#but it is perhaps not meeting the material on fair ground

[revvethasmythh]

How do you find the writing in veilguard? I won't be able to play it for a while but I'm curious how it holds up because I've heard it reads like a YA novel or that it tells instead of showing. (I'm definitely taking online reviews with a grain of salt.) Is it enjoyable writing, especially the dialogue?

Frankly, the dialogue is fine. It is nothing more "YA novel" than anything done in Inquisition that I can think of--though I do generally take umbrage with any criticism phrased like that simply for being entirely too unspecific to mean anything at all. It implies the dialogue is unsophisticated by invoking a genre that, in actuality, represents a wide variety of writing quality (just like any genre of anything ever). I've read YA novels darker and more sophisticated than some piles of adult books, just as much as vice-versa. It's a lazy critique that tells you nothing. Is all the dialogue utterly fantastic? I mean, probably not but I'm having too much honest fun to waste my time worrying about if something is kind of cliched. My biggest pros for the writing are that a) Rook has an actual personality, and b) I don't have to wade into an empty field for an hour just to hear my companions say one line of dialogue to each other (Inquisition, the game that you were, you gave me such low standards). Your mileage may vary on what you think is good writing or not personally but I think the dialogue is just fine--and, yeah. A grain of salt is good to have with critiques like that. If they can't give clear examples and break down what they mean by that in more depth, I tend to ignore critiques of that variety in favor of my own opinions, which I recommend you do for yourself as well.

[sadhours]

late night phone calls

harringrove smut

The shrill tone of the phone ringing forces Steve out of bed abruptly. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, grabbing onto his alarm clock and seeing that it’s barely past three a.m., which has him panicking because only under emergency circumstances would someone be calling at this hour. Images of dark tunnels and monster-like dogs flood his mind. Where’s his bat? Not within reach. It’s in the trunk of the fucking BMW. He trips over his feet as he climbs out of bed, clutching onto his deck to catch himself before his face meets the hardwood.

“Jesus Christ,” he exhales, the distraction short lived as the phone lets out another loud chime.

Steve props himself upright, gripping the phone perhaps a little too hard because he feels a sharp pain shoot up his wrist as he picks up the receiver and shove it against his ear.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” he asks, frenzied, stomach turning in knots.

“I am not overly competitive,” it’s Billy’s voice on the other end and Steve sinks to the ground in relief, sitting down on the floor with a happy sigh as he listens to Billy’s irritated voice ramble on, “And actually, you’re just a little bitch and a sore loser.”

“Hargrove,” he exhales, letting his eyes fall shut, “It’s three in the morning.”

Billy ignores him, “I won that game of horse fair and square, you’re just mad because you suck.”

The tilt in Billy’s voice makes Steve think that he’s been stewing on this since they left the park. And their relationship is… frustrating. Because Billy can be fun but then take offense to the smallest comment that Steve made with absolutely no venom behind it. Usually, Billy will stalk away, all pissed off and not talk to him for a couple of days— a week at most. Him calling in the middle of the night is new.

“I’m flattered you’re thinking about me so late into the evening,” Steve quips, the flirtation dripping from his words.

The lines silent for a few beats and then Billy speaks again, quieter, “Yeah, well don’t be, I was just thinking about what a big baby you are.”

Steve can’t help himself, the lower tone of the other boys voice is enough to get his dick interested and he palms himself over his briefs. He could turn this into that direction really quickly, but that’s no fun.

So instead he asks, “Oh? And what makes me such a big baby?”

Billy grumbles, “You lost. And instead of taking it like a man, you have to talk shit and accuse me of cheating.”

“It was just a harmless game. You got all gloaty like it’s a big deal or something, that’s why I said you’re overly competitive,” Steve supplies, “But that��s fine. Gotta put all that pent up excitement somewhere.”

“Excitement?” Billy laughs, “What’re you saying, pretty boy?”

Hook, line and sinker. Steve’s won and he didn’t even have to fight for it. He smirks to himself, squeezing his half hard dick slightly.

“Oh, nothing. Just that there’s another reason you’re calling so late,” Steve replies, easily. He hears Billy inhale sharply over the line and he preens at it. “So why don’t we just get straight to it, Hargrove? You got your dick in your hand, or what?”

“Maybe,” Billy can’t keep up the game long, they’ve moved way past that at this point.

“Yeah?” Steve breathes, perking his ears up and trying to hear any indication that Billy does in fact, have his dick out. “Mines not. But it’s hard.”

“Do you always get hard when I’m telling you how much you suck at basketball?” The breathlessness of Billy’s words confirms to Steve what he suspected.

“Not always,” he whispers, stroking himself through the thin material of his underwear. “Depends on how mean you are about it.”

“You like when I’m mean?” Billy sounds needy, now and Steve has to push his underwear down and get his cock out.

He wouldn’t admit this to Billy under any other circumstances, “Yeah.”

“Your dick in your hand now?” he asks Steve, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

“Mhm,” Steve pushes out after swallowing, he opens his eyes and looks down as he strokes himself, he’s leaking an absurd amount. His pre drips so much, he might not even need spit. He imagines Billy’s strong hand around him, his eyes fluttering shut as his hips involuntarily jerk up. “Keep talking,” he pleads.

“You’re too easy, Harrington.”

Steve could tell him the same thing, he’s starting to suspect Billy was already jerking off when he called. Like maybe it was the whole reason he called and not that he was actually still mad. As much as Billy will act like he doesn’t love this as much as Steve does, he knows it’s not true. Steve catches all the looks Billy tries sneaking. He purposely avoids Billy in the locker room since they started fooling around. Not because he’s ashamed but because he’s scared of his dick getting hard in front of the other guys.

“Fuck,” he grunts, “Stop messing around. Tell me what you’re doing.”

Billy gasps, soft but not too quiet that Steve can’t hear him. Steve wants all the raunchy details, wants to know exactly how Billy is touching himself, what position he’s in, everything.

“I’m lying on my bed,” Billy grunts out, “I’m naked. My.. fuck… I’m so fucking hard.”

“Where’s your hand?” Steve blurts out, closing his eyes tightly as he pictures Billy.

Billy chuckles again, it’s breathy though and Steve has to squeeze the head of his cock at the sound.

“Gotta know every detail,” Billy grumbles, but answers his anyway, “The base of my cock.”

“Shit,” Steve gasps out, “Just holding it?”

He giggles over the line, giggles and Steve wants that sound recorded so he can listen to it over and over again.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m kind of.. close and I’m trying to hold off.”

Steve snickers, cheeks flushing at the thought of Billy so turned on by him.

“So you were jerking off before you even called,” Steve insists, cheeks aching a bit with how big he’s smiling.

“Shut up, Harrington.”

“Wanna know what I’m doing?” Steve asks, shyly.

“Uh-huh,” Billy replies and Steve can hear him spitting, wonders if it’s into his hand or straight on his cock.

“I’m on the floor,” Steve explains, his pitch shifting higher as he strokes himself, from the base to the angry head, squeezing when he reaches the tip. “I have a shirt on, though.”

Billy tsks, “What a shame. Where’s your hand?”

“The head,” he chokes out, “I’m squeezing it. I’m so wet.”

“Always are,” Billy comments with a growl, “Would love to taste it.”

Steve moans softly, the thought of Billy’s tongue on him has him pulling at his cock. “Want to be in your mouth so bad…”

“Me too,” Billy grunts out.

It gets pretty desperate after that, they’re not really saying much besides pants of encouragement and little noises of pleasure. Steve focuses just under his tip, slightly curving his hand on each upstroke until he’s whimpering.

“Billy… gonna cum,” he blubbers, desperate to hear the other boys voice.

“Cum for me, pretty boy,” and with that, Steve’s shooting his load, thick ropes of cum spurting out and landing on his shirt and bare thighs. He cries out, perhaps a little too loudly but he can’t help it and hell, no one’s home.

Steve can tell Billy’s doing the same thing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he breathes out, much quieter than Steve had been and then he’s panting into the receiver.

They stay on the line for a moment but once they’ve both come back down to earth, Billy’s saying, “Talk to you later, Harrington.” and hanging up.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Hi there! Would you happen to know if the elves were outwardly different from the race of Men? Like, would someone take one look at Legolas and be able to tell immediately that he's not a man? And if yes, what would be the distinguishing features? Pointy ears? Clothing? Sorry if it's a silly question. I'm just wondering how someone who'd never met an elf would react to meeting Legolas for the first time 😊 Thank you!

Elves aren’t my expertise, but I’ll do my very best and hope others will jump in if they’ve got corrections or additions!

There are lots of physical traits that are common among elves that could lead you to believe a certain person is an elf just by looking. They tend to be very tall, beardless (for the men), and have grey eyes. They’re typically stronger and more agile than the other races, and they’re the “fairest” of all beings. But while those traits are very common among elves, they aren’t true of every specific elf. Maeglin had dark eyes, for example, and Círdan had a beard. Also, plenty of Men share these same traits. Éomer was just as tall (6’6”) as a standard elf height, and Húrin was stronger than almost any elf. Plus, who’s to say, objectively, what is “fair”? So if you saw a tall, hot, beardless, grey eyed dude who was strong and capable, he might be an elf but he might also be Aragorn. You wouldn’t know without more info.

I can only think of 3 physical traits that are consistently described as elven and never attributed to another race:

1. Ears. The pointy ears are kind of controversial because The Hobbit, LOTR and the Silm never actually say this. But some of Tolkien’s ancillary writings did, and so it’s generally accepted. Anyone you come across with truly pointed ears (hobbits have elvish ears but they are *less* pointed) is an elf.

2. Silver hair. Elves have all the normal hair colors, but there are some (especially Teleri elves like Círdan) who have silver hair that I don’t think is attested anywhere among Men and doesn’t exist in the real world among humans until perhaps you’re elderly. So I think if you saw a young looking person in Middle Earth with silver hair, you’d be on safe ground to assume they’re an elf.

3. “The light of the trees.” Elves who have been to Valinor and seen the light of the two trees have something of that light about them/their presence forever after. That’s kind of nebulous and hard to describe, but it seems like a real Thing for Tolkien. So, whatever that looks like, I assume you’d know it if you saw it and you’d then know that person was an elf. Though not all elves have been to Valinor, so the absence of the light doesn’t mean they aren’t an elf!

I am *certain* there are lots of tells about elvish identity from the way that someone dresses, both in terms of style and material. And I’m sure there are specific distinctions in dress, weapons, armor, etc between the high elves of Valinor vs the silvan elves living with Thranduil, for example. But I just don’t know enough to give you specifics there. Maybe some of the Legolas/Mirkwood experts ( @sotwk or @meluiloth for example) might have thoughts about elements of Mirkwood styles and customs that would give someone away as being either/both an elf or, specifically, a Mirkwood elf?

[dailycharacteroption]

Roleplaying Races 15: Duskwalker

(art by JoshBurns on DeviantArt)

And so we continue this special with the very last of the planar scion ancestries that Pathfinder 1st edition has to offer: the Duskwalker, the neutral-aligned planetouched.

Much like Aphorites, duskwalkers do not come into being in the same way as most. No mingling of bloodlines occurs in their case. Instead, they are born the way they are by the divine mandate of the forces they represent, but we’ll get into that.

According to legend, two powerful psychopomps, a yamaraj and an olethros mother, entered into a discussion about the interplay between fate and fortune, and how many souls lose their chance at destiny when their lives are cut short, and whether that is fair.

This discussion led to an agreement, approved by Pharasma, in which some souls whose fates were severed too soon and whose lives led to them being distinguished among the psychopomps and other guardians of the cycle to get a second chance.

These souls are sent back to the material plane along the secret planar paths known as the dead roads, taking the form of young children with a basket of supplies in hand, and are often found by locals wandering the graveyards where they exit the Dead Roads. These are duskwalkers.

Now, as you might imagine, off-putting children found roaming graveyards are likely to be viewed with apprehension by most simple folk, so while the psychopomps do their best to send them places where they will be accepted, some are not, and are forced to mature physically and mentally very rapidly in order to survive.

Having not experienced infancy, duskwalkers are born into this world knowing their duty to help protect the cycle of life and death as mortal beings, however, they can still shape their own fate, and a few reject it, even going as far as to ally with the sahkils, the terrible enemies of the psychopomps.

While many duskwalkers resemble humans, it is possible for them to be born resembling any sapient ancestry, though they typically sport gray skin, and sometimes sport odd features that resemble one of the various forms of psychopomps, such as feathers, animal-like features on the face, hands, and feet, and so on.

Like many other planar scions, duskwalkers don’t have much in the way of a society of their own. Most go their entire second lives never meeting another of their kind, and what few communities do exist are almost universally founded as part of or after some great unified goal to protect the cycle and/or destroy some great undead threat. Due to the sporatic nature of duskwalker creation, such communities may cease to even be duskwalker communites after a generation, populated by their mortal descendants and those of their mortal allies. Perhaps the only other peoples they feel common ground with are planar scions and other hybrid folk, though naturally they share a mutual distrust with most dhampir.

Duskwalkers are agile and cunning, but their connections to death makes their bodies somewhat fragile.

Their nature as native outsiders also gives them incredible night vision, the better for seeing the undead that hide from the light.

Many are also created with innate understanding of living bodies and also they mysteries of faith and the undead, making them more skilled in areas of medicine, religion, and undead-hunting.

Perhaps their most iconic ability, however, is their ability to channel their undead-slaying power into any weapon they touch, making even mundane blades at least partially effective against the spectral dead, though they can focus further once a day to improve this to strike true against such lost souls for a short while.

Naturally, being a duskwalker gives them natural resistance to negative energy and harmful necromancy. What’s more, they are totally immune to magic and supernatural power that would cause them to rise as the undead. (though rumor has it that duskwalkers that forsake their duty and ally with the sahkils lose that protection, making for truly terrible undead indeed)

Of course, not all duskwalkers are built the same, so there are some alternate traits for them as well. For example, some were utterly shunned by the locals and forced to steal and scavenge to survive, affecting what they were skilled in. Others were taken in by big families that showered them with love, making them more social with both people and animals. Meanwhile, some were favored by the olethros associated with the origins of their kind, and trade their resistances for a knack for finding the perfect chink in a foe’s armor at the right time. Those that were favored by the yamaraj side trade the same protections for a measure of their wisdom, navigating social situations with their sagacity rather than charm.

With their agility and wisdom, duskwalkers make excellent ranged combatants, (particularly gunslingers, rangers, and hunters), as well as rogues, slayers, ninjas, and of course various wisdom casters like clerics and druids. However, their knack for fighting the undead with mundane weapons also means that combat classes both mundane and magical are also a good choice. Naturally, any build or archetype that focuses on hunting the undead is a good choice as well, though those built around using the undead are anathema to all but the most corrupted of their kind. Their con penalty does mean that fighting in a straight-up fight is a bit risky for them, but not impossible to get around.

That will do for today, but I hope you enjoyed this final look at a planar scion option in first edition!

[greyias]

Okay, so having finally played Echoes of Oblivion for a second time in my attempt to rush little Benny Boy to meet Rass, I got back to musing about that one theory that someone posited right when Echoes launched. I apologize, I have forgotten by now who the eagle eyed player was, or the original thread, but when replaying today, I was like "Wait..."

I remember the first time playing through that it was a bit odd there were two named characters we'd never met that were specifically called out. But having played through a second time, and seeing some supplementary material now, I was like

"Wait. Syl??? Isn't that the red headed student? She was already dead before they went mind spelunking?"

<--- mind of steel trap, this one. To be fair, I could have just forgotten

And then of course, this very ominous shot of the final confrontation with Valky happening, and Vaylin noticing the dead body on the ground... in the spirit scape??? I--you know what--I'm not going to question the metaphysical ways of the Force. That way lies madness. Sure. Syl's dead body was just. There. In Satele's mind? While a bunch of other Force ghosts are walking around??? Let's go with it.

(Which does beg the question... was Syl's spirit... just not there for the events of the epic showdown? Did her spirit decide to take a nap after the fight? Wait no I'm getting into the weeds, focus)

And then, because I just wasn't sure, I went and dug up the short story with Satele and Aryn, because I remembered there was a little guest appearance near the end:

And yep! Confirmed. Syl is the red-headed student from the cutscene.

That is a Vaylin expression if I ever saw one

Which brings us to the Vaylin and Syl mentions in post-Echoes mail:

Yeahhhh. So someone is definitely using little Syl's body here as a meatpuppet, and all real evidence points to Vaylin. I had just completely forgotten that Syl had already expired pre-adventure.

So my original assumption that she was following in dear old daddy's footsteps was indeed off. Which had bothered me a little because I can see Vaylin possessing an already lifeless husk for a new chance at life/vengeance/whatever her end game here is, but suppressing someone else's spirit and manipulating their body definitely seemed completely against the grain of her character. Er, except for the time she completely reprogrammed the Gemini droids and wiped out their free will during KOTET. But you know, that was different... sort of...

REGARDLESS.

It's just gotten me wondering. especially considering everything that Malgus is up to, with his Children of the Emperor Mark II shenanigans. I wonder if Vaylin, posing as Syl, will have any part to play in the upcoming storyline. Or if she's lying in wait, perhaps as a future antagonist (or ally... or both). Because you know Vaylin would absolutely tear apart any machine with her bare hands that would dare try to take her free will away from her again.

But also, I just kind of want wacky adventures of Satele trying to mentor Vaylin masquerading as Syl? Like I'm just imagining every time Satele's like, discussing Jedi philosophy, sipping on tea, and everything peaceful and calm and not Force choking everything in sight Vaylin is just like. Seething inside. Waiting to burst. But she has to keep up the act because what if someone suspects? And so like there's all of these banal things happening, and Vaylin is just constantly internally screaming. Because she went and picked a Jedi to possess instead of a SIth or something. She escaped death. But at what cost.

AT WHAT COST.

Anyway, just food for thought.

[crimsonbathed]

Participating: @banditnate​ Location: The forest, within a fair distance from the tree.

Boredom. A disgusting creature, one that hungers to no end. Ever searching for its next victim. One that it can engulf entirely, draining someone’s energy as though it thrived off of their despair. Tormenting. A cruel mistress that shared many a lover. No time could protect you from her call, nor ‘secret hideaway’. For she could reach you no matter where you hid, should you make yourself invisible, she will simply smell you out like a hound. It was what drove men, women, and animals alike, to do very, very foolish things. All in the name of ridding themselves of her suffocating shackles. Murder, mischief, lust, all originating from one common root. Boredom. Funny, the things it could make one do. What simple actions will befell those who are afflicted by this plague. It was this very monster that held a tight grasp upon Carrion. She could feel its claws piercing her temples. Tap, tap, tapping away. Pestering her with its persistence. Many things had crossed her mind, sewing a new blanket for her bed. Creating a bodice out of the spider molts she had recovered, sharpening her rat claws. So many ideas, so much to do, at her disposal, and yet . . . it all felt rather dull. It is what drove her to take a stroll. To clear her mind and hopefully find some trouble to get into that would free her from this mind numbing prison, lest her brain melts and begins to seep out of her ears.

The forest was abuzz with life that eve. Birds busy fixing up their shoddy nests from either the rough housing of the Lost Boys, or animals striking at each other, running into the tree which housed the avian homes. Frogs croaked, singing a song with glee over the meals they had received. Carcasses littered the ground, squirrels, rabbits, things she would usually take advantage of by gathering their pelts or teeth, as both proved useful for her craft, perhaps even take a bath to embrace the comfort of such warmth washing over her, and yet, she could not bring herself to meet the earth with her feet. The air carried her away from what could have been great prizes. Another creature could enjoy the island’s gifts on this day, for she had plenty, and could afford to overlook a few materials. Sounds blended together, melding in to one large, cacophony of background noise. It was torment. The day had proven to be nothing eventful, and the monster looming over Carrion’s shoulder only grew larger with each sigh that passed through her scowl.

In what seemed to be divine intervention, as the small folk turned her attention to the left, something rather curious caught her eyes. It was a boy, and for just a moment, her heart fluttered. Perhaps it was just what was needed to cure her of this ailment. She had seen this boy before, Bandit, as he was called. Carrion racked her brain, searching for something that might stick out and aid her. For anything she could recall would prove to be useful in tormenting him. Try as hard as she might to conjure up so much as a sliver of anything helpful, nothing offered itself to her. A female’s face seemed familiar and yet, Carrion could not place her finger as to why. Cheeks puffed out, a huff following. If she could not remember on her own, then his mind would have to lend itself. Surely something good was to reside in there. Cautiously, Carrion moved closer to the man, ensuring she remained silent. Hunting. A wolf tracking a wounded deer. All she needed was one opening where her fingers could root themselves within his thoughts, pulling and ripping at his memories for any information she could gain from. The giants had always been so weak willed when it came to defending their minds, child’s play to get what you want from within them. They knew not how to protect their secrets which they coveted so. Such easy targets, pitiful, really. Barely any fight to retain their unspoken wishes, it almost made it too easy. But perhaps easy was good, for today, at least.

Carrion took her sweet time, sifting through the boy’s mind. Oh how delicious it was to taste of his memories. Bittersweet and full of life. To witness his adventures on the island. Grand battles, bloody and grotesque. Trinkets taken from pirates, small things stolen from their companions. He had a sense of adventure, but these served her none, and would only cause her more painstaking boredom. Drinking in every little detail as she sifted through, one common instance began to catch her eye. A girl. How very curious. Flaming hair and piercing eyes. Oh how he held her close in his heart. It was perfect. Such a simple weakness, one that so many allowed themselves to fall victim to. Love. Desire. Admiration. Whatever you call it, it was the downfall of many a poor soul. Pearly whites peeked out from beneath peach lips as the small folk took shelter within the forest’s trees, watching him from above. ‘Bandit’ as he had been called. Carrion had caught a glimpse of the woman ‘Fiona’s’ voice, just enough to get the perfect mimicry.

From the safety of her hiding spot, the fae projected Fiona’s voice, whispering within the boys ear. “Bandit.” The voice was soft, smooth. Liquid velvet within his ears as Carrion watched. Like that cat that ate the canary, she housed a wicked grin. “Bandit.” The voice called again, this time from the other side. Whispers on the wind of this mysterious woman from within his mind. “Don’t you want to come play with me?” Gently, Carrion would move closer from the treetops above. How very fun it was to torment the boys, unlike the pirates, they were not yet hardened by the atrocities of the real world. Not as badly. To throw her voice about and surround them with familiar tones, people they have known, loved, perhaps even feared . . . oh how her heart leapt at the idea of their wide eyed terror. “Won’t you come find me, Nate? I want to play a game!” Fiona’s voice was playful, coming from various different directions as she called out to him, begging for him to come find her, Carrion’s own malicious intent masked perfectly.

[magewriter]

I'd lived a good life. Not perfect, but I always tried to do my best to be the sort of person who could be termed 'good'. I mean, there were a few fights. I punched a handful of neonazi assholes and a couple of homophobes here and there. I rarely went to church as an adult, having had my fill of THAT as a child, but I figured that if 'God' was everywhere then being in a specific building or not shouldn't actually matter.

I never thought much of it, if being kind or fair or understanding or loving would earn me entrance to whatever 'Heaven' turned out to be. I figured if being an average good person wasn't enough to satisfy some nebulous, all-powerful being then they most likely weren't worth worshiping.

I died surrounded by friends and family. Doesn't really matter how I died, how old I was or wasn't. By that time, I was ready to go. I had lived my life and was ready for whatever was next no matter what it was.

This I did not expect.

There were gates, but they were old and tarnished. They no longer hung straight, parts were missing, and one was laying on the ground half buried in torn ground and weeds. No one was guarding them.

Glancing around, everything had that same decayed rough look of a warzone. It was similar to pictures I'd seen in history books of the aftermath of a bombing or natural disaster.

"Hello?" I called out. It echoed, although there was nothing around that would have caused that effect.

No one answered.

Well then.

I had never been brave for my sake. Never believed in testing myself or others for rewards. I had never seen the point.

What I had been, however, was curious.

So I stepped through the broken gate.

Nothing happened, which was both anticlimactic and a little disappointing.

Everything beyond the gate looked similar to the gate: destruction overgrown with the passage of time.

"Hello?" I called out again. "Is there anyone here?" I paused, thinking it over. "Grandpa?"

Loved ones who had passed on before you were meant to meet you upon arrival, weren't they? My parents were both still alive, as were my partner and siblings. My Grandpa (who died when I was a teenager and taught me so much that I used throughout my life) was the one person I was looking forward to seeing again.

No one came to my call.

Maybe this was Hell after all.

Which was odd, because I had never minded being alone. Being surrounded by masses of people had always bothered me, so that would have been a worse punishment than whatever this was.

Of course, if the old adage "As above, so below" had any truth to it...well, it would explain a great deal.

I explored further and only found more of the same. It must have been grand and full of all kinds of beauty at some point. I thought I might have seen a few other people, maybe a few animals, but nothing, and no one ever approached me.

Eventually, I returned to the gates. Or a pair of gates, at least. I had no idea how large this place was.

If I was going to spend the rest of eternity here, I had to do something about this place. The gates seemed the best place to begin.

It took a long time and barely any time at all. Perhaps they weren't pearly, but then I was working with things I knew. Wood. Metal. Stone.

They opened and closed. I could lock them if I choose to. I left them open in invitation as I moved on to my next project.

I was dead, so hunger, thirst, and tiredness were not things I had to worry about. Even so, I took breaks because that was simply a good work ethic to have. I hummed half-remembered songs to myself to fill the silence and spoke for days about books I'd read while alive and things I had seen. I talked to myself about the people who had filled my life, wondering how they were doing and if they were okay.

Soon, I had a little home built. After that, I worked on cleaning up other places. There were gardens, pathways, and plenty of material to rebuild other buildings. Nothing grand or extravagant. I only knew the basics, after all.

Basics were enough, apparently.

Animals appeared first. Small ones, like bees and ants. Then I spotted some squirrels and rabbits, followed by dogs and cats. I would swear (to what, I had no idea as it appeared to be no god or angels left) I saw larger, wild animals but as they never approached me I left them well alone. Perhaps they would have done nothing to me in this place, but why chance it by aggravating them?

Then people began to arrive.

Children first, which saddened me. Their lives had been so short, and many of them appeared to be scared of me as I was an adult. That saddened me even more.

So I built them a place to play. Told them stories. Sang them songs (which often made them laugh because my singing voice is terrible). Taught them things the way my Grandpa and parents and co-workers and older friends had taught me. I assured them that nothing and no one could or would harm them in this place. I made sure they were safe.

Elderly people appeared next. Some looked so surprised to find such a place as if they had been lost for so long they weren't certain if they had actually found something or were merely imagining it.

"Are you an angel?" One asked me as she took a seat beside a flowering lilac bush.

"No ma'am," I told her, "just someone who cares." I pointed to a small gathering of kids who had formed up a little family of their own. "They enjoy tending this little garden. Maybe you can tell them something new about the plants here."

I noticed that her skirt had dirt stains near the knees.

"I would like that. I do love plants." She smiled at me and then turned to the children as I beckoned them over.

I left them there, all of them talking excitedly about the lilacs and some little flower one of the younger ones had found.

"Are you God?" One little boy asked me, eyes wide in awe as he took me in from behind his father's legs. They were the first to arrive together in such a pairing.

"No," I told him, kneeling down so I was on his level. "I'm just someone who cares. Would you like to explore the playground?"

He nodded. "Can I Daddy?"

His father looked relieved and smiled gently at the little boy. "Yea, we can go to the playground."

I wondered at the tears in the man's eyes as he watched his little boy play with the other kids. I didn't ask.

"Grandma!" A young woman shouted, blowing right past me as she ran to hug one of the older ladies that had formed up a crafting group of sorts.

"Shelly!" The older woman shouted with equal joy as she stood to embrace her granddaughter. "Oh love, you're so beautiful. I knew you would be." She turned to her friends. "Everyone, I would like to introduce you to my granddaughter Shelly."

Shelly looked pleased with this as she settled in with the group. I wondered about that but again didn't ask.

I wasn't the only one building things now. Others helped as they arrived. Things began to appear as we needed or wanted them.

I watched as people reunited with family and friends, pets that had passed on. I watched as they created new families and friendships of all kinds.

It was wonderful watching it all come together, seeing what all my hard work had begun. When new people arrived, both old lost souls and newly dead ( I had no idea how I knew the difference, I simply did), they were taken in.

"Rough work," came a voice I hadn't heard in forever, "could use a little oil on the hinges."

I turned, feeling tears in my eyes. "Grandpa!"

"Hey sprout," he gave me one of his rare hugs, "I see you finally grew into those long limbs of yours."

I laughed. "Yea, I did." He still had his 'Santa Beard', all white and poofy. "Wanna help me fix the gate?"

I had discovered several gates, all in the same state as the one I had originally walked through. I repaired each one the best I could, leaving them open in invitation.

"O'course; doesn't need much. You did a good job." He patted my first gate. "Show me what we've got to work with."

I don't know if we'll ever find and repair all of the broken pieces of this afterlife, or find all of the lost souls. Or if they'll find us.

But all anything ever needed was someone who cared.

And that was the best place to start.

When I died I always expected to see the pearly gates. But I never expected to see them in such ruinous conditions, as if they’d been abandoned for centuries.

[thegreatduggo]

An Honest Question...Mostly...

When I was working at Broadridge, I very rarely went to company meetings. They were pretty boring and uninformative and besides I usually had better things to do. But from time time I'd pay a visit - partly out of curiosity and partly just to recalibrate and see if it was the same old nonsense.

You had the coterie of the inner circle who would clap and laugh and toss out a few inner circle jokes. They had to show up - their absence would be noted - but, as part of the club, they were happy to be there. Then there the crusty old lifers who felt they had to show their faces but they were happy to toe the line. They were institutionalized and they bought into what they were expected to do. These are the people who buy into ludicrous management training sessions without understanding any of it, but would try to say the "right things".

There were also the younger fresh faces who were excited to be there and join the club and hang with the big cheeses.

I was none of these things but I liked to have some sense of what was on offer even if it was just to ponder how crap it was. Sometimes, I'd come in at the back and stay for 10 or 15 minutes then quietly leave.

On one occasion, the CFO did a presentation and I was stunned by how boring it was and it's really not the stuff of an all-hands meeting.

One time Rich Daly, our CEO, was coming to do an in-person presentation. Rich actually founded the original company and I'd never heard him speak, so I was curious to hear how he came across. For once, I took a seat in the thick of it, only a few rows back. I was there for the duration this time.

Rich was confident and could speak freely without notes but it wasn't exactly captivating material. I could certainly see how he had the balls and the belief to start up a successful company from the ground up.

At the time, our division was being spun off as a separate company, which was obviously big news. I'm not one to shout out questions to curry favor or to announce my presence. I'm not an arse though and if I was the senior manager in a presentation, I might throw out a couple of questions to help things along.

But in this case, I had a question that I was actually interested in. When Broadridge was spun off, Broadridge paid ADP $700 million - a very hefty sum. Considering that ADP wanted to spin Broadridge off, what was that $700 million for exactly? Given that it's their wish and we're all family at that point, why wouldn't you just break it off for nothing? If you think about it, the intellectual property essentially belongs to the division being spun off - they're the people that created it after all.

I can understand you might want to lob in a sort of service charge, maybe like a separation fee - perhaps $50 million, but $700 million seems pretty damn steep! Either way, there should be a sophisticated metric to support the amount being charged. Let's say it was for intellectual property, there should be an actual claculation to support that - perhaps based on the number of man-hours invested or maybe a year's worth of profits for that division from the prior year...but something tangible and quantifiable...however contrived.

So, I was genuinely interested in the answer. At the end of the presentation, I asked my question, something like "Broadridge paid ADP $700 million for the spin-off, how was the figure calculated?"

He paused and seemed pissed off. He said "Well, I've been sked that question before but never in quite that tone..." I wasn't bothered. It was a simple enough question after all.

Rich is a bullshitter and he's never going to be lost for words, so he launched into a lengthy non-answer. He said something like "Rest assured, this was a hard fought negotiation where every aspect was taken into consideration and believe me we made sure that we got a fair deal from ADP." He also said that it was entirely normal for the spin-off company to pay the parent. So, fundamentally he did not answer the question.

He then went on to say that the spin-off was tremendously successful and that the publicity was so good that the entire market knew about it because they'd put up a banner at some trade show.

One of the guys in my team lambasted the whole deal. When Lucent spun off from AT&T, they paid AT&T nothing and they were a much bigger company. Also Lucent took out a full page announcement in the New York Times.

Anyway, I don't much like Rich and I'm glad I pissed him off - bullshitting twat.

And my own boss, Terry, who sold Wilco to Broadridge really disliked Rich. He said "I can't stand dealing with that guy because he just doesn't fucking listen. He talks a lot but he just doesn't listen."

[starshipsofstarlord]

In retrospect, bend over spy - Natasha Romanoff x reader

Masterlist Link

Summary; Natasha is on a mission, however she certainly gets more than she bargained for whilst undercover

Warnings; smut, gxg, rimming, fingering, strap on sex

The redhead slipped out of her panties, dropping the black lace to the ground, as she kicked the well loved material, that was inked with her wetness, from around her ankles. She bunched the material of her dress up she bent her bosom over your desk, slotting her legs open as she grew eager as she heard your approaching footsteps.

Your fingers plucked at her round and full cheeks, spreading them apart so you could gouge a explicit view of her quivering cunt, and the tight ring of her asshole. It’s spiral of tight skin clenched as she felt your penetrating gaze upon the close knitted ring of muscle. Allowing some spit to douse your finger, you rubbed it against her back entrance, stringing a web of a moan from her engorged and swollen mouth.

She was inadvertently biting her lips, gnawing upon her flesh and sufficiently plumping it, as she awaited for you to do something more. The assassin wiggled her ass back, as she felt you drop to your knees, feeling the curl of your tongue prodding at her rim. “Fuck, y/n.”

You moaned as you peeled the straps of your cami top down, shoving the material down to below your breasts as you pinched at your own nipples, tugging out some relief for yourself, as your tongue firmly pressed through the conviction of tight entryway, as your free hand that was failing to milk your breast slithered up to her pussy.

The fingers on your right hand spread her affiliated juices around, as you delved your nose against her crack, pushing your wet and smooth appendage further into her hole, drawing positive sounds of encouragement to continue your administrations out of her lying, scoundrel, avenger lips.

To frustrated her, you pulled back, instigating a whine from her, as you wore a dirty and privileged smirk. You stood, disappointing her, though she remained in her poised position, watching with wild forest eyes as you rounded the dismissal of your reviewing centre, coming to face her, and blessing her with the sight of your nude and stiff pebbled breasts.

“How’d you know my real name, Natalia?” Shit, she was exposed, in more ways than one. She readied to retaliate in her sultry craft of exposition, however, she stilled as you waved your hand in dismissal of her actions. “Come on tell me, and perhaps I’ll let our fun continue, may even tell you whatever you want to know, Black Widow.”

It seemed like a fair trade, for a moment in thought Natasha pursed her lips together, cocking her flushed head as she ran over her options. This was the easiest way to access an answer, and well, if you were to double cross her, then it’d be no hassle to take you out.

“You have hydra files that you recovered from a base, Coulson has been tracking you for some time. He noticed that your company provided export and import, and wanted to ensure that you weren’t spreading the word on the intel that you recovered.”

“Hm.” Crossing your arms over your free breasts, you paid her a due smile, amused by the information that she had been told. “Open the drawer to the right, Romanova, the flash drive is in there.”

Her hands obeyed your suggestion, slipping inside the storage, retaining a red keeper of files from within. Natalia held it to her face, speculating its exterior, seeing the infamous skull symbol that prompted all content the organisation stamped their works with.

“I used to be like you you know, a heroin, though I found it to be a means to an end. There is so much to sacrifice, and in the end, all you have to give is yourself. Over time, I’ve figured it’s better to be alive than dead, there is no use in instigating the title of superhero if one day you are to lose.”

“You mentioned fun after I recovered this from you, this conversation you are elaborating on hardly seems like the type.” The redhead spy spat with a quirk of her scarlet brow, as she peeled the fabric of her midnight dress up and over her head.

“Guess shield agents don’t like speaking about their travels, they used to have no mind back in my day.” Well, that supposed that you had been a traitor, having the folder of files in your possession. “I guess you don’t either considering who you have been.”

“I’m not here to trade pity tales, if you wish to enjoy our last moments together, I suggest you take those slacks off from your legs, and show me how you can possibly make my remaining presence here worthwhile.”

“Oh honey, it’s definitely going to be worth the wait.” You replied, harshly tugging at your belt, as you unravelled the Italian leather from around your waist, unzipping your trousers as they fell down, and to the ground in a figure right around your feet. “Like what you see?”

There was certainly something to see. A harness enveloped your waist, a faux appendage in the shade of lilac hanging from the centre, taunting her with surprise. It wasn’t what she had been expecting, not in the slightest.

“It’s okay.” She shrugged, no longer having to keep up the facade of an interested intern, though her pupils told a different story as they gazed lustfully at the strap. “Guess it’ll do.”

“It will do something widow, and I can prove that.” The two of you both nude, except from the attachment that’s prime purpose was instigate internal pleasure, walked towards each other, you noticed her leave the drive on the desk, but you didn’t allow her to witness your lingering view.

Instead, you ambushed her against the hardwood platform of your desk, teeth biting their way into her mouth, gaining access to slip your sly tongue within the contents of oral communication. A hum escorted out from her lungs, as her hands dug their manicured nails into your shoulders, scratching red lines into the skin, as she awaited for you to enter her.

“Prove it then.”

Well, that predicament was easy, as you bent her to your will, and arched her back against your work desk, sifting the items in the way onto the floor. “I’m glad you said that Natalia.” Her statement only gave you a rush to do exactly as she said, boy was she going to regret letting that mouth of hers run confidently against you.

Her legs spread, allowing you to stand between them, as you ran your fingertips over their tops, your teeth stretching forwards and nipping at her lip. With her hips, she shuffled, rubbing her sodden folds against the toy, she was desperate. The exterior that she portrayed, the cocky one that was here for a mission and nothing more, had been swept away as she urgently wrapped her legs around you, sending you closer to her.

“I knew you weren’t as blunt with your emotions as you are with your words.” You grabbed the base of the toy that was attached to your harness, dragging the tip of the plastic through her slit, as you readily entered her. Once you were situated completely within her, your hands changed position to be on the table, as she adjusted, your hand slid to the drive, flicking it onto the ground by your chair, changing it out for one that was beneath the mouse pad.

She was oblivious to the settlement of underlying mischief prominent in your actions, instead of focusing on your seclusive intentions, she was perused by the seducing revels that you wantonly deposited upon her, as your hips ground ceremoniously against her own, leaving a trail of erotic pecks up the expanse of her neck, as your other hand opposed a grip around the strap.

It felt like power embedded in your hand, as you provided it stability against gravity as you teased her folds with the ludicrous tip, entering the length within her walls as she cowered a mewl at the sensation of penetration, as you nipped down at her pulse point, sliding your competent fingers down to fiddle with her satirised clit, moving it around like a paddle in water. Once she was adjusted to the size of the toy, you began to retract it, only to thrust back into her.

Her head whipped back, exposing her clavicle which you eagerly traced with your tongue. With one moderately ravenous hand, you groped her breast, it filling your palm as you prowled deeper inside her, tracing your hips back and forth to create a sustainable rhythm. A glow brew upon her skin, defining her collarbones with a powerful sheen that gripped her pores wonderfully. Moans rattled huskily out from her throat as she received, as she bent her shape against yours, optimally accepting the rounds of stimulation that you adorned upon her body.

“I’m gonna cum y/n.” Her nose crinkled as she made her statement, and thus, you made your administrations that much more fast, belting into her to appease her a gyration that brought her closer to her orgasm. The last method that had her half screeching through her retrospective high, was a bittersweet pinch to her clit, that had her hurtling over the edge. You continued to move for a few moments, until it became too much for the spy.

As she caught her breath, you gently stroked her nipples, causing her to heave heavier. “Shame you were only here on a mission, that means I have no chance of convincing you to go out on a date with me.” Pulling the fake cock out of her cunt, watching as she whimpered from the notion. She grabbed for her items of clothing, slathering them back into appropriate placement upon her body.

“I don’t do dates.” She thickly stated, making you hum in acknowledgement, Natalia tried to soothe her hair with her hands until it looked presentable enough, going to turn, until you caught her arm, preventing her from doing so. You picked up the hard drive off from the desk, and simply handed it to her. “It was nice meeting you, you definitely made my breach here... interesting.”

“I aim to please.” You brashly shrugged, accepting her grateful smile as you watched the deceived and overplayed spy walk out of the door to your office. You threw your shirt over yourself, removing the harness that hugged your hips, and rolled your panties up your legs. You bent to the ground, retrieving the true aspect of your game. “Well, I guess you can’t have it all.” The real flash drive was pinched between your forefinger and your thumb as you blinked towards it.

You had managed to deceive an avenger, yet the whole cover would only be viable to hold up for so long. Your entire operation would have to move elsewhere if you were to have to avoid that fine fox and her friends. Paging your assistant, you filled her in on the business cards that were currently laid out before yourself.

[dourpeep]

you asked for albedo stuff yesterday and i forgot to give you some 🥲 here

-Albedo bites the ends of his pencil/pen while in deep thought

-He covers his mouth while laughing

-His hair is a huge problem to becoming messy so he usually keeps it in one style bc he sucks at styling hair

-I believe he would hyperfocus on a meal until he starts to hate it and goes onto another

-Probably sleeps on his back or stomach

-Quietly sings to himself when he's alone doing experiments

-his hands are probably soft as hell

-he probably bounces his leg when stressed

-I cant decide whether or not he's always cold or always hot (wearing his jacket everywhere but seems fine at dragonspine??)

-would break klee out of jail

-he always tries to have at least one meal with klee

WAIT SHIT I FORGOT ABOUT THIS--

definitely a pleasant surprise nodnod always a treat to have more Albedo, thank you for the food, Chi OTL

I'll write a little about each one b/c I have no self control and I'm feeling inspired by ur headcanons so lets goooooo ehehehe

They'll be a mix between imagines and drabbles!

Enjoy the food :3c

Contains: Albedo x gn!Reader, some standalone Albedo, Klee, fluff

-

- Breaking Habits -

"Albedo? You're doing it again-"

He blinks, shifting to remove the tip of his pencil from his lips, frowning when little indents come into view.

"Hm...it appears to be so."

Really, the Chief Alchemist has tried to wean himself off the habit, taking to coating the butt ends of his writing utensils with a horrid concoction of qingxin and jueyun chili, but the moment he slips into his usual daily tasks, it arises once more. The bitter spiciness is a taste that he still has not forgotten.

When his brows crease and his gaze seems to burn into the pencil, you offer a smile. With a kiss pressed to his temple, you take it from his loose grasp, setting it down on the table's surface.

A few weeks later, it dawns on him that the touch of wood to his lips evokes the memory of your gentle reminder. Without fail, he sets his pencil down in search of a sweet to busy himself with instead.

- His Laugh -

I can just imagine him with his hand lifted to cover his mouth, a smile tugging at his lips and his eyes slightly squinted. It's something that'd happen almost instantaneously--he doesn't intend to hide his smile but for some reason he can't help but do it.

An endearing habit that you've come to look for.

Regardless-

If you lower his hand and pepper him with a few little kisses, you'll get another giggle out of him before a kiss.

- Hairstyles -

Albedo only knows two ways to do hair: Klee's twin pigtails and his own half-up braid.

Over the past three years of his residency in Mond, it's become a sort of trademark. The assumption that it's just how he likes to style his hair has long since been accepted as truth--and really, he does prefer the style.

Though...

"Mr Albedo? Perhaps you should try to tie it all up instead...?"

The stray wisps of bangs that escape from the securely tied braid fall into his face and distract him from the task at hand. There's also the ever-present tickle right where the blond locks fall around his jaw. Surely, this shouldn't prove to be a problem considering he always has this style...right?

Needless to say, the smell of singed hair makes him choke and the Alchemist finds himself pulling away to tie his hair properly.

It's simple.

Or at least that's what he has been stuck repeating like a mantra as he stares at his reflection, unhappy with the way there's a strange bit of hair that refuses to stay tied. Sighing, he undoes his pony tail and tries again.

Hm.

No, now it's lopsided...certainly can't have that.

- Mealtime -

First, two little ears peek up above the surface of the counter besides him. Then, two little eyes belonging to a stuff rabbit toy followed by a red hat--

"Klee?"

The little girl stares at the fish steaks sizzling away on the pan, displeasure on her features despite the incredibly enticing smell. With unmatched resolve, she huffs.

"Big brother, Klee doesn't want fish again-"

Ah, right.

He's been in another of those moods, the particular taste and texture of the fish mingling with the salted butter, simple sauce, and lightly seasoned veggies sounding so much more appealing compared to nearly any other dish he's tried to enjoy in the past two weeks. It's without a doubt Albedo's all-time favorite dish. Perfect for someone with a small appetite and a need for something quick, filling, and nutritious.

"What would you like then?"

Ultimately (and truly, Albedo wasn't surprise), the little knight requested a serving of 'Fishy Toast'. Cutting up one of the fillets he'd fried, he laughs and shakes his head.

- Sleep Time -

When you come home, it's already dark, the streetlamps lining the cobbled road illuminating the front door as you fish out your key.

"Albedo? I'm back-"

Soft snoring punctuates the silence.

With a fond smile, you remove your shoes and make your way to the make-shift 'sleep station' set up on the couch. Sure enough, with his face shoved at an awkward angle against a pillow, Albedo lays on his stomach holding a second pillow to his chest.

As much as you'd rather not wake him (after all, he's barely gotten sleep over the past few days with how busy it's been), you kneel besides the couch to gently shake him awake.

"Bedo? Bedo, lets go to bed-"

He shoves his face further into his pillow, muttering something about waiting for results. But the silence that follows only lasts so long until he sighs and opens his bleary eyes.

"Welcome home," he mumbles, carefully shuffling best he can closer to meet your lips.

With a stretch and sigh, he sits up. Blond hair sticks up from the top of his head and to his cheek, some parts tangled despite his attempts to prevent it--your hair shouldn't tangle if you sleep on your stomach, right?

Holding back your laugh, you help him up so that the two of you can get ready to sleep.

- Singing -

Most often if not nearly each day, if you pass by the Favonius HQ's workshop, you might catch the soft sound of singing. A light sound that drifts from the partly-cracked door echoes into the empty hallway. Regardless of the traffic outside, it shows no sign of stopping, so you easily can sit right outside and listen.

It's not shy, though, even as the man's dulcet tone comes out gently, and there are days that the lyrics that slip from his tongue are of other regions.

Perhaps if you ever approach the Chief Alchemist, you might be able to convince him to sing just a short little tune. He'll oblige, though a soft dusting of pink will cover his cheeks as he does.

- Hands -

"My hands?"

Albedo watches as you tug off his gloves, head cocked to the side curiously. The moment his hands are free from their confines, you press a kiss to his palm and intertwine your fingers.

"Do you use lotion or something?"

He laughs.

"...Not that I am aware of...?"

When you squeeze his hand once, he squeezes yours back three times before bringing your joined hand to his cheek. Resting against them, his eyes close.

"Why do you ask?"

He feels you take his other hand as well, turning it over palm-side up, your fingertips tracing over the lines that adorn it's surface.

The tenderness of your touch is enough to make his heart stutter in his chest.

"Mmm...no reason."

- Leg Bouncing -

Whenever Albedo bounces his leg sitting at the Dragonspine workshop, a curse or two will slip out the moment his knee bangs against the wood.

Even being considered short, the table has decided to lay just low enough for him to cause minor injury to himself.

Shaking his head, he rubs at his knee to rid himself of the dull ache before continuing his observations at hand.

- His Jacket -

Wait okay but like...what if he actually has different versions of the same jacket? They look virtually the same but there's some of lighter material for warmer days, 'standard' ones for day-to-day use, and heavier ones lined with warm, soft fabric to insulate heat when he's on Dragonspine.

Same with his tights. I do know for a fact that there are tights lined with fleece that are incredibly warm and comfortable!!

- Escapees -

"You need to be very quiet, alright?"

Once more in the dark of the night, Albedo finds himself awake within the walls of the Favonius Headquarters.

Now...Klee technically wasn't grounded, so technically escorting her out of the so called 'solitary confinement' wasn't against any rule. To be fair, the room itself also wasn't really that either, judging by the child-themed decor, soft bed, books littering the floor, and the little table that sits just off to the opposite side of the room.

So! Albedo was certain that there wasn't any harm in what he was doing.

Not that he wasn't still sneaking around on his little improvised rescue mission.

He looks back to Klee, the little girl now wide awake and hanging on to his hand tightly.

When the morning comes, he sighs, crouched sitting on one of the child-sized chairs in the solitary confinement room, Klee peacefully snoozing in bed.

If only Jean wasn't pulling an all-nighter last night as well.

- Very Early Breakfasts -

Klee wakes up to the smell of sweet berry jam and chocolate in the air.

Clumsily, she slips out from under the covers with Dodoco cradled in her arms, padding along the wooden floors on her way to the kitchen.

"Big brother...?" She rubs the sleep from her eyes waiting for him to turn around.

"Oh, good morning Klee-"

"What time is it?"

That, Albedo decided, was a very good question. Especially considering that he hadn't yet gone to sleep and instead shuffled through the kitchen in the early hours of the day to make pancakes. If he had to guess--and he took a quick peek out the window despite the darkness of the early morning lending no clue--he'd say it was nearing 4am.

"Early. Go ahead and sit down, breakfast is almost ready."

The plate is presented to her with a brilliant smile, the Chief Alchemist satisfied to be able to keep his promise with her to always share a meal. But...the fluffy pancakes and freshly made whipped cream were also a source of his brightened mood.

Even though he knew he'd have no time to sleep and pack for his next Dragonspine expedition, the lack of sleep was worth seeing the sudden widening of eyes and delighted giggle from his younger sibling.

He could always take a quick nap at the base camp, anyway.

[cinnamonfm]

coco.

-

This was something they had thought about more than was probably fair for them to hide, though Court thinking about someone - fantasizing about someone - was more common than it wasn’t, honestly. He was often swept up in what could be, what could happen, where things could go, only to inevitably be let down by what actually happened, nothing he dreamed about materializing because he was often too nervous to put any action into them. So even though they had thought about this, they had never really actually thought it would happen, assuming it was another doomed fantasy that he was relegated to longing for. 

His tongue coaxed Heni’s lips open, sliding between them as his hand lightly traced up and down her side, still cupping the back of her neck, lightly toying with the hair there as her hands ran over him, Coco leaning into her until they were together head to toe, his never-ending desire to get closer to people, close the distance between them, nearly abated. 

Court nearly whined when Heni pulled away, nearly chased her lips with his own, though he caught himself - not wanting to be that eager, to turn her off with how much he could be (needless to say, it had happened before). His eyes blinked open, meeting her waiting gaze, an upwards quirk of their lips answering her question. He wanted to ask - is that what you want - but he refrained, instead just letting his hand slide down her side again, tracing over her hip until their fingers reached her thigh, lightly grazing the skin just below her hemline. “There can be. If you want,” he murmured, his voice quiet, as if afraid to break the spell in the closet. “We can make use of these seven minutes, and then when that door opens…that’s it. Back to good old roomies.” 

heni draws in an unsteady little breath, as though that might ground her a little more. make the closet, the kiss, coco, feel less surreal. it doesn’t. and she realises, for perhaps the first time, that she’s at a loss for words. there’s a million things she would like to tell them, but no word she can come up feels even close to adequate. what if she fucks this up, and he never speaks to her again? “no,” she says finally, gaze not leaving theirs. “i don’t - i don’t think i want that, coco. i’m not sure i can do that.” is it selfish of her, to want to live in that preceding moment forever? to be locked into each other like that? “i don’t know what this means for us, and honestly, it’s fucking terrifying.” she laughs. “but i’m wondering if maybe, we shouldn’t, you know, figure out what this is. no strings, no fine print. unless you don’t want to.”

she pulls him closer then, fingers dug into the fabric of their shirt to once again let their lips meet. it’s one of those things that should feel foreign to her. it should be like walking through a new city for the very first time without a map. but there’s something about him that feels distinctly familiar as the two of them crash together over and over again, like waves on the shore. like this is the back garden of her own house, like this is something she has always been intimately familiar with. so why then, is she so terrified?

[beneathashadytree]

CHANCES - OKUYASU NIJIMURA X READER

Warnings : a few curse words, talk of low self-esteem, just wholesome teenage crushes, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : fluff!

Word count : 1.6K words

Synopsis : After a disastrous first date, Okuyasu wants the ground to swallow him whole.

Requests : Are closed for the time being, but will be opened soon!

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

Okuyasu wanted nothing more than to break down and cry---the only thing currently stopping him was the fact that he knew he must've made an already-terrible impression and shouldn't sully it even more.

It shouldn't have gone that way. His first date should never have been classified as an utter disaster, given just how damn excited he was to have even managed to get it in the first place... and yet here he was, gnawing on his lip anxiously, feeling his heart squeeze in his chest---and not in the usual adoring way it always did around his crush; no, the kind of way where he wants to throw up and just cry his eyes out.

After all, it had been a long and winding road before he could get to this place. He'd been not-so-secretly pining for them for longer than should've even been tolerable, keeping his overflowing emotions hidden in the deepest part of his heart for a multitude of reasons: the first being that rejection was almost definite, considering just how little he owned and how little he was and just how much he wasn't and lacked, and---come the near-impossibility that he wasn't brutally pushed away in disgust---fear of coming off too strong that he'd scare them away.

Yet somehow, by some sort of miracle (he could swear that he had a guardian angel looking out for him), his crush had shyly given him a brilliant smile, a look of unmistakable excitement on their face as they had accepted his blurted confession and invitation out for dinner. Their response had completely stunned him, and it almost felt like a fever dream the days leading up to their eventual meet-up at Tonio's.

Okuyasu had even dressed up in his finest shirt and pants, wanting to show just how much effort he was putting into this, with even a small bouquet in hand of flowers that he could barely afford. All of which were thoughtful gestures---had the weather not ruined everything.

On his way to pick them up from their place, the motorcycle he'd borrowed broke down, leaving him with no option but to park it to the side and resort to walking there---and that was when the downpour of rain had started. In all honesty, it wouldn't have been too terrible if he'd stuck to walking under awnings only, but the houses on their street hadn't a single shelter to provide for passers-by.

Thoroughly soaked to the bone within mere seconds, the icky feeling of his wet shirt sticking to his skin had him fiddling with the material, and in doing so, he'd accidentally slammed right into a lamppost, ending up with a bruised shoulder, a fair bunch of  scrapes, and the flowers all broken and half-dead. He'd never wished that he had Josuke's stand ability, but he sure as hell wished Shining Diamond was his at that moment.

He'd shown up at their door, pompadour slicked down to his face and a tight smile on his lips, but despite that, they hadn't expressed more than the initial surprise, before asking him over and over if he was still okay with continuing the date in that weather---and he'd insisted things were going fine, a half-lie that turned into a complete one when his date broke the soul of their shoe as they tripped over a protruding sewer cover in the road, resulting in them ruining their sharp attire that clearly must've taken them a long while to prepare.

As if things couldn't take a matter for the worse, Tonio had shown his disgruntlement when they pushed the doors open, wet as dogs and probably looking like a pair of ragamuffins. Though the Italian hadn't said anything (perhaps Okuyasu's face betrayed just how terribly he would take any words given to him at the moment), his look was enough to cause his date to shift awkwardly in their half-broken shoes, looking more sheepish than anything as they wobbled up to their designated table.

Hoping to salvage the date in any way possible, he'd tried to engage in small talk, which had indeed lit up their beautiful eyes, soon developing into fully-fledged conversations. Though Okuyasu knew his voice had always been coarse, they had sweetly smiled at him and listened as though it were the sweetest honey over silk, and he'd had wistful hopes that perhaps he'd managed to make this date a tolerable one---hopes that were instantly destroyed the moment his overenthusiasm while talking had led to him accidentally stabbing his dish just a little too hard and causing it to shatter into pieces.

They had jumped a little at the sight and sound of both the breakage and Tonio's extensive scolding, but things got miles worse when Okuyasu decided in a panic to use The Hand to completely eradicate the shards' existence, and he had no idea how to explain the sudden disappearance to his gaping date who sat there unblinking at the clean---and now bare---tablecloth. If it hadn't been for the chef snapping at him and scolding him for his carelessness, in turn distracting his date who tried to console him, he wouldn't have been able to avoid immensely messy explanations.

Though they'd tried to reassure him that things were fine after his plate had been replaced, Okuyasu's mood had certainly been too dampened to even give them more than a gloomy hum, feeling his throat clog up.

That feeling only got worse as he carefully walked them down the street, hobbling and trying to avoid the puddles left behind after the rain had stopped. He couldn't articulate; couldn't find the right words to say after such a disastrous day out. More than sure that he'd ruined his only chance with the person he'd grown to be so enamored by and had been watching nervously from afar for so long, he chose to stay silent instead, and avoid any further embarrassment.

"Okuyasu?" they gently called out to him, pulling him from his thoughts and causing him to look at them standing in front of their front door, "Are you alright? You didn't get hurt somewhere else and are just hiding it, did you?"

"Oh," he paused in his steps, shaking his head, "No. Thank you for asking."

They clicked their tongue, before glancing at him once again, taking in his ruffled form, "Something's on your mind. Have I done something to upset you?"

"No!" he instantly cried out, turning his head so fast he nearly got whiplash, "You've done absolutely nothing wrong, I promise you."

"Then what's wrong?" they asked, a small and even adorable frown on their face, "You haven't said much since dinner, if anything at all."

"I just," he inhaled sharply, clenching his fists as he came to a stop, squeezing his eyes shut as he spoke up, his voice slightly wavering while mustering the courage, "I only had one shot, and I blew it. I know I don't have much in me to be able to keep you around after a shitty first date that you probably hated more than any other day in your life," he swallowed thickly, feeling himself tear up at his words, "You probably hate me, and I honestly can't blame you for it. There wasn't a single good thing about today, which really sucks because," he breathed out a wobbly mocking laugh, his nails digging into his palms as he did, "Goddamn, do I like you a lot. And now you---mph!"

His eyes flew wide open, shock causing him to still in his place as they silenced him with a kiss. It barely lasted a few seconds, and it was as chaste and innocent as he'd ever dreamed, but the moments their lips met, he near damn melted. He could see, in how their eyes were scrunched up in concentration, and in how their palms rested on his scarred cheeks, how much thought they'd put into this heartachingly warm action.

And when they pulled away, he was positive he looked as starstruck as he felt.

"I like you a hell lot too," they smiled, even though their cheeks were a little flushed, "I don't care about what you can offer me or any of that crap. All I care about is who you are and how you treat me," the shrugged, gently clasping his fisted hands in theirs, "So what if we've had a few accidents here and there today? It's fine, because I got to spend it with you. We'll get endless chances to redo it till we get it right."

He could swear his breathing halted.

"Wait, what? You---I, what?" spluttering as his eyes grew involuntarily hopeful, "You mean... you want to go out with me again? Me?"

"Yes, Oku," they laughed, squeezing his hands affectionately as they dropped the nickname that had his heart beating furiously in his chest, "Next time though, I'll be the one asking you out, okay?"

Finding it increasingly difficult to speak up after hearing such comforting words, Okuyasu nodded, feeling his heart swell in his chest, almost disbelieving that he'd ever be this lucky, and he barely choked out the nervous words, repeating himself over and over again in an endearing way that had his crush grinning up at him with a red face, "Yeah, definitely! Sure, I... of course. Can't wait."

Taglist: @mrsgiovanna @blondeboyfriend @boorishbrambling

[infernalrevenge]

Hey, Kiss Me? (Don't Mind If I Do)

Fandom: Resident Evil 8: Village

Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G

Summary: Daniela is used to being the flirty one, blowing kisses and making a pass at anyone who caught her attention. It just never occurred to her that the tables could turn on her.

Notes: [slams fists on the table] LET ME FLIRT WITH THE CUTE VAMPIRE GIRL. If RE8 had a dating sim spin-off in some alternate universe where Capcom REALLY wanted to capitalize on the game's success, one of my runs would definitely involve romancing the youngest Dimitrescu. For anyone else who feels me on this, this is for you too. I also tried writing this in 2nd person POV for a change. Hope it still turned out alright, it's my first time writing this way. Enjoy!

----------

You had been working for the Duke for quite a while now. He took you in in your time of need and had been made an apprentice of sorts in the art of trading and bargaining.

You've met your fair share of oddities while settled in the village and running errands, including but not limited to: A man who can control metal and electricity on a whim, a talking doll who lives under a waterfall, and the numerous wolf-man hybrids that lurked around the vicinity. They were what most may consider crass company -- at least, that was what the Lady of the castle would say.

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu was a frequent customer and a business partner of the Duke's, helping her in the sale of her vintage "wine" to intrigued buyers. This also meant that the two of you were frequent visitors to the castle on the other side of the village proper -- a vast estate that was entirely too large for just four women to occupy (even if one of those women happened to be nine feet tall).

Miss Bela was always the more polite and civil of Dimitrescu's daughters, offering a simple greeting whenever you would come by. When it was appropriate, she was always at her mother's side and paying attention to how meetings between the older adults would proceed, like a student eager to learn from the best. You figured that, as the oldest sibling, she might take over the business someday. You weren't sure exactly how that would happen, given what you knew of the family, but you really shouldn't prod anyway. At least, not now.

Miss Cassandra was more closed off, so to speak. It always seemed like she would barely acknowledge your presence in the castle, talking only when it was necessary and immediately leaving the room once she was allowed to. However, you would feel a prickling in the back of their neck when she wasn't around, like you were being watched from the background -- prey at the mercy of their predator. But every time you turned around, there would be no one there, not even a sound to indicate escape. A part of you thought you might have been pulled into some unwitting game, wondering what would happen if you did catch the perpetrator in the act. You weren't sure you really wanted to find out.

Then, there was Miss Daniela, whose attention seemed to lie in... other prospects. Like Bela, she offered warm greetings whenever you would stop by the property. Unlike her sisters though, who never really bothered with the Duke's apprentice, she always tried to entertain herself with your company. You had a friendly enough rapport with her that you could relax in her presence as well, so it was nice. You figured it was mostly because they rarely ever got outside company, and since the sisters stay in the castle a lot of the time, she always welcomed you with enthusiasm. And a smile. And a wink. And some passing remark about how nicely you dressed that day and that you must have been trying to impress her.

"I could just eat you right up," she would say with a giggle and a playful growl.

You've never been too sure what to make of her -- she always seemed to have her head in the clouds, only coming back down at the behest of her mother or when her sisters were persistent enough. You also never knew how to respond to her flirting apart from flustered silence, which only seemed to spur her on even more. It was like she was just trying to get a reaction from you, making a game of it. It was far different from the one her older sister seemed to be keen on playing, but a game nonetheless -- how far could she push your buttons and make you implode from embarrassment?

Honestly, it seemed to be working.

You had been well-socialized thanks to your training under the Duke, and of course the man himself was charming and likeable so a part of you liked to think it may have rubbed off as he raised you. But that was when it came to formalities and negotiations -- maybe banter, if you could really push it. You've thought about responding earnestly, but flirting was another ball game all on its own, one that you don't really play on purpose, and you frequently found yourself floundering at the face of it. Especially when that face was as pretty as Daniela's.

It wasn't like you thought she liked you that way or anything -- you genuinely thought she said all those things for fun, to amuse herself with how hot you got or how you would sheepishly shrink in on yourself. But you weren't going to deny that she was cute and that you may have just a small crush on her. Just maybe. Not that you would ever admit that out loud.

----------

One winter day, the Duke entrusted you with meeting with Lady Dimitrescu on your own. She was informed of his absence beforehand -- something about attending to Lord Heisenberg's business -- and so you were left to take care of updates. In the meantime, you kept yourself busy in the guest area, perusing the dusty books in shelves that definitely needed some cleaning. It seemed like the castle could never have enough help.

As soon as you were left alone, with only your notepad and thoughts to keep you company, you felt the hairs at the back of your neck stand. You slowly looked to the side, eyes trained on a dark corner of the room. The light from the fireplace didn't quite reach that spot, making it quite the hiding place. Was something (or someone) moving from there? Are your eyes playing paranoid tricks on you? Was it Miss Cassandra playing her one-sided game again? Perhaps... you shouldn't interfere then.

You turned your attention back to the book shelf, looking high above you, wanting to take a closer look at the selection. You dragged a stool and a few stacked cushions to the shelves and slipped your shoes off, praying to whoever was out there that Lady Dimitrescu wouldn't find you like this. Oh, the scolding I'd get from Duke about manners -- you'd never hear the end of it. Stepping carefully onto the plush surface -- a few feet from the ground -- and finding your balance, you start to pick something out that had an interesting title.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Y/N," a voice echoed in the room, catching you off guard.

You jumped in surprise and lost your footing, falling backward as the cushions slipped from under you. Oh yeah, this was gonna hurt! But before you could make contact with the hardwood floor, a hand reached out and grabbed you by the waist, catching you in a rather precarious position.

"You could've hurt that cute little ass of yours," the voice cooed. Daniela seemed to have materialized from out of nowhere, wearing a mischievous grin and holding onto you as she practically hovered over you. Oh god, she was so close, you don't know where your body heat ended and hers started.

"Miss Daniela," you greeted, finally finding your voice. "Um, thanks for the save."

She pulled you up to standing on the stool and raised an eyebrow at you, smirking amusedly, "And what exactly were you doing so high up in the shelves? Aren't you supposed to be waiting here like a good little one?"

"I was just... looking at the books," you replied softly, "And falling for you, I suppose," you added as a joke, chuckling as you shook off your nerves from earlier. You were a little surprised she didn't start off with that line honestly, given how easy--

Daniela's smirk dropped at your response, eyes widening as she stiffened. Uh oh... did you say something wrong?

She blinked at you, mouth hanging open slightly as if she was trying to find the words. It looked like she gave up though, just looking away and stepping off the stool. Were you imagining that her cheeks just turned pink?

"Mother's waiting for you at the meeting room," was all she said before quickly making her exit.

It took a while before the wheels in your head started turning again.

----------

The next time you came to the castle with the Duke, it was a warm day in spring. On these occasions, sometimes Lady Dimitrescu would be more open to a different venue of meeting than inside the castle -- "for a change of scenery," as she would say. The two of you met her and her daughters at the main garden at the back of the property, the sun shining generously on all forms of life.

When Daniela spotted you, she seemed almost caught unaware, but she quickly regained composure, throwing a smirk and wink your way -- her usual greeting. You couldn't help but duck down shyly, but nonetheless waved and smiled back.

The older adults took their business elsewhere, leaving you alone with the daughters at the lobby; well, more like a daughter, since Cassandra had already left before you can say another word and Bela had excused herself soon after. It was normal for you to be in the company of the redhead at this point. Not that she seemed to mind.

"Been a while since you've been back here. Betcha missed me, huh?" Daniela said, a charming smile curled on her lips. She stood next to you, seeming intent on leading you on a little walk around. Hey, you'd take any excuse to spend time with her.

You laughed softly, "Quite, Miss Daniela."

"You're still sticking to those formalities, Y/N? Come on, you can drop the 'Miss'." She sidled up closer to you, nudging your side. "You can even skip 'Daniela' altogether and just call me yours."

You unconsciously covered your mouth as you glanced her way -- she was being more straightforward than usual. You don't know if you were just trying to hide the blood rushing to your cheeks or trying to stop yourself from smiling too widely, but seeing the smug look on the other's face, you knew she succeeded yet again in flustering you.

"What's wrong? Did summer come early? You're looking kinda warm," she teased, bending down slightly to your face level. "Then again, you are hot enough for the both of us." Damn, she was too good at this. "You'd give the sun a run for its money, honey."

You took a few moments to collect yourself, standing up straighter and clearing your throat. Your eyes looked up to meet hers, showing a half-smile as you spoke with as smooth of a delivery as you can muster, "I'd always thought you would be the sun's rival, given how easily you brighten up my day."

Daniela nearly tripped when she took another step, only managing to catch herself on a nearby bench.

"Are you--"

"I'm fine! I'm fine, just, uh... stubbed my toe on something. Stupid rock."

There were no rocks on the path you two were walking -- unless one counted the flat rock ground. (It didn't.)

The rest of the day carried on as it normally would -- Daniela distracting you from the uneasy feeling of being watched from a proper walk with her usual demeanor, batting her eyelashes and telling you how she simply must teach you to dance some time. "Maybe then you'll learn to loosen up around me." But in return, you would sometimes reply with your own quips -- "Well I wouldn't be opposed to being closer to you, Miss Daniela." You weren't about to question where this newfound confidence came from; you may as well own it, right?

It was only after that visit, replaying the day in your head like you wanted to remember it for as long as you could, that a realization came to you -- the way her cheeks tinged pink and averted her gaze, how she was rendered speechless whenever you replied in the same way that was usually expected of her...

She's not used to being flirted back to.

Her self-esteem allowed her to accept most straightforward compliments with grace, so flattery did not faze her in the slightest -- but when it came to using disarming words? When charm and wit were used right back at her?

She floundered almost as much as you did.

Suddenly, you weren't just a prop in the game anymore -- you knew how to play it now. You knew uttering such sweet (and occasionally cheesy) phrases could make the youngest Dimitrescu blush harder than a maiden being courted. And by god, did she look adorable when she did.

You kind of understood why she did all that now -- watching someone get flustered and knowing you were the cause of it was fun. It was weirdly thrilling seeing her react like that, but then again you might be confusing that feeling with different kind of fluttering in your chest whenever you were alone with Daniela. Who knows?

One thought lingered at the back of your mind though: How long would it take before one of you broke and asked the other on a real date?

.

.

.

(Cassandra materialized behind Daniela as you bade her farewell for the day. She had been observing the two of you interact for a while, monitoring the redhead's "progress". She knocked her sister out of her faraway thoughts with a smack to the head. "So are you gonna admit you like them yet?"

Daniela seemed almost offended at the insinuation, "I would nev-- I mean how dare-- I don't like-- they're just-- I--"

The brunette only raised an eyebrow.

"They're..." She thought back to you, that cute little smile you wore whenever she tried to flirt with you, and how you suddenly rose to the challenge of using her own tactics against her earlier. It was kind of hot. "Okay, I guess. They're okay. They're fine." Quite fine. "That's all I'm gonna say."

"Suuuure...")

[jordanstrophe]

War of Royalty, A Means to an End

[Masterlist] CW: Medieval whump, slavery, whipping, public punishment, noncon-stripping (nonsexual) knife wounds, blood, creepy possessive whumper. Eden getting a smidge of comfort because the bell curve is declining, yay!

Countless whip marks carved into his back, blood soaked his shirt and dripped in a circle around his feet. A hundred eyes stared at him in their cheer and mockery, begging, pleading for more of his blood to spill. 

“Silence!” The king hollered, in an instant the room fell quiet. “Bring him here.” He motioned with a finger. Eden couldn’t hold in a cry when the shackles were torn off his wrists. He slumped to the floor on his knees at the base of the whipping post, his arms crossed over his chest as he gasped for breath. 

This wasn’t fair...

He grunted when his hair was grabbed, he clutched the guard's wrist as he was dragged across the floor, a long thick bloodstream trailing behind him. They shoved him into the ground, his hands curled into fists when he looked up and saw the king’s feet. “Aww, now now, didn’t I tell you? All will be forgiven.” Tarion cooed, brushing the blood-matted hair from his face before petting his head. 

This was disgusting...

“After the punishments, of course.” His voice broke into deep slow chuckles. He then grabbed the boy’s face and pulled him off the floor to his knees. Still shot with adrenaline, Eden hissed and pull away, his half-torn shirt slipping down his shoulder in the struggle.  

“Mm, now what's this?” The king rasped, his eyes catching a glimpse of a scar. He grabbed the material and ripped it from the boy’s chest, Eden immediately stiffened and squeezed his eyes shut. 

Not this again... Anything but this... 

The brand of Ravenhill, scarred to his chest. For once, Tarion fell silent. His cold finger slowly tracing the sigle. “How... interesting.” He muttered, his lips curling into a smile. “Fate has always been kind to me. Blessed with harvests and power, gold and respect. But this?” He squeezed the boy’s face harder. “Fate had already decided you belonged to me long ago.” He smiled.

“I d-don’t belong t-to you! I belong to him!” Eden cried, his body trembling as a tear trickled down his cheek. “Aww, no no no little sweetheart! ssshhhh.” The king soothed, cupping his cheek to thumb the tear away. “Your just a slave, free from the burden of choice. Perhaps you’ve spent too much time getting spoiled by Arvend you’ve... forgotten what you are.”

Eden gasped when his throat was taken, pulling him to his feet and his back slammed against the table. He couldn’t hold in the cry from his open wounds pushing against the table, the plate underneath him cracking from pressure. 

“Now don’t fret! I can fix you.” He twisted his head to meet his gaze. He plucked a knife from the table, touching the cold tip to the brand on his chest. 

“No!- No don’t! Please no! No no no no no-!” Eden’s voice broke when he felt the sharp tip bury into his chest. He struggled and sobbed against the hand holding him, his begging gone ignored as the blade followed the complicated design. 

Tarion took in enjoyment to the point he watched his expression more than the blade. He paused when Eden's tearful green eyes snapped open to glare at him, his hand slowly stopped the carve. For the first time, he saw him, the boy pinned on the table panting and crying.

“You-” Tarion rasped, his hand flinching away from the knife as he took a step back. “No-, No no no it can’t be! Who are y-y-...” He rasped, his eyes grown wide and darting unevenly. 

Enough.

All Eden remembered was grabbing the knife from his chest, he couldn’t recall the pain he felt when he pulled it out. He didn't even feel the hilt of the blade in his hand, or the pressure of when he plunged it into the man’s shoulder.

Everything was numb...

He only felt the warm embrace of blood. A blur of frantic movement scurried all around him. Panic. Panic and screaming, shouting, pleading and praying. 

He felt his arm get taken as he was dragged off the table. His knees instantly bucked as he collapsed to the floor, but a second gentle hand came and wrapped around his shoulders. They pulled him to his feet and dragged him from the banquet, the commotion behind him getting quieter and softer. -

Then finally, there was silence. 

*SLAM*

He gasped as he hit the dungeon floor, the sharp stone digging into the palms of his hands.

“You're either very foolish, or clever.” A familiar voice spoke. Eden forced his eyes open, finding his whole body soaked in blood. “W-what.. what happened?” He muttered. 

“You just stabbed the king, lad.” The man laughed. 

“Wha-?” Eden muttered in disbelief, his hands trembling. 

“Ay, you’re in shock. I don’t blame you. Here, take this.” The man tossed an old coat over his body. “You’ll need it if you’re to make it out the city. You're bound to turn some heads looking like you crawled from a gladiator's arena.” He chuckled gleefully at his own joke. 

Eden clutched the coat against his chest, stuttering when another wave of pain washed through him. “Why... Why wasn’t I killed? I should have been cut down on the spot!- ... I j-just s-st-stabbed... I just st-  th-the-”

“Alright! Alright lad, get a hold of yourself! Focus. You weren't killed because I got you out before the panic subsided. Look up there.” His eyes motioned. Eden followed his gaze to the window, two of the bars were cut loose and missing. 

“Why? Why w-would you help me?” He snapped his head back. The man's eyes narrowed as he leaned against the bars. "Because the man you just stabbed was my brother.”  

“Y-... You're the prince?”

“Woulda been king had it not been for that old lug. You might have done us both a favor. Now run along, ... or walk. or crawl. Whichever you’re capable of.” He shrugged, turning to take his leave.

“Wait!” Eden grunted as he tried to sit up. “That's not why you helped me.” He hissed. The man froze and went silent as he tapped his chin, looking quite lost himself. “You... reminded me of someone. Of her.” 

“Of who?” 

Just as soon as he came, he was gone. Eden was left with more questions and less answers as always. He struggled to wrap the coat around his shoulders, his legs trembling as he forced himself to stand. He bit down another whimper before glancing up at the space through the window. 

It was time to go home. 

(My apologies to those who I could not tag) ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Thank you for reading!~ @tears-and-lilies  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @starnight-whump  @bumpthumpwhump @whumpcreations @myst-in-the-mirror @heathenville @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog  @thegreathowdini @kim-poce @digitalart-dwa @princessofonward @andwhump @sunflower1000 @kim-poce  @lonesome--hunter   @cupcakes-and-pain @as-a-matter-of-whump  @nicolepascaline @neverthelass  @octopus-reactivated @jadeocean46910 

[btsmosphere]

Big Enough for Both of Us | JJK

~summary: his jumpers are going missing. And ending up on you. An annoying amount of books, some very cold weather and an admin mix-up later, will things change between you and Jungkook? Jungkook x reader (she/her pronouns) ~word count: 4.7k ~college au, fluff, getting together Rating: pg13 Warnings: one (1) swear, suggestive conversation and misunderstandings ~a/n: another bingo square, this time for ‘oversized hoodies/sweaters’ as an early Christmas present for you all!

You were shivering as you turned the keys to your locker, barely balancing the stack of books in your arms as you did so. Not wearing a jacket today was something you were sorely regretting, muscles groaning in protest from the cold and the weight you had lugged here.

The squeak of the old locker was the most welcome things you had heard all day, already preparing to shift the cursed pile of books off your struggling arms.

But as the door clanged softly open, all you could do was stare.

Something was already there.

Despite the pressing problem of the books weighing you down, you paused to look up and down the corridor. No one. Frowning, you peeked around to see the front of the locker door. This was definitely your locker, right?

Number 267. That was right.

Only, you had never used this locker before in your life. It had taken you until now, in December, to open it for the first time, even though you had started at college months back.

So the piece of black fabric sitting there, neatly folded, innocuous enough in any other situation, was a real curveball for you.

As you pondered, the top book on your tower decided to make a break for it, arms reminding you just how tired they were when you moved to catch it. Sighing, you leaned forwards and let them fall from your arms, right on top of the sweater.

You were pretty sure it was a sweater.

Whoever had this locker last year probably left it there by accident. It probably stunk by now, too.

Whether that was the case or not, you never got to investigate. A buzzing from your phone alerted you that your first lecture was about to start, your friend Namjoon asking where you were. So, without a second glance at the jumper, you slammed the door and rushed away.

It wasn’t until two classes later that it resurfaced in your thoughts.

The heating must have been broken in that class, or else your professor just liked to see you suffer. Throughout the lecture, you had been slowly freezing, resorting to rubbing your hands over your arms to ease your goosebumps.

And now that you piled out of the hall into the already dimming light, you found it was colder still.

The library was halfway across campus, and you were due to meet Namjoon there to make a start on your essays. Right about now, that mystery sweater did sound very tempting. And you did have to go back to your locker anyway to get the books, right?

Placing the stack by your feet, you stared at the material. It had been a bit flattened by the weight that had sat on it all day, but it looked clean at least.

Reaching in, you picked it up at the shoulder between one finger and thumb and leant in to smell it.

The first sniff returned a pleasant surprise. Nothing. Holding it in both your hands now, you brought it right up to your face, almost touching, and tried again.

It actually smelled good.

Come to think of it, it felt very soft between your fingers too.

Cold clutched so tightly onto your bones at this point that you couldn’t wait to get another layer on, so you stuck your arms inside. Sighing, you noted it must be quite new given how soft it still was.

You had got lucky.

Shaking the sleeves down, they fell way over your hands. The hem also came very low, nearly to your knees, but honestly, that felt like a bonus.

And so, lifting up the pile of books, you felt a little lighter (and much warmer) as you stepped out to meet Namjoon with your new big, soft jumper.

“I would say sorry I’m late, but I blame you,” you quipped as you slid into the chair beside Namjoon, depositing the books onto the desk with a loud thud, “were this many really necessary?”

Looking up at you from his own book, Namjoon had the decency to look a little apologetic as he laid eyes on the huge stack.

“Ah – yes – sorry,” he stuttered, “they did all look helpful. I suppose we’d better get through them all today so we can return them?”

Even his dimpled smile couldn’t stop you from groaning and flopping down onto your folded arms. Laughing, he pulled the first book off the pile, undeterred.

“I need coffee for this,” you mumbled.

But as you made to get up, Namjoon tugged you back down by your sleeve.

“You should make a start,” he fixed you with a look, “let’s go to the cafeteria later.”

Closing your mouth, you eyed up the intimidating pile of books. Of course, Namjoon knew you all too well, and was right. If you didn’t start working now, you could procrastinate for ages.

But you did want that coffee…

“If we wait til later, Jungkook will be there!”

Namjoon’s words had left his mouth the moment he saw you preparing to speak, and had snatched the argument right from your lips.

“Wh-what?” you spluttered, “What does that have to do with it?”

A knowing smile rested on Namjoon’s face as he placed a book in front of you.

You flipped it open and got to work.

Namjoon’s wish to get through all the books by closing time was a distant daydream. Half the books still sat untouched, and your essay still had a way to go.

Nonetheless, you weren’t going to stay slaving away all night. You made sure Namjoon remembered his earlier promise of coffee… although you didn’t mention the part about Jungkook.

Naturally, he was there anyway. Namjoon smirked as he left your side with his coffee order, waiting for you to stop staring at his friend and notice he was gone.

It took longer than you would care to admit.

Jungkook was a music student, and since Namjoon fancied himself a producer, he spent enough time in the department that he essentially was too, meaning he had a group of friends there as well as from his own course. And of course the boy you had been silently crushing on in the cafeteria since day one was one of them.

Unfortunately for you, Namjoon hadn’t prepared you for this when he decided to introduce you one day, and you had practically forgotten your own name as you found yourself suddenly in front the gorgeous Jungkook.

And just to add insult to injury, he had been really sweet to you.

Really, he was just asking you to fall for him.

You had promptly decided to stay away from him as much as you could help it. Until you were ready, you told yourself.

Which wouldn’t be anytime soon, given the way your cheeks combusted as he smiled over at your table. While Namjoon waved back, you studied your coffee cup very intensely.

“He’s gone,” Namjoon let you know, swinging back in his chair to take a swig of coffee.

Which was too hot.

And was now all over the table.

After your initial jump from your seat, all you could do was laugh as your friend started frantically mopping up the liquid, using already sodden napkins.

“Do you need some help?”

At the voice behind you, your jaw snapped shut.

Jungkook walked past you, grin splitting his face as he laughed at his hyung too.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” Namjoon chuckled.

You ran off to get more napkins.

On your return, you quickly helped clear the rest of the mess, rescuing your own drink from the pool on the tabletop. Seeing Namjoon had his things together, you also scooped up your bag. But no books.

Looking around for the godforsaken pile, you found them sitting in Jungkook’s arms.

“Oh, thanks,” you muttered, “I can take those, if you want-“

“It’s okay,” he beamed (would he ever stop smiling, he might make you drop down dead-).

“We’re getting the same bus, so I might as well bring them tomorrow,” Joon clapped his shoulder, “saves you breaking your arms again, right Y/N?”

“My arms weren’t breaking!” you scoffed, folding them against your chest.

“So you want to take them?” Jungkook raised a brow at you.

You blinked at him.

Then huffed and rolled your eyes.

“No…”

Laughing loudly, Namjoon led the two of you out of the cafeteria.

It was a good thing Jungkook carried the books. If this morning was anything to go by, you wouldn’t have enjoyed another walk with them.

Hugging your borrowed sweater around you a little more, you picked up the pace.

How Jungkook could have been outside in just that t shirt blew your mind. It was freezing.

“Can I borrow your locker key?” Namjoon whispered from the seat beside you.

“Why?” you hissed back, keeping your eyes forwards.

“Mine’s full,” he replied, “and we still have all these books.”

“We really had to get them all out at once, didn’t we?” you sighed, already digging in your bag for your keys.

“Someone else might have done otherwise!” Joon protested.

Underneath the desk, you passed him the keys.

“Number 267, okay?”

“Thanks.”

Once again, you had made very poor clothing choices. To be fair to you, the weather was supposed to have gotten warmer, so you had only put on a thin jumper. The outfit certainly looked good, but other than that, it was a bad idea. Tomorrow, you would put on a coat. Or maybe that jumper you had found yesterday…

Dashing between buildings to fetch the books again, you were convinced you might get hypothermia. The wind was biting across the already chilled air, sky an unforgiving grey above.

Inside, you fumbled with your key, fingers stiff with cold.

You hadn’t seen Joon since your first lecture, except when he ran past your study spot to throw your keys at you – literally – on his way to the music studios. You were lucky to still have both your eyes.

But maybe he had thought of you, because there beside the books, was a sweater.

Perhaps it was a mirage – could you get them from cold instead of heat? Reaching out to touch it, you concluded it was definitely real, but must be some kind of miracle. Dropping your bag to the ground straight away, you shoved the jumper on and huddled into it, bunching the sleeves around your frozen hands.

It was dark green, and you were sure you had seen Joon wearing a jumper like this before.

Thanking every deity out there that your friend had predicted your habit to dress poorly for the weather, you hauled the books out of the locker and set off for your study session.

Today you arrived first. Pulling out your phone, you sat back and waited for Joon to turn up.

When he did, you looked up from your phone to find he had stopped in front of your desk, staring back at you.

“You are a lifesaver,” you said, setting your phone aside and sitting forwards.

Blinking, he shook his head. “What?”

Frowning, you repeated yourself.

“I said you’re a lifesaver… for the jumper,” you clarified, “I was so cold, I could barely open my locker-“

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“What do you mean? Did you not leave this for me…” you frowned.

“No.”

You both stared at each other.

“Okay. Well, whose is it then?” you asked, pulling your chin to your chest to look down at the jumper you had on.

“Where did you find it?” Namjoon ignored your question, sitting down at last.

“It was in my locker, with the books,” you explained.

“But it’s not yours?”

“No!”

“It was there when I put them in this morning, though, I thought it must have been.”

“What the hell?” you struggled to find any other words.

“I guess someone else left it for you,” Joon shrugged.

Incredulous, you watched as he pulled out his laptop and opened it, unbothered by the strange apparition of your jumper.

“You think someone broke into my locker to leave me a jumper?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, “but can you pass me the one by Hastings-“

Sighing, you dropped the matter and pulled his requested book from the middle of the stack, choosing the top one to start on yourself.

Though you let it go long enough to get through a bit more of your essay, you were absolutely going to put the jumper back after you were done. Knowing you were wearing someone’s sweater, you felt the gazes of everyone walking past as if they somehow knew, and were about to denounce you for being a sweatshirt thief in the middle of the library.

But, as it happened, the cold weather was hellbent on dissolving your goodwill.

There was no. way. you were going outside in any less layers than you currently had on. The trip to your locker brought you to that conclusion soon enough, and so you chucked the books in and hugged the sweater tighter.

That night, the shapes of the two jumpers you had ‘borrowed’ so far seemed to stick out in the dark. It may not be anything dramatic, but since they weren’t yours, you couldn’t keep them.

Thankfully, the morning brought actual sun with it.

And your phone told you it would get warmer still.

Your phone lied.

That morning, you had worn the green jumper, intending to take it off and return it to the locker when you reached campus and the day had warmed up.

In the event, nothing of the sort happened. You had bumped into Namjoon and one of his friends from music, Yoongi. The three of you had talked outside until it was time for class, so you headed straight for your lecture with Joon.

Your next step outside was when you knew you had messed up.

All trace of sun had disappeared, sky darkened with cloud again. Any heat this morning held had gone away too.

But you were determined. You huffed as you pulled the sweater over your head later on, placing it back into the locker despite the way you were already shivering from the walk over.

In the library, the pile of books dwindled steadily down, but you got no warmer. Seriously, this place needed to invest in some better heating.

Screw morals, you were getting that jumper back.

“I’ll be back,” you muttered, sliding away before Joon could reply.

Apart from that, you made the walk to your locker in record time, probably since no books weighed you down.

As you approached the building you were aiming for, the door swung open. On seeing you, the emerging figure slowed down and held the door behind them. Speeding up, you reached the door at a slight jog before you even noticed who it was.

Jungkook.

“Hi Y/N!” he said brightly.

“H-hi!” you smiled back, “how are you?”

“Good thanks,” he smiled too, leaning against the door, “just heading to the cafeteria.”

“Oh, Joon and I should be along soon,” you nodded.

“Cool, I’ll see you,” he flashed his grin again.

Finally greeted with the warmth of inside, you looked over your shoulder at Jungkook’s retreating back. Why on earth was he in a t shirt? Shaking your head, you made your way to your locker with a smile.

Look at you go! A normal, nice conversation with Jungkook! And hopefully you could put an end to the relentless study session if you told Namjoon you were expected to go and get coffee with Jungkook.

Clinking, your key turned in the lock and you pulled the locker open with a sigh of relief-

A new sweater.

Interesting.

Tilting your head to the side, you stared at it as if it might get up and explain itself any moment.

Rather than the green one you had abandoned earlier, a burgundy bundle lay there instead. Sighing sharply, you decided you had come all this way for warmth, after all, and if someone was going to insist on putting jumpers in your locker, then you were going to wear them.

Which is how you found yourself enveloped contentedly in the latest of the apparently continuous line of warm, cosy sweaters, sipping coffee from between you sweater paws at a table with Namjoon, Jungkook, Jin and Taehyung.

Perhaps you weren’t entirely used to being in someone else’s jumper yet, because you kept feeling uneasy, as if the others at your table were looking at you with sideways glances.

Shaking it off, you smiled along with the conversation. You were definitely imagining it. Even if you didn’t talk to them that much, Namjoon’s friends were always lovely to you.

Eventually, the cups lay empty and the boys were discussing meeting the others in the studio. Noticing the branches outside the window swaying wildly, you decided you could put off the walk home no longer, or the weather would only keep getting worse, knowing your luck.

“See you later,” you excused yourself to a round of small waves and smiles from the others.

All the others, except, strangely, Jungkook. He had always been very easy-going with you, so you tried not to read into it when he only gave a tiny smile before ducking his head again.

On your way out, you noticed Yoongi coming in and exchanged a nod.

But with you on your merry way, you had no idea of the situation you had left behind.

Jungkook’s cheeks were burning as he tried to ignore the pointed stares of his friends. Lips pulled in between his teeth, he tentatively looked up, through the hair hanging into his eyes.

“Kook…” Namjoon was the first to speak, eyebrows raised as he watched the younger boy.

“What?” he squeaked, chewing at his lip right after. Who was he kidding? They all knew ‘what’.

Looking over to Tae and Jin brought no solace, both looking equally confused and expectant. Silence stretched out between them as Jungkook tried to string together a coherent thought with all eyes on him.

“So when were you going to tell us you’re hooking up with Y/N?”

Jungkook choked on thin air. Looking up, he saw Yoongi sauntering across to their table, thankfully grabbing the attention away from Jungkook.

“What do you- I’m- we’re- we’re not-“

“It’s alright Kook, you can tell us,” Jin offered, eyes wide in an attempt at being consoling. It wasn’t helping.

“There’s nothing to tell!” he insisted.

“Doesn’t explain why she was wearing your jumper,” Tae interjected.

“Has been for days,” Yoongi helpfully chimed in next.

Jungkook hid his head in his hands.

“I thought she just left for a study break,” Namjoon piped up next, “I can’t believe you two! On campus, really?”

“We are not sleeping together!” Jungkook hissed, succeeding in shutting him up, “I don’t know why she’s wearing that!”

“Sure,” Yoongi scoffed.

“You’ve had a crush on her for so long, I swear we’re happy for you,” Tae leant forwards, “I’m just offended you didn’t tell us.”

“What?” Jungkook was getting more frustrated.

“It’s no secret you like her,” Jin agreed.

“You knew?! Why didn’t you say anything?” Jungkook stared at his friends in disbelief.

“To let you deal with it yourself,” Jin mumbled eventually, “are you- are you telling us you seriously still haven’t done anything about it?”

“I haven’t,” Jungkook admitted.

“You have a crush on Y/N?” Namjoon asked incredulously.

“What’s the deal with the jumpers then? I’m lost,” Yoongi said.

“Hello!?” Namjoon interrupted, “Kook has a crush on Y/N?”

Groaning, Jungkook dragged his hands down his face.

“Yes, Joon. I like her,” he muttered, “and I don’t know, Yoongi. I don’t know how she keeps getting my jumpers.”

“Well, ask for them back then,” Jin shrugged, sitting back.

Jungkook just sighed.

“Oh my god, he likes it!” Tae gasped in glee, an infuriating grin splitting his face.

Jungkook was sure he wouldn’t get cold walking home if his cheeks maintained this temperature.

“Hold on…” Namjoon suddenly leaned forwards, “the other day, she asked me if I had put a jumper in her locker. We thought someone had left it for her.”

“It was in her locker?”

“Yep.”

“Well, that’s weird. I didn’t put them there.”

“This is ridiculous,” Yoongi groaned loudly, “I thought Kook had finally sorted this stupid crush. I couldn’t care less about the damn sweaters. Let’s go to the studio, Jimin and Hobi are waiting.”

“What are you doing?”

You almost jumped out of your skin. Having just picked your books up from your locker (how the pile was still this big, you had no idea), you turned around to find none other than Jungkook stood staring at you.

Clutching the stack tightly to avoid a landslide after that jumpscare, you looked up at him. A light crease made itself known between his eyebrows.

“Just… getting these books,” you gulped. Now it had started beating again, your heart wouldn’t seem to shut up at such close proximity to him.

He continued frowning at you, expecting more, but all you could think about was how cute he was, even when he was annoyed. How is that even possible?

“That’s my locker.”

That startled you from your stupor. It was your turn to frown now, taken aback by his statement.

“…no, it’s not,” you said slowly, “that’s my locker.”

“Look,” he said then, before pulling a key from his pocket. Holding it up, you clearly saw the familiar number 267 glinting back at you.

Frown growing deeper, you struggled to balance the books in one arm while the other fumbled for your own key. As you flattened your palm, he leant in to see it.

“267,” he muttered, staring between yours and his. “what the…”

“That’s odd,” you frowned, “I guess we should talk to reception, but I, uh, I have class-“

“Y/N,” he slid into your way as you took a step, “um…”

As you waited for him to talk, he hesitated, tongue slipping out momentarily to wet his lips as he rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. At last, he took a breath, barely looking at you, and spoke.

“People have been asking me, ab-about us-“

Your eyes grew five times bigger in a millisecond. Did Jeon Jungkook just use the word us, talking to you?!?

“-they’re asking why you’re wearing my jumpers, and-and I guess I know why now, but-“

Oh.

Oh no.

No no no no no no no.

The jumpers you had been taking the liberty of stealing belonged to Jungkook?

Oh hell no.

“Shit, I’m sorry- uhh, I’ll get them all back to you, I swear,” you hurriedly spoke, backing away from him, “but I really need to go class, so, um, I’ll see you!”

And with that, you were walking as fast as your legs could carry you, far away from the most embarrassing situation since the time your pants had ripped when you were twelve. People had been asking Jungkook about you? They thought you were together?

You felt awful. All through your lecture, you could barely hear your professor over your internal screaming. What must Jungkook think about this? About you?

Ditching the pile of godawful, cursed books with Joon, you hurried to your locker, hoping that no one would be in sight so you could shove the jumper away. You were wearing the first one you had found. You could return the rest later.

Yes, you would be freezing, but you would have to deal with it.

Roughly pulling it over your head as you reached your locker, the corridor mercifully empty, you threw open the door.

But something was already there.

You wouldn’t have paid it any attention, except there was a note sat on top. And it had your name on it. Underneath the note sat something dark blue and suspiciously hoodie-shaped.

Eyeing it warily, you read the note.

Y/N, I’m sorry, I should have explained better. You don’t have to put the jumpers back, or even stop wearing them. In fact, if you keep wearing them I would be very happy. I brought this for you – it’s the biggest hoodie I own and I hope you like it. I need to tell you something, and I’m clearly better at writing it down than saying it to you, but I want to say it. I really like you, Y/N. You don’t have to feel the same, but you can at least keep the sweaters and stay warm. JK xx

This couldn’t be real. Eyes darting to and fro re-reading the message, you reached out to take the paper between your fingers. Apparently, it was real.

Letting it drop back onto the blue hoodie, you looked around you to find the hallway still empty.

Now this wasn’t fair. Jungkook couldn’t make your all your dreams come true and then hide somewhere. You had to find him.

Stuffing the first jumper you stole away, you pulled out the new gift and tugged it on. Not only was it huge, but it was so soft. When you found him, you were going to find out what detergent he used.

Either way, you spared little time to enjoy the warm hug in jumper form, instead racing off to track down Jungkook. Zipping through the cafeteria proved fruitless, and you even stopped in the library. Joon was in there, but you didn’t stop, just chucking Jungkook’s note in the face of his complaints and moving on.

You had never actually been in the music studio before, but you found it easily enough.

Practically running inside, you stopped, breathing heavily, in the entrance. Only three people were in there, and of course none of them were Jungkook.

Jimin, Hoseok and Yoongi looked around at you in surprise.

“Where’s Jungkook?” you panted.

Yoongi had barely lifted his hand before you had already taken off in the direction he pointed. Pushing the door wide open, you finally laid eyes on the person you had been looking for.

When Jungkook looked around from where he stood in front of a microphone, a piece of paper clutched in his hand, all the words you were going to say to him suddenly left your mind.

“What detergent do you use?”

The question fell uselessly from your lips, only making him more confused.

“What?”

“Oh, nevermind-“

Letting the door fall shut behind you, your feet didn’t stop moving as you crossed the room until your lips crashed into his.

Arms instinctively coming up to hold you, his eyes widened at first but quickly slid shut as he realised what was happening. You were so desperate to find him, and now you couldn’t wait to feel him, lips ravenous as your hands tangled in his long hair.

He tasted so good, making you groan into his mouth as his lips fit so perfectly against yours, incidentally granting him access to slip his tongue inside. There was barely a hair’s breadth between you as he tugged you in, hands fisted in the fabric of his own sweater that swallowed you up.

Finally recovering from the shock and elation of kissing you, he cupped the back of your head, tilting his own to deepen the kiss as he held you steady. And it was a good thing he did, or he would have swept you clean off your feet.

Even as you broke away from each other, staring in shock at your own boldness, your heart continued its raging party in your chest. You could only stare into his brown eyes, totally lost and awed at what just happened.

“Nice hoodie,” Jungkook whispered, the first to break the silence.

“Y-yeah,” you nodded, “thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He looked at you then, big eyes hopeful and oh god you just wanted to kiss him again and see him smile forever-

“Can I take this as your reply to my note?”

“Yes, Jungkook,” you smiled, and the grin that burst onto his face was the most glorious you had ever seen, “I like you too. I really, really like you.”

“I really, really like you too, Y/N,” he grinned, lips connecting with your forehead in a brief, sweet peck, “and I’d like to see you in my sweaters more often.”

Thank you to everyone who reblogs my work!!

I now have a follow-up drabble for this oneshot here!

Taglist: @aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​ (message to be added)

Find my other work on my masterlist

[ecrivant]

tendresse | reiner braun

(reiner braun x reader)

a.n. –  dude!  you just posted tender, slice-of-life aot cringe!

in the woods, away from the world, you and reiner take a moment to yourselves to just exist; a tender respite in the eye of the storm. emotional catharsis, a consideration of what could have been.  

takes place during the marley arc, right after reiner’s confession at the campfire, but there are no spoilers.  reader is gender neutral.

word count: 1.4k

He sat alone, away from their temporary settlement, swallowed by trees and the oppressive nocturne which had long since appropriated the respite of the campfire in which the group dined.  Yards away, Warriors and the Paradisians together in repose—both groups, two-sided coins, unaware that their flipside lay in each other’s own counterpart.  He listened to their stirring bodies—their restlessness, indistinguishable.  The wind’s steady respiration rustled the trees, and his eyes, sensitive from the prolonged darkness, made out moving branches against the moonlit sky.   The relentless ether, pitch-dark but not void, hung precariously above the canopy, threatening to crush anything beneath it if its suspension happened to fail.  Perhaps he wished for such a swift end, one where everyone was stripped of their agency and had no choice but to submit and relinquish their will.  Only if it were that simple.

“Reiner?”

The sounds of footfalls against the detritus.  Each step, a tightening of the vise.  You extended a hand to touch his shoulder, trembling digits meeting tense muscles. His name, again, left your lips in a whisper.  He wouldn’t turn to look at you.  Or couldn’t.

His eyes stayed on the ground as you collapsed beside him, legs giving into exhaustion.  Despite everything, your auras still emitted a warmth the two of you could quietly share.  Neither spoke.  

An image materialized: one of you and Reiner, blithely inebriated after sneaking into the superiors’ liqueur stash, seated atop a once-virescent knoll, now bathed in the pitch of night.  Another moment shared in silence from years before. You frowned at your memory’s disquieting betrayal.  

“I don’t know how much more I can apologize.”

“Please, don’t.”  He finally turned to look at you.  The contours of your profile, tenebrous and barely there, the same he impressed upon himself years ago and returned to during all the sleepless nights in Marley, were still intoxicating.  Your brow, furrowed in frustrated thought.

You continued, eyes facing forward, “I’m tired of hating you.  I just want a moment without brooding.”

Reiner nodded.  He, more than anyone, wished for a moment free of the merciless despondency.

The groundcover rustled as you moved to sit in front of him.  Your eyes, pupils blown wide, bore into his.  He felt read by you, self-conscious under your gaze, but refused to look away. Your hand came to rest against his cheek, a touch that held all your unvoiced tenderness and compassion and betrayed your ocular intensity.  He severed your eye contact to close his eyes and feel—feel the warmth of your palm burning onto his frigid skin, feel the memories of your timid touch.  A quivering whisper, cracked:

“It’ll all be over soon, Reiner.  Then we can rest.”

Your words hung in the air, but you allowed the moment to move around you, through you, eventually taking your words with it.  

Different circumstances, and he would have married you.  He regretted the thought.  

“Why do you care so much about me?” he asked quietly, moving beneath your touch.  

 Your sternum imploded, winding you.  The prickle of tears bloomed in your sinuses, spilling over before you could compose yourself.  

His eyes opened, half-lidded, as your hand pulled away from his face.  He saw your lips parted in shock, quivering.

“Why do I care?”  A ragged query, laced with tears.  

Reiner looked at you with clouded eyes, and you pulled him into your arms, desperate.  You sobbed into his shoulder, and you cried for him. He sat unmoving before he eventually held you back, wrapping his arms around your form.  He felt grateful you couldn’t see his tears but then wondered why—in cathartic surrender, he allowed a sob to reverberate through his body, and then another, and soon his form gave way to violent palpitations that caused you to grip onto him tighter.  He wished, consumed by a twisted machoism, for this to last forever—to be held by you, flayed open and made raw, basking in your shared heartache and effusions.  This was pain he could endure eternally.

He was pulled back to the present as you murmured something, quiet ululations swallowed by your gasping breaths and tears: I love you, said over and over again like an ephemeral mantra rather than a confession.  Words that Reiner had unrelentingly fought against, suppressed; words that threatened to self-articulate and spill forth in the quiet interstices you shared, late at night, tucked away from the soldiers’ barracks; in the moments walking to and from the dining room at HQ; in the moments where you would laugh and his chest would swell and his face would flush and he would want nothing more than to take you into his arms and hold you; in the moments of silence pervaded by things unsaid.  

Now, in this moment, he loathed himself for not saying anything, for not being the first to say it.  To have exacerbated the torment of his betrayal in exchange for a few blissful moments of ignorance where you loved blindly and unabashedly—would it have been worth it?  Cruelly, selfishly, he wished he had done it.  He would have taken those moments to the grave.  

Your lips, still engaged in a distraught glossolalia, ghosted along his neck, voltaic, jolting him out of his ruminative daze.  He pulled away from you.

“Can I kiss you?”

His shaky whisper, boyish and innocent, silenced you.  You were faced with a younger Reiner—the subtly shy cadet who once carefully asked to hold your hand as he snuck you away from the grounds—and felt your heart seize.  Why couldn’t it always have been this way?

Your noses bumped as you leaned in.  The kiss was callow, both of you unsure of how to move against the other.  Reiner’s hands still rested on your shoulders and yours remained in your lap.  Awkwardly immobile.  He pulled away, and you were both smiling, flushed, teenage.  Even in the dark, his worry lines seemingly dissipated; you wish you had appreciated his youthful features years ago.  

He closed his eyes again, surrendering to bliss as your soft fingers traced the contours of his face. Up and down the bridge of his nose, along his lips, over his eyelashes; your lips shadowed your touch, softly kissing the tip of his nose, the side of his mouth, his eyes, one by one.  Delicacy that would never see the waking hours, instead confined to private moments in the obscurity of night—you both silently and implicitly acknowledged there was no room for tenderness in a world so inhospitable.  

“We would be married,” he began.  Realizing what he was doing, your heart clenched, eyes begging him to stop—but Reiner wanted to indulge.  Emotional machoism.  

“And we would have a home by the sea.”  His resolve fractured—his voice began to shake.  

“Reiner, please—"

“We could grow old together, and,” he paused, swallowing the tremor in his words, “we could even have a kid or two, if you wanted.”

You couldn’t look at him. To speak of dreams was linguistic torture, mental contamination: the vocalization and deception of an aching beauty, a deceptive chimera.  

“I would love you until there was nothing left.”

He grasped your digits, begging you to imagine it with him.  Your eyes shut.  The rhythm of undulating tides and the crash of waves, the scent of saline breeze.  Reiner on the beach, his fair hair full of sand and bright against the unbroken azure of the sky and the sea.  The warmth of the sun against your complexion, caressed.

The cruelty of reverie.

You sat together, awake, until the dim morning light edged over the horizon.  The blue dawn, cool and encroaching, enveloped the woods in an ethereal glow.  Fog hung low, and as the blue gave way to golden light, rays cut through the haze and the trees, collecting around you.  Reiner’s creased features returned, but his gaze remained soft.  You looked at him, intense as always, and saw him plead.  You respired slowly, focused on your beating heart, and apologized.  Neither of you knew exactly why.  

The others began to rise.  The coals of last night’s fire were grey ash, crushed and scattered underfoot.  You and Reiner blinked tears out of your eyes, sharing one last look, before joining the rest of the group.

—

wow!  reiner simps rise up!  thank you so much for reading this piece!  i legitimately think reiner has some of the most compelling character development ever + he’s hot, so who better to write something for?  

i haven’t written anything, much less fanfiction, in a very long while, so things are probably real rusty.  feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome but also… please be nice to me.  i have a very weak emotional constitution.  also, i honestly think i fell back into writing because aot s4 is getting to me and i need a place to process shit.  hope you enjoy a live view of my mental degradation.  feel free to shoot me a request for a piece here!