#anyway hope you're all having a good day!

[menagerofmischief]

Hi I have a req abt piercer!lando and what he would do if reader asked for a tramp stamp?

oh nonie I love this! strap yourself and in we go... piercer!lando saga: 1 / 2 / 3

piercer!lando loves doing tattoos and he especially loves doing them on you. When you told him you wanted a tramp stamp he felt like the sky opened and you were an angel coming down to sing the sweetest tune to him.

Lando didn't waste time, the very next day he had you in his shop, half hour before closing time after he kicked Max out, knowing he was going to get a lecture but he couldn't care less.

As soon as the stencil is on he has you bent over the tattoo chair, practically naked except for your bra, a tiny scrape of lace that barely covers anything anyway.

"Come on now," he teases as he works on the tattoo, his painfully hard cock nestled inside of your warm heat, your walls wrapped perfectly around him. "Be a good girl for me and don't move. You don't want me to mess up do you princess?"

You shake your head, a whimper falling past your lips as you feel yourself getting more desperate for him, entirely focused on the feeling of his dick feeling you up, the stinging pain of the tattoo needle on your lower back practically unnoticeable.

When the buzzing of the tattoo gun dies down, signaling Lando is done you can barely contain yourself long enough for him to clean the tattoo before you're trying to rock yourself back on him, hoping to grind yourself on his dick.

He laughs, a mean little chuckle, before you feel his fingers wrap around your hair and he pulls hard, forcing a moan out of your mouth as your back arches, the little sting of pain on your scalp begging you to follow back towards him.

"Lando!" You whine, and he loves how desperate it sounds.

His other hand comes down hard, spanking your ass before he releases your hair, both of his hands gripping your waist as he starts fucking himself into you, not giving you time to properly adjust.

"You're just a needy little slut, aren't you princess?" He purrs, his voice much closer than you anticipated. He presses messy kisses along your shoulders, still fucking into you brutally. "A desperate little thing, grinding on my cock while I tattoo you. You don't even care what I ink on your body as long as I fuck you after isn't that right?"

His hand leaves your waist, wrapping around you to toy with your clit. You can't even get a warning out, only managing a high pitches moan as your walls squeeze around him before you squirt, gushing out all over his dick and the floor.

Lando groans, his hips stilling as his dick twitches and you feel the sensation of his warm cum filling up your insides. He pulls out, his cum dripping out of you and down your legs as soon as his cock in no longer plugging your cunt.

"Fuck, that was so hot," he says, turning you around to kiss you, his tongue licking against your own. Finally he pulls back, his eyes focusing on the remains of your orgasm on the floor. "Fuck, Max is gonna kill me!"

want more piercer!lando? send a request and tell me your ideas!

[stupidlittlespirit]

Ford getting sick and you have to take care of him. hes so stubborn, I bet he refuses to accept that he's sick and even once he does he thinks it won't interfere with his work or anything anyways. minutes later he's passed out at his desk. poor thing. drag him to bed and help him through the fever dreams and unsavory symptoms. doctor, he needs cuddles, stat!

I like to think that once he's returned from the portal, he's got an exceptionally developed immune system. I mention it in Spores (with the death cap thing) and I do think he'd have picked up so many foreign germs that he just kind of becomes super resilient to bugs and stuff in his home dimension, to a certain extent.

BUT, there's nothing funnier to me than imagining him believing this 1000% and never taking precautions, then catching the most regular ass flu and being devastated by it. Like, picture War of the Worlds: all these crazy aliens who are super developed end up dying out because they catch fucking H1N1 LMAOOOOOO

He gets the first twinges of the flu (headaches, soreness etc) and assumes it's just being old/typical chronic pain/because he's been overworking, and so he just ignores it. It's no big deal.

Except, the next day, he wakes up feeling absolutely rotten. Head throbbing, body aching, feeling like he's moving through molasses, sweaty, snotty, just generally disgusting.

Everyone can see that he's poorly, except for Ford. He starts losing his voice because he refuses to shut up and rest his throat, and if he takes the advice then he has to acknowledge that he's unwell. So he refuses. He just goes on in the way he usually does, over explaining things and lecturing until it goes completely. Nothing more than a squeak.

He'll keep working, though. He's just got to power through it, he won't back down! He's in the lab wondering why he's got double vision when he tries to concentrate on his samples and he ends up getting mad at himself for not being able to focus, so he retires to his study in the hopes that maybe he can get some shitty paperwork done.

Which is where, as you say, you find him a few hours later, slumped over his desk, passed the fuck out and drooling on his papers.

You're loathe to move him because he never sleeps this soundly, but he's going to totally fuck up his back if he stays hunched over like that, so you have to very carefully wake him up and gently (but firmly) convince him that he has to go to bed for his own good. I expect his willpower to resist at that point would be very low and so it wouldn't take much.

So you guide him into his bed and fetch him tea and soup and cold medicine, and tend to his needs like the perfect nurse. Maybe he asks you to bring some books to bed because he thinks he'll be bored, but because he's too exhausted to even sit upright, you offer to read them to him until he passes out again.

And I definitely think he'd end up falling asleep on you. He won't outright be vulnerable and ask for a cuddle but he'll allude to it heavily, and you'll pick up what he's putting down because at this point, you've gotten used to his weird communication issues. So you prop yourself up next to him in bed and he snuggles up close.

I do think Ford's a big guy, though, so he'd pin you with his dead weight and you wouldn't be able to move without disturbing him.

Thankfully, he doesn't have any nightmares. I think usually he would but instead of the typical fever dreams most people get when they're suffering a bad flu, Ford gets the reverse: just a dead, black sleep. It ends up being quite pleasant for him and he conks out each night for like 14 hours straight for the first time in like 30 years.

He'd be soooo utterly pathetic and needy; can't do anything for himself and even needs help to be bathed when the flu peaks because he's so weak..... He totally groans and complains non stop, bless him.

When he gets back to normal though, he's totally revitalised and energetic from all the rest and TLC. It's like he's a young man again, raring to go and bouncing off the walls ("I should get sick more often, this is wonderful!").

And then a few days later, when you start sneezing and aching, Ford has to do all the same things for you.... In between several fruitless attempts to synthesize a cure for the common cold just for you. (He fails every time, of course, but he tries his best).

[wukyma]

Oh you answered my question ♡ thank u, you fed us so much with all this lore !

First of all, the new poseidon illustration is now my new phone wallpaper, omg his pretty big face with the voluptuous hair .

Second of all, pretty please continue even without pictures ! I'm so interested in your Au! (Ur so right about the not-excuses of Odysseus, I would want Vengeance tho after this bad self-centered justification)

Love the poli/peri/emperor friendship, it's not the first time I see this headcanon and it's such a good idea actually (of course SweetBoyPoli is friend with everyone but the impeccable flavor of a friendship between opposites is still very cool/ complementary) !

But but if I can ask for pictures i would die to see 👀 the moment where they conclude the deal ?

(Also the HAND almost ON Polites FACE??? I have stated at that one for definitely too long. Oh god. Please, its kinda make me feral. )

💫Tatooed Polities ?💫 I must see him with the trident tattoo one day... OR even better : eurylochus/ody reaction to it! Because They know him for almost forever now, so the devastating realitie must be so hard on them (having a deal with a strong and violent god such as the earthshaker and all the implications, ohh good Angst!)

Okay, tell me I read that right too, Poli becoming ✨️friend ✨️ with Circe ?? Fuck your brain is big. Gotta think about the events on circe island with your Polities, that change everything for the better. Of course they can't fight so that rule out Ody and the Moly but maybe Hermes's still here anyway ? Like the little mischievous god he is...

So I have to ask, is Poseidon gonna spy on the fleet -especially Poli since he's beefing with him- ? I kinda have this picture of water spirits reporting to the god every steps ? Tell me if I'm in the wrong ~

(I'm SO ready for mockery tho 🧨 )

Honestly I'm really invested here so every choice is good ♡ would appreciate to read more anyway

(Not very good at detective sorry but hoping someone else will find it!)

FIRST OF ALL receive my massive thanks for writing such a detailed comment on my AU!! These guys are very dear to me, and it makes me extremely happy when someone matches my freak has the same vision <33

And you made it your wallpaper?? I'll bawl fr. Sadlyy i didn't really think through the moment where they concluded the deal, but have an interpretation! (Watch as i struggle drawing without any references except my own face)

The tattoo situation is interesting too because its purpose isn't only to seal the deal ;D hoping that I'll be able to show how that works in the next part— and yes, you're right about Circe; I don't care that it's basically a spoiler because they are just besties material 🫶✨️ can definitely promise a glimpse of Hermes!!

I didn't think of Poseidon using spies, but that's kinda adorable and I'll draw it anyway hehe,, something something water winions lore

(The bottom two are both from water but different species/habitats ig? Whatever, I didn't think too much about it)

[daystarpoet]

•ྀ༅ cause when you're around, I find it hard to breathe ೄ

pairings: grayson hawthorne x fem!reader | wc: 1.4k tags: academic rivals to lovers status: requested. sooo here it is, loads of banter and tension. not sure if this is ooc or not, just wanted to write something good that met the request. this takes place while gray is still in high school. give this love and support cause it took me SO long to make.

grayson hawthorne. the seemingly perfect heir with the pristine suits, and carefully styled blond hair. the untouchable, unreachable perfect student, and perfect grandson. never once had him been seen anything but under complete control of his emotions. he got perfect grades, and had always been at the top of his class; until you arrived.

one quality you shared with grayson hawthorne was your constant push towards perfection—partially due to the pressure imposed by your respective families, but also because of your own desire to find an ounce of self-worth in your grades, holding onto academic validation as if it were your lifeline.

one tends to clash with the ones who one shares the most personality traits; maybe that was the reason grayson, and you so often found yourselves invested in arguments. sharing strengths and goals mean also sharing weaknesses, the pair of you were two sides of the very same coin.

sharing weaknesses, as in knowing the heart-stopping feeling of turning a freshly-corrected exam around, only to be met with a grade below expected. the dart of your eyes over the red number, over, and over, with the faintest hope that in one of those darts, the number will change; but it never does. that’s when realization hits, when the pit in your stomach opens, when frustration bursts.

every time this happened, grayson’s instant reaction was to turn around, to hesitantly try to steal a glance of your mark; to try to find relief in your failure, to find a slimmer of hope in at least having scored better than you. and you did the exact same thing; every single time.

you shifted on your seat, hands anxiously fiddling with your hair. you tried to take a few deep breaths in, hoping it would ease the pressure building up on top of your chest. you had tried your best; spent two whole days as a walking-corpse, whose only intention was to feed itself off of academic approval, instead of human brains. 

you could only pray for your effort to be fruitful, for the teacher to take into account that physics was far from your forte. but quite honestly, if you were to be met with failure, it wouldn’t be surprising. the test had surprised you, the questions had been more complicated than what you had anticipated, which lead you to turning it in with not much confidence. 

the urge to take a quick glance to the person seating two seats cater-cornered from you; grayson hawthorne. questions whirled in your mind, was he confident in his results? or was he secretly as nervous as you? not that you could read that off his face anyway, he looked far too stoic for that. 

the teacher’s steps were slow— too slow. each beat that passed was one more worry that emerged in your mind, christ, couldn’t this teacher simply give you your grade—as bad as it might be— and put you out of your misery? whatever was to come, it surely was better than the agonizing wait. 

you watched the faces of your classmates, how their formerly neutral expressions shifted according to the red ink marking the paper sheet— turns out a number with a circle around it mattered quite a lot. the results of your schoolmates could have been guessed with not much difficulty; after all, all exam results were pretty much the same. the more carefree students obtaining barely-passing grades, the ‘normal’ students obtaining regular to good ones, and then separately, grayson and you, with your ever outstanding academic success. 

the click of the teacher’s heel on the floor right in front of you was quick to snap you out of your thoughts. eyes nervously darting from the teacher's hands, to her face, in search of any hit of victory. and after the long delay, the paper was finally placed on your desk, your future within your reach at last. 

seventy-eight percent. while not being an inherently bad number, it wasn’t too great, either. you still could have done better, tried harder, this wasn’t you. even if this wasn’t as much of a surprise, being hit with reality was still painful. 

the minute class was over, you did not waste a minute and packed everything up, desperately trying to burry that reminder of failure deep within your bag, and deep within your mind. allow darkness to consume it, and hope you will never be reminded of it. In the midst of your escape attempt, you were unlucky enough to bump into a certain blonde.

“careful when you walk.” grayson told you, silently raising an eyebrow at your unusual frazzled behaviour. he stepped to the side, allowing you to make your way to the door, his eyes flickering from your head to your toes during a fraction of a second. “not too happy, i see?” what was originally intended to be a passing comment on grayson’s side ended up striking quite the chord in you. 

“and you’re just so above everyone else.” you rolled your eyes, gripping the straps of your backpack tighter, nails digging into the fabric. “sometimes, maybe” a sentence clearly made with the sole goal to spite you. “how bad was it, either way?” he asked, leaning a bit closer, his stature more prominent now. 

“sevety-eight.” your gaze dropping to the floor, not wanting to spot the cocky look he was probably going to give you.

“eighty-four,” he replied, as neutral as ever. “lucky for you, we don’t have that big of a difference—a shame, really.” could this really be? grayson hawthorne being nice to you for once?

cordiality was certainly a rare occurrence, your usual interactions ranged from witty banter, to actual major arguments, neither of you could ever seem to make peace with the other. the worst possible scenario, however, was that one where you had to work together. though the result of your partnership was nothing short of impressive, your creative differences often clashed, making room for endless dispute, and waste of your priced time. the poor librarian didn’t even bother telling you to quiet your arguing down at this point, trying to ease the tension between you two had proven futile.

grayson sighed, placing his book down on the table, and taking a peek at the text on your computer. you were tasked to do a research project, and being the overachievers you were, you took it upon yourselves to find as much information as possible. “i really hope that text you just wrote isn’t filled with information out of wikipedia.” in all fairness, he knew you would rather be caught dead than base your project on unreliable sources, but he still felt the need to make a witty remark.

“no, grayson, i did, in fact, not use wikipedia.” you gave him a deadpanned look, which he didn’t even bother returning, and instead took his book once more, ignoring your glares. “just making sure. don’t want you risking our grade.” god, how could be so infuriating while at the same time look so calm, and composed?

“well, if we’re going to play that game, i really hope that the book you’re reading isn’t ancient, and contains no outdated information.” you turned your head around, displease clear on your face, and on the verge of snapping. you could almost picture the worn-out expression on the face of the poor librarian the moment you raised your voice. 

only this once, grayson’s gaze parted from the words on paper, and instead focused on yours. even if his eyes only played a look of perplexity, there was something about the way they lingered on yours, pupils momentarily focusing, as the icy grey eyes took hold of you.

“stop staring, and keep writing.” 

“i wasn’t staring—and i won’t work until you tell me what year that book was published.” you used your best offended face, only earring an eye-roll from your partner’s side. 

“here it says…” grayson’s slim fingers flipped the pages over, until he was met with the first two sheets of the book, “nineteen eighty-five.” his words sharp, not completely pleased with your request. “something more modern would be better, but i guess eighty-five will do.” you reluctantly accepted, taking a deep breath in, closing your eyes, and releasing it— just a few more hours, and you would be done with this.

that was it, i guess. i have more ideas for this, but i simply couldn't bring myself to keep writing of how burnt out this fic got me. if you would like a part 2 of this, let me know.

[qqueenofhades]

Hello qqueen! Hope you're having a good day.

I just recently saw you talking about Dreamling (Dream/Hob Gadling), and I would love to hear you talk about them more!

What is it about that ship that you love so much? Personally, I love it in that it represents Dream's connection to humanity overall. His love of Hob is his love for humanity, even after being betrayed and imprisoned for a century.

...okay look, you will throw me right back into my feelings (although admittedly I did already by re-reading said old fics, so).

Basically, as I said, they are Insanely Soulmate Coded -- Dream's sister literally gave Hob to him in the first place and big-sister-needles him to go back and reconnect with his ex! The contrast of the cold immortal eternal being becoming more human through his friendship and/or steadfastly repressed romantic feelings for warm, optimistic, and charming Average Bob the Bloke, who goes from douchebag confidence to lovable confusion to a lifelong hatred of Shakespeare to misery to naked eyesex (too bad 1789 Hob was a moral cesspit because nunnnnngghh the flirting in that scene please help) to warm and wry acceptance! The fact of the TV show changing it so that Hob waited an extra 33 years after 1989 and bought and/or built the New Inn and painted graffiti what, every few weeks or so, wrecking his own property values in the process, so a certain Very Stupid Immortal Boy could have literal flashing neon signs to help him find his way back! The fact of 2022 Hob being a history professor (I, a historian, have no feelings about this whatsoever) and Dream being Prince of Stories and that stupid fucking SMILE they give each other when they finally reunite. It's fine. I'm everything fine here.

Anyway. Etc. etc. Ferdinand Kingsley being the most charming internet menace to ever internet and shipping Dreamling with his entire backside, Tom Sturridge having the quote about how "if Dream cares for these humans that he meets only briefly with Death, how much more does he feel for Hob after 600 years," at least one member of the Sandman writer's room confirming that the romantic overtones were intentional, the Oh It's Like Crack For Me Personally, So Gimme Gimme Moar gay-idiot-immortals pining stupidly over each other while being convinced the other would never like them back and making life unnecessarily difficult for themselves, the many centuries of it all, the growth and change, the eyesex (have I mentioned that?), the banter, the "I look awful/you look worse," Hob's little heartbroken fuck after Dream storms off in a dumbass 1889 huff, I COULD GO ON. As I said, let's hope we get another montage of meaningful and/or sexually charged glances in Sandman s2, as it will be the last one due both to Netflix and Neil Gaiman's banishment to the shadow realm for creephood. At that point perhaps I could finally recover my long-dormant fandom muse and, say, finish the unknown and static strange, as I would very much like to do. Zomgz.

[mgghoney]

pairing// matthew gray gubler and reader || wc// 942

summary// you're surprised you're being rung first for once

"Your phone's been vibrating."

You look up at the girl, holding your flour-stained hands up as she laughs. "Answer for me?"

"On speaker?"

"Well I sure hope it isn't a stalker."

"It's a facetime."

"Can you prop it up on the counter?"

"Yeah."

"Is there a caller ID?" The other girl raises a brow.

"Some... white guy."

"Well, that makes one of two people." You nod as she answers, and you raise a brow when Matt's voice rings through.

"Well what do we have here?"

"Flour-stained hands that are about to smear the screen if you say something that could get us jailed." You wave, mixture stuck to your hands as the other girl turns around at the sound of a man.

"A MAN!?"

"Oh, my god. He's white too." She slaps a hand over her mouth, and Matt laughs.

"Who are you with?"

You introduce your friends, pointing to each one of them and motioning for another to come in, hand still working at the dough as the other girls look over to see him. He waves, and you hum. "This is Matt. He's my fourty-four year old white man best friend."

"Forever twenty one, excuse you." Matt corrects.

"Yeah, yeah, and I'm pushing fifty." You roll your eyes, squeezing at the dough.

One of the girls speaks up. "Did he dethrone white boy?"

"No. Matt's a man, unfortunately." You hum, staring at the dough. "I have him saved under fav white man."

"The dough's ready to rest. Go catch up with him." One of the girls shoo you.

"So you hate me."

"How'd you know?"

"Guess I'll just go kill myself, then." You roll your eyes, reaching to the side to wash out your hands.

"Hey, that's no fun." Matt hums. "Am I on speaker?"

"Yeah. I'll grab earbuds in a second." You nod, wiping your hands clean of the water.

"No rush."

You get your earbuds and settle on the couch, curling up.

"What were you guys doing?"

"Making dumplings. One of the girls wanted to try making them for the first time. I think you can tell just based off of..." You trail off, humming. "Why'd you call?"

"Wanted to see what you were up to. I've been at home these days and you haven't been calling." He hums.

"Yeah, I'm cramming in a handful of things before I start classes again." You look up at one of the girls on her phone and poking holes into the dough, holding back a laugh. "I think I overkneaded the dough."

"Hey, nothing a little science can't fix." He hums back. "You been alright?"

"Yeah." You raise a brow when you finally catch a good look at him, raising a brow. "Are you shirtless?"

"God forbid a man be shirtless in his own home."

"This is why you're not pulling."

"Don't be mean." He points, pouting. "Don't be mean."

"Sorry, dad." You roll your eyes, catching one of the girls staring at you. "If a rumor starts that I have a daddy kink you're gonna be reading my obituary very soon."

"I doubt it." He hums.

"Are you coming back soon?"

"I'll call you when I do. Do you wanna come grab me?"

"No car." You shake your head. "I'll pick you up on the subway, though."

"Not scared of my fans?"

"I think there's a fair chance that most people know you have friends anyway." You roll your eyes. "You been alright? Not too busy?"

"Not too busy at all." He shakes his head. "A short break."

"That's good." You hum. "I'm surprised you're not out wandering."

"I wanted to call to check if you're alright."

"I'm not home, but my family's fine. We're a little more south. I have... friends, and I'm sure you do too, who have had to evacuate." You rest your cheek on the back of the couch, staring at your friends.

"That's good."

"You alright? Family and friends?"

"A lot of friends have evacuated, but everyone's safe. Recovering won't be as nice, though." He hums.

"A lot of homes are going to have to be rebuilt." He sets you on the bedside, camera facing the ceiling as you look at your watch.

"Is it not dinner time for you?"

"It is."

"Did you eat already?"

"Went out with some friends."

"And you missed me?" You raise a brow.

"Yeah. Wanted to hear your voice. We haven't called in a while."

"I suppose so." You hum. "Missed you too. Can't wait to get you back here in the city."

"You'll be my first stop, promise."

"Awww..." You hold a hand to your chest, feigning comfort. "You say that as if you're not gonna book it to the indian place first thing."

"Hey, I'll be booking it and then you'll be joining me, obviously." He rolls his eyes. "How's the camera?"

"Clicking." You hum. "I took photos earlier."

"It's nice to think that I'll get a glimpse into your life outside of our calls."

"Hope my camera's serving its purpose too."

"It is. Always." He hums. "I'll let you go. I'm sure your friends have questions."

"One of them thought you were my high school classmate." You roll your eyes, humming.

"Which account did you change?"

"My discord." You watch as he picks up the phone again, waving at you.

"Tell her I'm honored."

"Oh, I'm sure you are." You hum, waving back. "I'll see you in a bit, Matt."

"Hey, you gonna come pick me up, yeah?"

"Of course I will." You smile. "I'll go with a pick up sign too."

"Then I'll be waiting. See you."

"See you. Love you lots."

"Love you too."

[vamptizm]

vi. MISSION JEALOUSY — p.bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis: in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings: angst. explicit language. that’s it i think.

word count: 3.6k

note: this took me soso long i apologize, i’m just not satisfied with this whatsoever. this series will not be revolving around just smut, so obv it’s not going to be in every or every other chapter. idk how long i’ll make it, but most of my chapters are rather short so probably double in the digit chapter count. yeah anyway thank u for being patient and reading this (i loveee comments of any kind so pls don’t hesitate to leave those)

series masterlist

Clover sat across from Vanessa in a quaint little sushi restaurant downtown, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her water glass as she tried—really tried—to focus on the conversation. The dim lighting cast a warm glow across the table, the soft murmur of voices and clinking plates filling the space between them. Vanessa was mid-sentence, her voice light and animated as she recounted a story from work, but Clover wasn't listening.

She couldn't.

Everything about the evening felt... off. The restaurant, the atmosphere, even the date itself.

Vanessa had been the one to suggest this place, raving about it for days until Clover finally agreed to go. It was supposed to be a fun night out, a break from the monotony of campus life and basketball practices. But instead, the girl found herself counting the minutes, waiting for the check to arrive so she could call it a night.

The truth was, she hadn't been feeling it from the start. Not the date. Not Vanessa. 

Vanessa was kind. Sweet. Energetic in a way that most people found contagious. Her laughter was bright, her gestures animated, and her eyes sparkled with sincerity whenever she looked at Clover. She was someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, someone who loved openly and fiercely, someone who deserved the same in return. 

But Clover wasn't that person. 

She wasn't someone who gave her heart away easily. Hell, she wasn't even sure if she had it in her to give it away at all. 

Relationships had never been her thing. The idea of commitment, of letting someone get close enough to see her cracks and flaws, felt like a weight she couldn't bear. Vulnerability wasn't something she handed out freely—it was something she locked away, hidden behind witty remarks and carefree smiles. And still, Vanessa wanted more. 

Something serious. Something Clover couldn't give. 

"...and maybe next weekend we could check out that new art exhibit?" Vanessa's voice pulled her back to the present. She was smiling, hopeful. Her hands rested on the table, fingers curled lightly around her glass. There was a certain softness to her expression, an eagerness that made Clover's chest tighten with dread. 

It was getting too much. 

"Hey, listen," Clover interrupted, her voice quieter than usual, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "We've already talked about this." 

Vanessa's smile faltered, just a little. Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. 

"I told you," Clover continued gently, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, "I'm not ready for anything serious." 

For a moment, Vanessa froze. Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words didn't come. Instead, she sat back in her chair, shoulders stiffening slightly as she processed Clover's words. 

"I know," Vanessa finally said, her voice quieter now, too. "But... I thought maybe if we took it slow, you'd change your mind." 

Guilt twisted in Clover's stomach, sharp and unforgiving. She hated this part — the part where things inevitably fell apart, where someone always got hurt. 

"I don't think that's gonna happen," she said softly, regret lacing her words. "You're... you're too good for me, Vanessa. It's not fair to let you act like my girlfriend when we both know it's not gonna happen." 

The words hung heavy in the air. 

Vanessa's face hardened, a flicker of hurt crossing her features before she quickly masked it. But Clover saw it — she always did. And it only made the guilt worse. 

"You show up to my games with signs," Clover added, her voice quieter now, her gaze dropping to the table. "You wait for me after practice. You plan dates, and you're always so thoughtful... I don't deserve any of that. And you know it." 

"Why wouldn't you deserve it?" 

The question came quickly, sharper than Clover expected. It caught her off guard, and she stilled for a moment, her thoughts scattering. 

Why didn't she deserve it? 

It was a loaded question, one one required an even more loaded and heavier answer.

Because she didn't appreciate it the way she should. Because it never felt like enough to change how she was. Because the butterflies Vanessa so desperately tried to give her never came—not from sweet gestures, not from thoughtful words or sex, not from anything Vanessa did. 

"Because I don't appreciate it," Clover finally said, her voice low, barely audible above the hum of the restaurant. "The way you'd like me to." 

Vanessa blinked, confusion clouding her gaze. 

"It doesn't... it doesn't do anything for me," Clover admitted after taking a deep breath, the confession weighing heavily on her chest. "It's not wooing me. It's not making me feel any butterflies. None of it. And I don't want you to keep hurting yourself trying to make it happen." 

Silence settled over the table like a heavy blanket. 

Vanessa's gaze drifted to the window, her jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line. Her hand curled around her napkin, knuckles white. Finally, she nodded—a small, stiff motion that spoke of resignation more than understanding. 

The guilt was unbearable. 

Clover signaled for the check, pulling out her card before Vanessa could argue. She paid quickly, avoiding the waitress's curious gaze, and stood without a word. 

The silence in the car pressed down on Clover like a weight. The rain tapping against the windshield filled the space where words should've been. Vanessa sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window, her expression distant and unreadable. 

Clover clenched the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles white. The guilt gnawed at her, twisting in her chest, but not in the way most people would expect. She didn't owe Vanessa anything — not her loyalty, not her heart. She had made that clear from the start. 

Still, something about the way Vanessa sat quietly, radiating disappointment, made the brunette’s stomach churn. 

Vanessa finally broke the silence. Her voice was quiet, but steady. "You're not a bad person." 

Clover exhaled, the lump in her throat tightening. 

"You're kind," Vanessa continued, her gaze still focused on the rain-slicked streets outside. "You're thoughtful. You care more than you want people to think. And I don't know why you keep trying to convince yourself that you're incapable of something real." 

Clover's chest tightened. 

She hated this. Hated that Vanessa saw her as someone capable of giving more than she actually could. Hated that Vanessa saw something in her that wasn't there. Or maybe, she just hated that she couldn't see it too.

The memory of Paige lingered — the weight of her touch still fresh on Clover's skin, the way her hands trembled slightly when they pulled Clover closer, the way their eyes met in that charged, unspoken moment. 

And then the look on Paige's face when Clover left. 

It had mirrored the one Clover wore the first time they'd crossed that boundary. She had been the one left standing there, confused and craving more while Paige walked away without a word. 

Tonight, it had been her who walked out, and she hated that it still hurt. That it felt so wrong.

Vanessa sighed, her tone softer now, like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to reassure Clover. "I just... I thought maybe you'd change your mind. That maybe I could be the one to—" 

Clover cut her off before she could finish. 

"You're not the one." 

The words came out harsh, sharper than Clover intended, but she couldn't take them back. The truth was too raw to sugarcoat. 

Vanessa flinched, her lips pressing into a tight line. She nodded slowly, as if piecing everything together, realizing how deeply she had misread the situation. 

"I see." 

Silence returned, heavier than before. 

Clover wanted to tell her that none of this was Vanessa's fault — that she hadn't led her on, that Vanessa deserved someone who wanted to give her what she was looking for. But it would've sounded hollow. Pointless. 

Instead, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her mind unwillingly drifting back to Paige. 

To the way Paige had looked at her, eyes burning with something Clover could never quite name. To the feeling of Paige's lips against hers, desperate and insistent. To the ache in her chest when she walked out of the room, the echo of her own footsteps on the hardwood floor sounding louder than they should've. 

And to the nagging thought in the back of her mind—almost like a whisper from the devil himself—that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't running away from love entirely. She was just running from the wrong person. 

"I had sex with someone else before this," Clover said suddenly, her voice steady but quiet, cutting through the silence like a blade. 

Vanessa blinked, startled by the blunt confession. 

"What?" 

"I had sex with someone else," Clover repeated, this time slower, more deliberate. "Right before this date." 

Vanessa's expression shifted — not to anger, not to betrayal, but to resignation. 

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Vanessa said after a long pause. There was no malice in her tone, just disappointment. "I thought I could be different. That I could make you want... more." 

Clover stared straight ahead, her chest hollow. 

"I told you from the start I wasn't ready for anything serious," she said, her voice steady but distant. "I wasn't lying." 

"I know." Vanessa's voice softened again. "But I hoped." 

And there it was — the difference between them. 

Vanessa was someone who hoped, who believed in love and connection. She thought that if she showed enough kindness, enough patience, she could win Clover over. That she could make her feel the way Vanessa felt about her. 

But Clover had stopped hoping a long time ago. The only person who ever made her feel anything real was Paige. 

And that terrified her more than it should.

Vanessa cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Did it mean anything?" 

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. 

Did sleeping with Paige mean anything? 

Everything. 

"Not in the way you think," Clover lied, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Vanessa nodded again, her gaze dropping to her lap. "Right." 

The rest of the drive was silent, tension crackling between them like a live wire. 

When Clover finally pulled up in front of Vanessa's apartment, neither of them moved right away. Vanessa fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, and Clover kept her hands on the wheel, staring at the rain streaking the windshield. 

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Vanessa said softly, breaking the silence. 

Clover didn't answer. 

Vanessa gave her one last glance before stepping out of the car and disappearing into the building without looking back. 

As the door clicked shut, Clover let out a shaky breath. The weight of the evening bore down on her, but it wasn't Vanessa's disappointment that crushed her. 

It was the way Paige's name lingered on her mind like a brand, burning and inescapable. No matter how far she ran, no matter how many distractions she sought, Paige was always there. 

The way the blonde's gaze lingered a little too long during practice. The way her usually teasing and taunting voice softened when she checked in on Clover after a particularly rough game. The way her presence filled every empty corner of Clover's mind, no matter how hard she tried to push it away.

Because Paige had never just been a fleeting crush or a temporary obsession. 

It wasn't just admiration. It wasn't just complicated friendship. She had always been something more. 

It had been something more for a long time.

The apartment was quiet when Clover walked in, save for the soft clatter of a knife against what she assumed was a cutting board. She barely glanced at the kitchen, her mind clouded with exhaustion, her heart heavy with that same guilt. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and shut out the world.

But of course Paige was still up.

Clover cursed under her breath as she slipped off her shoes, hoping to make it to her room without incident. She knew how Paige operated. Knew the games she liked to play. And Clover wasn't in the mood for another round of it tonight.

"Late night?" Paige's voice cut through the silence, sharp and calculated.

Clover stopped in her tracks, her heart sinking. She set her bag down by the door, straightened, and took a slow breath before turning around. Paige was at the counter, slicing through an apple with a steady hand.

"Something like that," Clover said, keeping her tone flat.

Paige didn't look up. "Thought you'd be back later. Guess the date wasn't that great, huh?"

There it was. The edge in Paige's voice. That barely veiled disdain, like she was trying to poke holes into Clover's night without outright saying what she really felt.

Clover ran a hand through her straightened hair, none of her natural curls in sight. "It was fine."

"Fine." Paige repeated the word with a smirk, like it was a joke only she understood. She tossed a slice of apple into her mouth, chewed slowly. "Guess that's not exactly life-changing."

Clover's patience was already wearing thin. "Why do you care?"

Paige shrugged, finally meeting Clover's gaze. Her blue eyes were cool, assessing. "I don't."

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on Clover's chest. She could feel the unspoken tension between them, like a storm waiting to break. She shifted her weight, debating whether to walk away — but Paige wasn't done.

"You're wasting your time, you know," Paige said quietly, her voice softening. It wasn't a taunt this time. It sounded almost like a warning.

The brunette frowned. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Paige set the knife down, her hands resting on the counter. "These girls you fuck around with. They're not going to give you what you want."

Clover's chest tightened, brow raised in an almost challenging manner "And what exactly do you think I want?"

Paige tilted her head, her gaze never wavering. "Someone who makes you feel the way I do."

The air between them went still, heavy with meaning. Clover froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her pulse quickened, a mix of irritation and something else—something she didn't have the guts to name—coursing through her veins.

"That's overly cocky, even for you," She responded, her voice steady but strained.

Paige's lips curved into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "Maybe. But I'm not wrong, am I?"

Clover's hands curled into fists at her sides. She hated how easily Paige got under her skin. How she always knew exactly what to say to make Clover doubt herself.

"God, you just say the dumbest shit sometimes." Clover muttered, turning toward her room.

"You're scared 'cause I'm right, Amar," Paige called after her.

Clover stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart pounded in her ears, a feeling of unexplainable dread and frustration clawing at her chest.

Paige's voice softened, almost teasing. "Went straight from my bed to her arms. You always like to rebound, don’t you?"

Clover spun around, her eyes flashing with irritation. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" the blonde questioned, feigning innocence.

"Make it sound like it meant something to you," Clover near to snapped. "Because it didn't. You made that clear the first time."

Paige's smirk faltered for the first time. Her gaze dropped for a moment before meeting Clover's again. "And yet, it keeps happening."

The words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable in a way Paige probably hadn't intended or planned.

Clover swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing. "Yeah, 'cause we're both too fucked up to stop."

Paige's expression shifted—something between hurt and frustration flickering across her own face now. "Is that what you think?"

"What else is there to think?" Clover shrugged lazily. "We don’t do that healthy shit. That's how it's always been."

Paige pushed away from the counter, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. Her gaze never wavered, her expression unreadable.

"You keep saying that like it's a rule we mutually agreed on," Paige spoke quietly. "Like it's some fucked up contract we both signed."

Clover's back hit the wall. Paige was standing too close now, the scent of Clover's sweet vanilla perfume lingering in the air between them.

"Isn't it?" Clover whispered, her voice unsteady.

Paige's hand brushed a strand of hair away from the brunette’s face, a light, almost instinctive touch. But it sent a cold shiver down Clover's spine.

"Don't remember signing anything," Paige murmured.

Clover's heart was pounding, her mind racing. She hated this—hated how Paige made her feel out of control. Vulnerable. Exposed.

"You don't know what you want," Clover said, her voice deliberately bland and cold, despite the emotional chaos brewing inside of her.

Paige's hand lingered, her finger tucking the piece of hair behind Clover's ear. "Neither do you."

For a moment, Clover couldn't breathe. The tension between them was suffocating, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on her.

"You think this is a game," Clover said, her voice barely audible now. "But it's not."

Paige's hand dropped away, and for a second, Clover saw something crack in her expression—a glimpse of vulnerability before the mask slipped back into place.

"It's not a game to me," Paige said softly.

Clover blinked, stunned into silence, though she didn't let it show.

But before she could say anything, Paige stepped back, the distance between them suddenly unbearable.

"Get some sleep," Paige said, her voice quieter now, almost gentle. "Gotta be up early for practice tomorrow."

Clover didn't respond. She watched as Paige turned away, heading back to the kitchen to finish her snack, leaving Clover standing there, harshly biting down on her tongue and heart aching with everything they couldn't say.

The sound of Clover's door closing echoed through the apartment, cutting through the thick silence like a blade. Paige stood frozen in the kitchen, staring blankly at the half-sliced apple on the cutting board. Her appetite was gone.

Her hands trembled slightly as she set the knife down, pressing her palms against the counter to steady herself.

'What the hell is wrong with me?'

Paige exhaled sharply, pushing herself upright. She rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers brushing over the faint mark Clover had left there earlier — a kiss, a bite, she wasn't sure which. It didn't matter. It wasn't supposed to matter.

This wasn't supposed to feel like this.

It was supposed to be easy. Fun. No strings, no feelings, no mess. That's how it worked. Clover hooked up with whoever caught her eye, Paige did the same. They'd judge each other, throw around meaningless jabs and at the end of the day they'd be fine. Back to being a team.

So why did it feel like her chest was caving in every time Clover walked away and into the arms of someone else?

Paige clenched her jaw, trying to swallow the frustration rising in her throat. She hated this. Hated feeling out of control. Hated how Clover had walked out on her earlier without a second glance — just like Paige had done with others so many times.

'Is this what it feels like?' she wondered bitterly. ‘To be the one left behind?’

She'd told herself it didn't matter. That Clover going on a date with someone else was none of her business. That it wasn't jealousy, just curiosity. But the sting in her chest said otherwise.

Because deep down, Paige knew the truth.

No one made her feel the way Clover did.

And that terrified her more than it should.

She grabbed the cutting board and shoved it into the sink with more force than necessary, the sound of it clattering against the metal louder than she intended. She winced, glancing toward Nika and Jana's rooms. No lights turned on. No doors opened.

The last thing she needed was a groggy Nika asking her why she was slamming things around at midnight.

Paige turned off the kitchen light and leaned against the counter in the dark, the faint glow from the streetlights outside casting shadows across the room. She could still hear Clover's words in her head, clear as day:

‘Because we're both too fucked up to stop.’

Paige ran a hand over her face, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Yeah, no kidding."

She'd spent so long pretending she didn't care. Playing it cool, keeping her distance, convincing herself that what they had was just physical. But it wasn't. Not anymore.

And Paige wasn't ready to admit it.

She thought back to the way Clover had looked tonight — tired, defeated, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Paige had wanted to say something real, to cut through the bullshit and tell her whatever truth there was.

But that truth was messy. Vulnerable. And Paige wasn't good at that.

Instead, she'd resorted to what she knew best: cocky remarks and passive-aggressive digs. It was easier to act like none of it mattered. To pretend that Clover's wandering eyes and restless heart didn't bother her.

But as hypocritical as it was, it did.

And that scared her more than anything.

Paige glanced toward Clover's room, her heart aching in a way she didn't quite understand. She thought about knocking on her door, saying something — anything — to break the silence between them.

But what would she even say?

‘I care about you. More than I want to. More than I should. And it's killing me.’

No. That wasn't her.

Paige pushed off the counter and headed to her own room, her footsteps quiet against the hardwood floor. She paused outside Clover's door for a moment, her hand hovering in the air like she might knock after all.

But she didn't.

Instead, she whispered into the silence: "Good night, Clover."

And with that, she walked away, closing her own door behind her.

taglist (open) @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @starlighttsv @ekisokay @st4rrzynight @ohmybueckers @pbbucks

[whiteboysurvivor]

tsk tsk.

cw: angsty, hurt/no comfort, insecurities, mention of death, description of death, condecending tones, 2nd POV, slight manipulation, victim blaming (?). ( my brain is jus running, lemme know if there's anymore ♡)

a/n: soooo whatcha think..? i'm tryna branch out and reconnect wit the jjk fandom with their FAV topic ♡♡♡ (angst !)

loving him was like knowing the world was ending but accepting it. Not making any plans to prepare for an apolocalpse because you were satisfied with your life and could die without regrets.

being inlove with him was like being next to a warm fire in your favorite jammies with a cup of hot chocolate. You feel content and all gooey inside.

being loved by him was like floating on a cloud you never thought you would be able to touch. Always imagining it but knowing realistically, you would just fall through it. But when it actually comes? oh it keeps you stable and standing, never letting you fall.

But all good things have to end someday. It's just how life works.

Eventually, you might regret making no plan for the apolocalpse because now you're at your last painful moments of death.

Sooner or later, that fire will go out and leave nothing but ashes of the sticks in its place. You will finish your hot chocolate and your jammies will get smaller on your body.

That stable cloud? Oh it'll go away on a particularly warm and sunny day. Then you'll fall just like you expected, all the way down till *splat*.

It's not being pessimistic, it's being realistic. It's knowing that you were never meant to last long.

He was destined for more. More than the world could give him. More than *you* could ever give him.

You should've known that. You're a particularly smart individual, aren't you?

You could've predicted that change was coming after that mission ended. You saw it.

Saw it in his face. Saw it in the way he drifted away emotionally then physically.

But you never came to terms with it, did you? No, you wanted to dream.

To dream that he'll give up his silly aspirations of rebuilding the world and come back to you. Come back to lay in your arms once again.

It wasn't until you were handed that single report on that fateful day. The day Suguru Geto was finally taken care of.

By none other than the strongest, Satoru Gojo.

You were so upset and acted irrational, cursing Gojo and even challenging him. Though, you knew you would never win against society's strongest sorceror.

You're very lucky he took pity on you then. He very well could've ended your life with ease.

Maybe that's what you wanted. Maybe you wanted to go to that paradise with Geto and live on your days.

That's just childish wishing of you. You're an adult, haven't you learned independency?

Didn't your guardian ever teach you about not relying on others to live? I suppose not since you're acting this way.

How disappointing. Love has turned you into a fool.

A strong person turned into yet another weak-willed fool. I had high hopes for you, you know?

Maybe you'll change and remember how perfectly you lived before him.

He was never meant to become such a big person in your story anyways. It was a slip up on my half, apologies.

I know better now than to let someone get close to you. You were meant for solitude.

It is *your* destiny.

why? well because i said so. I know what is good for you. I want nothing but the best for you.

i'm on your side, remember?

[laswells-ashtray]

Hello again! :D

I'm the one who mentioned about the reactor mission and was ranting about cod, also sorry that I made you have to get your glasses 😅. (I have a really bad habit of apologizing to practically everything even if someone tells me that something I do is fine or for absolutely no reason)

Anyways, I have a question about John Price. Since you've mentioned on multiple posts that his father was not good to him, do you think Price ever celebrated his birthday or was given anything during the occasion growing up? Or do you think that as he grew up he never saw the point about it until accidentally mentioning it to his team or even Mac during his time as a sargent (idk if that's how it's spelled) while extremely drunk. (Also I mentioned Mac cause I remember you saying that you like writing him cause you don't have to go all proper British English lol)

I also have a question for you specifically, what's your favorite color/s and your favorite dinosaur?

Hope you're having a good day or night so far! :)

Also I love the dinosaur drawings, they're adorable. Making me wanna draw them with how cute the little diplodocus is. Just wanna squish their little cheeks.

Helloooooo, you've set yourself up for a rant here so I apologise in advance. Firstly, no need to apologise for me having to grab my glasses I'm just partially blind as shit. I can see the words but without glasses, it's hard to focus on them or process them without the spectacles.

Secondly, I have autism and OCD so my favourite colours are sorted into tiers based on importance as are my favourite dinosaurs. Top tier colours are blue-toned purples, dark red, black [technically not a colour but that's a whole other conversation], teal and forest green. My top-tier dinosaurs are the t-rex, spinosaurus, diplodocus, ankylosaurus and velociraptors. They're basic but they're goated. Sorry, I had to have five colours and five dinosaurs or it'd grate on me.

I am having a relatively good day and I wish the same for you :]

"What is this?" John looks far too taken aback for such a simple gesture. Concern spreads across the young sergeant's face as he looks over Mac's desk.

It's nothing special, he hadn't wanted to overwhelm the younger man with some big surprise party or dragging them all out for birthday drinks. There are two takeout containers, both from the Indian takeaway that John had sheepishly admitted he was fond of one night. On "John's side" of the desk there's a small black box, no name or brand across the packaging.

"It's yer birthday dinner, noo get yer arse on the chair. It's getting cauld."

John closes the door behind him and hesitantly sits down, looking between the takeout container and the suspiciously plain black box beside it.

"What's in the box?"

He offers the Englishman a soft smile as he nudges the box towards his hand. "It's yer birthday, son. Yer supposed tae open it and say thank you."

John had let it slip the last time they went drinking after a mission gone right, mentioned that his birthday was coming up and how he'd never done anything for it. He'd never wanted to the older he got.

The sergeant narrows his eyes at him, a faint hint of frustration visible in the tenseness of his shoulders. There was a reason he'd made it a quiet, one-on-one celebration. The lad would've lashed out in front of a group.

But John, ever the good soldier follows his order and opens the box cautiously. He watches John register the gift and look back up to him, face full of painfully youthful confusion.

"What's this?"

He sighs, eyes flicking between John and the watch he's holding. It's a simple thing, a plain watch with a brown leather strap. Sophisticated but still casual.

"It's a watch. Ma father bought me wan on my eighteenth, ye should've got wan on yours. If yer auld man willnae step up then a'll just huv tae, every gid man deserves a watch. Yours is just a wee bit late."

For both their sakes he pretends not to notice the wet shine to John's eyes before he blinks rapidly and suddenly it's gone.

"Thanks." He utters softly, ever so carefully placing the watch back in the box. He knows the lad will put it on in his own time, try it on and stare at it as if it's some kind of unfathomable gift of riches instead of a simple watch from his superior. That was John's right, something he had to process in his own time.

"Eat up, son. Yer tea's getting cauld."

[aishangotome]

[Nokto] Love's Cleaning Time - Part 2

Part 1

Emma: Could it be that the sender of this book is... Nokto?

Nokto: Nope. It's not me.

Emma: Oh, is that so...

Even though I expected it, Nokto's overly casual reply left me speechless, still holding the book.

(But I do have my own reasons for thinking it might be Nokto.)

(Anyway, let's keep talking.)

Emma: I was thinking...

Emma: Since they're always books I like, I think the sender must be someone who knows me well.

Nokto: There are other people who know your tastes well, aren't there? Like Rio.

Emma: I think he does know them well, but if it were Rio, he would give them to me directly...

Emma: And when I tell you a book has arrived, Nokto, you always look happy, don't you?

Nokto: When you're happy, I'm happy. I think that's natural, isn't it?

Emma: Mm... That's certainly true, but...

Emma: But you always ask me if I like the content of the book every time one arrives, don't you? Even though you usually don't care that much.

Nokto: It's only natural for me to want to know more about you as your lover.

Nokto: Were you that suspicious?

Emma: Ah, I wasn't suspicious... Of course I was happy to be asked for my impressions!

Even though I hurriedly denied it, Nokto smiled mischievously, making me feel like I was being toyed with in the palm of his hand.

(I have a feeling it's definitely Nokto... Hmm, how can I get him to tell me?)

(Let's try a little harder...)

Emma: Ah...!

Suddenly, the books I was holding were snatched away.

Nokto: You're being cold, thinking only about books.

Nokto: So, this conversation is over.

Nokto: Pay attention to your lover in front of you, not the sender of the books.

Nokto: Or are you deliberately trying to make me jealous and melt into a puddle?

Emma: Eh?

Nokto: Ah, I knew it. Sorry I didn't notice.

Emma: No, that's not it at a—Wa, hey, Nokto!?

The books were placed on the side table, and in no time I was pushed down onto the bed.

He sensually stroked my stomach over my skirt, and my body instantly heated up.

Nokto: See, you were hoping for it. The look on your face right now, you're already starting to melt thinking about what's coming next.

Emma: That's not true... Ah!

Nokto: You're stubborn, aren't you? I love that you haven't changed at all in that way.

(Honestly... Nokto is the stubborn one.)

Emma: Ah...

At the same time that he pushed my legs up with his knee, then he stole my lips.

My mind immediately melted with the deep, intense kiss...

Nokto: Resume talking about books, or let me make love to you right now.

Nokto: Which would you prefer?

(That's not fair... There's only one answer.)

With trembling hands, I grabbed Nokto's shirt.

Emma: ...I want Nokto.

Nokto: Good girl. Well done.

Nokto: As you wish, I'll love you until you lose consciousness.

In the end, the talk about the sender of the books was pushed out of my mind.

*flashback over*

-

A few days after that, I was visiting a bookstore in town.

This bookstore, a favorite of mine since I was a child, gives me a sense of security and nostalgia just by entering it.

*flashback*

(Rio told me that he saw Nokto come to this bookstore, didn't he?)

(If I knew that he chose those books here, it would be certain that Nokto was the sender, but...)

Bookstore owner: I don't know anything.

Emma: But Rio said that Nokto came here.

Bookstore owner: Maybe he mistook him for someone else. More importantly, I have a book I want to recommend to you, Miss Emma.

(It's hard to imagine Rio mistaking Nokto for someone else. And the shopkeeper's attitude... Could it be...?)

Emma: Um, did you talk to Nokto about something?

Bookstore owner: Not at all.

Emma: Or maybe he was told not to tell anyone...

Bookstore owner: I-I have no idea what you're talking about...

(This is going nowhere! Is there a better way to ask...?)

Determined not to end up like I did when I asked Nokto, I desperately rack my brain.

(How about trying some leading questions? No, that's too advanced for me right now...)

(Ahhh, if only I had learned more negotiation skills from Nokto, I could have extracted information from the shopkeeper!)

Bookstore owner: ...Miss Emma, you look happy.

Emma: ? Yes, I'm very happy.

I feel a little embarrassed by the words that slipped out so easily.

Bookstore owner: When I heard the rumor that you had caught the eye of a royal, I was worried about what would happen, but seeing your face today has put my mind at ease.

Bookstore owner: I've known you since you were a little girl, so I was worried.

Clearing his throat gently, the shopkeeper seems to think for a moment.

Bookstore owner: ... Lately, I've had many opportunities to get my hands on some delicious alcohol.

Emma: Alcohol, is it?

(Why bring that up all of a sudden...?)

Bookstore owner: A man comes by with alcohol as a gift. And he chooses a few books.

Bookstore owner: The man always picks up romance novels, and they're all the kind that Miss Emma would like.

Emma: !

Bookstore owner: Watching him like that has been one of my recent pleasures.

("In exchange for alcohol, don't tell anyone I'm coming to the bookstore.")

(Nokto must have said that.)

(That's why the shopkeeper gave me this roundabout hint.)

However, there's still no definitive proof that the man is Nokto.

(It's no use mentioning his name directly. Then...)

An idea comes to mind.

Emma: Could that man be––

.

.

.

Part 3

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[elizabethshaw]

I’ve never been this far out. To stand here like this… physically unprotected… right on the edge. No one ever has. Not ever. Till us. And this ship.

DOCTOR WHO | WILD BLUE YONDER

[sainz100]

2024 Brazilian GP | x

[cosmicdreamgrl]

hyung line x lys solos for @rjshope [ cr : namuspromised ]

[royalarchivist]

Tubbo: Yeah no– yesterday I met Roier and Missa for the first time, which was really really freaking cool. Me and Badboyhalo were walking 'round the floor, and Bad got a notification of like– [Briefly interrupted by his father] –with like, Roier taking a photo with like a viewer, and Badboyhalo was like "He is here!" 'Cuz on Insta– [An off-screen "hello" distracts him from the rest of the story] Yes?

[coffeeshib]

Oh Kathryn Hahn, the woman that you are...

I KNOW........ i adore her energy & the way she plays her roles so much. also i was rewatching an ep earlier & i couldn't help but always feel so !!!!!!!! about her nose

[aeb-art]

my birthday is also my genshin anniversary, so i doodled myself with some favs 💕 happy four years, my beloveds

also looking at the cake lineup in my inventory makes me so happy ehehehe (also the xiao lanterns)