinning around to show off her outfit, Y/n asked, “How do I look? Do you think this is acceptable for a rock concert?” A nervous smile crept onto her face, waiting for an answer.

A laugh slipped past Alice’s lips. She needed to get out more. “You look lovely, darling. It’s perfect really.”

With that, the two slipped out the door and made their way to where the concert was being held.

For a band that she had never heard of, Y/n was shocked to see so many people squished together in the concert hall. They had arrived a little late, so the band had already started their set. There were groups of people dancing together and at the front of the stage, where Alice had wanted them to be, were a bunch of girls. From what Y/n could tell, they didn’t look like they would move for anyone. Her roommate swayed on her heels to the song that was playing as she led them to a bar at the back of the room.

Ordering them both a beer, Alice turned to Y/n, seeing her fiddle with her hands, something she always did when she was nervous. Alice hated it, but at least it was better than biting her nails, something her sister did that drove her crazy. “Don’t be nervous. Try and enjoy yourself, would ya?”

“You know I didn’t want to come,” Y/n stated, taking a seat on a bar stool. She turned to look at the stage, watching as the lead singer danced around with his microphone stand in hand. “I have a lot of work to do and this-” She gestured to the crowd around her. “-is not going to help me get it done.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Try not to be a bore, Y/n. Just one night. That’s all I’m asking for.” The bartender returned with their beer, setting them in front of the two women. “Thank you,” Alice said before turning her attention back to her friend. “You need to live a little, that’s all I’m saying. Working hard is great, but working as hard as you have been can’t be good for your health.” Stepping away from the bar, Alice grabbed her beer, “You should know that,” she pointed out, “as you’re the one going into the medical field.”

Before she could even get a word in, Alice had disappeared into the crowd. Y/n turned to her beer, taking a sip, it seemed that she was going to be by herself for a good portion of the night.

Alice had a good point, though.

Y/n needed to live a little. She needed to do more than work, more than school. She needed to go for strolls around the park near their flat and be social instead of coup herself up in her flat and study all day. She needed to do a whole lot more than what she was doing.

Even though she enjoyed her studies, she knew that her mental health was suffering from all the stress she was being put through. Well, that she was putting herself through. But it’s not like there was much she could about it. She had little money because her income was divided between paying the rent and paying her tuition and then, what was left of it went towards necessities. Concerts weren’t one of those necessities. And it wasn’t like she could take much time off of work, money made the world go round and that’s what fueled her life.

But either way, her mental health should have been one of those necessities. She couldn’t remember the last time she had spent a night out. It had probably been her first year of University, which was probably her best. Then she wasn’t struggling with the material or with paying for anything because her parents were kind enough to pay her tuition for her. But they got divorced, something everyone saw coming, and they no longer had the money or the heart to pay for her studies, so it was left up to Y/n.

When the music was over and the band had taken their exit, Alice returned to the bar, a little spring in her step and a man trailing behind her. “Y/n!”

Y/n turned to where she thought the voice came from, her third beer in her hand. “Alice?”

Stopping in front of her with a smile on her face, Alice almost tumbled over. The music and atmosphere seemed to have seeped into her bloodstream, intoxicating the girl. “God, I love this band!” she half shouted. “Anyway, this is Ryan,” she gestured to the man behind her, he gave Y/n a small wave. “Ryan and I are going to go back to his place. So, don’t get drunk, talk to strangers, or get lost on the way home.”

Y/n couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at Alice’s tiny speech. She acted more like a mother to her than Y/n’s own mother.

“Okay,” Y/n let out, a little shocked by how quickly her friend was out of sight. It didn’t faze her, though, that she was leaving with someone else, it was something she did often. Alice was ten times more outgoing than Y/n was or would ever be. She had a way of making friends without even saying much. Maybe it was her body language or the glimmer that was always in her eyes. People just liked her. It probably had something to do with how much energy she possessed at all times. Something Y/n wished she had when it came to late nights of studying.

Finishing off her beer, she slid off the bar stool and followed the last few people in the room out the door. Before she could get very far, a voiced called to her. Turning on her heels, Y/n smiled when she saw one of her classmates. “Devin! What are you doing here?” she walked up to the man that was standing on the stage that she was unable to see clearly during the show.

“I’m a sound tech for the band,” he told her, smiling from where he stood above her. “What are you doing here? I wasn’t aware that you came to things like this?”

She didn’t know too much about him, but Devin had been a great help when it came to material that she didn’t understand. But she had thought that he worked as a bartender at a pub near the school. Perhaps he did both. Or maybe she hadn’t been listening too well.

Y/n laughed. He wasn’t the only one that thought that. “I don’t but my roommate dragged me along only to leave me behind.”

Devin nodded, turning to grab a red guitar that sat in a stand. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be,” she waved it off. She really didn’t mind being alone. “Do you want any help?”

He shook his head, “You don’t have to Y/n, really.”

“No, I insist. I’ve got nothing to go back to except class work.”

“Alright, you wanna grab that guitar?” he asked, pointing to a guitar on the other side of the drums. Y/n nodded, stepping up onto the stage and walking over to it. “Unplug it and we’ll go put these in their cases.”

Y/n grabbed the guitar, unplugging it from the speaker behind it before following behind Devin. Now having been away from her work for a few hours, she realized how much she didn’t want to go back to it. Being away from it was like a breath of fresh air.

“Don’t you play guitar?” he asked, turning back to her as they walked down a hallway.

Y/n nodded, raising a brow, “Yeah, I don’t play that often though.” She wasn’t sure when she had shared that information but it was probably during a late-night study session when neither were fully awake. But when was she ever fully awake?

“That’s a shame,” Devin noted, stopping in front of a door with a Rolling Stones poster taped to it. Opening the door, he gestured for Y/n to enter with him following behind her. The room didn’t have much in it besides a sofa, coffee table, and two guitar cases that were lying on the floor. Devin set the guitar in his hands down on the sofa as he grabbed the cases, putting one on the coffee table and picking the guitar up from the sofa and placing the other in its spot. “You should play something,” he turned to her, pointing at the guitar in her hand.

Blood rushed to her cheeks as she shook her head. “No. I can’t, Devin. This isn’t my guitar and I don’t want to upset its owner.” Which really meant that she was out of practice and a chicken when it came to be in the spotlight.

He laughed, opening the case on the sofa and gently set the red guitar in it. “You act like it’s an animal or something.” He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s owner will be too upset over it.”

Before Y/n could respond, a tall, skinny man with a head of black curly hair entered the room just as Devin closed the guitar case. “Hey, Brian, do you think John would be alright if Y/n here played a song on his guitar?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, walking over to the case on the coffee table and opening it. “You’ve yet to ask me if I’d be alright with playing a song on his guitar.”

And the answer was no. She was not alright with it.

He swat her comment aside, waiting from Brian’s answer.

“Um… I don’t know. I don’t think he’d die over it,” the man thought out loud, his curls bouncing around his face as he tilted his head in thought.

Nodding, Devin turned to Y/n just as she was about to put the guitar in its case. “Great! Go ahead and play something then.”

Y/n glared at him for a minute, wishing that she hadn’t offered to help him. Seeing as there was no way out of it, she slipped the strap over her head, letting it rest on her shoulders. She wasn’t used to playing in front of people other than her family and Alice, who’d forced her too on many occasions, so it took her a minute to think of a song that she was confident with.

Pulling herself together, she ran her fingers over the strings, the contact filling the room with a sound other than everyone’s breathing. She quickly started playing Happy Together by the Turtles, Devin mumbling the lyrics.

Running her fingers over the strings relaxed her. It brought about a wave of relief that she hadn’t felt since the school year started. Even though she was nervous, playing in front of two people that she considered strangers, she felt light as air.

Focused on playing the right cords, Y/n didn’t notice the guitar’s owner leaning against the door frame. The man tapped his foot in time with the music, mesmerized by the way she played, how she held herself, how she ran her fingers over the cords. He’d heard the song before, but the way she played… there was just something about it that he couldn’t put his fingers on.

Or maybe it was something about her?

She looked calm, her y/e/c orbs sparkling under the lights, and the man couldn’t help but smile. The woman looked as if she’d been playing for years, looking as comfortable as he or Brian did during a show. But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the thing that drew him to her, telling his brain to study her features, the way her head bobbed a little in time with the music, how her nails grazed over the strings, careful not to get caught.

There was just something about her and he had to figure it out.

Finishing the song, Y/n looked up at Devin who grinned back at her. “There you go,” she said sliding the strap over her head and putting the guitar in its case. “And I’m never offering to help you again,” she stated in fear that he would make her play some other instrument.

A hand flew to his chest as if he’d been struck, “Wow, that hurt. It’s not like it killed you or anything.”

“That was lovely, Y/n” Brian smiled at her before turning to Devin. “Freddie wants to talk to you about something with the microphone.”

Devin gave Y/n a small smile as he followed Brian out of the room.

“That was really lovely,” a voice said from the door, causing Y/n to jump, shutting the guitar case in the process and almost catching her fingers in it. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Y/n turned to the door to see a man with long brown hair and red cheeks give her an apologetic smile. She smiled back at him, “It’s alright. It’s my fault for not seeing you there.”

“So… um… you play,” he gestured to the guitar case in front of her. Y/n nodded, locking the case. “Well, you play really well.”

“Oh, no. Believe me, I don’t. Not as well as others,” she assured him, thinking of the men that played at the show earlier.

Stepping closer to her, he extended his hand, “I’m John, by the way. John Deacon. Queen’s bassist”

Y/n grasped his hand, giving it a firm shake. “Y/n Y/l/n.”

So it was his guitar that she had played.

Glancing down at her watch, Y/n let out a sigh. It was 12:30 and she had to be up early for work. Working as a receptionist at a clinic was an easy job, at least that’s what Y/n thought when she first took the job. But she was wrong. Her boss was less than friendly and expected the best out of everyone, which she saw nothing wrong with, but no ounce of the man was understanding. He probably wouldn’t care if you dropped dead as long as you came in at your scheduled time. “I’ve gotta go, but it was nice to meet you, John,” she said with a smile.

“Let me walk you out,” he offered. Y/n nodded with a smile as he led her out of the small room, his hair whipping behind him. “Did you enjoy the show?”

Fiddling with her fingers, Y/n followed the man through the hallway and out into the concert hall. “Surprisingly, I did.” It amazed her that only a few hours before, she hadn’t wanted to be there. She thought she would be miserable, being among a crowd that she was unfamiliar with. “How long have you been with the band?” she asked to break the silence that had come over them as they walked towards the door.

He shrugged, “Not that long, really. The band was already formed when I joined.”

“But you enjoy it?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, Roger and Freddie can be difficult sometimes, but they’re like my brothers at this point,” he told her as they neared the door.

“That must be nice,” Y/n commented as John opened the door for her, exposing them both to the chill of the midnight air. There were a few people out at that hour, mainly those helping the band pack up. Y/n turned to John who had been watching her survey their new surroundings. “Well, it was nice to meet you, John.”

He nodded, a small blush covering his cheeks. “Yeah, and it was nice to hear you play my guitar.”

“Bye, John,” she waved at him as she started down the pavement. Y/n wrapped her arms around herself, walking in the direction of her flat. She was almost glad that Alice had gone home with someone else. If she hadn’t, maybe she wouldn’t have met John and there was just something about him that seemed inviting. Whatever it was didn’t make her heart skip a beat or cause her cheeks to redden, it just pulled on her heartstrings. Whatever it was made her want to continue talking to him but at the same time brought about nerves that she’d never had to deal with before. Well… not since she was a teenager.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, John was feeling the same thing as he watched her walk into the cold London night. There was just something about her that left him wanting more. And maybe if he hadn’t agreed to go to an after party with Roger and Freddie, he probably would have walked Y/n home, if she was willing.

But there was just something about that girl.

Even though he had only known her for a few minutes, his brain was telling him that he wanted to know her for a lifetime. Maybe it was love at first sight, maybe it wasn’t. The bassist wasn’t even sure if he believed in such a thing, but he believed in finding out.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Let me know if you wanna be tagged in the other parts.

[sweetbunnykook]

Bad Guy (7)

Word Count: 4,244 // angst (infidelity), hint of smut 

Mob!Seokjin X Reader X Mob!Sope

Summary: After a brutal attack in Hong Kong, your marriage with Kim Seokjin cracks as secrets begin to surface and a series of betrayals find their way into the veins of the Hidden Tigers. Although Jin’s devotion endures, in his own definition, the reality of being a mob wife may be too much for you to bear.

You loved your husband once. You yearned for his touches, his affectionate caresses that easily calmed your heart on troublesome days when you had no one to lean on. Kim Seokjin, underneath his pristine marble exterior, was someone that had ordinary dreams and ordinary needs. Despite proving himself to be worthy of his father’s seat, he spent his nights reading with you, telling you of stories his grandfather told him when he barely learned to walk.

That was the extent of his world that he lets you see. The drugs, the women, the disappearances, the killings – he wouldn’t let you get near it much less let you inquire about it unless you wanted to end up six feet under like the rest. He was adamant about keeping you in the shadows and for some time you were comfortable there. You welcomed his hand over your eyes as long as you can feel his warmth, his touch, hear his words.

Placing your hand over Jin’s eyes as he dozes off on your lap to shield the sunlight filtering through the round plane windows, you forced your mind to pull back the memories in which he’d been nothing but a kindred savior. It was with a heavy heart that you cannot remember a single moment in which your mind hasn’t been poisoned with images of other women. You can’t imagine his deep red leather jacket without thinking of how he must’ve let his mistresses slide the smooth leather off his shoulders. You can’t imagine his smile unless the person standing in front of him is not you but another woman that he made love to. The bitterness in your mouth cannot be swallowed no matter how many times you let your husband care for you – in sickness and in health – as the wedding vows say.

But are you any better? You shake your head.

What goes around, comes around; after all, marriage isn’t supposed to be easy.

Maybe Hoseok and Yoongi would also be bored once they’re done with you too. You used your position as the don’s wife to be with them, offered them expensive liquor, entertainment, friendship, and sex. Is it a crime to be selfish once in a while? Just like your husband had been?

Maybe it was the loneliness, the punishment of coming from two worlds, that left your marriage broken in half. You, the middle class nobody, and him, royalty in organized crime. Your mother-in-law was right about one thing in all the words she hissed in your ear – men do get bored.

“We will be arriving to Jeju International Airport in approximately thirty minutes.”

You look up at the intercom and then back down to your husband stirring in your lap, watching his hand slide up your arm to grasp your soft piano fingers laying over his eyes. He had the most beautiful hands in the world; long, skeletal, nails trimmed perfectly into crescent moons. Although weariness etched the sharp lines of his face, his hands remained soft, clean, and supple as you once remembered. One would not be able to see just how dirty those are just by admiring as you had. You’d convinced yourself years before that such hands cannot be the weapon behind bloodbaths and nightmares. He’d convinced you, very gradually through the years, that his fingers can easily wipe your tears away as much as they can wrap around your throat. What you’ve done with his two men can make the latter scenario easily come true.

.....................

“Jin, please,” you exhale, burying your face in the crook of his warm, golden neck as you hold the steering wheel with one hand. The tips of your fingers on the wheel whiten when a tongue, heated and slippery, licks a stripe up your jaw and under the shell of your ear. You can feel his breath fan across your cool skin, tightening the coil deep in your belly that leaves your thighs rubbing each other. Jin acknowledges your deep exhales and soft whimpers with a low hum.

At this hour, security prowls. The school buildings are ocked from the outside, halting any activity for the day. Jin’s black Mercedes stays parked beside your dorm, hidden against the backdrop of the brick-red library building between thick ginkgo trees. A blanket of yellow gingko protects the autumn soil. His chauffeur, with a look of suppressed annoyance on his face, leans against the largest gingko tree near the library, kicking rocks into the darkness.

Jin had taken extra care to hide from peering eyes, even during late hours, knowing that there was a risk of academic expulsion lingering in the aroma of sweat and arousal. Jin could easily bribe the dean if security do happen to pass by; however, knowing how much of a goody-two-shoes you are, he’d rather avoid awakening his temper on such an important day. Letting his anger show in the early stage of the relationship isn’t the most ideal, especially for someone with multiple weapons in the trunk and a chauffeur standing outside ready to blow any skull at his command.

You aren’t sure how he was able to undo your seatbelt and drag you onto his lap, fingers roaming over every curve of your body as he brings your mouth to his. His strength comes so effortlessly that you feared he might knock you over with a single breath as if you weighed nothing but a feather. From underneath the curve of your heavy breasts to your violin hips, Jin explored, adored, embraced. It amused you that he often harbored a habit of using his strength as a fighter during the quietest, most fragile moments.

A squirrel passes through the blanket of gingko leaves outside, a rustle cutting through Jin’s low mumble. You break the kiss and cast a worried glance out the tinted windows as his hands travel up underneath the fabric of your dress. His palms, heavy of debauchery, grasp your warm thighs.

“W-We’re going to get caught.”

Jin suppresses a grin. “This is your birthday present. I took extra precautions to make sure we’re not interrupted.”

Once his hands reach between your thighs to rub your little wet pearl you flinch back, your hand on the wheel flying towards his Rolex-clad wrist to halt his probing. Even in the dark, Jin could see your face flushed as if you were bathed in summer heat, dripping innocence like sweat.

“Am I hurting you?” He asked with brows slightly furrowed, one hand stilled around your waist and another near your panties. A virgin, he realized. He should have taken you to a hotel and ordered a bottle of champagne to loosen your nerves. He could tell that although you were more than thrilled to be in his arms, you were deathly terrified of security crawling around the campus like roaches, hidden behind walls but very much alive, unfortunately.

“I-I’m sorry, I just haven’t…I mean I’ve never um,” you lift your head, daring to meet his knowing eyes, and curling back in cowardice once you feel his thumb rub small circles on your inner thighs. “I’m sorry.”

Jin smiles and removes his hands from your tense body, opting to instead trap your body between his torso and the wheel with both hands on the dashboard. His sculpted chest, hard against yours, rises and falls with deep controlled breathing. You’re temptation in the form of a woman. God, he would have given anything to hike up that cheap dress of yours around your waist and bury his cock deep in your dripping, untouched cunt. But he won’t let the evil laying dormant inside him come to life. He won’t pressure you. He will be a different person.

“Do I make you nervous?” He presses, eyes observing every micro-expression you make, hoping that he didn’t make you uncomfortable.

You shake your head, lying.

As if you haven’t answered, Jin asks again, lifting your chin. “Did I do something you didn’t like?”

You glance down at your cotton eyelet dress and then to his aristocratic nose, unable to meet his gaze when he’d just touched you in a place you haven’t explored yourself. Just the smell of his fresh cologne – the scent of pine trees and soft musk – was making your toes curl in your flats and your stomach melt. A part of you wondered if he knew how intimidating he was with his massive wealth, sculpted figure, and curt manners, but then another part of you knew he must know if you couldn’t help but act like a shy child around him.

“I’ve been saving…um…I’ve been saving it,” you bite the inside of your cheeks, “for marriage.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, you regret them. It sounded foolish, especially in the presence of a man who definitely had more than a few partners between the sheets. A spark of jealousy lights up your eyes.

Jin swallows a ball of saliva, breathing slightly deeper to keep his self-control in check. It was with utmost appreciation that he leaned forward and pressed his pillow soft lips to your forehead.

“I have to apologize…I assumed someone had already appreciated you before me…although the thought of another man touching you like this drives me crazy. I’m glad I’m your – no – I’m glad that I’ll be your first.” Jin chuckles against your skin, his warm breath inviting a fresh wave of goosebumps to rise, leaving you trembling. “I suppose this birthday present will have to wait until you marry me.”

Your fingers twist and turn on your lap. Your lungs felt like they were simultaneously filled with air and weighed down with rocks. You’re not sure if you were hot or cold, nervous or excited, filled with purity or sin as you contemplate sliding your panties down your knees and making him yours at his declaration. You longed to see his eyes burn through yours while you let him take you, feel his pulse inside and watch his lips curl. He talked of marriage with such ease that it made it seem like you were the one less committed into this odd coupling.

“I have an idea.” Jin says, holding his index finger to your lips.

You look up at him with confusion.

“Pretend it’s a candle,” he wags his finger, slightly crooked and long, over your lips. “Make a wish, as perverted as you want” – you giggle – “and I’ll make it true in the future.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he returns the devious sparkle in your eyes with a grin.

You rub your hands together, eyes darting across the leather and wood interior and humming a low note in contemplation. You wondered if marriage and love were the same thing, if your parent’s marriage was love or simply just a union between two people with one, basic goal. You wondered if this will be your fate with Jin.

He’s made you feel like your feet deserved to be bathed in milk and honey. He’s made you feel like your words were all he wanted to listen to and that it carried weight in which he wears around his neck wherever he goes. Your wish came easy to you; no, you will not be like your mother, or your mother’s mother, or the women that came before them. You will be happy.

‘I wish he’ll be the first and last man I’ll ever love.’

You puff your cheeks and gently blow the tip of his finger.

“What did you wish for?”

You laugh, gently patting his crimson jacket. “If I tell you, it wouldn’t come true. But I’ll say it was a very, very naughty wish.”

.....................

“We will be landing in approximately ten minutes, please be seated and secure the seatbelt around your waist.”

Jin props himself on his elbows – yawning first – and drags the seatbelt over your waist, tugging the gray polyester to make sure it was secure. It was rather loose around your abdomen but you don’t dare complain or else he would focus his pin-sharp eyes on how much weight you lost over the past few weeks. You were on the thinner side before, but now you were on the verge of looking sickly.

Jin wipes his face with the back of his hand and quietly settles next to you, strapping himself down on the reclined chair through the same manner. The way his hands move across the belts so quickly and with accuracy – you couldn’t feel more upset with how much it reminded you of Hoseok. Here you are sitting next to your husband who is taking you on a vacation and you sit there and think about another man’s touch. How could you let yourself stoop so low?

Yet, even when shame swallows you whole, Hoseok remains in your memory. The black ropes he used to bind your wrists behind your back, leaving you helpless as he wraps the remaining length around both of your ankles and spread you apart for his enjoyment. Hoseok always had a habit of observing the most embarrassing parts of your body with the tips of his fingers; from your puckered ass to your swollen clit, to the supple swells of your slightly uneven breasts and your armpit adorned with a patch of black curls, he brushes his fingers over your skin with the gentleness of an impressionist painter. Your mercurial lover would then settle himself between your legs, fingers and lips and nose gently tugging your transparent panties to the side as he glares at your blushing cheeks with hellbent fury.

Something heavy hangs over the Hong Kong bedroom; Hoseok can ruin your body, but he couldn’t have you.

No matter how many times he restrains you, binds you to the bed, the couch, the dining table, the shower pole, it was Seokjin’s ring on your finger that will bound you for life like a prisoner chained to her crimes. One of these days, Hoseok will have to untie the rope around your heart.

“Do you remember the night I turned nineteen?”

Jin weaves his fingers with yours, thumb running over your knuckles. “When we celebrated in my car?”

You nod.

“You made a birthday wish,” Jin smiles at nothing, eyes glazed before he turns to look at the back of your head as you stare out the window to your right, watching the plane descend until you can see tall glass buildings lining the horizon. Your willingness to engage in a positive conversation for the first time since the incident pleased him.

“Did it ever come true?”

You continue staring, continuing to breathe through your nose and out through your mouth. Steady, steady.

You love him so much it leaves you gasping and panting for air. Your savior, your violent, hot-tempered lover with a heart of a boy that followed a poisoned path to survive. The man you would have married if you had met him first – your Jung Hoseok.

You turn to answer your husband. “No, I don’t think it did.”

.....................

The path to the Jeju villa is inlaid with cobblestones and moss. The smell of salt in the air – so distinct to the Jeju beach you once loved – did more for your hyperactive nerves than Jin’s guiding arm. Two gardeners bowed on your way to the mahogany doors, heavy with geometric carvings and enamel. The brick building, reminding you so much of your old university library, felt immediately like home despite evidence of new furniture lining the garden with brown paper boxes.

Jin helps you up the front concrete stairs and you slip through the crack in the door, quickly taking in your surroundings with your breath held. Inside the house, a staircase winds up to two branches of the east and west wing containing guest bedrooms, master bedrooms, and storage closets. The downstairs living room is filled with plastic-coated furniture, no doubt abandoned while Jin worked and you were kept prisoner in Hong Kong. Your wedding photo hangs, grand and proud, above an antique vase collection. No doubt Jin’s doing.

“What do you think?” Your husband asks, brushing his hands up and down your shoulders while he maneuvered you towards a red velvet couch near the marble stairs. He sounded excited, ecstatic even.

“It’s beautiful-” you rub your palms over the upholstery – “it reminds me of our honeymoon.”

A satisfied grin stretches Jin’s face. You must’ve said exactly what he wanted to hear.

Walking towards the window, Jin tugs the curtains open and unlatches the glass doors. He lets fresh air inside, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly to savor the fresh air that he longed for back in Gangnam. This vacation will do wonders for his marriage, he can feel it in his bones.

He leans forward, one hand on the glass while the other grips the window frame. A car beeps in the distance and he watches as a Mercedes roll into the front yard, the gardeners jogging to unlatch the gates once more. He stares, eyes trained on the two men conversing in the car, continuing their conversation as they slide out of the doors. They unlocked the trunk with a flick of a wrist and throw their luggage on the floor, letting the gardeners worry about the rest.

“I forgot to mention,” he turns back to you. “I’m…what happened in Hong Kong was my fault. I didn’t provide you with the protection that I promised in my vows.”

You stay quiet. There are voices in the distance, but none you can make out. There are multiple men speaking, one louder than the rest. Who could they be?

Your husband steps behind the couch and rests his hands on your shoulders. His thumb brushes over the soft cotton straps of your white summer dress.

“I contemplated changing my men, but I assume you’re quite accustomed to having Min and Jung around.”

You tense underneath his hands, momentarily halting his words. Yet, before you can breathe properly, Jin continues speaking.

“I think you might sleep better knowing they’re around to watch our villa closely. They’ll be right below us in the basement throughout the week and in a house nearby for night-watching.”

The front door screeches as a hand pushes through the door.

“I know it can be bothersome to have them around, sweetheart. But I want you to rest safely, okay? I want you to feel protected, not suffocated.”

Jin cups your face and brings your gaze towards him. Something flickers behind his dark irises, but you can’t bring yourself to think about why the air had suddenly changed around them. It took some time before you realized your husband wanted a reaction, and so you offer him a shy nod, leaning into his hand not for affection but to hide your panicked eyes.

“Master Kim, I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

If the world can break apart and swallow you whole at this moment, you would take the chance. You tremble, scrunching your eyebrows as if you’re in pain and then releasing all tension on your shoulder to avoid Jin’s questioning gaze. It’s insane how his voice could make you crumble like a dandelion in the wind. It’s also insane that you could barely contain your heart while your husband is right behind you, his hands still on your shoulders, his eyes locked on your lovers.

Hoseok did not smile, nor did he seem to carry any expression on his usually expressive face. He nods when Jin tells him that he arrived on time.

“I hope you’re recovering well, miss.” Hoseok bows slightly in acknowledgement. You return the bow, brows scrunched as you wonder why Yoongi looked so bleak standing next to him, staring ahead at Seokjin.

“I am, thank you-“ your eyes find his through a sea of longing, “-Hoseok.”

His name falls from your lips like a prayer. Hoseok’s ears purred at the sound, so sweet and melodic as he remembered.

Clapping his hands together, Jin circles around the couch and sits next to you, taking your cold, clammy hands between his large palms. He taps his feet a few times, turning his head around the grand villa with measuring eyes.

“You already know how tight I want security to be while my wife is here,” he emphasizes. Your husband sounded different as the head of the Kim family. He didn’t sound like the man you married.

“Hoseok will take the east villa and Yoongi will take the west. I’ll leave the cabin schedule up to you. I’m sure you’ve seen the blueprints and know where to stay, am I correct?”

“Yes, Master Kim,” the two men nod.

“That being said, I expect no mistakes this time. If you suspect anything report back to me immediately and move her to a safe place. I’ll permit calling for backup as long as there is a feeling for concern.”

Yoongi nods, noting your nervous glance between your fist curled in Jin’s hands and Hoseok’s steel cold gaze. He suspected that you were not aware of Jin’s plans to tighten security enough that no one enters and exits the beach without Jin’s direct permission. This was not much of a vacation but rather a method to test out security measures, test the waters to see if the Bears are bold enough to attack again. With Jin near, it would be impossible for someone to have the balls to get to him. But then again, they got to you in Hong Kong. Anything is possible at this point.

“Min?”

Yoongi’s head snaps up to meet Jin’s gaze, parting with the bruises that remain on your legs.

“Come up to my study for a bit. There are some matters I need to discuss with you.”

Hoseok stares straight ahead, bowing when Jin stands and leads Yoongi up the staircase towards the large office room in the west wing.

“Stay with her,” Jin orders with his head cocked back towards his most trusted security personnel. You look up at your husband, seeing him send a reassuring smile your way, and continue up the stairs.

It was only when the footsteps disappear at last that you could finally look at Hoseok, admire the strength radiating off his body, see the shadow of his tattoos just underneath the collar of his pressed button-down. Not much has changed in the past few weeks except for the two, deep eyebags underneath his piercing eyes. His hair is slightly longer now, falling to his angular cheekbones, a little damp with sweat and smelling faintly of cigarette smoke you imagine. You just want to wrap yourself around him, bury your face in his neck, and feel his arms around you lifting you higher and higher, until you disappear.

But you can’t. Because you’re here not as you, but as Seokjin’s wife in need of protection and peace.

Hoseok keeps his fists at his side as you tug at your hair tie wrapped around your wrist. The brown elastic snaps to attention, falling over your knuckles and laying between your fingers. You lift the accessory towards him.

“Can you help me tie my hair?” You cast your eyes down at the polished flooring. “I can’t lift my arms very well.”

At first, your lover doesn’t move. He must be upset, you thought. He must be offended, having to bow down to Seokjin in front of you.

Then, he walks up to you, taking the hair tie from your fingers on his way and settles behind the couch where you sit. His long fingers snake across your shoulders, where Jin’s hands were, and massages lightly. He brushes your hair behind your ears, watching you shudder and your breathing deepen. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes when his calloused hands rub your pulse ever so slowly.

He glanced at the front door, opened just enough that anyone passing by can simply look inside and see the boss’s wife enjoying another man’s touch. Gardeners scramble across the front lawn, a car beeps, luggages are dropped; chaos, chaos, chaos.

“I thought of you constantly,” you whimper when Hoseok places a tender kiss just underneath your left ear. He weaves his fingers through your hair, brushing the strands back him. “I missed you.”

He gathers your hair in one hand, holding the short strands in a fist. “Did I ruin your marriage?”

Hoseok pulls your hair through the elastic band, twisting the band twice and pulling through once more to tighten its hold. His hand stays still on the nape of your neck, holding you, keeping you grounded.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

You shake your head once more, exhaling. “No, Hobi.”

“Tell me what you want.”

Your lips part but no words come out. There is no sound, no tender words, no reassurances. The ring on your finger glistens in the golden hour.

You can’t bring yourself to make a choice.

Not when Jin smiled at you as he made up the stairs like the day you married him. Not when Yoongi stands next to the man you love, looking worried enough to faint while you barely noticed the fresh needle marks on his arm. You couldn’t bring yourself to be selfish. Not here, not now.

You’re not truly sure when you can tell Hoseok you love him, that you choose him, that you can’t bear the thought of being with anyone else.

But you trust that Hoseok knows, deep down.

That’s all you can hope for after all.

[artificialqueens]

Elastic Heart - Part 2 (Branjie) - Mia Ugly

Out of drag, Brock feels smaller. Vulnerable.  He knows he’s still a giant Canadian, but without Brooke’s stilettos and hip-pads he almost feels fragile.  Maybe fragile isn’t the right word, maybe it’s - ordinary.  He goes jogging along Cumberland River and no one notices him. He wears grey sweatpants and Tragically Hip t-shirts like camouflage and blends into whatever setting he’s in. He’s like wallpaper sometimes. People look right past him.

No one looks past Brooke Lynn.  They wouldn’t dare.

Not that he can’t turn a look when he wants to. When his friends drag him out to a club, he can usually find someone who isn’t too intimidated to pick him up, take him home.  He likes being anonymous sometimes (that probably sounds ungrateful, and God help him he never wants this ride to end, but he doesn’t always have the energy to be Brooke Lynn. Especially on his nights off.) 

Back in Nashville he texts Nina every time a new episode drops.  He forces himself to watch each one in public, in a crowded bar or group of noisy friends, sometimes he even hosts the damn watch-party.  At least with people on all sides of him (arms around him, buying him shots, hands on his back) he can’t fuck off without reason.  Can’t run out into the streets or scream without someone coming after him, making sure he’s okay.  So it’s better to do the watch-party thing.  Safer, at least.

“Your fucking face,” he texts Nina during the Monster’s Bal episodel.  On the flat-screen above the bar, Nina’s just taken off her mask and is grinning horrifically at the camera.

“Your fucking mom,” Nina texts back.  Class act, that one.

“Tell me you aren’t actually selling Branjie hats,” she adds a few seconds later. 

Brock shuts his eyes, swallows. His hands don’t shake as he texts back.

“4 charity u want 1?” 

Nina sends him a series of emojis that are just indecipherable enough to be insulting.  And maybe the hats were a cynical move but the proceeds really are going to charity.  It was all Brock’s agent’s idea, and they ran it by Vanessa of course but - the worst part is that Brock’s actually getting some fucked-up kind of relief from it.  From the people online who think the whole sad story was a publicity stunt.  It’s like, fine, that’s all it was, here’s a fucking hat.  You wanna buy a piece of our relationship? We accept Paypal. 

It’s easier to think about it this way, then - the other way. His hand on Vanessa’s chest, heartbeat singing warm and low beneath Brock’s palm.  That harsh, rowdy laugh across the werkroom, making Brock laugh in return no matter what he was doing, and then blush with embarrassment.

(“I’m your jush, hey?”Lips close to Vanjie’s ear, arms draped over her shoulders.

“Aw, bitch, what you want me to say?” Vanessa’s focused on her sewing, but she still gives a cautious glance upwards, smiling with the corners of her mouth. “You need a ring or some shit?”)

That line becomes a bit of a joke between them, though it hasn’t shown up in the episodes yet - and if there’s any justice in the universe it never will.

(“You need a ring or some shit?” after Vanjie wins a mini-challenge, reaching out for a hand to hold.

“You need a ring or some shit?” after Vanjie lip-synchs for her life and throws her arms around Brooke as soon as they’re off-stage, away from the judges and the harsh white lights, smelling like sweat and hairspray and baby powder and -)

Stop.

If Brock ever hears that question edited dramatically into a confessional, he might break a television with his knuckles.  

At the very least, throw a high-heel.

“Are you okay?” Nina texts, too high-achieving for slang or abbreviations.  She even uses punctuation like some sort of monster.

Brock puts his phone down, lets the drama play out on screen for once. Nina doesn’t need a response to the question.  She already knows the answer.

* * *

The first time they kiss, the cameras are not on them. 

Brooke wouldn’t have done that, wouldn’t have wanted to make it something sensational.  She knows there’s a limit to how cuddly they can be before the editors start building a story out of it, putting pieces together that will inevitably lead to some awful climax and a lot of think-pieces on Vulture. It’s best to keep - whatever it is behind Vanjie’s dark eyes - under wraps.

They’ve been trading glances across the werkroom but Brooke tells herself it doesn’t mean anything special. Vanjie is a legend, a rock star, and even though Brooke slays the first runway challenge (all hail Detox, Patron Saint of Latex, hallowed be Thy name) it doesn’t make her think she’s earned any extra notice from the other queens. Maybe a couple of shady glances here and there, but that’s to be expected.

And if she looks a bit too long at Vanessa Vanjie Mateo (all wrapped up in red silk, the sticky-sweet colour of maraschino cherries and candied apples) no one’s going to notice.  Vanjie’s fine as hell in and out of drag; you’d have to be blind not to stare at her.  

Brooke’s clearly only fooling herself because that first night (the fucking first night!) A’Keria slides up beside Brooke in line for craft services, pursing her lips.

“Oooh girl, you be careful.” 

“Why?” Brooke grabs some salad before it runs out. Fuck knows the P.A.s won’t order more of it. 

“Play innocent all you like, but I see you lookin’. Don’t be stupid, now.” A’Keria is too smart for her own good, and too damn cool to be chatting with Brooke over paper plates full of iceberg lettuce. “Any of those producers catch you, they’re gonna be all over it, know what I’m sayin’?”

“I don’t,” Brooke Lynn says, and A’Keria rolls her eyes. 

But Brooke knew.  And she really should have listened.

It’s after the “What’s Your Sign” runway (which Vanjie stomps like she owns it, dripping with red roses and a goddamn Libra, Jesus Christ - Brooke’s so predictable.) 

She takes off her paint and sneaks outside for a smoke break before the producers come to round them all up, pack ‘em into the van back to the hotel.  No one follows her.  The cameras usually leave a queen alone if she’s by herself (not enough drama to waste the film) and Brooke hurries to take advantage of that fact. 

The smoking area is just a nasty little square of pavement with a couple of chairs and an ashtray, but it’s quiet and Brooke can almost see the stars.  For a few moments she’s completely alone and after the chaos of shooting for sixteen hours – it’s nice.  Nice to not have to be “on.” Nice to just be.

And then the door creaks as it opens, and out walks Vanjie.  Back in boy clothes, but still a bit glittery.

“Hello, hello, hello Miss Brooke Lynn.”

Brooke exhales a laugh that tastes like ashes. “You don’t smoke.”

“Nah.” Vanjie sits down on a chair across from her. “But those girls take forever, I’m growing old watching them. Look, baby, I got wrinkles.” She turns her head from side to side, gesturing to (non-existent) lines at the corners of her eyes. 

Brooke wants to tell her she looks perfect, flawless, untouchable.  But she doesn’t. Instead she sucks on her cigarette, tells herself to be cool (for once.) “You were so good in the challenge. It was amazing.”

“I’m not a regular dad, I’m a cool dad.” Vanjie tugs at the shoulder of her hoodie with that low, rasping laugh of hers. “You weren’t so bad neither.”

Brooke shakes her head, old enough to know bullshit when she hears it. “Don’t even.  That voice - that whole character was a mistake.”

“Haha, well.  It was a choice, bitch, a choice. Good thing you turned it out on the runway.” Vanjie tilts her head back, looking up into the dark. “Hey, I can almost see stars. That’s a star, right?”

Brooke follows Vanjie’s pointing hand, but can’t make anything out besides smog.  She closes her eyes instead of looking at her any longer (sometimes looking at Vanessa is easy and sweet as breathing, and sometimes it’s like holding the palm of your hand over a candle) and thinks of how far away from home she is. Old homes, and new ones, and all the places in between that felt like home at the time. She thinks of how long it’s been since she’s seen winter, the sky going grey-gold with falling snow.

When Brooke opens her eyes, Vanjie’s watching her.

“Don’t go getting down on yourself, Miss Brooke Lynn,” she says. “Mama Ru will clock that self-doubt and come after you. She eats. That. Shit. Up.”

“Right. Jesus, you’re right.” Brooke concentrates on the glowing ember at the tip of her cigarette, and not the way the dim lights catch Vanjie’s cheekbones. “Anyway, how are you holding up? Feel different than last season?”

“Since it’s been a minute and I’m still here? Fuck yeah it feels different. Ha!” All the teasing electricity in her eyes goes soft, and Vanjie’s quiet for a moment. A smudge of glitter still sparkles at the hollow of her throat. “Shit, I can’t believe I’m back.  That they let me come back.  Shit.” 

“Fans would have rioted if they didn’t bring you back.” Brooke fills the air with smoke as she breathes.  “I certainly would have.”

“Yeah?” Vanjie raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I should start smoking, since y’all making it look so good. Sitting out here in the dark like a tall glass of Clearly Canadian.”

“I don’t think they even make that any more.”

“Know your history, bitch.”

Brooke laughs again, helpless in the face of so much charm. “You know you have glitter on you? Your neck. Just -”

She reaches out to wipe it away, but before she can make contact with skin, Vanjie’s hand catches hers. Holds. 

Brooke doesn’t move.  She isn’t generally a reckless person - she’s poised, efficient, ruthless. (She wants all those things to be true. She wants to be smarter than this. She wants to feel the pulse point beating in Vanjie’s wrist like a metronome.  She wants -) 

“Shoulda known you’d be a Pisces,” Vanjie says before she kisses her. 

(As kisses go - it’s in the Top Three of Brooke’s life.

Number One: hasn’t happened yet. That’ll come later, violins and roses and all that shit, payoff worth the wait and then some. 

Number Two: her first kiss.  First with a boy anyway - drunk and seventeen and gasping with the realization that she could have this. This was okay.  It was okay.

Number Three is Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, tasting like mint and still glittery, hand clutching tight to Brooke’s (who isn’t shaking, she isn’t.)  There’s a hint of tongue at the corner of her mouth, and it’s all Brooke can do not to clutch fistfuls of that hoodie and drag Vanjie against her.  Hold her tight.  Keep her close.  Brooke doesn’t know how she’ll ever manage to pry her hands away.)

Then the door creaks as it opens. 

Brooke has just enough self-control to pull back before Yvie’s coming out, digging into the pockets of her skinny jeans for a lighter and scowling.

Not looking up.  Not looking at them.

“We’ve apparently got five minutes to get to the van.  Christ, that paint did not want to come - oh.” She glances up. “Didn’t know you smoked, Vee.”

And Vanjie grins, showing the white of her teeth (“Ain’t I full of surprises, bitch?”) and Brooke swan-dives to the pavement, through the ground, clean through the centre of the earth. 

She was already half-way there, but fuck her life: she falls.

[mashitandsmashit]

America’s Got Talent: Season 14 - Finals

Well now I feel like a jerk! I ranked Emanne and Benicio as my Bottom 2 in my “Rooting For” list last week (though to be fair, between them, VoS and DYC, the factors that ranked them in the order they were in were practically nonexistent, because it was too close to even think), but I had no idea that BOTH of them had birthdays this week (and that Emanne’s was tomorrow). I mean no disrespect to the birthday boy and girl...

And again, I must emphasize that I have nothing against any of the acts that made it this far (barring some not-so-great performances from some of them). But when there are several acts that deserved to be here more than several of the acts that ARE here (oh, how naive we were to believe that Marcin EVER had a chance), and almost every act just feels like part of a big mushy sap monster, it was hard to feel much excitement going into tonight...But I kept the most open mind I could...

Let’s do what the judges aren’t willing to do and compare everyone based on their pros, cons and overall experience...by doing a Top 10 list!

...Oh yeah, and...Whoop-dee-doo, Finals and stuff...Let’s just get to it...

10: Detroit Youth Choir. It’s their audition all over again, but with more Nazi salutes! ...I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself...But seriously, they either didn’t have time to prepare a new song, or something happened keeping them from performing what they were ORIGINALLY gonna do...Either way, Macklemore is gonna be there tomorrow, so does that mean they’re gonna perform it a THIRD time!? Two nights in a row!? I guess I’m biased since this is the act that single-handedly ruined the Finals for me (just ONE guitarist in their place would have made all the difference in the world), but I really did honestly see a lot of potential in this act, and it’s kind of a shame that they fizzled out after they peaked at the Quarter-Finals...

9: Tyler Butler-Figueroa. It might be my anger at the Cowellization infesting these Finals why I’m putting Simon’s Golden Buzzer this low on the list after being overall positive to him throughout the game, but this one felt like a mess to me! The violin was scratchy and hard to listen to, it sounded like he couldn’t keep up with the backing-track, and there were no unique dances or staging to really help the entertainment value...At the end of the day, this kid really IS one of the acts that didn’t deserve to make it this far over other certain acts, despite how much I’ve enjoyed him overall...Brian King Joseph is coming back tomorrow; Maybe he’ll teach the kid a few lessons and help him hone his skills, because I know Tyler WILL be a great dancing violinist someday...He’s just not there yet...

8: Benicio Bryant. Well, the Benicio Bros are still by his side, even after he looked and sounded more lost than ever tonight! It’s a shame, because I still found his song to be fairly catchy...I mean, he’s no Robert Finley, but I see a lot of potential in him as well! He just needs to get over his stage fright is all...And maybe cut down on the Mr. Rogers sweaters...I WANTED to say Cosby, but I was worried about what that would imply about him...

7: Emanne Beasha. No real step up from before...She seemed a little shaky as well, but it didn’t bring the performance down as badly as Benicio...Uhhh, Happy Birthday to both of them?

6: Kodi Lee. Once again, this wasn’t his best! Is everyone just in denial or something!? I still stick by my opinion that he was at his best during his first two performances! But what do I know!? I’m just some schmuck writing countdown lists on a website that’s getting sold (yeah, heads up Frank, we might have to jump platforms again). Nothing I say is gonna stop Kodi from taking the win tomorrow night...

5: Ndlovu Youth Choir. I knew it was only a matter of time before they performed this song, and it was as fun and upbeat as I could have asked for! That being said, this didn’t have anything to offer that they didn’t give us before...THAT being said, they are definitely still the superior Youth Choir, regardless of which one gets more votes tomorrow...

4: Ryan Niemiller. Not the funniest material we’ve heard from him either, but I still love his energy and presence! I guess I’m committing a hate crime by not voting for him, but technically EVERYONE tonight qualifies for that...

3: Voices of Service. Maybe it’s because I came into tonight with a more open mind than last week, but whereas I quickly forgot about these folks before, tonight they were hands down my favorite singers! I guess I could go on about the same old stuff regarding their harmonies as well as their individual talents (I don’t even remember hearing much from the skinny guy before, but he might actually be the best singer of the bunch next to the lady!) It’s clear why they made it this far to begin with, but at least they have the talent to back up those cheap ‘n easy votes...

2: Light Balance Kids. THIS is the kind of creative, fun, well-choreographed, well-made performance I’ve been waiting for from these kids throughout the entire live shows! It had the same charm as their Judge Cuts performance, but with even more nicely-done effects! Kinda wish they put more focus on being this hip 90s-style youth group throughout the season...But either way, this should TOTALLY be the new “Let’s all go to the snack bar!” that plays before the movie...The goofy presentation with the food monsters would fit PERFECTLY with “It Chapter Two″! You’ll float too!

1: V.Unbeatable. They REALLY ramped up the crazy flips THIS time! Not much else to say...It’s good to know that they’re as popular as they are, but will it be enough to give them the win that they most definitely deserve...? Well, if nothing more they will DEFINITELY be in the Top 3 tomorrow...

You can tell Howie was trying to carefully dance around saying that this was the the “Best Finals Ever”, because he was contractually obligated to say it like he is every year, but I can definitely see why Simon would say that! These finals were everything he could have dreamed of! Oh, so many tear-jerking Cinderella stories...It’s enough to make a TV producer moan in ecstasy!

But when factoring in what actually MATTERS, tonight was about as lackluster as a line-up like this could have suggested...Only a few REALLY rose to the standards of the Finals...

My Votes: Appropriately enough, the two acts I was rooting for were also the best performers hands down tonight! For that, I used all three voting methods to give them as many votes as I could...

Result Predictions: There’s a case to be made for everyone tonight, but I do have a few observations...First of all, Ndlovu will probably be near the bottom in the votes, because they never had the support that the other Youth Choir had throughout the season...And I think the reason for that is the old factor of DYC being a group of dozens of kids, who each have numerous family members to vote for them along with all of the people giving them the sympathy vote...Ndlovu doesn’t have this luxury, not only because there are less of them, but also because the majority of their relatives are clearly still in South Africa, where they can’t vote for this show...This is why Ndlovu ended up in the Judges’ Choice TWICE, whereas DYC keeps getting easy passes in each round...

I’d like to think that LBK will get enough of that variety vote (that ESPECIALLY seems common in the Finals) to end up in the Top 3 like all acts of their nature tend to land...But they haven’t been as popular as the original Light Balance, and they might not have begged for nearly as many sympathy votes as say, Tyler or VoS...Chances are, the variety votes might end up concentrated on V.Unbeatable...

Which brings us to our main candidates for the Grand Prize: V.Unbeatable and Kodi Lee...It seems practically guaranteed that they will both be in the Top 3...I say Top 3, because there is a side of me that predicts that there may be an act coming between them for the Runner-Up spot! Whenever there are these two acts, one of them a cool variety act and the other some singer that’s been held up on a pedestal throughout the game, and they are BOTH being considered as candidates for the win...it’s usually not the both of them in the Top 2...Usually one of them gets a shock elimination in Third (and more often than not, it’s the cool variety act), and some dark-horse might end up as the Runner-Up...Who that might be is hard to call, but I’m actually considering Benicio being that act standing side-by-side next to Kodi at the end, because again, the Benicio Bros are ever dedicated, to the same degree that Angelica Hale’s fanbase was...

So I’m gonna go ahead and do what Frank usually does by predicting what I think the final rank will be...I’ll keep it pessimistic just to avoid being let down TOO much tomorrow...

10: Ndlovu Youth Choir

9: Emanne Beasha

8: Ryan Niemiller

7: Voices of Service

6: Light Balance Kids

5: Tyler Butler-Figueroa

4: Detroit Youth Choir

3: V.Unbeatable

2: Benicio Bryant

1: Kodi Lee

As for which guest performers will perform with who, I already made my guesses for Tyler and DYC, but I hear that Chris Jericho will perform with Ryan, and I’m willing to bet that Cher will be Kodi’s partner...I'll leave everyone else to surprise me, as opposed to what the final results will be...

(Sigh) Now let’s get this season over with...

[nagamas]

Time for Tea

Nagamas Gift from Anonymous: Hiya @avesmonster

Sorry for the wait! It took me a couple of tries to write the prompt the way I liked. I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and New Year! The family fluff prompt was really cute!

  Between the four of them, tea was an important daily ritual. The most painstaking measures were taken to ensure tea time was a calming and bonding experience. The most important of all was a set of rules; that without exception were to be obeyed. Maribelle was their strictest enforcer and Lissa her adoring, devoted, rule-bending wife. The rules were as follows.

1.      No Swords At The Tea Table

   Owain was the loudest, rowdiest boy Maribelle had ever seen – or rather heard. He yowled and yelled and whooped at every given opportunity. But he was her darling boy, and so much more like his mums every day. Maribelle heard an anxious pause in the commotion of the gardens but didn’t pause her tea time preparations. The cake stand was still lopsided.

“Mother! Mother!” He charged into the kitchen, arms raised above his head, empty handed. “Mother, I wish your arms to rest in!” He bowled into her legs.

“I beg your pardon?” She stepped back from the counter as best she could in Owain’s grip.

“I’m fading as we speak, my essence disperses ever further.” He pressed closer to her hip and waited for his mother to comb her fingers through his hair. “I’ve been slain mother mine.”

“What a colourful vocabulary you have, darling. And how so have you been slain?” She shuffled out of his arms and scooped him up. He sniffled in her arms, scraped chin wobbling. “Oh, love. What happened?” He whimpered.

“Brady struck me down!” Owain cuddled closer to his mother. “So I have sought your warmth, to comfort me while I expire.”

“I see…” Maribelle carried him to the table and sat him gently on his chair. She cleared her throat. “By the power gifted to me as the Duchess of Themis I shall heal these wounds.” She kissed him on each cheek. “And where is Brady?”

“Outside! Mums had him in her percilous grip before I made my escape!” Maribelle straightened, brushed off Owain’s shoulders and returned to the cake stand.

“Perilous, darling.” The commotion began again very close to the door. Maribelle fought a smile as her wife and youngest son jogged into the kitchen. Brady ran straight for the table, wailing like a teeny tiny barbarian. He threw his sword in a high arc at the table.

“Mums, I found him!” Lissa squeaked in horror as it swept the nearest tea cup off the table. Maribelle continued to stack the cake stand, the casualty of war expected. Brady, climbed into his own seat and stared at it remains briefly. “Whoops…”

“Brady are you okay?!” Lissa's own two toys clattering onto the ground. “Hi, Maribelle, we're not late and I'm going to clean that right up!”

2.      Hands Must Be Clean

   Lissa bounced Brady on her lap, tea time ready to go, little boy freshly washed. Brady took to etiquette fantastically,  but suffered from the same affliction that plagued all very little boys; that at any time he was left unwatched, his hands would very mysteriously become sticky. Brady was very timid without his brother to show off in front of, so he sat quietly and did not pull his mums's gently bouncing pigtails. But he thought about it.

“Where do you think Mari is? She's not late yet, but i haven't seen her.” Brady hummed thoughtfully.

“Maybe she's looking for Owain, because he's looking for frogs.” He scrubbed at his eyes. “I hope she's fast.” Lissa pressed a kiss to the back of his head.

“I'm the best at finding frogs!” She said, indignant. Of everyone in the castle, she really was the best at finding frogs.”I wish he'd invited me, so we'd all be on time for tea.” Brady nodded, he kicked his legs as he waited and tried to decide which of the finger sandwiches he was going to eat first when mother and I walk arrived. “How about you sit nice in your own chair, and I will go have a peak out back? I won't leave the kitchen.” Brady nodded his assent and watched his mums balance on the window ledge and put her whole head out.

“Can I have a sammich?” He had decided on a cucumber one, and patted his tummy while he waited.

“‘Fraid not yet, sweetie. Mari and Owain aren't here yet.” She bounced on her toes and swept over the garden a third and final time. “But they won't be late!” She sat back down with Brady. “Any minute now okay?” Then, as if summoned she heard the melodic trill of her wife from the garden.

“Incoming!” Owain burst into the kitchen, as he was prone to, grinning from ear to ear.  Brady cheered and pilfered his chosen sandwich.

“I brought you a present mums! He's here for lunch!” Lissa's eyes widened with horror when she realised what was about to happen. Noticed Owain’s wet shirt and clasped hands.

“Frooog!” Yelled Maribelle. And what a frog it was. A mucus covered little monster sprung up from Owain’s hands just as Maribelle rounded into the kitchen. “Not inside, my love!” The frog was sadly, already loose. Lissa leapt forward desperately grabbing where the frog had been just seconds ago.

“Catch it mums!” Cheered Owain.

“Frof.” Agreed Brady, around another sandwich. Lissa chased the frog almost to the stove, before it sprung up and back to the table.

“Not the tea set!” Cried Maribelle. “Dear gods!” Owain wiped his slimy hands on the table cloth, and smiled at his little brother.

“I knew she would love it.” He said.

3.      One Will Not Shake Oneself Out Like A Dog In Any Circumstance

   The castle gardens, to which the kitchen opened, were exceptionally muddy throughout the spring. In order of the boys favourite things; mud fell somewhere between the knights game and musical instruments of arguable armament. Brady was subsequently the only of Lissa and Maribelle’s children allowed to continue violin lessons. Lissa swung a boy on each arm as she stomped through each slimy puddle she could see.

“Plop, plop, plop.” Owain sang. “Mud never stops!”

“What a lovely song!” Lissa said, swinging Owain a little higher. “Is there more of it?”

“Not yet, mums.” He kicked at the mud excitedly. “Waiting on Brady to write the rest.” He looked over at Brady on his mums's other arm. “Did you?” Brady dropped viciously into another puddle.

“Not yet, the rest is gonna be about mud.” Lissa swung him higher this time, as a reward for the effort.

“Should we all write it together, and we can all sing it to Mari?” Owain let go of his mums to inspect a particularly grassless puddle, while Brady was spun to face Lissa.

“Nope.” He said looking between his mums's muddy boots and his own, and deciding that is own aren't nearly muddy enough. “It's my song, and she hates mud!”

“True enough.” Said Lissa bouncing him into a deeper puddle than either of them were expecting. “Oops…” She said as she took in the mud that now covered his trouser legs as well. “We're going to have a bath before tea time, okay?” Brady nodded.

“If we're going to have a bath can I get really, really muddy?” Owain in his usual fashion, was far too quick to stop. He slammed his palms to the ground and performed his best - only slightly wobbly - forward roll.

“Oh no.” Lissa scooped him up under his arms.  And lifted him up to look at. “Owaaain!” He was filthy absolutely soaked through with mud. But he looked so happy in her arms, muddied up to the nines. Behind her Brady had sat down in his own muddy puddle.

“What did you think of that?” He asked. “Could you tell I was practicing?” She could, but in reply all she could do was laugh incredulously.

“Alrighy troops!” She managed when she had stifled her giggles. Owain under one arm, and Brady holding her hand between his own sticky ones she lead them back to the kitchen. “I won't tell if you don't.” She said.

Brady kicked one boot back into the garden once he had wrestled the laces loose enough to pull off. Owain left his on the floor. He looked at the tea table, not yet set, and grinned. Mums was going to make scones with them once they were washed. He shook the mud out his hair, and jogged off to the washroom. Lissa helped Brady with his other boot and smiled as he threw that into the garden as well.

“I love baths.” He said to himself as he glanced at the new polka dotty tablecloth. He figured mother had bought a new one, and mums just hadn't noticed.

“Me too.” Sighed Lissa. “ Lets all go for a bath together.”

   Maribelle joined them in the washroom not twelve minutes later. She had a tablecloth rolled up under her arm.

“Good afternoon, sweethearts.” She rested a hand primly on the bath tubs edge, and leaned over her little boys to press a kiss on the lips of her wife. “Could any of you tell me,” she began, “What pattern this table cloth is?” She leaned back  and let it unfurl.

“It's dots.” Said Brady helpfully from where he leaned on Lissa's shoulder.

“It's mud!” Cried Owain, bubble beard doing nothing to make him look less guilty.

“I'm sorry!” Wailed Lissa, reaching one soapy hand to her wife. “I don't even know when that happened!” Maribelle let Lissa dig her closer by her body loops and kissed her again, on the crown of her head.

“It's alright darling, but don't do it again.” She ran a had through the soapy bath water and frowned at the feeling. "We're going to need another bath I think." Lissa smiled up at her.

"We?" Maribelle shucked off her cardigan.

"Yes we, I feel very grimy after cleaning up the mess you rascals left in our kitchen. I expect a thorough back rub, and three of your finest scones." Maribelle sighed when Lissa pulled her into another kiss, politely ignoring the soft 'yuck from her youngest.

"Yes ma'am." Giggled Lissa. "Come on boys, we need fresh bath water."

[havekiddoswilltravel]

Everyday Black History: Educational Guide to Incorporating Black History into your Homeschool Year-round

February is Black History Month and I would love to encourage all educators, parents and adults in general to incorporate these best practices into their daily lives throughout the year. My definition of educator is very broad. If you have a sphere of influence to speak into the lives of future generations, then you’re an educator as far as I’m concerned. I believe in intentional education and thus we should never limit an entire group’s history and contributions to 28 days.

- Be intentional in your read alouds, independent reading and book list choices. Make sure that you incorporate books that provide a well rounded perspective on history, literature, geography, language arts and even math. 

- Diversify your homeschool social media feed. Connect with, read works by and learn best practices from other homeschooling parents and educators of colors.

1. Follow My Reflections Matter and incorporate their diverse resources to your educational plans.

2. Check out Negra Bohemian a self described:  a free spirit redefining motherhood through a socially conscious, faith-led and wandering lifestyle.

3. Check out Trippin’ Momma to be inspired by a single mother who’s recovered from domestic violence and is exploring the world on her own terms.

4. Follow Dr. Kira Bank and her work on Raising Equity.

5. Follow my friend Sarah’s adventures in her blog and be inspired to take adventurous trips with your kids to destinations like Dubai, Hong Kong and Kenya.

6. Follow The Spring Break Family and be encouraged to take adventures with our kids even if they’re not homeschooled.

7. Check out Our Kitchen Classroom and learn how to connect food with culture - travel.

If your a Christian, read this: No Days Off...

“This February, lay down the burden of ambassadorship and let Black History Month be your swimming lessons. May it be a reminder that each stroke forward transforms our weaknesses into strengths, powerlessness into purpose. We’re not treading water. Kingdom ambassadors make new wave moves. Look back and see how God is moving us forward.”

Additional resources Click on bold sections for more information:

- Learn about Racial Identity from Dr. Beverly Daniel Tatum. 

https://youtu.be/l_TFaS3KW6s

- Check out 100 Read Aloud Books for Black History and Beyond.

- 30 People from Around the World.

- Learn the truth about the Green Book by watching this documentary.

- Have your preconceived notions rocked by A blessed Heritage’s writings on faith and black history.

- Host a Black Living History Wax Musuem event at your school, home or community.

- Black History is American History.

- Race: The Power of Illusion.

- Read about why Martin Luther King JR. Day is not a day off and start planning your service project for next January.

- Why we shouldn’t forget that U.S. presidents owned slaves.

Published on Feb 2, 2017

"When you sing that this country was founded on freedom, don’t forget the duet of shackles dragging against the ground my entire life." This how poet Clint Smith begins his letter to past presidents who owned slaves. In honor of Black History Month, Smith offers his Brief But Spectacular take on the history of racial inequality in the U.S.

Learn about the musical, historical and African roots of Puerto Rico’s Bomba.

- Watch online Eyes on the Prize: America's Civil Rights Movement.

- 28 Ways to Celebrate Black History Month by the NAACP.

- Watch and be inspired by: Black Made That.

- Meet The Fearless Cook Who Secretly Fed — And Funded — The Civil Rights Movement.

- Watch Kevin Hart’s Guide to Black History on Netflix.

- Check out Wu-Tang Clan's GZA shows his genius in Liquid Science on Netflix.

- Add diverse puzzles by Puzzle Huddle to your bookcases.

- Decolonize your family bookshelves and learn more about awareness by following The Consious Kid.

- 28 More Black Picture Books That Aren’t About Boycotts, Buses or Basketball (2018).

- 5 Reasons You Should Celebrate Black History Month.

- Beyond The Painful Chains Of Slavery: Phillis Wheatley, The First Published Female African-American Poet.

- Continue learning throughout the year with various subscription options of the Because of Them we Can boxes.

- Check out Black Then for a wealth of information.

- Check out Story Corps:

StoryCorps’ mission is to preserve and share humanity’s stories in order to build connections between people and create a more just and compassionate world.

- Diversify your podcasts. A friend sent me this pod cast and I had to share: Black and White: Racism in America.

Exposure to Black Theater and Arts.

- Check out my review of Hamilton. 

- Go watch Black Violin. 

- Go see Alvin Ailey - American Dance Theater.

- Diversify your holiday traditions and enjoy the Hip Hop Nutcracker or the Urban Nutcracker. 

- Exposure to the history and sounds of Gospel music.

- Singin’ Us to Glory: The Life and Legacy of Fannie Lou Hamer.

- Black History Month is a chance for white parents to learn how to talk about racism.

Pin for later:

- Incorporate Black History Sites into your family travel. This has been a huge way for us to incorporate our story into our learning. These are some of our favorites or ones on our bucket list:

 1. National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, DC.

You can read more about my family’s trip to this history packed museum by clicking here.

2. The Tuskegee Airman National Historical Museum in Detroit, Michigan.

3. The National Underground Freedom Center in Cincinnati, Ohio.

You can read more about my family’s road trip to the freedom center by clicking here. 

4. Frederick Douglass National Historical Park in Washington, DC.

5. International Civil Rights Center and Museum in Greensboro, NC.

6. Martin Luther King, JR Memorial in Washington, DC.

7. Negro League Baseball Museum in Kansas City, MO.

8. Museum of African American History in Boston, MA.

9. North Star Underground Railroad Museum in Ausable Chasm, NY.

10. Visit Martha’s Vineyard and learn about the Polar Bears.

- Check out this blog post with a large list of destinations to include in your Black History Travel Bucket List: Must See Destinations to Learn About Black History.

- Study the history of Soul Food and host a Soul Food Feast for family and friends. 

The Soul Food Born of the Harlem Renaissance.

Read An Illustrated History of Soul Food with your kids. 

This is a great video of the celebrates African American food and chefs.

- Teach the history of the Harlem Globetrotters and then enjoy a  game. 

- Take a #foodies road trip to some of America’s top Soul Food Restaurants which are full of history, music and culture.

1. Sylvia’s Restaurant in Harlem, NY.

2. Amy Ruth’s in NYC.

3. Luella’s Southern Kitchen in Chicago, IL.

4. The Coast Cafe in Cambridge, MA.

5. Roscoes Chicken and Waffles in Los Angeles, CA.

6. Busy Bee Cafe in Atlanta, GA.

- Provide opportunities for your students to read, memorize and recite black poetry. Some of our favorites are. 

Let America Be America Again

Langston Hughes, 1902 - 1967

Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free. (America never was America to me.) Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed— Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above. (It never was America to me.) O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe. (There’s never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”) Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars? I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek— And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak. I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one’s own greed! I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean— Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years. Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That’s made America the land it has become. O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home— For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore, And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came To build a “homeland of the free.” The free? Who said the free?  Not me? Surely not me?  The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we’ve dreamed And all the songs we’ve sung And all the hopes we’ve held And all the flags we’ve hung, The millions who have nothing for our pay— Except the dream that’s almost dead today. O, let America be America again— The land that never has been yet— And yet must be—the land where every man is free. The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME— Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again. Sure, call me any ugly name you choose— The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives, We must take back our land again, America! O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be! Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain— All, all the stretch of these great green states— And make America again!

From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, published by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Copyright © 1994 the Estate of Langston Hughes. Used with permission.

Still I Rise

Maya Angelou, 1928 - 2014

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

From And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou. Copyright © 1978 by Maya Angelou. Reprinted by permission of Random House, Inc

Lift Every Voice and Sing

James Weldon Johnson, 1871 - 1938

Lift every voice and sing, Till earth and heaven ring, Ring with the harmonies of Liberty; Let our rejoicing rise High as the list’ning skies, Let it resound loud as the rolling sea. Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us; Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, Let us march on till victory is won. Stony the road we trod, Bitter the chast’ning rod, Felt in the days when hope unborn had died; Yet with a steady beat, Have not our weary feet Come to the place for which our fathers sighed? We have come over a way that with tears has been watered. We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered, Out from the gloomy past, Till now we stand at last Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast. God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way; Thou who hast by Thy might, Led us into the light, Keep us forever in the path, we pray. Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee, Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee; Shadowed beneath Thy hand, May we forever stand, True to our God, True to our native land.

From Saint Peter Relates an Incident by James Weldon Johnson. Copyright © 1917, 1921, 1935 James Weldon Johnson, renewed 1963 by Grace Nail Johnson. Used by permission of Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.

Dreams

Langston Hughes, 1902 - 1967

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.

From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes published by Alfred A. Knopf/Vintage. Copyright © 1994 by the Estate of Langston Hughes. Reprinted by permission of Harold Ober Associates Incorporated. All rights reserved.

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