#but just like water color it’s something you simply learn to work with and appreciate

[catwouthats]

WIP/rough draft of the first page of The Extraordinarily Ordinary Adventures of Preston Lindsey fan comic

I’m practicing using my feather quill bc that shit makes such nice lines etc so this probably isn’t the final version.

Feather quill >>>> any other pen/inking tool imo

[jarofstyles]

Sea View

Hello my lovely babies. Here is a sugar baby!H one shot. 

I hope you enjoy them. 

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WC- 3.7k

Warnings- public sex/exhibitionism, unprotected sex, slight degrading but also praise kink, soft!dom H

---

The Italian sun was turning his skin golden. He knew that it was definitely time for a sunscreen application again, but the beams of warmth felt too damn good on his body to be assed to get up.

Besides- he had Y/N’s leg hitched over his as she napped in the familiar sunbeams he was soaking in.

After a particularly stressful week, Y/N had had enough. She chartered a yacht, called her assistant to defer her calls and woke Harry up from his meditation nap to pack his bags. They were on the private plane before he even properly woke up, but he couldn’t complain.

The water was impossibly blue, the weather was perfect and their boat was heavenly. He’d never been on a vacation quite like this. He’s actually been to Italy for a bit when he did an exchange program, but he hadn’t been able to just relax. He’d spent his time exploring and studying when he was here, picking up the language, learning the people, his surroundings. There wasn’t time to just… be

A week back in Italy with the best food, a private boat and villa and the most beautiful woman he had ever met, all expenses paid? He would be a fool to turn that down. All he needed to do was help her unwind. That meant hiding her work phone from her, massaging her shoulders, letting her sleep on him like she was now, and giving her every bit of affection and sex that she could possibly want.

‘You work so hard, darling. Deserve a break. I’ll take care of you.’ Was what he had told her when they boarded the boat, kissing her lips as he felt her hands grip his shorts. They had been particularly slutty this trip, something he really liked. His new brand of shorts were cut closer on the thigh, in a variety of colors. Y/N had appreciated them greatly.

It was after the first round of sex that day that Y/N requested they spend some time up on the deck. The warmth was welcome to her, he could tell. It was his job to relax her, to keep her sane, and he liked to think he did a pretty good job of it- both with his words and his cock. This time, though, he could tell she had been particularly drained from work and he made it his mission to keep her as relaxed as possible. Their drinks sat on the ledge behind them, condensation sweating the glasses. Y/N’s book was abandoned with a bookmark haphazardly placed in it, her cheek pressed against his bicep.

The concept of a midday nap for her was unheard of. Harry had been with her for a while now, and in his time knowing her he had never experienced it. That’s how he knew she was really exhausted. Fingers stroked the hair from her face with his opposite hand, simply observing her as she slept. A soft vulnerability was painted on her features as her guard was completely down. In her sleep, Harry could see just how sweet she could look. In everyday life, she was a very powerful and merciless businesswoman. She was wealthy beyond his comprehension and she had gotten to that point because she took no prisoners. She had to, in order to get what she wanted. He’d seen firsthand her cold demeanor and her stoic, practiced words when she was at work and they’d be interrupted.

No one besides Harry had ever seen the woman beg for anything. No one had seen tears drip down her face when she was overstimulated, no one had seen how mushy she got after an entire night of hot sex where he took care of her. Despite the fact that they switched around who was in charge and he very much loved being a good boy for her, Harry liked seeing her soften up for him. Being exposed to a side of one of the country’s most powerful people that no one else had gotten the chance to see? It made him feel powerful all in himself.

When their arrangement had started, she had taken the reigns for the most part. She’d needed to get comfortable with him, which had taken some time. The first night he had taken over control had been a bit of a power struggle, but she took to it well after getting a real taste of what Harry could do.

Being able to comfort her, even in moments like this, made him smile.

“I can feel you staring.” Y/N voice slurred against the skin of his arm, rubbing her nose against it as she shifted to tuck her face into his neck. “Rude.”

Harry’s heart warmed with the rays of the sun, turning slightly so he was facing her before gathering up her sleepy form in his arms. “How could I not stare? When the lioness is asleep, it’s the best time to observe the beauty.” Lips pressed against her warm forehead, letting her leg tighten around his waist. Looking down, he could see some of the bruises he had left on her silky skin. Fingerprints on her thighs, a few on her hips. A sense of satisfaction went through him as he felt her lips give a chaste peck to his throat, exhaling heavily. He had done this. He got to experience this woman fully.

“Lioness? I’d say Tigress, if anything.” Her sleepy laugh made him smile. “How long was I out?” Stretching her body out, she shook for a second before curling back up against his side. It did things to his heart that he didn’t want to talk about.

“An hour.” His fingers returned to her waist, rhythmically dragging up and down the curve of it. “Passed right out. You’re exhausted, love.” It was a bit concerning. Y/N handled pressure very well, stress even better since Harry had entered her life- but he could see some cracks forming before they’d left. “M’glad you took us here. You needed a break. I worry about you.” He spoke against her hair, knowing she didn’t like it when he worried.

“I’m okay.” Her voice was soft. “I… I remembered what you’d said about feeling a breaking point coming and doing something about it before you reach it. I was there.” Opening up wasn’t easy for her in the slightest, but Harry had been her confidant for a bit now. He never judged her, always stressed the importance of mental health along with her physical. “I just wanted to go somewhere we could just relax. It’s still hard for me.”

That much, Harry knew all too fucking well. Y/N was always wound up tight. She was coiled like a snake for most of her day. Being a woman in her position, unfortunately she had to be. She had to work twice as hard and be twice as defensive because men were awful and believed they deserved her position, her success more simply because they were men. It was sick and wrong but Harry understood why she had to feel on the guard all the time.

“I know it is.” The reply was soft. “But m’teaching you, aren’t I?” He was a very relaxed person now that he didn’t have to work at the bar. He was able to work on his music, do his yoga, bake his treats, and focus on this fucking gorgeous woman’s pleasure. For some, it wouldn’t be fulfilling. For Harry? It was a dream come true. He loved teaching her how to relax.

“You’re doing a good job.” Y/N chuckled, pulling her face from the refuge of his neck. “Got a pretty boy with equally as pretty words to help me with that.” Her own fingers came up to stroke the facial hair sprouting on his face. She was a very big fan of it, he was finding out. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and she seemed mesmerized.

“Just pretty?” He smiled, feeling her finger pop into his dimple. “I’d prefer… beautiful. Gorgeous. Ruggedly handsome, even. Sexy is acceptable too.” The quips were met with a laugh from the woman, face tilting up and catching his lips.

Harry was pleasantly surprised. Y/N was shy with her kissing at times. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it- she reacted with her whole body when he kissed her- but she didn’t initiate it too much. The opportunity was not going to be wasted. His mouth responded immediately, a happy hum leaving his throat. Fingers gripped her thigh and pulled her tighter against him as she shyly brushed his tongue against hers. Impressive. She was making a lot of the first moves, and he was ecstatic about it.

She tasted like orange juice, the mimosa’s from breakfast back on her tongue. Harry was taking in every bit of it, one hand curled around the back of her neck while the other kept her thigh against his hip, languid greed encompassing the kiss as he took a bit of the control away from her. There was that buzzing in his stomach, cock thickened as her body heat outshined the sun. In the middle of the boat, he didn’t have a care in the world other than keeping her satisfied.

“Mmm.. S’sweet.” He mumbled against her lips, going back in for more. “Open that pretty mouth f’me. Don’t be shy. I want everything from you.” He was going to milk this for everything he could. Her fingers slid into his hair, the manicured nails gently grazing his scalp and making him groan loudly. Chills flushed on his skin as he pulled her closer, cock pulsing in the shorts as he felt her arch into him. She knew what that did to him, the minx.

His tongue found hers before he sucked on it lightly, fingers diggling into her thigh as he pulled back just a bit. He felt her fingers tug on his hair again, trying to pull his mouth back to her own. It was refreshing to feel her need for him. “You’re starting something, darling.” He warned slowly. “M’not going to stop it if you continue.”

“Don’t.” Was her reply, pushing herself further against him. “We can do anything.”

Harry was surprised by her response. They definitely weren’t fully alone, but no one would come out on to the deck if they weren’t requested. Y/N had asked for privacy beforehand. The crew of the large boat stayed below deck… And honestly? Harry didn’t give a fuck if someone from another boat saw them. He was going to take this opportunity to pleasure his woman.

Rolling them over, he heard her squeak as he hovered on top of her. Eyes opened, the lusty haze making her grin as his body was backlit from the sun. He looked like her own personal angel. Swollen pink mouth and scruffy face, he was sent directly from wherever wet dreams originated from to be the one that took care of her.

“Filthy girl.” He whispered. “S’that what you want? Do you want me to do whatever I want to you?” He leaned his nose against her nose, brushing the skin as she nodded.

“Yes.” The word was breathy, unlike her normal cadence.

Harry grinned that filthy grin that made Y/N’s cunt clench around nothing, the promise of more in his eyes making her blink up at him. She had worked so hard, kept it together so well.. All she wanted to do was fall apart under him. Be dirty, take a risk for once in her controlled life. They’d fucked around many places, but she could see other boats not too far away. She knew it was risky.

“Oh, sweet fucking girl. You’ll let me tug this top off?” He questioned, tugging the cups of her bathing suit down slowly to give her a chance to say no. She didn’t. He pulled the fabric over her pebbled nipples, grunting in his throat as he took a look at her beautiful tits on display for him. “Hm.. Beautiful girl. That’s what you are.” Dipping down her body, he showed no hesitation taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

Sucking on the bud, he heard her gasp and fingers grip his hair as he methodically pulled the sensitive nipple into his mouth, brushing his tongue against it. So warm, her skin smelled like her body wash and salt from the ocean as he lathed his tongue over it again. Teeth brushed it ever so slightly as he pulled back, eliciting a gasp from her before he switched breasts with a satisfied groan.

Yes. This is what his girl needed. His sweet, overworked, filthy minded girl. His cock was dripping into his shorts, the risk of the situation and her need for him arousing him more than he had been in a long time.

“More.” She whimpered. The one word was enough to get him to pause, looking at her with his blown out eyes. Mournfully releasing her nipple again, his wet lips opened to speak to her.

“More? Are you asking for me to fuck you, pretty baby?” His low tone made her clit throb, nodding frantically as she felt him press his fingers against her covered cunt. The bathing suit did little to hide her arousal. He could feel her heat, feel the slickness of her, and he knew he needed to take her. Now. “Yeah? Y’want me to tug this to the side and slip right in?” He spoke against her lips, pressing a kiss there before moving to her jaw. “Want my cock tucked up inside you, nice n’snug?”

Fingers tugged the fabric to the side, leaving her slick cunt exposed to the ocean air. To him. She shuddered under him as she peeled her eyes open, watching in anticipation as his hand went for his shorts between them. Slipping them down just enough to expose himself, he grit his teeth. “Hm?” His voice prodded her. He was covering her body, sure, but it would be obvious what they’d be doing.

Her body jolted when he tapped the ruddy tip of his leaking cock against her cunt, nestling it between her slit while he got himself wet.

“Yes.” She had been reduced to a beg. Y/N was usually much more talkative, much more of a tease, but she couldn’t be right now. This was exactly what the woman wanted. She wanted Harry to take over and make her forget all of her troubles. “Please. Just do it.”

Harry didn’t need much convincing.

She was still a bit sensitive from their sex when they’d woken up, a broken whimper leaving her throat as she felt the tip press into her. It was embarrassing how wet she was just from this. The man had made it near impossible to not be affected by his presence and she was too tired to pretend she wasn’t.

Harry’s cock was thick and long and the perfect size to fuck her dumb. To make her mind shut up about anything other than how good it felt. After long days in the office, it’s exactly what she’s needed. It was no different now, eyes falling shut as her head rolled back, legs closifn around his hips to urge him deeper. There was no need to fake that she wasn’t greedy.

“Fuck.” Harry grunted, feeling himself bury into her. “You needed it again. My poor girl. Needed me to take care of you.” He pressed his mouth against hers again before slowly moving, grinding inside of her as her fingers tugged the hair at the nape of his neck. It was a tight, wet paradise being locked inside of her. Shallow thrusts, feeling her clench up around him, he slipped a hand under her head to hold the back of her neck.

“Needed me so bad that you’re taking my cock right in front of everyone. What a filthy, nasty girl you are. So desperate for my prick to be buried in that sweet little pussy all over again that… you don’t even care if you’re caught.” He was working her up. Dirty talk got to her. Stimulated her in a way that he knew she wouldn’t admit to loving when she wasn’t hanging off his cock, but when she was?

She ate it up. Every crumb.

Legs stayed tight around him as he moved slowly, so fucking deep that she could cry. This was what she needed. Harry was right. She was desperate and dirty and she didn’t care if people were even right next to them, she had wanted him to be inside of her more than anything. This was her escape.

“No, my dirty girl just wants to soak me again. You want people to see how wet you get around me? How filthy and sticky you leave my cock every time I pull out? It goes right down to my thighs, you know.” His velvety voice was wrapped around her head. “You’re not happy unless m’balls deep inside of you. Greedy thing.” He crooned, feeling a bit more of her slick coating his cock. Fuck, he was obsessed. “ But this is a newer development. You’ve always like the idea of someone seeing but… they definitely can right now.”

It got to him, too. His dick was swallowed in her sweet relief, but he knew he wouldn’t last too long. Despite the slow thrusts, they were deep and a bit rough, moving her slightly when he bottomed out. Each thrust was rewarded with a squeak, a moan, a whimper. He was addicted to hear what noise he got next.

“They can see it, baby. If they turn their heads, if they look over, they can see you being fucked. Clinging to me, keeping me close. There’s no way they will be able to mistake it.” Despite the fact he eas covering her and his shorts weren’t fully down, the movements made it obvious. Harry’s always been into adventurous sex, always been into exhibitionism, but it was different here. It sent a heady zing right to his cock. Being a show off, an attention whore, he was in his prime.

“Harry…” she whispered, head tilting back as he bit down on the lobe of her ear. “I can’t. M’gonna cum if you t-talk like that.” She was going to regardless. The sweet press into her spot, his spot really, was perfect. There had been worry that maybe he wouldn’t be able to get her off at the beginning of when they met- no man had properly done it before- but he had exceeded all expectations. He was hers. She was keeping this man as long as she possibly could. He was perfection. Indulging in her like this was just one of the many reasons.

“You’d cum if I was silent. Your cunt loves my cock. Doesn’t she? Loves to be fucked in any way. On your knees, your stomach, riding me… but especially when people can see it.” He licked over her neck, the filth of it making her nails dig into the back of his neck. The stab of pain made him moan, moving a bit harder. It wasn’t fast, wasn’t hurried in the slightest. It was lazy and hot and so goddamn good.

“Yes. I love it. I-I want them to see.” She admitted in a slightly slurred voice, the pleasure already building up with his thrusts. Like sparks over her body. “Want them to watch. I’m gonna-“ she couldn’t finish the word, one of the thrusts stealing her breath.

“I know you want that, my filthy slut. Such a little whore for me.” He laughed, breathy and hot as he covered her lips back with his own. He was about to cum. He could feel her begin to quiver around him. “Going to soak my cock and let them see? So fucking dirty. Letting me fuck you out on this deck, not a care about anything other than getting filled. S’gonna make me cum too.” He looked at her with hazy eyes. The sweat on her forehead, the stickiness of their skin under the hot Italian sun.

All of this was erotic.

“Let go for me, angel.” He decided to pull out the language he knew she loved, nestled against her lips. “Voglio sentirti Bella ragazza. sempre così perfetto. Lascia che mi prenda cura di te, sempre.”

Y/N couldn’t stop it. The rasp of his voice, the Italian falling off his tongue, she came with an intensity she didn’t expect. Mouth falling open as he stole her breath, she finally expelled a moan as she came all over him. Slicked up, creamy and hot, she pulled him in and tried to push him away as the orgasm was worked through.

Harry wasn’t far behind, gritting his teeth as he cursed. His balls tight, he released the heavy load into her cunt, stuttered movement of his hips making him grunt with each finishing stroke. He painted her walls white, pushing it in deep as he groaned against her mouth. Breathing each other in, the movement stopped.

Y/N was full in every sense of the word, legs loosening but staying wrapped around him as her body loosened all its limbs. It was exactly the thing she had needed.

“You okay?” He asked softly, nudging his nose back against hers before pressing chaste kisses to the corners of her lips and the heated cheeks. “Did so good. Fucking perfect, as usual.” His praises made her lips quirk in a smile, returning a chaste peck before falling back to her blissed out features.

“Mhm. Perfect, actually.” Her response was a giggle, the relaxation back on her face. “But I’d like you to stay inside me for a bit.”

Harry rose a brow, trying to keep his softening erection at bay. “Will you behave? I need the nap now.” He needed a bit of time before going again- though keeping himself warm on her cock was a very nice addition to the day.

“Probably not. But I’ll let you sleep for a bit on my chest before I bother you for some more.” She replied, carding her fingers through his slightly sweat damp hair. His forehead fell against her shoulder, shaking in a laugh as he kissed the skin.

“Anything for you.”

[senlinyu]

Hiya— forgive me, this is a big one!

Something I really appreciate about your work on both Manacled and LTDI is your approach to the wizarding world’s oppressive systems. I recently read a bit about how the caste system in India parallels to Jewish and African American oppression (there’s a great film on this too) and it made me go back and re-read Manacled just to look at it from this perspective.

I’m not sure how this fandom usually talks about wizarding world oppression since I don’t really engage, so I apologize if this is rehashing old metas haha. I mostly only see the direct parallels to “wizard nazis,” but I like that your work is more nuanced and detailed. I think it’s fascinating how the blood purity systems of oppression basically operate as a form of caste.

And in HP canon, the statue of secrecy is also very interesting, but you made it so much more engaging. Came for the enemies to lovers smut drama, stayed for the intellectual commentary haha!

I really like what you did in LTDI by exploring deeper how oppression looks like in a magical world, and the history behind the witch trials and dark magic. I *loved* the way dark magic was forbidden for muggle-borns, and the sickening and so realistic rationale that pure-bloods are taught about it.

And HOLY SHIT!—— You do such a good job at showcasing every aspect of this on LTDI through Hogwarts, Dumstrang, the archives, bullies, the press, and especially our two leads! Your depiction of the casual violence of oppression with Hermione and her journey learning about muggle-borns is devastating. and Draco’s absolute misery through the very oppressive system that’s supposed to put him on top is so true and also so brilliantly written. And it doesn’t hit me over the head with a shovel either, it’s just…human. It’s well done!! It reminds me why I like Dramione, besides the tension and the subtext, there’s so much richness that canon simply doesn’t have.

Sorry for the ramble! What I’m getting to is that when it comes to positive societal values (education, riches, peace, access to water and resources) and negative ones (lack of education, poverty, lack of resources, vulnerability to violence, incarceration,) the oppressor class is always going to rationalize that they earned it, and the subjugated second class deserves their lot. Here in America, the rationale was that people of color deserved subjugation because they were dirtier, meaner, stupider than their white counterparts; and these beliefs were upheld by religion, politics and incorrect science. But all of these are rationalizations and fabrications, because there is obviously nothing inherently superior about race (or in the case for white Jews— and here in HP— caste.) I think you translate that so beautifully to pure-bloods; but I was wondering how this works in relation to muggleborns.

On my reread of Let the Dark, I saw that muggle borns that didn’t manifest into Obscurus and went on to become wizards almost always grew into mastering black magic when they have access into the dark arts, while native-born wizards did not. The records of the fic also showed that black magic was corruptive to pure-bloods who tried it, and very hard to achieve at all even when put in similar nurture conditions when growing up.

So I guess this is all a really long-winded way of asking haha—— is Hermione’s muggle-born proficiency in black magic derived from nurturing or nature? and does that mean it’s vice versa for half/pure-bloods? Sorry I know you had a passage on exactly this but I just didn’t really know what you meant.

Anyway, these two are soooo fricking stupid horny for each other, I love the way you write them. Kudos ++ and thanks for all the work.

Can’t wait to see what’s next for LTDI ! ! ! !

Hi, thank you for the long ask. Am I correct in guessing that you saw the movie Caste? It's based on Isabel Wilkerson's book by the same name, which is one of the books that I read that was partially responsible for my inspiration for LTDI. A few years ago now, I was on a sort of journey reading about historical systemic oppression, but I didn't want to be limited to only American oppression and discrimination. I don't feel comfortable drawing absolutely direct parallels from real world in literature just because I feel like a lot of the times such attempts can perpetuate the very things they're trying to deconstruct (looking at you Zootopia), but the story is influenced by various reading I've done on discrimination and oppression throughout various colonial and class heavy cultures.

So as a result, I really didn't want to actually create a 'rational reason' for muggle-born oppression that had a legitimate basis, I wanted it to be a nurture based distinction. Yes muggle-borns have a unique ability that results from the trauma of their upbringing altering how their magic manifests, but that's not because they're actually naturally different, and in fact there's a very simple solution to preventing Black Magic by pre-emptively reaching out to muggleborns and preventing that formative trauma from occurring, but that would necessitate wizarding culture giving up their false sense of superiority and entitlement, and so they won't, and they let Muggle-born children and their families die where they don't have to see it.

[chentailai]

Last night, I revisited the 2006 comics because I wanted to buy some custom Jaime merchandise. Through this, I reflected on an important point: why I fell in love with Jaime at first sight and why I adore him so much.

The Jaime from the 2006 comics gave me a sense of "pure authenticity." This wasn’t due to the artist’s style but rather a kind of purity in his essence. Yes, he was incredibly endearing. Perhaps the Jaime in the 2006 comics wasn’t as overtly cute as in *Batman: The Brave and the Bold* or *Teen Titans v3*, but it’s clear that in his own series, his personal charisma shone through, unlike in other works where he was relegated to being just a cute sidekick with "typical teenage hero tropes."

At the same time, the 2006 comics also showcased a "pure kind of cuteness" and a "pure kind of foolishness"—a lovable quality born from a certain naive charm. In short, it was a very special kind of endearment.

Okay, I’m rambling. Here’s the main point.

I’ve mentioned more than once that I see Jaime as water, like a stream—a pure, flowing brook. He’s not perfect, not grand, not breathtakingly beautiful. He’s ordinary. He’s just a small stream, flowing ceaselessly, perhaps toward death or some other end. Even as he passes over sharp rocks and rugged terrain, he keeps flowing, steadfast and alive. His family undoubtedly gave him a good upbringing, filled with love and support, nurturing a kind, brave, and resolute heart. Everything about him is beautiful in its simplicity and authenticity. He doesn’t suffer from the common flaws of虚���的道德 (hypocritical morality) or腐��的内在 (corrupt inner nature). Instead, he exudes a natural, unpretentious kindness. He’s an ordinary boy, a superhero who never strays far from his family or loses touch with reality. These two identities are harmoniously balanced from the very beginning. Keith Giffen gave me a sense of "this is how it should be," unlike many modern writers whose understanding of "justice" feels shaky. The family dynamics created by Keith Giffen and the other writers feel so real that sometimes I feel like Bianca is my own mother. (I must say, the Chinese translation of his name, "海洋梅花" [Ocean Plum Blossom], influenced my first impression, making him seem more delicate and soft, yet still strong and not fragile. Also, I feel the story declined after issue 26, and without translations, I couldn’t bring myself to keep reading.)

Few people appreciate the beauty of the ordinary. Almost everyone admires genius, wealth, or exceptional talent. But people forget that even the most extraordinary individuals are, at their core, just human beings who, through effort and the passage of time, become "extraordinary." "Mediocrity" and "ordinariness" are not the same. When I saw Jaime resolutely take on his responsibilities and dedicate himself to learning, it struck me as strange. He hesitated less when choosing to save lives, becoming decisive in those moments.

He will face rainy days, but he will rise again. The first time, his father helped him. The second time, perhaps he won’t need it. Water is a powerful force—it adapts to its environment, allows a bug to invade its life, and (most of the time) handles it with grace. Can you shatter a pool of water? Impossible. But a high-pressure water jet can take your life, if it so desires.

The color of water is faint, but not nonexistent. Unlike other characters with overly distinct personalities, he is simply kind and gentle, sometimes lost, like any good person. But when that faint exterior suddenly cracks, revealing a fierce, extraordinary side, his charm skyrockets. The writers excel at creating this sense of contrast. For example, the time he tricked Batman out of a million dollars—it’s hard to believe it was something Jaime, the "good boy," would do (it still makes me laugh).

I particularly love seeing Jaime roll his eyes. His personality feels so real, even though he rarely shows this side. If someone always gave you the impression of being gentle and amiable, and then one day they revealed a ruthless, aggressive side, I think I’d be utterly captivated. It’s like a cold, aloof cat suddenly running to you, scared and seeking comfort (ah, that’s Khaji Da).

He can be warm or cold, malleable and understandable (really?). He is a spring stream, flowing gently in a sunlit place, radiating his own light and beauty.

I had more thoughts, but I’ve forgotten them. I love him so much that it borders on hate (a normal psychological defense mechanism). In any case, my Jaime is the beautiful legend of El Paso, and I will never give up on my dream of seeing him in a bunny girl outfit!!!🔥✨👯‍♀️ My Jaime is the most beautiful! 🌹🌹🌹No matter how ugly the artist draws him, he is the most beautiful! That incomparable, unique beauty will forever flow in my heart! 🥰🥰🥰Jaime! My postmodern little Virgin Mary of the 21st century! 😫🙏🙏🙏🙏✨Take me with you! My wife! 💙💙💙💙🖤🖤🖤🖤How can I live without you, Jaime! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥My little Ocean Plum Blossom!!! 💗💗💗Jaime, I will love you forever, Jaime!!!💖💖💖💖💖

[animealways]

A welcome letter

(Based on the original Slytherin letter you would get at Pottermore when you got sorted into Slytherin)

Congratulations, I'm Phoebe black. The quidditch captain of Slytherin and I welcome you wholeheartedly into house Slytherin. Our emblem is the green serpent, the trickiest of the creatures; our house colors are green and silver, and our common room is concealed in the dungeons. As you probably have realized our dorm is right by the lake, allowing us to look into the lake water through the windows. The creatures of the lake, such as the giant squid often pass by and greet us so please don't scream if you suddenly see them giving you a good morning greeting. It would be nice to not wake up to screams at the beginning of the year for once.

Now, a few things I should probably get sorted out.

Yes, Slytherin House has produced the most dark wizards, but the other houses aren't completely innocent either. I know that a few of us might not talk to you unless you can prove that your great-grandfather is a wizard but believe me we have plenty of people in Slytherin who have a muggle parent.

My advice? Don't let a bunch of gits stop you from having fun. Can't control others, after all, you can only control what you do so ignore the people who judge you before they know you. You can't choose what you are but you can choose who you are.

Fun fact: did you know Merlin was in Slytherin? Yes, the Merlin. That's something the other houses like to ignore, just as how the 'ancient most powerful houses' love to ignore proof of muggle-borns thriving in the wizarding world. Whoever becomes ignorant of reality simply because they don't like the truth is simply delusional.

Something all the death eaters seemed to have in common during the second war.

That's why I'm writing this letter and not someone as the prefects or head girl or boy. Headmistress McGonagall requested me to write cause I was raised by two death eaters yet have an order of Merlin first class, for my achievements as a spy among voldy ranks.

So if you ever question whether everyone in Slytherin is rotten, remember. I, Phoebe black, the oldest child of two death eaters proved to everyone that I wouldn't be like them. So I'm sure you could do something similar.

And don't think I'm the only one. My best friends Theodore Nott and Amelia Flint were part of the order as well. They joined through me and even Slytherins who you never expected did help us.

My cousin Draco Malfoy. He knew I was in the order during the war and helped by lying about my whereabouts to death eaters.

Surprising? I suppose so but it simply shows you, that sometimes you really don't know people until things become dire and their true colors shine through. It might not have been anything heroic or spectacular but I would have been long dead if he wasn't lying for me and sometimes that's enough. Being there for someone in need can make a world of difference. Sometimes the best actions are silent, subtle, and small.

In Slytherin, you'll most likely learn to appreciate the values of being quiet, picking your battle based on consequences, and working from behind closed doors. Not everyone can fight at the forefront after all. It's what I did during the war and I passed a lot of information about the death eaters along to the order.

The lions might take all the praise for being heroes but they often also give away everything about themselves, getting not only themselves but others hurt in the process. You could consider it noble and it is certainly is to an extent but being brave and an idiot is a fine line. Some Gryffindors use that line like a bloody rope.

Speaking about the Gryffindors and Slytherins a lot of history points toward Grodric and Salazar being very like-minded, often praising similar wizards. Some believe that Slytherin and Gryffindor are different sides of the same coin.

I personally believe we balance each other out. Brains and brawns, actions and planning, loud and quiet. Besides isn't that the entire point of the houses? The founders were friends, achieving great things together. Hogwarts wouldn't exist without all of them after all.

Our headmistress told me she doesn't want Slytherin students to suffer any more than they already did so don't be afraid to report to our head of house Slughorn, the Headmistress McGonagall, or me if you aren't comfortable asking a professor for help.

We're Slytherins after all, we're like a family and families protect each other. The great thing about Slytherin in particular is that with great ambition also means finding ways to great achievements. We did win the House Cup 7 times in a row once and since we have no more chosen one in Gryffindor to 'complicate' things (putting it mildly for your sake) I don't see why we shouldn't be able to win this year.

A few more things you should know; our house ghost is the bloody Barron if you get on his good side he might scare people for you but don't ask how he got his bloodstains; he doesn't like it.

The password will be on the notice board and changed every fortnight. If you end up making friends from different houses don't tell them the password for their own safety cause I can't promise you they will be safe from anyone cursing them into next year.

We prefects, quidditch captain, head boy, and girl also maintain the rules students before us made to keep things more organized here.

First of all, if other houses bother you or you struggle with grades report it to one of us. We make a report throughout the week and give it to our head of house. In return, they'll try to find ways to help you and we tend to get extra house points for being 'independent, mature, and hard working'.

Second, don't be loud before 12 o'clock, you will get hexed otherwise and immediately reported for 'suspicious' behavior to Slughorn. (Why would you be up that early causing a ruckus after all?)

Third, in our dormitory, we have smaller side rooms. We all agreed that the rooms closer to the common room are for playing games and such while the ones further away are only used for studying. Don't worry about figuring out which ones are which. We marked the study rooms by filling them with school books and such.

I'm sure you'll like our dormitories. We sleep in ancient four-post with green silk hanging and bedspread embroidered with silver and green thread that magically adjust their size over the years as you grow. Medieval tapestries depicting the adventures of famous Slytherins cover the walls and silver lanterns hang from the ceiling. I find listening to the lake water lapping against the windows rather calming.

[m0e-ru]

Adachi felt the jingle of his keys as he patted his pockets to check for them. But his heartbeat stuttered as he felt something was missing. Had he forgotten something? What could he have dropped?—slipped out of his pocket, he means. But was that thought of any assurance than the last..?

wip of uhhhh. adachy. first month early into the au timeline basically. drafted this as his first dream equivalent ages ago but it ended up as just something i wanted to put out and establish . things. damn imagine if god tried to test your emptiness in the most unreliable and unconventional way possible like okay . “controlled” environment but the scientific method didn’t mean it like THAT

The detective would find himself at the central shopping district frequently as he’d work on his “cases.” Be it finding a petty purse thief or a lost cat—what would you expect in a city surrounded by mountains and hills alike? One would appreciate some creativity in a while, as long as it wouldn’t make more work than it should, that is.

The shopping district… Adachi had made it a landmark for himself of sorts. Some kind of recognizable beacon to return to when he would get lost in the maze that is Inaba city. It had also been awfully rainy that month. Was it a characteristic of the area’s climate? Or simply some power making his days more dreary than they already are? Besides that, it also meant he’d see that colorful character of a gas station attendant more often than he would like. The man would wave at him amidst the soul-sucking rain whenever he and his boss would pass by to canvas the area.

As much as he would get caught up in the employee’s flurry of gossip and well intentioned remarks, akin to the babbling and life story sharing of elderies alike, Adachi had noticed they’ve never had a substantial conversation with one another. Both parties learning just barely enough about each other to even be called acquaintances.

He continued pondering—whining—in his head as he made his way through the night, light raindrops pattering against his yellow raincoat, and his knees getting damp. The season was warm enough he wouldn’t see his breath as he exhaled, yet the rainy evening chill made him shudder as he walked. Along with that chill, he felt the paranoia of being watched. In this hick town? The old folks’ superstitions may have begun to get to him.

Adachi felt the jingle of his keys as he patted his pockets to check for them. But his heartbeat stuttered as he felt something was missing. Had he forgotten something? What could he have dropped?—slipped out of his pocket, he means. But was that thought of any assurance than the last..?

He spent his time thinking blankly as his feet led his way back somewhere, hitting puddles over the asphalt. Hands in his pockets as his legs dragged him to… the central shopping district. Of course.

The detective looked upwards with heavy and tired eyes, just enough that water wouldn’t fall onto his face. The dull and washed out yellow and red of one of the only gas stations in the area: Moel Oil… all shone upon by the dim lights of the nearby streetlamps. He always felt that if he stared long enough, the paint would peel in front of his eyes, and a big enough flake of it would fly straight into his face. Adachi already scrunched his face at the thought of it.

The canopy’s lights were off, something unusual for a gas station, yet quite usual for a city like this. Just then, the lights in the convenience store also shut off. Adachi waited for an little longer to see another man leave through the door, then squat down in front of it to lock it. From a distance, Adachi heard the jingle of keys as the man stood up. To which the figure in the dark saw the detective across himself, having seen his silhouette against the streetlamp lights and the falling rain. He greeted the dripping wet detective with a lilt in his voice.

With a hop in his step, he briskly came over and mentioned something he wanted to return to him. That Adachi had dropped something the last time he was at the station. He offered the last of his time on duty to go bring it to him, where he turned heel to the back of the store before he could hear his company could sigh.

They both made their way to the back, and the man in red dashed in the shower, while the one in yellow simply walked in a tired pace. Just past the restroom, the attendant ran up to the backroom door which he swung open as if it hadn’t been locked before. He disappeared inside with a squeak as his wet soles slid against the floor. Adachi didn’t hear a crash, but instead saw a hand pop out of the room which waved around, beckoning him inside.

He was told he could leave his raincoat on just as he was seen hesitating on entering the room, it would just be final mop work anyway. Wouldn’t want to make it more inconvenient for him, because city boys love the convenience of their home.

The room looked cramped. Storage, and even arbitrary boxes were piled high in unorganized chaos. It even covered the doorway to the store counter itself. Maybe that’s why the employee simply decided not to go through the front. Although, it was a bit claustrophobic, really.

There weren’t much lights in the room, besides the streetlamp’s lights behind the firewall which barely flooded inside the room, and the… TV…

The detective scratched his head. He questioned himself if it were midnight… Further questioning himself as to what made him connect such concepts in the first place.

Words slipped out of the attendant’s mouth in his usual fashion as he walked farther into the room. But there was something about them, though. They felt sharp. As what could be taken as insults would simply be awfully blunt statements from an honest man. Then again, Adachi wouldn’t have the best judgment as he yawned widely as the other party spoke. But if he had to admit, some part of that brief moment unsettled him more than it did offend him.

After shuffling through a shallow box in the dark, the attendant turned around and handed the detective his ID. Inaba PD, Tohru Adachi… he must’ve found it easily from the gleam of a shiny new badge. 

Just then, he looked up to a similar gleam across  the attendant’s teeth. He made a smile wide enough to show his gums, and the words he had spoken felt like

venom. 

Did the man insult him? Berate him? Share a secret no one should have known? Whatever the detective had heard, all he saw was that the man kept smiling, and felt his own heart beating. The red he wore was dulled down to a purple, shone upon by the light of the cathode ray TV. 

He stepped closer—or Adachi did. Whoever it was, the distance closed. And kept closing. The two colors of a caliginous orange and lilac moving slightly as if he laughed. But it was all silence.

It was at this moment the man in a wet raincoat realized he hadn’t seen this individual’s eyes. And would he have come to regret the decision to answer his curiosity.

As if he tried to squint, to squat, even, just to take a look under that brim. But it’s like the figure grew taller right before him, or he shrunk as small as a pathetic mouse. Was it darkness, or was it light? He wasn’t sure. It was as if all his senses were getting sucked into that view like a black hole, unsure of what he was looking at anymore. Looking into.

Amidst the feeling of losing himself, which felt like getting crushed under deep sea pressure, words continued to ring in his ears. Like they burrowed into head, giving it a texture of clarity, but also a murkiness he couldn’t quite describe. Like his respiratory system was clockwork, it made a profound “tick” inside him. Something he finally heard, something he finally felt.

He wanted to answer this feeling, he needed to answer it. Like the itch before you sneeze, and so desperately he had to sneeze. He wasn’t even sure what it was, if a response to it would hurt anybody—if it would hurt himself. He squeezed the ID in his hand, before a light thump and a muffled squeak was heard against the ground and

He was inside the TV.

His head dipped into the screen as it rippled, leaving visible only that stretched out smile.

“Shut up,” the detective spoke. In a tone he could not discern. 

Was it rage? Was it hate? Was it despair? He didn’t know. Did he even speak? All he felt was the heavy heartbeat in his chest keeping him grounded, as he couldn’t even hear himself. Only assuming the words that left his mouth.

He made a silent wish for his senses to return to him, but that, he would also regret once again. 

He put this victim further into the screen to get rid of something he couldn’t call a smile anymore. His hands were on this man’s peculiarly cold neck, where his hair also seemed to match. Bleached white by the light of the screen, it wisped around the detective’s fingers and brushed over his knuckles like fog. Just then, what he held felt thinner than it should have been, with a texture that couldn’t be described as human skin at all. Like he was still getting drowned and pushed deeper into the sea by waves. His senses were melting.

He felt frigid hands grasp his own arms now as this “man” tried to fight back. But it was more like it simply held him, in the same nature a mother would caress a child’s face. Until he put more and more pieces together in his head, what latched on him actually felt long and bony, and… critters—pests—slithered into his sleeves. His breath hitched in response to a sensation, which was already unbearable for him as he already felt like drowning. 

His own arms were behind the screen, along with the bust of this… thing’s body. He looked into the light of the TV, which felt like it were piercing straight through his eyes, but also light much too dim that he strained them just to see something. Ah, how many decisions would he regret that night.

He felt like he broke the tension of water when his own limbs enter the screen, where the surface rippled like a clogged sink. Rather than pulling something out, he was desperately trying to stuff something in. He squinted and his eyelids fluttered at the sensation of blowing wind, when the air was still as fog just flowed around his ankles from who knows where. 

And as if it stared back, two red lights shone through the screen. Like lights of electrical towers in the distance against an sunset. Oh, how he wished it were as elegant as that, when all he felt from it was that it was swirling with something. With madness. With discovery. With amusement.

Like how a voice rang in his head, he heard something echo.

All while he managed to throw a whole body inside a TV. What an absurd statement to utter—to even think about.

He wasn’t sure what that “something” he heard was. He wasn’t sure of anything.

The glow disappeared from the screen. The man had no light to look at the hands he held in front of him and what he’s done. He could laugh, but nothing could come out of his mouth. He couldn’t feel his chest as he exhaled. He couldn’t feel his face wrinkling to this emotion he felt. Was it victory? Was it remorse? All he felt was how the floor finally gave way as everything drowned in darkness. How he drowned into the sea as the tides pulled him under.

[narrators-journal]

I know I've been heavily complimenting your writing and I mean all of it but I think it might be getting repetitive so you know, might as well make another request so I not only get great writing, you hopefully have a fun time writing and get positive feedback. I think that a continuation of my first request would be fun and I did say I love things about getting together. If you want something other than fluff, my statements from my first request ask still stand.

(I assume it's noticeable who I am but I can start signing these as Grayson if you think that would be helpful)

Alright, not gonna lie, I took a while to really START this ask bc I went back and forth on where to take it. Between that and my drawing, writing has taken a bit of a back seat in general. But! I got this out, and I hope it continues the light hearted fun of the first post!

As Ryuji walked down the street, Yusuke held his umbrella for the both of them. The taller man far more comfortable with the job than Ryuji had been. “So, where did ya vanish off to with Akira? Are you playing us both for dates now? Or am I now in some competition with Joker for your affections?” Ryuji asked lightly with mischief alight in his hazel eyes and a small, playful smile on his lips as he looked at the artist. “No, I simply went to the bath house with him. I thought you’d appreciate me not smelling like clay and acrylic paints over lunch. Because, I can assure you, clay does notsmell appetizing.” He explained simply. Though, if he realized what Ryuji’s implied, he didn’t let it show in his blue-gray eyes for the entire walk to the ramen shop.

Oh, so this is how it’s gonna be, huh? You’re gonna be as dense as a brick today? Mr. Poetry can’t pick up the context clues?The blonde thought at the artist as his chest swirled with a mixture of hurt and amusement at the odd man’s response. Though, of course, he didn’t verbalize those thoughts, even after it simmered down to only leave the devious amusement in his heart. Fine then, let’s play a game, Kitagawa. “So, I take it you’ve been working with clay as of late? Whatcha sculpting? Me?~” He asked coyly once they’d gotten to the shop. Paused at the doorway to let Yusuke shake out his umbrella and drop it into the small basket put out for the customers, “I am, and nothing that would interest you. Before we’re allowed to create anything original, we’re being made to sculpt one of those anatomical figures for the human body. So, I’ve just been working on shaping and carving out musculature this past week.” And, Ryuji nodded at that as they found themselves seats at the counter. And, for the while it took for the pair to pick their dishes and receive them from the waitor, their conversation mainly circled Yusuke’s studies. The struggles of his teacher’s high standards, how much Yusuke hated the feeling of clay on his hands, all of the muscles and anatomy details the man had learned in his lessons for this project.

It all went in one ear and out the other for the blonde. But, he let the artist continue nonetheless. Not because he particularly enjoyed art, but because he enjoyed how much yusukeenjoyed art. How the tall man’s eyes seemed to become more and more blue whenever he spoke of color theory, figure studies, or paint brushes. Or, in this case, the agonies of clay beneath his fingernails and clay water in his mouth. Though, the fun of the slipped in implications and hints of their lunch being a date also helped him enjoy the conversation. “-plus it gets fucking everywhere. I’ve sacrificed so many shirts and pants to clay stains.” “Can’t you just pick the clay off when it dries, though?” Ryuji asked through a mouthful of his chosen noodles. “I could, but I hate unfinished clay. It feels...chalky? I don’t know how to phrase it in a way that gets across why exactly I hate it. Just know that I hate how it feels when it dries.” Yusuke continued, though he paused to take a few bites of his own ramen. The pair’s food eaten between their chatter. “Ah, yeah I guess that would be an issue. Though, I now know what to look out for on our next date.” “Oh god, no! I’d never wear a shirt that’s been stained with art supplies out. Plus, I try to minimize the spreading of stains by wearing certain clothes when doing certain crafts. That way, I won’t need to worry about the clay or paint.” And, the blonde nodded at that as thunder rumbled in the sky outside and his companion continued to list the ways he mitigated the mess of his work. Absorbed fully in his rambles and crafts. Is this how I act when I talk about the things I enjoy? Deaf to the world? Ryuji mused as he continued to eat and prompt Yusuke further. If so...has Yusuke been in my position before? Did I miss a date situation somehow? Shit…

With that, he took a moment to comb over their interractions of late. Doing his best to recall all of the details of those moments where he’d babbled on about his fighting games, or running, or his favorite tv shows. Wait, shit. If I was so absorbed into rambling, I wouldn’t recall if he asked me out, would I. Ryuji shook his head to banish the thought away and focus back in on Yusuke’s rambles. “-So yeah, I would use gloves, but it interferes with the, y’know, process of working with clay. At least for me.” The artist said, as unaware of Ryuji’s thoughts as a rock. Which, made the blonde sigh, Eff it. “Yusuke, are you aware this is a date?” He asked bluntly, the blue-haired man instantly knocked off balance by the blonde’s question. “Huh? What’s a date?” He asked dumbly, which made the man chuckle, “This is, Yusuke. This outing, our lunch. It’s a date.” He reiterated, his hazel eyes unwavering as he stared into the artist’s grey eyes, “Because I find you insanely attractive. You’re compotent in a fight, you’re romantic in your speech, and you’ve only got one braincell in that head, and it’s focused on art. I like that, so.” He gestured to the shop they sat in as the rain drizzled down outside. All the while, Yusuke stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Oh. Okay.” “Okay?? That’s it?” Ryuji asked, shocked at the casual acceptance of his confession. “I mean, yeah??” Yusuke said with a shrug, “I mean, you’re aesthetically pleasing to me, and while you’re a bit aggressive about it, you’ve got a good heart, and I enjoy your humor. So, I’m not mad that this is a date.” He explained, each word a fresh log on the fire in Ryuji’s cheeks. “Oh. Okay then.” Was all he could manage after that, and Yusuke nodded.

So, the two sat there. At the counter of the heavily-scented ramen shop. Neither knowing what to do now, so they ate their food and just. Casually chatted as if the air between them wasn’t thickened further by the awkward, yet...somewhat happy energy.

[reap-the-game]

captainqster:

Just as Gia did not bother hiding himself, Ilya did not bother hiding his notice. He had a rather tangled impression here, aware of Gia’s sudden discomfort and his blushing. Something had bothered him. Was he shy? Prone to modesty? Surely he’d expected nudity, knowing they were going to bathe, and yet something upset his footing, so to speak.

Beneath Ilya’s curiosity over this was the compartmentalization of Gia’s body. He was a curvy thing, shaped in such a way that a weaker man might find tempting, though the sight of him wasn’t exactly a surprise given his manner of dress. The chest and waist wraps had not hidden his hourglass figure, the flatness of his chest or the swell of the hips. What it had hidden was a crucial part that was…missing.

This Ilya found curious. He wondered whether it had always been that way; a birth defect, or a necessity encountered later in life. Barring necessity, perhaps…cruelty? Gia’s reason for being on this island at all was yet mysterious to him. The unrelenting storm, the absence of others. Where did this peculiarity of Gia’s body fit in? Did it fit in at all? He knew that he was staring, watching without apology as Gia stepped into the pond, and didn’t bother stopping himself. He might have learned tact enough not to ask about it outright, but his lover had not yet smacked the habit of staring out of him and probably never would.

Ilya was a man filled with curiosity. His eyes wanted to take in all, absorb it well and good. So he did, allowing his stare to become neither lecherous or disturbed. Merely aware.

He accepted the soap and gave it an appreciative sniff, then set to careful work lathering what parts of his body he could reach.

“If you did not expect it to be dethroned,” Ilya told him, amused, “you would not have raised the question of my favorite spots.”

Lather the bar, swipe it across his shoulders and chest, swapping the soap from one hand to another. As the suds began to run down his stomach, he gave his companion a teasing look.

“But I can have two. I will not forget the place you took care of me, and I will not forget this pond.”

And that was all he intended to see. Gia’s love for his island was justified, but Ilya still very much intended to return home. His sense of urgency might be repressed. That didn’t mean going back wasn’t a priority. It was only that his recovery came first, thanks to Gia’s mental meddling, and that was already beginning to wane. He could walk farther and talk without exhausting himself. Maybe he couldn’t wash as quickly as usual, or sufficiently lather his hair or back. The stronger he became, though, the sooner his preoccupation with leaving would return, and with his strength coming back it was bound to become an unrelenting demand.

For now he watched Gia dunk his hair. It was an idle stare, even if Gia was beautiful, even if Ilya may have measured chest and arms and the rest that was visible with unobtrusive appreciation, then wiped all evidence of it from his expression when Gia righted again. And so what, he thought. He had no intentions, not by speech or action. Should he also turn his eyes away from the sunlight sparkling on the water or the richly colored jungle flowers?

It was, unfortunately, impossible not to be endeared to Gia. Even if he didn’t smile and fuss so, he’d saved Ilya’s life. There was a debt there that would play on Ilya’s favor and affection always. It was simply man’s nature.

At Gia’s unexpected question, Ilya turned his eyes to the treetops and ‘hmm’ed. Anything like Golmore? Well, yes, and that brought him equal deals of ecstasy and homesickness. The circumstances under which he’d left had been regrettable. He’d chosen love over his duty and his people, drugging his master so that he could make his escape in the dead of night to then meet his darling and flee. Many years of shame had stretched on before that. His years in the outside world and Junichi’s level-headed counseling had eased the pain little by little. There was still much of it.

But Golmore. That haven he missed, that beautiful place, yes, he was glad enough to remember it.

“It is. It smells like home.”

Home. Years now, and he still thought of it that way. How could he do anything but? He’d been raised beneath its canopy, toddled along its twisted boughs and cut his teeth on its wildness. Always the core of him would long for it.

It did bother him in some way that Gia had to ask. As an outsider he would never know it for himself, but he was Viera and if things were the way they were meant to be he would have grown there too. A shame.

“The trees in Golmore are bigger, wider.” He stretched his arm upward and pointed at the treetops, then had to drop it back into the water with an exhale. “It is its own world, Gia, with a canopy so high in places that you cannot see it, and trees so large that we build many of our villages in their branches.”

Looking around, he noted the open feeling of the island. It was thick and lush, but it breathed and kept itself open to the sun. Golmore’s density beget mysteries. This place felt different. Uncomplicated and pure.

“For many years I lived in the crown of a tree with my master.” He turned his hand palm-side up and formed a claw with his fingers. “The branches that rose from the bole were thicker than I am. But the flowers—”

He nodded towards a marvelous display of red and orange just at the water’s edge, a plant whose flowers were bigger than one’s head and layered with starburst petals.

“They are just as vivid.”

He looked back to Gia. “I wish that I could show it to you someday, but I’m sure your mother explained.”

reap-the-game:

He was being watched. Quite intently, quite shamelessly, and this Gia found difficult to reconcile with after everything already throwing him a bit off balance. Did he really look that odd? That strange? That deserving of being stared at, even if the stare seemed more curious than ill-intentioned?

“You’re staring,” Gia pointed out quietly, for his own part avoiding looking at Ilya entirely. That didn’t stop him from being terribly aware of the look he was being pinned with. It was not the hungry kind of looks he remembered, and that much was a comfort, but it was… Strange to be so visible. To be more than water, there, everywhere, but shapeless. Men would look gaze upon his waves, but not see him.

Not like they had after his arrival here. Oh, they’d seen him, and they’d wanted him.

Ilya saw him now, as well, and though he seemed to wonder… He did not seem to want the same. A part of Gia was almost insulted by that.

Insulted?

Didn’t he have a reason, though? Others had wanted him, before, and he thought himself quite beautiful. And yet here Ilya was, seemingly not disturbed by what he was seeing despite the oddity of it, but also not… Desirous, as far as Gia could see. What, was he not pretty? Was he not desirable? Was Ilya completely blind despite looking directly at him?

He didn’t let his offense crinkle his nose, or show in any other way either. It would not do to give Ilya an ill impression of him. Perhaps his desire would come with time; likely it would, because was Ilya not a man? And who else was there but Gia? Would it not come naturally that Ilya’s attention would eventually turn to him? Was Gia not the only one he could turn to?

They would be happy. Comfortable with one another and happy, once they… Well, it seemed Gia himself had some adjusting to do; that Ilya wasn’t the only one who had changes to get used to.

But that was alright. Just as Ilya, he would have the time to get used to this change in his surroundings, to sharing his life on this island with another. In time, it would all be so very beautiful—their life here, them, and them with each other.

Once Ilya got over himself, his thoughts of leaving, and any ideas of contacting that someone he loved. He would love Gia. No one else. He would have not the thought nor time for anyone else in his gorgeous life on this island.

Ilya said something that verily suggested he was not quite ready to accept that reality just yet. He would not forget. No, of course he would not, because their cabin and the pond would be his each and every day.

Gia could forgive that he had not yet given up his thoughts of leaving, though. It was only a few days that Ilya had spent on the island. Many more would undoubtedly be needed for him to give up on thoughts of running off. Gia could be patient and hold his tongue for now—for now do naught more than giggle and hide his distaste as he hid his offense.

As he listened to Ilya’s answer to his question, Gia took the second bar of soap and began to wash himself with it. It was good, very good that Ilya said the jungle smelled like home. It would be home! It was home.

That it reminded him of a past place he also considered home, oh, that was good. That Gia smiled at, a soft expression that played quiet intrigue, as befitting someone who was hearing of this comparison for the first time—as he was. As he listened, he tried to imagine it, but… It was difficult. The sea, that he knew every part of. Every creature, every underwater mountain, valley, and volcano, every trench, every type of sand and rock found in its depths.

But the land? That was strange to him. He had seen none past the shores of. The cottage he had shared with his mother: on a wind-beaten seashore. His island: just that, an island, with ocean on all sides.

And that was all he had seen. To imagine trees that towered so mighty one could build villages upon them?

Ilya said something else that struck Gia’s ear, as well. Master, he mentioned, and at this Gia frowned thoughtfully. Briefly he focused back on the present as he worked the soap into his hair to nod toIlya’s assumption that his mother had at least mentioned there was no entering Golmore for anyone, for any reason, then… “Master,” he tried the word, looking much as if he was trying to remember something.

When he continued with, “The man who was teaching you to become a… Warder?” it was quite apparent what he had tried to recall. Details of life in Golmore, what little he knew and however obvious his unfamiliarity with the concepts were for his trouble to pin them at will. Were the men not Warders, though? Protectors of the forests? While the women lived in the villages?

All the more a world he could scarcely picture and never would see. Not only for the reason Ilya had alluded to, but also… Even if he had been able to leave this place, even if… The sea was where he belonged. From it he would not part, could not tear himself from.

Could only be torn from.

A somber thought, and not suitable for the present. Gia mentally shook it off, eyeing Ilya’s work on washing his body instead. He was doing admirably, but not… Perfectly. “Do you need help washing?” Gia asked as a result. Would it not be more comfortable for Ilya to be thoroughly clean? Would he accept Gia’s help for that alone? The closeness would be good, could only help over time in keeping Ilya docile until he abandoned his plans of leaving, and… Gia wanted it.

But his want wasn’t reason enough to intrude and in so doing push Ilya away. No, he must be patient and cautious.

[peakdeer]

Hourglass wives/duo

(depending on if it's a romantic or platonic relationship)

The potential relationship dynamic between Lauren the Sand Witch who only started magic like yesterday, and Cleo the Time Witch who has been learning magic for potentially lifetimes using her time powers.

Cleo had been a witch for centuries. She’d practiced magic for her whole life, and all of her unlife. She knew her way around magic, even learning the difficult hex magic. She honed her abilities until she truly was powerful, until she truly was the Time Witch. She’d long lost track of how long she’d lived for.

Lauren had been a witch for a day.

Two, actually, by now. She has no idea how to use magic. She runs around without any wand to her name, not even comprehending how to use one. The one spell she does have, she often casts wrong or positions incorrectly. As a highly talented witch who works in hex magic, the idea horrifies Cleo.

As a fellow witch, as Cleo, she feels bad.

Not bad enough to lavish hundreds of gifts upon the Sand Witch, but enough to talk to her, enough to offer her some advice.

Cleo swooped down in front of the Sand Witch’s sand castle. Or, at least, that was what it looked like. It was very cute, she had to admit. She had to give Lauren credit—at least she had a house. Cleo’d been too busy here to build a proper house, and her old one was infested with glow lichen and rotting.

“Hello. You’re the Sand Witch, right? The new one?” Cleo asked, landing next to the witch in question. She wore a cute dress, kind of like the ones maidens wore in the old villages. Cleo had seen some of them in one of the timelines, but she couldn’t quite remember which one. The Sand Witch actually looked quite interesting, her hair half a dirty blond and the other half a purple—wait.

Cleo had to stop herself from laughing. The Sand Witch looked like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Even the laces in the cuts of her sleeves were colored with the same tan and purple.

“Oh, hello! Hello, yes, that’s me. I… I’m new, yeah. I became a witch just… yesterday I think?” The witch startled, turning to look at Cleo.

“Mhm. How’ve you been settling in?” Cleo inquired, glancing around Lauren’s setup. Besides the house, there didn’t seem to be much there except sand and the occasional dry bush.

“Uh… pretty well, I think! I built a second story onto my house and met some of the other witches! I just, uh. Need to get some more spells and things. I started a farm at least!” Lauren explained, waving towards her farm almost offhandedly. The farm was a sad sight, stalks not quite golden but wilting nonetheless, the heads of grain trailing in the dirt. There wasn’t even a spot of water to help the fields, and it looked as if the farm had been made simply by removing the sand and shoveling dirt in. It was a miracle the crops had even sprouted, especially having grown this much.

“That’s lovely. Your house is very cute, love it.” Cleo responded anyway, pointedly looking at the adorable house instead of the lifeless farm.

“Thank you! I appreciate it! I haven’t had many people come to my house yet, just… just you, actually. No one’s seen my house. I’d invite you in, but you don’t want to see the interior. Trust me.” Lauren chattered, looking almost disappointed for a moment before she forced a smile on her face.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad inside. Do you have a waystone?” Cleo changed the subject quickly, hoping for something safer to talk about. She wasn’t a big fan of dealing with emotions. They were quite inconvenient.

“Oh yeah! I picked one of those up! I’ve kind of been using it as a door stopper.” Lauren looked over at her dented door and winced. “But then I moved it. For obvious reasons.”

Cleo couldn’t suppress a laugh at that. “It looks like a bear mauled your door! How hard do you swing that open??” It indeed looked like someone had wrecked her door—it was covered in scratches in addition to the deep gouges it already had.

“Listen! I’ve got a lot of energy! It just happens sometimes! At least I only hit the wall with it once.” Lauren defended herself. She seemed to realize it was a losing battle, though, huffing and looking away.

“The wall? Lauren, you’d have to tear the door off its hinges to do that!” Cleo’s laughter only intensified at that, and she found herself glad she’d decided to stop by. She hadn’t laughed this hard in a long time.

“…Yeah. I’ve had to replace a few doors. For totally different reasons! It had, uh… nothing to do with that.” Lauren protested, trying in vain to preserve what remained of her dignity. Cleo almost felt bad, but Lauren had done this to herself.

“Sure it didn’t,” Cleo teased with a chuckle. Her eyes caught again on Lauren’s small farm, and she winced. It looked so… unhealthy there, growing on the sand-laced dirt without even water to help it grow.

Lauren didn’t seem to notice, blabbering on. Something about a pelican? Cleo wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Here, let me just…” She pulled out her Farmer’s Staff, stepping towards the farm and focusing her powers. The crops began straightening up and growing a second later, the dry and wilting stalks shooting up and filling with life.

Lauren had stopped talking by the time Cleo looked up, her jaw dropped and surprise evident on her face. She seemed to be speechless for a moment, eyes darting from her crop field to Cleo.

“You’re the Nature Witch?” Lauren guessed. “No, actually, you don’t fit the vibe. Uh… not the Storm Witch, Necromancy or Illusionary maybe? Though the crops weren’t really dead, and they feel real…” Lauren poked the stalks suspiciously, as if suddenly doubting them.

“Oh! You’re the Time Witch?” Lauren’s head shot up in realization, her eyes widening.

“Correct,” Cleo agreed with a grin.

Perhaps the Sand Witch was smarter than she thought.

“Woah! That’s so cool! You control Time?” Lauren gasped, eyes darting around Cleo as if she’d see an example if she just looked hard enough.

“Yeah, I do. It’s fun.” Cleo agreed nonchalantly, watching with glee as Lauren’s face filled with awe.

“That’s awesome. I wish I had that power! All I have is… sand. And sometimes it doesn’t work.” Lauren admitted, looking rather bashful. From what Cleo had heard about her, she couldn’t really offer encouragement.

“I’m sure you’ll get better at it. I can help teach you?” Cleo offered without thinking. She hadn’t come here to babysit a witch—but this was different. This was helping a friend. She could at the very least do that.

“That would be great! Ooh, a new friend! I don’t have many of those,” Lauren burst out excitedly, giving a little twirl. Cleo smiled despite herself, a laugh bubbling in her throat.

Or not.

But maybe she didn’t mind that. Maybe she didn’t mind helping the Sand Witch—helping Lauren out a bit.

[wheelsup]

coffee is the sixth love language | part two

Summary: Over three cups of coffee, Spencer realized his feelings for you. And over three cups of coffee, he acts on them. gn!Reader.

A/N: the italicized this time indicates Spencer’s thoughts, not reader’s. part of this story is inspired directly from these comments made by @doctorthreephds on the reblog! thanks for letting me incorporate them :)

category: fluff, sfw

warnings: technically none, but the “profiling” part is kind of a reach.

word count: 3k

     Once Spencer was firmly resolute on asking you out, he knew he wanted it to be special in a way that only the two of you could appreciate. He realized that he had yet to be the one bringing you coffee, and so it felt only right that it should be how he makes his first move. He woke up extra early on a weekday morning to stop by your favorite coffee shop on his way to work because he knew you loved their banana nut muffins and double-brewed coffee. It was an extra twenty-five minutes out of the way for work each way, so you only got to go there on the rare occasion that you had a day off and were not out of town on a case. It might have been ridiculous to drive fifty minutes for a single damn muffin, but Spencer wanted to make this perfect for you by any means necessary. This was one of the special times that Spencer drove his car, needing the extra speed in order to complete his mission.

     He picked up your regular drink order and the muffin and was anxiously on his way back to Quantico. As per his plan he arrived at the office before you did, though not too much earlier because he wanted to make sure your coffee was still hot by the time you got it. If Spencer’s calculations were correct - which they almost always were - you would arrive within a two to four and a half minute window from when he did. Spencer took out a sharpie from his desk drawer and delicately scrawled a message onto the top corner of the pastry bag holding your muffin. He thought it felt like something out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind of novels that you could find in the fifty cent clearance bins, but dammit if Spencer didn’t deserve a little cheesy romance in his life. The other benefit of this was that he thought he would almost certainly choke on his words if he had to ask you himself. He set the two items on your desk and returned to his own to sit and observe. Spencer hoped it would be the first of many coffees he could buy you.

It wasn’t until you had already walked into the bullpen and were halfway to your desk that Spencer realized he had forgotten to sign his name to the bag. How were you supposed to react to him asking you out if you didn’t actually know it was him? And oh God, he left unsealed food on the desk of an FBI agent, with no indication of who had put it there. That is infinitely more suspicious than it is romantic. He wouldn’t be surprised if she took it straight to the trash can. So long for cheesy romance, Dr. Reid.

     But Spencer was absolutely elated when your first reaction was to peek into the bag and gasp out of joy at what was inside. He watched you break off a piece of your beloved banana nut muffin and chew it gleefully, and all he could think of was how cute you looked when you were happy. Shortly followed by concern that a federal agent would so readily eat unmarked food that could have been tampered with. That’s something I should bring up to her on the date. 

     Spencer’s stomach was in knots not knowing if you would pick up on the message. You swallowed that chunk of the muffin and turned the bag over to find an almost illegible black script that you had nearly missed: Would you like to have coffee with me? It just felt like all of the air had been knocked out of your body. 

     It didn’t even take you half a second to know who this was from; there were so many tells it was Spencer. Before you even noticed the note, you knew it was from him when you saw what was inside the bag. The whole team knew what your favorite coffee shop was because you had talked about it enough times. Hell, you even owned a oversized tee with their name on it that you kept in your go bag as a sleep shirt. But nobody knew what your favorite muffin was because you never mentioned it. In fact, if you thought about it there were maybe only a handful of times over the six months you’d been at the BAU that you even elected to eat this pastry in lieu of a real breakfast. But if anyone was going to detect a pattern, it would have been Dr. Reid. Of course he would pick up on the fact that you only picked those out at cafes when you felt like having a sweet treat, or that when Penelope brought in baked goods for the office you would only indulge if you saw your favorite item in the lineup. 

     You already knew it, but in case you had any doubt, the note itself confirmed your theory twice. One indicator was the phrasing choice would you as opposed to will you. Use of would posits a hypothetical, as in hypothetically, would you have an interest in drinking coffee together, rather than a hard, come with me to get coffee. The hesitance in the tone came off as if the sender were testing the waters, wanting to put the idea out there without coming off as too strong. Because it was reserved, it gave you room to think if you would genuinely enjoy doing so as opposed to making you feel like you should oblige. That level of respect screamed Spencer to you. And though it was so glaringly obvious, if you needed some concrete evidence it was the fact that nobody else had such endearingly atrocious handwriting like Dr. Reid. It was something you always found hilariously ironic for a man who often analyzes other people’s writing styles for work. You wondered what his way of scribbling said about him, and hoped he could tell you on that date of yours. 

     You looked straight at him, finding that his eyes were already fixed on you.

     “Yes.” 

     One word was all you had to say to make the lump in Spencer’s throat disappear, replaced by the sensation that his heart was leaping out of his chest. He was going to keep that memory stored in his brain forever, just to replay the moment when the future of your relationship changed with a simple word. Little did he know that when you finished that muffin, you neatly folded the pastry bag and tucked it into your desk drawer, saving it for the exact same purpose. 

_____

     Spencer had gotten to see your favorite coffee spot already, so for your date you requested that he take you to his to make it even. It was small, but incredibly cozy under the soft ambiance provided by string lights and charm of their mismatched furniture. There was one exposed brick wall adjacent to another that was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf; it housed copies that loyal patrons left behind for others to pick up. All of those books had different colors of post-its peeking out from the pages. It was almost too eclectic and disorganized for what you would expect Dr. Reid to be into, but at the same time it made perfect sense to you.

     “You know, I think I just learned something about you.” You leaned gently into his side to tell him, both hands wrapped around your coffee cup because you were too nervous to know what else to do with them. Spencer was the kind of guy to sit adjacent to you at a table, rather than across, and you loved that about him. You loved having him as close to you as possible. 

     Spencer’s lips pulled at the edges to form a perfect, lazy smile. “What did you learn about me?” The team had an agreement not to profile each other, but under your gaze, Spencer never felt the kind of scrutiny that came with picking people apart. He trusted that whatever you had to say was going to be kind.

     “I think this place says so much about you. Something about how all those books are donations passed on from locals, and that people feel comfortable taking a book off the shelf and opening it up to read what others recommend. The fact that they leave little notes in it for the next reader to share what those stories meant to each of them. Nobody asked those people to do that, but they all chose to take part in these small actions that ended up creating an entire community.” It was one of the most beautifully human things you’d ever witnessed. A group of people engaging in understated and innocent gestures of love between perfect strangers, completely unprompted. “I think you value simple acts, the kind that can take on profound meaning without even intending to. Like when silence feels so comfortable when you’re with the right person.” You paused to take in his reaction as a gauge for how right or wrong you may be. He gave no objection to what you had posited, eyes simply glued to you in intense focus. Spencer was hanging on everything you said, wordlessly encouraging you to divulge more theories you’d developed on him.

     “And, visually, this furniture reminds me of a family home. The kind where some items were handed down for generations, some bought new, and others gifted by a distant relative who has no idea what the family likes.” Spencer’s soft laughter mirrored your own at your very accurate description of the shop’s decor. The room truly could not be more disjointed in its aesthetic, but that was entirely its charm. “It probably reflects that there are some aspects of your life that just don’t make sense to you, that almost seem to conflict with each other. For a guy so smart, I’m sure it’s scary to feel like you don’t understand something, and there are probably dark spots in that brain of yours that you try to hide from the world. But in this room, these things that don’t seem like they work together actually amount to something so lovely. And just like the charmingly hideous suede couch and the oddly fur-covered armchairs, every facet of you deserves appreciation because without them you wouldn’t make up to be the beautiful person you are overall.” 

     Neither of you could pinpoint the moment which your hands had drifted together, fingers loosely intertwined in gentle embrace. There was too much to unpack in what you had said for Spencer to know where to begin. The only thing he could say for sure was that he was astounded by how deeply you understood him without him ever saying any of those things. He considered that maybe you understood him better than he did himself and wished that he could spend his whole life observing the world through the same rose-tinted lenses with which you viewed him. At a loss for words, Spencer chose not to say any right then. The silence I have with you is the most comfortable I’ve ever had. 

_____

     After each of you consumed one too many caffeinated beverages, you still were not prepared to let the date end. You were willing to sit there and have as many espresso drinks as you could to keep talking to Spencer. 

     The universe must have been in support of your romance as the overcast skies broke and began to rain just minutes after the two of you had left the shop. Spencer was walking you back to your apartment, clearly forcing his long legs to slow down their naturally fast stride so to extend how long it took to get there. He could get an extra thirteen minutes with you this way. Spencer was given his perfect excuse to keep the date going in the form of heavy downpour; his apartment was far closer than yours, and he proposed you two should seek shelter together until it stopped. I hope it never stops. 

     Spencer held tightly onto your hand as he ran with you through the rain, giggling all the way to his apartment. He may not like wet, cold climates, but he sure did like holding your hand. Being next to you made him feel incredibly warm somehow when the temperature outside was very much not. And you felt completely at peace sitting on Spencer’s couch wearing one of his sweaters that he lent you. Truthfully, your own clothes weren’t so wet from the rain that it was necessary, but you both pretended it absolutely was just to be able to experience this. 

     It was clear that the rain would be going for a while and all you wanted to do to pass the time was continue listening to Spencer talk. You discovered that when he’s not interrupted, he loves to go on runaway tangents, often bouncing between different trains of thought as one idea sparked him to remember another. It was almost a sport to keep up with him, but it was perhaps the only one you’ve ever enjoyed. It was so easy when everything he said interested you. You loved that Spencer taught you something new every day, but no matter how niche a piece of trivia or shocking an unknown fact was, it could not beat the things that he taught you about himself. He was letting you in on so many unseen dimensions of himself whether he knew it or not, the explicit ones revealing implicit ones. 

     You had happily stayed in his home for hours, absorbing every word he spoke. What entertained you the most was the ability of your conversation to jump from deep, serious places to lighthearted stories filled with jokes and teasing and back again in a way that felt completely natural. Your favorite anecdote of his was the story of how he got addicted to coffee. It was the BAU���s favorite inside-joke that Spencer liked his coffee sickeningly sweet and you always wondered how he could tolerate it. Just looking at it made your teeth ache. When he told you why, you thought that the backstory was even sweeter than the coffee.

     As a twelve year old college student, Spencer found himself experiencing sleep deprivation for the first time in his life. The course load was more rigorous than he had in high school and even the boy genius needed to readjust to the new expectations of college. More importantly, he needed to cope with pulling late nights at the library if he wanted his first degree by the time he was eligible for a driver’s license. The Red Bulls that the other kids seem to gravitate to seemed far too aggressive for Spencer, their potent smell of chemicals a huge turn off. They were definitely not for him. 

     He remembered how often his mom used to drink coffee, always in the morning while Spencer got ready for school. Being at CalTech and away from his mother, who remained in Las Vegas most of the time due to her condition, made him so homesick that he took up a coffee habit as a reminder of her. He loved the way it smelled like every comfort he had ever known. 

     Though he appreciated its smell, Spencer, of course, was not ready back then to love the way it tasted. He was still after all a twelve year old boy who had a sweet tooth like any other kid. The bitter drink was almost offensive to him, so he always made his coffee with extra, extra sugar. He was a menace to the baristas at the campus coffee cart because they would have to refill the shaker every time he stopped by. As it turned out, Spencer was actually a little troublemaker in his youth. 

     You utterly adored this story and the way it humanized Spencer in a way that other people did not consider often enough. Yes, he was the genius in incredibly advanced classes for his age, but he was also a little kid who behaved as all little kids did. He also experienced struggle and had to cope with it just like everyone else. He was not, as some chose to believe, a complete anomaly beyond understanding. Those many misunderstood idiosyncrasies Spencer had started to feel grounded as you learned more about him and could appreciate how and why they came to be.  

     But the night was dwindling down and two of you had gone through many stories since the start of your day together. Hitting a caffeine crash, you found yourself unable to keep some rogue yawns at bay. It was only eight o’clock in the evening, not an unreasonable time for you to ask Spencer to drive you back home. The rain was letting up to a mellow drizzle. Spencer was running out of excuses to keep you here.

     But you thought about how still hadn’t heard about his first pet lizard, which he caught in his backyard, and you didn’t yet know what kind of music he listened to when he was fourteen. And you no longer thought you needed to make excuses to stay with him longer, so you told him honestly that all you really wanted was to stay the night with him and keep hearing his stories. So you asked him if he would set on a fresh pot of coffee, just so you both could sip at it, staying awake all night together.

     He happily did so, and while he set the large coffee pot on and took out two cups from his cabinet, he thought, this is the first of many wishes of yours that I’d like to make come true.

______

PART THREE

Tag list: @rexorangecounty @rachel-voychuk @snitchthewitch @spencer-blake-supremacy @happyreid187 @rainsong01 @librarymagic 

[extravaguk]

sweets&ink

part of my opposites attract! series. 

ksj / knj / myg / jhs / pjm / kth 

pairing: tattooartist&tattoed!jungkook x baker!reader

summary: jungkook was everything you feared but exactly what you needed to heal your broken heart.

wordcount: 5k

genre: fluff - angst - smut (s2l!au)

rated: m (?

warnings: some cursing, mentions of past abusive/toxic relationships/trauma that might be triggering, a lil of making love at the end. it’s overall just suuper fluffy, trust me. jungkook is a s i m p. we love that for him! slow burrrnnnn.  

Jungkook knows it was love at first sight, but doesn's know how to really explain it.

He knew from the moment he entered the small shop, pastel green walls welcoming him  replete of sugary treats, a sweet and heavenly scent engulfing him as soon as he stepped a foot inside.  With a new found sense of calmness and serenity within he hadn't experienced in a long time, he searched for deserts of his liking, mouth watering while assessing the many options of baked goods available and bright colored frostings stealing his attention.

"Hi. How may I help you?"

Then he looked up and found you. It wasn't easy to appreciate your whole appearence with the counter hiding the lower half of your body, but it was enough for Jungkook to think to himself that he had never seen a prettier girl in hiis entire life. And that's when he knew it. Any type of movement in his surroundings coming to a halt, his heart skipping a beat, his favourite song playing inside his head. And that particular sensation. The same one that had made him feel so at ease since he found your bakery. For a moment he thought his doe eyes might have actually turned into heart eyes until you raised your eyebrows, a concerned expression replacing your previous warm smile. 

Blinking his eyes and clearing his throat, coming down from cloud nine into the real world, he stuttered his order as best as he coud manage, heart pounding inside his chest and later feeling mortified for not being able to pronounce "gingernap cookies" correctly. 

At first he kind of hated Seokjin for blackmailing him into going to his favourite bakery to buy his favourite cookies (Jungkook really should've known better than accidentally spill ink all over Jin's new script), but when he comes back home with a goofy smile on his face and dreams of your face, he makes sure to text him he'll go get his cookies anytime he wants.

But Jungkook is a masochist apparently. 

Because a week after your first encounter he realizes that not being able to get his mind off a girl he's literally only seen once in his entire life is not exactly normal. Not for anyone, but especially not for him. Realizes that the way he embarrassed himself in front of you and probably looked like a bluberring mess (or a creepy weirdo who had never interacted with any woman before) is not reason enough to not keep wanting to try again. And the way you just giggled at him and simply shook your head as you wrapped the ginger cookies he had asked for in a pretty packaging has kept him aching for more. 

So he comes once a week now. Still as nervous as the first day, but content to see that your face seems to light up at the sight of him stepping through the door the same way his does. He likes to see you in your cute pastel dresses, and if he didn't know better he'd think you were just trying to keep up with the bakery's aesthetic. But the more he frequents your shop, the more he realizes you're exactly like the treats you bake. He likes how your vividly honeyed persona contrasts with his darker and reserved one. Likes how you're all colors of the rainbow and he's just a scale of greys.

They are small interactions. Just courtesy and cordial exchange of words everytime he visits. He doesn't even know your name and you don't even know his, but sometimes he asks how was your weekend and sometimes you ask how many people had he inked that week. Sometimes he tells you how pretty you look, and sometimes you blush in response. Sometimes you add an extra macaron in his order and sometimes he debates on whether or not he should write down his number on a napkin and slide in right on the countertop before he waves goodbye. 

And although Jungkook has never been one to shy away from women, he feels a certain way he can't exactly pinpoint. A way that makes his confidence falter and leaves him feeling like a little kid who's afraid to confess to the girl he likes. Because as cliché as it sounds, you're not like any other girls he's ever met. You don't feel like any other girl he's ever met. Not the older than him, tattoed and pierced type of girl he's accustomed to; not the type of girl that's addicted to trouble and believe him (maybe even hoped) to be something he's not. So it takes a while for him to summon up enough bravery and determination. It takes weeks of pining and overthinking, and a single push from Yoongi ('stop being a fucking pussy and just do it') to ask you to have coffee with him.

"I... I'm sorry. I can't."

And it only takes those words leaving your mouth to shatter his heart into pieces. 

 It's fine though, he told you and himself. He wasn't going to be one of those guys who believed the 'friendzone' was an actual thing and tried his best to not make you feel uncomfortable, really tried his best to erase the guilt across your face as you rejected him.  So he scratched the back of his head and mustered up a big smile before leaving the shop with a bag full of cupcakes and an unsettled stomach.

Letting out a deep breath you didn't even know you were containing, you observe as the handsome stranger exits the shop. Running a hand through your hair before gripping the counter with your hands, you try to steady the heavy throbbing insde your chest. 

The boy in question had been unknowingly tormenting you and flooding your mind with thoughts of him for almost two months now. That day you first had spotted him eyeing the desserts in display in amazement and then you in the very same way. It was sudden and precipitated, but it had almost made your head spin, something you hadn't felt in a long time unexplainable tugging at your insides. 

You had kept your cool as best as you could, as best as you had taught yourself in the past. Wrapped those cookies he had asked and then waved goodbye, hoping under your breath he wouldn't come back but silently wishind he would. But then he did. He came back once. And then again. And again, and before you realized he had become a frequent costumer. Trying whatever treats you'd recommended him, creating small talk, sending friendly smiles here and then. 

You had learned to expect him at the very same time, the very same day of the week; had learned to manage the fluttering in your tummy and the reddish warmth spreading through your cheeks whenever the eye contact was prolongued. Everything was innocent, it was brief and, most importanly, it never went beyond, even if sometimes you hoped it did.

However, after all these years, there was still something you hadn't learned to control yet. And as he spoke, clearly nervous, hesitant and clearly out of his comfort zone, wondering out loud if he could ever treat you to a coffee sometime, your body shut down. The fondness and excitement you had been harboring over the last few weeks quickly replaced by that which made you want to recoil, made you want to back to your well to let its darkness and loneliness envelop you.

That horrible and ugly wave of crippling fear and axiety all mixed together; a little monster that you had successfully concealed, now displaying its ears in warning and the same smile that had been haunting you for years, now advising you, reminding you and most of all, threatening you, to go back to your own comfort zone. And so, powerless, there was nothing else you could really to but to comply, muttering an apology and a rejection that probably pained you more than it pained the boy in front of you.

You knew you did the right thing, but it definitely didn't feel like it. 

Especially a week later, as you expected his arrival- as always, ready with a tray full of fresh baked scones you had particularly made just for him, but were left severely disappointed when time passed and he was nowhere to be seen. Or two weeks later, after spending an extra hour making cake pops that you had specifically designed with him in mind (covered in dark chocolate and white sprinkles), only to realize it was closing time and that he never even showed up.

 To say you were bummed was an understatement. You knew you always looked forward to him coming in every week to grace your day with a smile and a polite talk, but you didn't come to terms with how much you would miss it until now. So three weeks later, you still bake with him in mind, trying not to lose hope but still chastising yourself for not being brave enough and accepting his offer. It was just a coffee date, for God's sake, not a marriage proposal! Trying to busy your mind with work and customers coming in and out, even if your eyes dart in anticipation everytime you hear the door swinging. 

When hours pass and the sun hides to make room for the moon and stars into the sky, you look at the clock and, with a defeated sigh, finish cleaning and tidying around the shop. But before you can gather your things, the door swings open and there stands the stranger you had been praying to see again. 

"Am I too late?" he asks, and you don't exactly know but can tell his words hold a double meaning. You smile, a genuine smile, because he looks bashful with a hand scratching the back of his head like he had done the last time you saw him, and because there's a warm sensation spreading through your chest, like your heart is smiling for you. 

"I was about to close, but I can make an exception." you accomplish to say and surprisingly don't sound as nervous as you feel. He mirrors your smile as he walks closer to the counter. "So, what would you like?" 

That takes him by surprise because he really had nothing in mind when he decided to come here and now he feels like an idiot. 

"Uh, um... I would like... maybe cupcakes?" he sounds like an idiot too. But you nod and smile at him and start gathering his cupcakes into a polka dot cardboard box.

"You missed the cake pops I made last week." you say, trying to keep your voice in check as he hands you his credit car. "I think you would've liked them."

"Ah, sorry... Work has been really hectic." and even if it's true, it's also true the fact that he chickened out and was frightened to face you again. He likes how even when you're alluding to his absence, there's not a malicious tone behind your words. He likes how you're still smiling at him even after he's been acting like a pussy for two weeks. But that's why he's here. "I also would like to apologize for... you know. I didn't-...If I made you feel uncomfortable, I'm really sorry."

With your eyebrows raised, your smile dissipates. "What? No, you didn't do anything wrong, really. It's not- It's not that. I just...can't." you stumble through words, trying to explain how much you actually wanted to go to that coffee date, to get to know his name and more of himself, but unavailable to. You can feel it again. The same anguish that always seem to creep up on you and numbs you altogheter. But him, worriedly sensing your distress, waves his hands in front of him.

"No, no. It's fine, you don't have to explain anything! It's alright!" his smile seems to soothe you and you return his smile in gratitude. "Anyways, I'll... I'll get going. See you next week?"

You nod, anticipation already making its way into you. "See you next week." and then he takes the box filled with cupcakes and says goodbye. Before he can open the door though, a tingle of impulsivity and fearlesness makes you say:

"I'm _____, by the way."

He pauses, clearly taken aback.

"Jungkook."

Jungkook hasn't stopped repeating your name in his head ever since you gave it to him, grinning like a fool and thinking about how good it sounds next to his. He hasn't stopped frequenting your bakery either and has lost count on how much money he's spent on muffins and whatever else you sell. He doesn't care though. All he cares about is how much likes seeing you even if it's only for fifteen minutes in your floral dresses, and as long as you keep looking like you're glad to see him every time, then he's fine. 

He's more than fine. He feels amazing. Sings tunes while he works on customers, feels his creativity flowing more than ever and he feels whole. It still baffles him how a minimun interaction with you once a week can make him feel on top of the world. 

He's got a bouquet of white and pink lillies next time he visits, so sappy and romantic he doesn't even recognize himself. He doesn't tell you he googled their meaning and his mind instantly associated them with you. Purity is exactly what he thinks of you and admiration is exactly how he feels about you. Hands it to you and the surprised look on your face and the spreading of pink all over your cheeks makes his heart burst. You thank him and he tells you he didn't know what your favourite flower is. You answer it's carnations. He writes it down somewhere in his mind, for next time. And then you're the one surprising him.

"Would you like to have coffee sometime?" 

There's uncertainty in your voice that doesn't go unnoticed by him, and for a moment he thinks he's dreaming. He's cool with what he's got right now with you, but you repeating his words back to him makes him feel euphoric, like he can't believe it. He knows he looks dumb, the way he's looking at you. 

Completely dumbfounded. He stutters like the first same he met you, but he says yes (omits the part where he tells you he could almost die). You exchange number in each other's phones with shaky hands, set the day and hour, and then wave each other goodbye. 

You instantly regret it as you watch him leave. Keep regretting it the following days. That voice in your head telling you 'it'll happen again', telling you fairytales didn't exist and this most likely wasn't one, even if it felt like it was, suffocating you like it had done many times before. Screwing with your head until you consider canceling. 

But you power through it, like you had taught yourself to do. This time it's harder though. Because this time there's a new romantic interest at hand, one that's making you feel things you buried a long time ago and made you swear to yourself you'd be smarter and stronger than any man could. 

It's Hoseok's encouraging words that help ease the panic. It was also Hoseok's words who encouraged you to ask Jungkook out. Said you deserved something good for once and that you couldn't close yourself to love your entire life. 

Thought it was time for you to write a new chapter after a rather sad one. 

So on Saturday, Jungkook insists on picking you up and it already feels like too much for you. Especially when he shows up with a bouquet of carnations in his hand and a smile that takes your breath away and definitely doesn't help to ease your nerves. 

Takes him by surprised how pretty you look.  maybe because it's the first time he's seen you out of your shop and even though you're still loyal to your clothing style, he still fumbles with his words like an idiot to try to express how beautiful you look. Seeing he's as much of a mess as you settles you a little bit. Then he takes you to a cute café that almost makes you laugh, because seeing him, inked arms and piercings and a closet that consisted mainly of black oversized t-shirts and pants in such a bright environment reminds you of the first time he entered your shop. 

You're surprised to see how well the conversation rolls, how easy it is to talk to him beyond the usual brief interactions you two have. You like how he makes you laugh and how he seems to love hearing it. You like how his attention is solely focused on you, even if his gaze on yours sometimes feels too intense and his overall character intimidates you. You like how soft spoken he is, how careful he is with words and the sound of his voice. Sounds like a lullaby without melody. 

And when the date is over, he drives you home, walks you to your door and respectfully wishes you a good night. You kiss him on the cheek spontaniously before hiding the embarrassment on your face and stepping inside your home. You miss the way he stays at your doorstep for a whole minute before getting in his car and driving himself home. You also miss how peacefully he sleeps that night, dreaming of cupcakes and you. You don't miss the heart emoji he sends you before going to bed, making yours quiver.

You're glad you didn't cancel, and now you're sure you don't regret it at all

It goes on. The dates, getting to know each other more and more, Jungkook's visits to your shop and spending way too much money on sweets and carnations, the butterflies in your stomach everytime he's near and the birth of something inside of you that's starting to make you feel alive after feeling dead for so long. 

It's still new, still wholesome, moves in slow motion. You're glad Jungkook doesn't push, doesn't ask for anything, never demands more than a kiss on the cheek everytime he drops you off. He is nothing like he looks like, you realized that right away.

But with every brand new beginning that requires feelings like this, especially as unique and exceptional as the ones Jungkook is causing within you, comes the evil monster trying to scare you off, to make you back off and remind you that not everything that shines is gold. The voice inside your head that keeps bewitching you back into a dark room, reminder in your head everytime that one day Jungkook will want more. He'll want more and you might not be ready to give it to him. 

A voice that keeps resonating and has kept you unmoving for the past few years and now is making you feel more frightened than ever. 

You've been more quite than usual and Jungkook can tell something is not quite right. It's a friday night, and after having dinner that he insisted on paying, he decided this time to drive you away, to a secluded space somewhere where you both can appreciate the city lights on the hood of his car. He can tell, so he asks you, but you give a vague answer. He wants to ask again, but he's afraid of overstepping your boundaries. He wants to get to know you in every level, want's to scratch the surface until he can see everything. He wants to learn you inch by inch. Wants to love every part you bare to him, because he's sure he will. 

"My ex partner was abusive."

You finally say with a voice that's not entirely yours, and it doesn't feel real. Doesn't feel real to say out loud and letting the words sink in. It's taken all this time of excusing behaviors that were not excusable, trying to make light of a situation that wasn't and blaming yourself for things that you were not to blame for. Jungkook stays silent, but his attention immediately focused on you as soon as you spoke. Eyes slightly wide and mouth starting to open as if to speak himself. But you go on.

"Not physically." you swallow a lump in your throat. "Sometimes he would throw things at me, but they didn't always land. Or... one time he pushed me while we were arguing. Never raised his hand at me though. It was mostly psychological and emotional. He was extremely jealous and possesive. Didn't like me hanging with my friends, would never bring me to hang out with him and his friends. Though I' was cheating on him with anyone. The cashier at the supermarket, a randome dude on the street that simply looked at me. Anyone." tears prickle your eyes, but you'd learned to hold them back.

"He would always get mad at me. Would already wake up angry and take it out on me. Without reason. Would always blame me for everything. He would get mad, insult me, call me any terrible name you can imagine, tell me I wasn't worth shit. That I wasn’t worth living.Then he would punch the wall, or break whatever was in sight. Everytime, I told him I was terrified of him. Would cry in a corner and beg him to stop. Sometimes he would just laugh at me for it." you sniff, still looking straight at the city lights, and trying to keep a composed tone throughout. You had grown up a lot since then, and you knew Jungkook deserved to know you. He deserved to understand. 

"Then he would calm down, apologize while he cried and promised he loved me and would change. He never did. It took me a long time to finally walk away, but the demons still haunt me to this day. You," you choke, because comparing your ex to the guy currently sitting next to you was like day and night, like heaven and hell. "You make me feel things I've never felt before. I always felt like asking for respect was asking for too much. And then here you come, like a knight on shining armour ready to sweep me off my feet. It felt like a dream. Still does..."

Jungkook's hands are balled into tight fists, his whole body rigid as he listened to you. His own heart breaking, like he could feel himself inside you and experiencing your own heartbreak. His blood's boiling, jaw so tight and eyes blinking. Pushing down his anger, because this is about you not him, he lets his body relax before sliding your hand in yours. 

"I like you so much,_____, it literally kills me at night how much. Not as much as hearing all of this, though. From the moment I saw you, I was whipped. I wanted and still want to give everything I can to see that smile of yours. It's me the one who can't believe you're paying me any attention at all." you're still not looking at him, but he still sighs in relief when your lips quirk up. "Just having you here next to me and letting me take you out on dates is more than enough for me. Whatever you give me, whatever your terms are, I'm content with that. You're healing, and while you do, I'll be right here."

You look at him now, not bothering to hide the tears streaming down your face anymore.

"What if I never heal completely?" there's fear in your voice as your eyes meet his, but just the dark brown in his gaze help you feel secure, less worried about the future and more serene about the now.

"I'll still be here."

It doesn't take long for you to call it love.  

Not when Jungkook keeps proving himself to be so different and so special. Not when his gestures never cease to make you feel so special, so worthy of recieving and sharing love. Because Jungkook makes you feel invincible, makes you feel one in a million. 

"What to you even see in me? We're like, polar opposites." you ask him one day. And it's true, you are. So different from each other, yet the same. He laughs in disbelief, shaking his head, still holding your hand in your doorstep about to kiss your cheek goodnight. 

"I see everything." he simply says, eyes boring into yours in adoration. "I see the sun, and the moon, the stars, the entire galaxy when I'm with you." your heart clenches as he interlaces his fingers with yours. "Before I met you, I felt like I was blind. Like I was lost and was looking for an exit that I couldn't find. But then I saw you, in your little bakery, with your cute dresses and those eyes, and it was like my eyes opened for the first time. Everything made sense. Everything has been filled with so many colors ever sinc-" 

You shut him with your lips on top of his, emotions pulling at your heartstrings the same way you pull him down by the neck. He takes a few seconds to respond, but then this hands are dropping to your waist, their warmth immediately spreading through your skin against the chilly night.

"Would you like to come in?" you whisper, breath fanning over his lips. He nods, hurriedly, and he knows he looks like a damn idiot for the hundredth time, but he doesn't care. Because coming in doesn't only mean stepping in your home. Coming in means you're letting him in. Means you trust him, means you want him there, means you're allowing him inside your heart. 

Again, Jungkook doesn't expect nor demands much. Your presence is everything he needs. You kissing him is like winning the lottery to him. Like completing a marathon, like climbing the Everest, like getting his first tattoo. Kissing you is sweet, fills him with something strong that makes him feel on drugs, like nothing matters but you and him. Like nothing has ever mattered to neither of you. 

So it's you who leads him to your room, it's you who straddles his thighs and pushes his hair back as his hands carress your sides. It's nothing fiery. It's slow, tentative, and full of care. Of lingering touches, low sighs against each other's mouths. 

It's you who reaches inside his shirt, hand sneaking past the hem of the fabric and trembling cold fingers coming in contact with firm skin. It's also you who asks for more with a small roll of your hips. It's you who asks him to take his shirt off. It's him who complies. Still tells you you don't have to, you tell him you want to. 

It's you who asks him to touch you. He's scared like he's never been, because you're you, and you're so perfect and everything he's ever wanted and suddenly he's afraid of you're too good for him. Jungkook only wants to make you happy, never wants to see you cry, just wants to treat you the way you deserve. 

It's you who begs.

It's you who tells him you need him. Need him take care of you, need him to show you much you're worth, need him to help you write a new chapter, probably even a new book where you're both the main characters and nobody else has ever existed. You say it with tears in your eyes, and he's quick to kiss them away, tongue entangling with yours. He's quick to undress you as well, with hands that still ask for permission even after you've granted it already. Hands and lips that are also quick and eager to learn your body, to find every mole in your skin as he lays you back to look at you in admiration. He keeps kissing you. From head to toe, muttering praise, making sure every 'beautiful' and 'gorgeous' and 'perfect' that leave his lips stay fire engraved in your being forever. 

He first makes you cum with careful fingers and skilled tongue, thighs wrapped aro around his head, eyes still looking for yours as his hands keep your body still and yours crumple the sheets beneath. Tells you how good you taste, how long he's been dying to have you like this. Tells you this you his favourite sight as he kisses his way up. 

You beg him again, asking him to please, please, fill you up. He groans against your mouth and he tells you again, you don't have to. He says he's happy like this. Repeats he's in no rush and just wants to please you and make you feel good. That it's about you, and will always be about you. You beg him again, and again and again, enticing him with a trail of wet kisses down his neck, up to his eralobe. You whisper there, tell him you need him to fill you with his cock so bad. His whole body goes rigid as your legs wrap around him, legs pulling him closer to where you want him, his erection grazing your entrance and his teeth nibble your lower lip. 

Jungkook doesn't move for a while, eyes closed shut, jaw clenched and head buried in your neck. He doesn't move because his mind is somewhere else keeping him stagnant, pussy wrapping around him so good and wet and tight he's about to bust. Takes a while for him to move, but when he does he makes sure to grip your thighs around him, keeping you close, never wanting to let go as he tells you you were made just for him. Just for him. Tells you how good you feel. He tells you he loves you. Kisses your lips as you sob, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. He tells you he loves you. Tells you he'll love you forever and will always keep you safe and happy. 

You're crying now, cheeks wet and he stops for a moment to look at you, concern written all over his face as his hands craddle yours, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. "We can stop, baby." You shake your head no. Pull him back into another kiss, urging him to go on. You tell him you love this, love him so much. That it's a good thing. That they are happy tears. That you've never been happier. And then his hips start moving again, your words egging him own, soft whimpers and sobs leaving each other's throats until you cum at the same time. 

He then removes himself from you, rolling onto your side but he's quick to pull your body close, arms wrapping around you and lips kissing away the wet stains on your cheeks. 

It doesn't take long for you to know Jungkook would be the healthy forever and after you had always dreamed of.

[dark9896]

Under the collar [Klaus x Reader]

This little steamy fic was requested by anonymous 😘

(Goblin mode activate, he he.....time to nudge the line agaaaaiiiiin~😈)

Klaus was sitting behind his desk. Having just finished the last of the paperwork, he felt content in simply relaxing to play a little Prosfair. His eyes however, wandered to where you were sitting on their own. Given the lack of paper and field work, you were currently playing a video game against Leonardo. Apparently you had won against him, since you had an adorable winsome grin and were holding up two fingers in victory.

Klaus's mind wandered to a couple days ago, when the two of you had been enjoying the icy weather by building snowmen and throwing snow at each other. Neither of you were very good at rolling snow, not that it stopped the two of you from acting like children across the front lawn. Klaus couldn't help but smile to himself, remembering how precious your grin and laughter had been. How beautiful you looked with a light dusting of snow in your hair. How you'd laughed yourself into a coughing fit when Klaus slipped and fell backwards into one of the snowmen. Your attempt to help him to his feet ending in you falling on top of Klaus.

It had all been so amazing to him, yet his mind kept going. Thinking of the hot bubble bath the two of you shared. How nice and warm the water was. How incredible it felt to have you leaned against his chest. The soft....intimate evening that followed.

No, stop......Klaus realized where this line of daydream was leading. He had to stop himself before this became noticeable.

But it wasn't working. Klaus's focus was on yet another memory, seeing a cute, lacy lingerie set in an online shop. You had joked about wearing it if Klaus bought it, and held true to your word. Seeing you wear something like that....Klaus barely managed to speak that night.

Klaus tugged at his tie, the sudden heat rising in his body made him extremely grateful to be seated behind a desk, and that he was wearing dark colored, restrictive pants. He had to stop this train of thought. Perhaps a game of Prosfair would help.

Klaus attempted to duck behind his computer as he opened the game window. The reflection on his screen showed his face had lit up a bright pink that was in danger of turning red. His mind wandered off again as the game loaded.

The time you found out he could pole dance. He found your sudden blush and fascination to be very sweet. You had been stubborn about learning, and Klaus was more than happy to train with you. But after you got the hang of the exercise, Klaus couldn't take his eyes off how smoothly you moved. While there hadn't been any sensual inclination to the act, Klaus realized why you had been blushing when he stopped. Seeing how gracefully you twisted your body, contorting and swinging around the pole, Klaus understood why it was so heavily associated with those kinds of clubs.

"Klaus? You okay?" Your voice completely derailed Klaus's thought pattern, for which he was grateful. Yet his face was slowly deepening to red, "You look a little uncomfortable over here. You don't have to keep it to yourself if you aren't feeling well."

That just made it worse. Klaus already felt guilty, allowing his mind to wander through such thoughts while at work, especially about yourself. Now here you stood, slightly leaned over the corner of his desk, concerned about his well-being due to his inability to hide his flustered expression.

"Ah, no. I'm alright [Name]." Why did you have to wear something that exentuated your curves? This was driving Klaus crazy, "Though I suppose I am a bit warm. I assure you, it's nothing to worry about. I do deeply appreciate your concern however."

"If you're too warm, maybe we should turn down the heat a little." Klaus scooted his chair closer to the desk in an attempt to hide any trace of what was really going on, "And maybe something cold to drink instead of tea?"

"That's not necessary [Name], but I thank you for the suggestions."

Klaus watched, partially upset at his own instinct to have you leave and partially worried about you falling over as you leaned across the desk to look at his computer screen.

"Did someone say something after a match?" Klaus tried to hold in and stifle a small groan, you were so close, your body spray smelled so nice, "Do I need to track someone down and make them apologize?"

Klaus was not expecting that, "Ah....no....thank you [Name]. That's very sweet of you, but I haven't played a match yet. I was waiting for it to load when you walked over."

"Oh, okay." You relaxed back, standing up to go back to gaming with Zapp and Leo, "If something is wrong, please don't keep it to yourself. At least tell Gilbert if you won't tell me, okay?"

"Of course sweetie." Klaus felt a little worse hearing you say it like that, but understood why you would, "I'll do so, should the need arise."

Klaus's other problem was not helped by your charming little smile. Nor could he stop himself from watching you walk away, his swirl of emotions and desires at war. He had to figure out how on Earth he was going to survive the rest of the day......considering that he found it difficult to focus on Prosfair while his mind was fixated on a mental image of you dressed up in lace, laying across the bed.......so beautiful......so vulnerable.......so trusting. Klaus needed something to work.....maybe a disaster would occur, nothing too dangerous.....maybe?

[simpz-art-stash]

Late Beginnings [Ch. 2]

Summary: Macaque’s gotten over the biggest gap on his side of the burnt bridge between him and his broke af relationship with Wukong. Now he’s gotta take an even bigger leap in hopes of getting MK to give him a chance as well.

(Author’s note: DUNNO IF THERE’LL BE MORE BUT WE’LL SEE, FEEL FREE TO SUGGEST STUFF TO PUT IN HERE)

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It should’ve been easy, a kid like MK had a good head on his shoulders, enough to see the good in all besides himself.

It should’ve been easy.

So then why the hell was he still standing on the sidelines mulling over what to say to the kid who was just a few yards away training under the careful eye of his mentor?

What could he say? The same to Wukong? He felt that might be a bit too cliche, even if it had worked.

‘Just barely.’

Mac sighed, brushing his hair back and watching the two practice stillness together, Wukong resting on his tail in a lotus position while MK stood on one foot, straining to keep his posture in check. Even with the staff being used as a counter-balance his muscles flexed against the lack of support in his other leg.

Maybe he could offer him something? Nothing major of course, something innocent but worthwhile and thoughtful. Demon head’s wouldn’t do, the kid had no real use for those, nor would he probably appreciate a trophy that wasn’t his. What did kids even like these days anyways? He thought of toys but, MK was practically a bigger kid than most other cub’s. Most kids like him usually just kept to popular places or their phones…

Decisions decisions…

A small yelp forced him out of his thoughts, his gaze shifting back over to MK who had since fallen back on his butt. Groaning and complaining like usual before Wukong gave him the ol’ ‘keep it up!’ attitude, prompting MK to simply nod and give it another try.

‘Geeze, and I thought my training was harsh. At least I gave him actual critique on his form…’

Then an idea flashed in his mind, popping off like a rocket and he suddenly found himself with something worthwhile.

------~------

“Alright bud, I think that’s enough of that. Why don’t you hit the bench, I need to go check on the kids back inside n’ make sure they haven’t left a mess after that marathon I set up for em.” Wukong claimed, patting MK on the back before turning away. Offering a curt wave as he left, “Call me if you need me!”

“Alright, I will!” MK sighed and made his way over to a makeshift seat, which happened to be nothing more than a split log. And proceeded to take his headband off if not to just drench his hair in some of the water from one of the bottle’s he’d brought along with him. Before guzzling the rest of it down like he hadn’t drank in forever.

“I see he’s been keepin’ you on your toes. Full pun intended.” Mac commented, earning him a startled squeak from MK who had just about spat his drink out when Mac rounded him from behind to sit himself down on the opposing side of the log.

MK had heard a little snippet from MKing about Macaque trying to make amends, he didn’t get the full details but he’d heard enough to know to keep an eye out for the guy. Not that he wasn’t already always on high alert for any suspicious activity.

“Guh- yeah.” MK coughed a little, rubbing his throat a little as he cleared it. “It hasn’t been uh, easy, but I think I’m gettin’ better. Just need to try harder or whatever…”

“Mmm…” Mac let his gaze concentrate on the immortal peach tree Wukong had planted out in the front of his yard, it having long since bloomed and been picked clean.

MK shifted a little under the uncomfortable silence that spread between the two, there wasn’t tension in it per sey, but it was still a lil awkward for him to just outright be chatting it up with the same guy who had once tried to kill him at one point.

“So uh..I was hoping to..make it up to you, what with everything that happened the last time…” Mac’s face squinted a little, his tail irritably swaying behind him, it seemed this was just as awkward for him as it was MK.

“Uhm..okay?..” MK veered a little away from the guy, not too sure how to handle that. “Hey if this is about the whole ‘you trying to kill me thing’ then uh, hey man we’re cool.”

“What? I mean yeah but, it’s more than just that..” Mac fiddled idly with the hem of his cloak, the things color long since having been worn down from the elements. “A lot more…”

“Complicated?” MK quirked a brow at him.

“Yeeaaahh…”

“Heh, been there. Done that.” MK nodded, not that it was anything to be proud of.

“He didn’t tell you?” Mac looked at MK finally with a concerned expression.

“About you and him?? I mean..yeah he told me a lil..mostly just warned me to keep an eye out for you but…” MK rubbed the back of his neck out of nervous habit, shifting under the demon’s gaze.

“Of course he didn’t…” Mac sighed with a frown, “Well, maybe that’s where I can help you out. I know Wukong, he doesn’t exactly give you the full picture so easily, then again he’s never really had a student before either so.”

“So?”

‘So, he won’t just outright give you the benefit of the doubt just like that, especially if you just say you’ll give him whatever advice he wants. He’ll think you’re just trying to pull him from Wukong again or worse.’

“What I mean to say is, if you want to correct your form with that whole balancing thing, you should try putting less focus into just your foot, and put it towards your whole body.” Macaque stated plainly, his gaze shifting away back to the peach tree.

“Oh..uhm..alright?...Thanks???” MK blinked, none too sure what to make of that, but he wasn’t trying to kill him, or hurt his feelings so, maybe that was a good thing??

“Feel free to mention it to him…” Macaque claimed, his gaze softening before he got up finally and began to walk elsewhere.

“h-Wait!” MK called out, standing up right then. To which Macaque of course obliged, though he kept his back facing kid.

“..are you..like...being serious about that whole, ‘making amends’ thing?..” MK squinted at him suspiciously, even if Macaque could lie about his true intentions, MK at least thought it right to ask. Considering everything else…

“Yes.” Mac stated, his tail curling a little behind him.

“Ohkaaay... “ It was still hard to tell but, “Then why’re you trying to?-”

“Because he told me to.” Mac claimed, his head turning just enough to share a glance with the kid. “Don’t get the wrong idea..it was wrong of me, but.”

“Buuut?”

-------~-------

“But whatever you do, you gotta stop lyin’ about the real stuff.”

Mac grunted, that was probably gonna be the hardest trial of his to overcome. For him, lying was basically his day by day means of survival. “I think I’d rather cut my own tongue out at that point an be mute then cut that out.”

The chick shrugged, “Hey, I’m just sayin’. Honesty is the best policy. Even if it hurts to hear it, better said than left for dead. You want em to trust you again? You gotta earn it. A few pretty words ain’t never gonna be enough. You gotta put some effort behind em.”

“Uuuugh.” He rolled his eyes, already regretting having decided to go through with the whole thing. “Fine...but if I get my ass beat because someone couldn’t take the heat, I’ll hunt you down.”

“I’ll take that chance.” The chick smirked.

-------~-------

Macaque sighed, he could already imagine just how easy it’d be to screw up something so casually done by others. Century old lies he’d held onto for most his life being the worst one’s, with how gnarled they were from the many times they’d been knotted by his reasons to keep them from being undone by any means necessary. He’d run from them for such a long time though, enough to the point where he’d finally hit the end of his lead, and now he was forced to look back at the mess he’d caused.

It wasn’t a pretty sight at all.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t go back and try to fix some of it. Now matter how long it took, little by little. He just had to be careful in doing so or else he’d just get himself wrapped up in knots all over again.

“...I..” Just say it, even if it’s half the truth.

“I didn’t want to see you waste that potential under a guy who wouldn’t appreciate it...” Macaque claimed, his gaze shifting away.

That...was probably the first time MK had ever seen Mac show a genuine side of himself before. Even during training he’d been distant and strict, similar to Wukong but a lot less merciful in a spar. Where with Mac, bruises were lessons learned.

“...Thanks. For the uh..advice I mean.”

Macaque stiffened a little at the response, but he didn’t spoil it for fear of ruining what little ground he had on that bridge.

“Anytime.”

And then he was gone.

[paisley-print]

Near The Water’s Edge:   Chapter Four

After fleeing your abusive husband, you find yourself in the small coastal town of July, North Carolina. Soon you meet Frankie Morales, Air Force Veteran and single dad. As the two of you grow closer, you begin to let go of your past and learn to love again. That is until a strange man shows up in town, and you ’re forced to choose between your safety or the safety of the people that you love.

Inspired by the novel “Safe Haven” written by Nicolas Sparks.

Series Master List

Frankie Morales x Female Reader Rating: 18+ / Heavy adult themes eventual smut. Trigger Warnings: Domestic Abuse, Mentions of death, PTSD, anxiety, mentions of police case, police.  Word Count: 

Note: Another heavy chapter, but things will let lighter as the chapters go on. Enjoy the first half of the beach day. 

Tag List:@qytyy @winter-fox-queen​​​​ @sherala007​​​​@inkededucatednnerdy @quica-quica-quica​​​ @hnt-escape​​​ @giizhkens-cedar​​​@heythere-mel​​​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​​

The ride passed in comfortable silence, the three of you listening to the radio and Lucy looking out the window at the cars in the next lane. All Frankie could think about was how nice it was to have someone else there to spend the day. He knew Lucy must have been feeling the same way, since he hadn’t seen her so excited about a beach trip in a long while. 

He appreciated how patient you were with her; it was something he noticed even on that first day. The way you refused help until you knew she was alright. That moment had stuck with him more than anything else. 

The memory of what Will said earlier surfaced in his mind. He shifted in his seat and glanced at you. Yes, you were beautiful. Strikingly so. A woman who could walk into a room and turn every head in the place; both men and women alike. Of course Frankie had been taken with you. He tried to suppress it, scolding himself whenever he was alone in bed at night and found his thoughts wandering.... 

His only goal right now was to be your friend because he cared for you and knew that you needed help. He wasn’t sure what kind of help, but he sensed that you were alone and at some point in your life something very bad had happened to you. He wouldn’t pry though, he would wait until you were ready to share. 

-

The beach wasn’t too packed; it was still early in the season and  the tourists hadn’t moved into their summer homes yet. The boys had done an oddly efficient job at setting everything up. When Ben and Will got into a little spat about how to sink the umbrella into the sand , Frankie simply rolled his eyes and continued to spray Lucy with sunblock. It made you laugh, they all seemed so comfortable with one another. 

The day was hot and everybody seemed eager to get into the water, everyone except you and Frankie.  You had bought a bathing suit at the store, intending on going in... but somewhere during the car ride you changed your mind. 

“You can go in if you want,” you told Frankie “I don’t mind just watching.”

He shrugged, “I don’t normally go in either.”

Then just like that the two of you were suddenly alone, both woefully unprepared for any sort of conversation.

You thought of something quickly, filling the silence “the marina was packed today.”

“Yeah, It’s always like that on memorial day. Most of the summer too, be prepared for the restaurant to start getting busy.”

“I prefer it that way. It makes the shifts go faster. So I’ve been meaning to ask, what exactly do you do? I assumed you owned the marina?”

He paused for a moment. “Uh, technically I do. It was a wedding gift from my parents. An uncle had died and left it to them. I think they just wanted to get rid of it, but I have an office manager that does all the upfront stuff….. normally I just work on repairs.”

Married. That wasn’t what you were expecting, but still no ring. “Did you go to school for that?”

“Kind of. I had training for planes, but you would be surprised just how similar the two are.” You gave him a look. He glanced at you and laughed sheepishly. “What?”

“I’m sorry, did you say planes?”

“Yeah”

“You fix planes?”

He smiled and crossed his arms, trying to seem much cooler than he actually was. “I fly them too.”

“You fly pl-....do you take constructive criticism?”

He laughed, “Of course.”

“Lead with that next time.”

He looked at you skeptically. “How am I supposed to lead with that, exactly?”

“You say, hi my name is pilot Frankie …..” 

He shook his head, grinning. “Morales,” he informed you. 

“Hi my name is pilot Frankie Morales, nice to meet you.”

He played along, “but how will I know if people actually like me for me, or they just want me to take them for a ride in a plane?”

You shrugged “it's tough being a celebrity, I don’t make the rules.”

“Oh yeah, celebrity, that’s me,” he said sarcastically. 

You kicked at the sand with your foot. “Also I liked you before I knew you had the coolest hobby in the world. So, you know that you can trust me.”

He glanced over at you and immediately noticed your smile. He had seen you smile before, but they would never quite reach your eyes. This one, he could tell, was real. He opened his mouth to speak when, in the distance, a wave crashed and Lucy squealed with laughter. Both of you turned your heads to look.

“Will Lucy be okay out there?” you asked. She had on a life vest and was being supervised in the shallows by the rest of the adults. Santi was holding onto a boogie board Lucy used to keep herself up. 

“Yeah, I know they seem like idiots but they are good men.” Frankie reached into the cooler to grab a bee and popped the cap off with the bottle opener. “Do you want one?”

You shook your head, “No thank you, but I’ll take a water bottle if you have it.” He set his beer down in his cup holder and reached into the cooler again. The bottle was freezing cold when he handed it to you. Perfect for a sunny day.

You wiped the condensation off on your dress. “Can I ask you something? It’s okay if you don’t want to answer.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, taking a sip of beer. 

“Lucy’s mom is she….? Are you two still….? I don’t mean to pry, I guess I’m just a little confused.”

“You and I both,” he said with a sigh. “I’m married but we are not together anymore, haven’t been for a few years.”

“Oh,” you said simply, not finding any clarification in what he told you. If anything, you had more questions, but you didn’t want to push. Besides, it didn’t matter anyway…. you couldn’t, you were married as well. “Does your family live in the area?”

“Nope, they live up north. Katie never really knew her family. She grew up in the foster system and was bounced around until she enlisted at eighteen. It’s just me and Lulu now, and the guys when they find the time to travel here.”

“I’m sorry,” you said honestly. “It must be hard not having your parents support.”

He shook his head and took another sip. “I expected it, even when I was younger, it seemed as though they were only interested in keeping me alive.” He looked down and started to peel off the sticker on the bottle as he spoke. “They are both doctors, mom is an archaeologist and dad an engineer. He actually helped design parts of the international space station…. I think they valued their careers more than anything else... they still do. The only time they ever came down to see Lucy was right after she was born, aside from that it’s usually a phone call on a holiday and a card with money in the mail.”

Although he tried to play it off as if it were just another part of life, you could see that it still affected him deeply. For a moment you thought about reaching out to take his hand, but you stopped yourself. “It really is their loss, they are missing out on two wonderful people.”

Frankie adjusted the baseball cap on his head, a sheepish little smile playing on his lips at the compliment. “Well, thank you. Lucy and I could say the same thing about you. You’re great with her.”

You glanced back at the little girl. She was smiling happily as Ben pulled her along on the boogie board. “I think little girls need to be protected, but not only that - they need to be seen and heard. She is already so independent and fierce. I can see how you encourage her to be her own person and not fit into any one mold. That’s important for little girls to learn.”

He laughed, “Yeah, she definitely gives me a run for my money, that's for sure. She can already repair an engine better than most men I know.”

A large gust of wind came through and took hold of the multi-colored beach ball beside you. Both you and Frankie sprang from your seats to race after it. The thing was fast, and you could not stop it from crashing into the waves. You noticed just how much cooler it was near the water’s edge. Although the temperature outside was sweltering, the Atlantic still held that winter chill. Both of you stared at the ball as it bobbed up and down with the tide. 

Frankie waved it away with his hand and squinted in the sunlight. “It’s fine, it’ll probably just float down the beach to another family or something.”

You smirked at him “or choke a poor dimwitted sea turtle to death.”

He paused and shot you a pretend glare, then took off his hat, dropped it in the sand and reached for his shirt. 

You giggled “no, no I’m joking. I got it.” You said, starting to strip down to your bathing suit also.

“Well, you gotta be faster than that,” he said, half jogging to the water.

You slipped off your dress easily and ran straight past him into the waves. Frankie was not far behind. You two were pushing against the tide as you reached for the ball. Fingertips just barely brushed against the plastic before it slipped a couple more inches away. This left just enough time for Frankie to swoop in and grab it.

Your stomach hurt from laughing so hard “hey!”

He shrugged, “I’m sorry that I care more about the environment than you.”

You splashed him with water playfully.

-

The two of you swam for another fifteen minutes, chatting about the town and volleying the ball back and forth. Frankie pretended not to see the way the droplets of water clung to your skin and sparkled under the sunlight. When he noticed the little lace pattern on the bottom of your swimsuit, he knew he had been staring for too long and forced himself to look away. The very last thing he wanted to do was scare you away, or make you believe he had some sort of ulterior motives to helping you. 

You both dressed again before walking back up to the chairs. When the two of you returned, the group had already come back from swimming. They were passing around Tupperware full of fruit while Santi was starting up the tiny little grill he had brought. 

“You guys really don’t play around for beach days,” you mentioned to Frankie. 

“I tried to warn you,” he said with a smirk. 

Will had Lucy thrown over his shoulder, carrying her easily with one arm. “Has anyone seen Fry?”

“I’m right here!” Lucy’s little voice drifted out from behind him.

Will started turning, pretending to look for her “Fry! Fry! Where are you!”

Lucy was hardly able to speak through her fit of giggles, “I’m behind you!”

He put her down on the sand, pretending as if he had seen her for the first time. “Jesus Fry! You scared me!”

“Lulu,” Frankie said, “come here so I can put more sunscreen on you.” Frankie took the bottle from the bag and sprayed her again, making sure to get her ears and the tops of her feet as well. He sprayed some in his hands, and Lucy scrunched up her nose as he applied it to her face.

Watching the two of them together made you smile. You were reminded again just how different Frankie was from your husband. David would have felt emasculated by having to take care of a child. If he had attended today, you would be sitting beside him silently the entire time, only getting up to fetch him a beer.

“Do you want some?” Frankie asked, and you were suddenly snapped right back to reality.  

Even though you weren’t threatened by a burn yet, you figured it would be a good idea. “Yeah, thank you.” You offered him your arms, then the front of your legs.

“I used to be terrible with remembering sunblock until I got sun poisoning in Iraq, god never again.”

“Iraq?” you asked, and turned so he could get the backs of your legs.

“Yeah, with the air force” he told you, assuming you already knew. 

Breath hitched in your throat as he brushed your hair over your shoulder. You cringed at the feeling of the warm sunscreen hitting the back of your neck and jerked away. It was enough for the others to notice. You laughed and lied quickly “damn horse flies hurt when they bite. They say you should wash off the bite with soap to get it to stop the swelling. Is there a bathroom here?”

You sounded believable. Becoming an expert liar had been the only thing keeping you alive for so long. 

Frankie felt horrible. He didn’t quite know what he had done to trigger you, but he knew it was something. “It’s pretty far, I can walk with you-”

You shook your head, a wide smile still plastered across your lips. “Nope, I just need a direction.”

Santi jumped in quickly. “That building when we first came in, near the tennis courts.”

You nodded and started forward, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. Why was this happening right now? You were fine a moment ago and now you felt as though you couldn’t catch your breath. You shivered, remembering the feeling again and putting your hand on the back of your neck to stop it.

A soldier…. it made sense. You were too stupid to have seen it, the nicknames and the holiday...... 

Thankfully, they were single stall restrooms; you pulled the door shut and locked it behind you. The bottom of the floor was disgusting and filled with wet sand. You lifted yourself up onto the counter and sat, trying to calm down. A soldier, a soldier, you kept repeating to yourself. It was too similar. The anger, the potential for violence…. just like your husband. 

You placed your head in your hands, and suddenly you were back in New Jersey. It was a bitter February, snow still on the ground. You were in your bathroom hiding as David raged in the living room and screamed at his coworker on the phone. A little boy had been killed by his father weeks ago. David was assigned to the case. When the trial came, the jury found the man innocent and let him walk free, even though all the evidence pointed to him as the killer. It was an embarrassment to David and the entire homicide unit

“God fucking dammit, y/n! y/n!”

You pulled yourself up on shaking legs, straightened your dress and walked out. David was red in the face waiting for you. “I thought I told you to call Comcast, did I not?”

“They said that they could get someone out here Wednesday because of the snow-”

He took the television remote and threw it at you as hard as he could; he aimed for your face but it hit your shoulder instead. The plastic connected straight with your collarbone. You doubled over in pain, holding it as it throbbed. He stalked up to you and you moved back, the fear evident in your eyes.

His voice was teetering on the edge of lunacy as he screamed at you.

“I give you a simple fucking job to do and you can’t even get it done. You’re a lazy fat fucking bitch.” he shoved you hard but you manged to keep standing. “Spend all day sitting on your fucking ass while I have to go to work for the both of us! I need the television because I need to see the news coverage of the fucking case! You knew this! Or would you like me to get fired and the both of us live on the fucking streets!” He shoved you again, and you fell against the stone fireplace. Your hands came up to shield your face as he picked up the remote and hit you with it repeatedly. It caught your lip, busting it open. 

You didn’t care about the blood, all you could think about was the gun still holstered in his belt. You got the television fixed the next day-

“Summer?” 

You stood quickly and wiped away the tears from your cheeks, pretending like nothing was wrong. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?” 

It was Frankie. 

You shook your head and smiled in the dingy plastic mirror in front of you. “Yeah, why?”

He could hear that you had been crying. He pushed on the door but it was locked. 

You didn’t like that at all; you slipped off the counter and sat on the floor, against the door. Bracing it closed with your body “I’m fine-”

“You’re crying-”

“No, I’m not I- I get allergies and that horsefly hurt. I am such a baby I’ve always had a low pain tolerance-”

“If it’s something that I did -”

“Nope, it’s nothing that you did. I’m fine, I’m really, really fine I promise. I just got overwhelmed and needed some air. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and you guys can eat without me. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Frankie wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t want to force anything. “Would you like me to save you a plate?”

“Yes, please.”

You could hear his footsteps start to retreat and relaxed a little. 

“Summer?”

“Yeah?”

Frankie was about to say something, but he thought better of it. He figured it was better to let you have your space now.

[junhuiste]

next level (ex-wip)

pairing: wonwoo x gn reader

word count: 2200

tags/warnings: fluff, angst, slightly suggestive, cursing, friends to enemies to lovers, college au

a/n: so i said i’d publish my other ex wips and here’s another one! i planned on making this a 3 parter where y/n asks wonwoo for help on a computer game even though they were enemies but before that they were friends …does that make any sense i didn’t think so! also this is an ex wip so sorry for the asterisks everywhere! those words were the ones i was gonna replace later on lmfao!!!! also i wrote this 2 years ago when i was 17 so my apologies if its utter bullshit 😭

as wonwoo help you leveled up, you wondered if you should do the same regarding your friendship…errr…enemyship….

It’d been an hour or so of Wonwoo verbally guiding you through the various moves and strategies but once he stood up your breath suddenly hitched, for whatever reason.

Breathing seemingly became somewhat harder as you saw from the corner of your eye that wonwoo was coming to stand behind you.

“it’s gonna get harder,” he said softly, his hand finding yours, “let me help you.”

as much as you appreciated his help, you didn’t need wonwoo to baby you; you were perfectly capable of taking verbal directions without needing guidance like a rookie. “i can do it; i swear!”

though it was hard to train your eyes on both wonwoo and the computer monitor simultaneously, you managed to do it anyway. “that’s not what you said last week when i offered you my help.”

it wasn’t that you didn’t need wonwoo’s help, and it wasn’t certainly that you didn’t want it, but there was something mischievous yet somehow alluring and amusing pushing him away. it was honestly quite ***horrible ** for you to admit it, but playing cat and mouse was refreshing, though it was a game hard to keep up with.

eventually you gave in and you took deep breaths slowly and surely as wonwoo’s hand rest atop yours. it was warm, but not sweaty; relaxed, but not ***heavy***. his head was most definitely closer to yours than last time, even though you tried to focus solely on the computer monitor, he was within an ear’s whisper from you. as he guided your hand, your thoughts glided slowly away from the game entirely and onto the boy behind you. it was hard, really, to ****focus*** on the 146th level of the game when the boy you liked a while back had his shoulder barely leaning into yours, with his warmth radiating onto you so so comfortably.

it hadn’t even been 10 minutes since wonwoo had stood up behind you that his arm was now resting ***comfortably***on yours. the weight of his top half ***barely*** on yours wasn’t even what went into consideration, for the most part. it what you could feel was ***slowly*** developing in the room, moment by moment, and it was excruciatingly painful how much time it took to build up. palms clammy, fingers ready to give out, and breathing ***most definitely*** not under control, you were ready to tap out and give into your instincts.

a mosh pit of psychedelic colors reflected onto both of your faces as the round ended. with the blinds only half drawn and how bright the screen was turned up, you winced at what seemed like a light source that envied the sun glared at you. the heat from the screen wasn’t the only **warmth**** prevalent, however. you certainly hadn’t forgotten about wonwoo’s shoulder ***leaning** onto yours.

avoiding all what you’d learned in high/secondary school about what freud said about the ego calming the id, you surpassed straying from your normal actions. you’d leaped from them, and it couldn’t be fathomed by anyone, by you or soonyoung, or especially jeon wonwoo, what lead you to remove your headphones and turn around in the computer chair and then kiss jeon wonwoo. what was most surprising was that he leaned in too, so much didn’t have to be done on your part.

as he leaned in closer, you pulled wonwoo closer, as if it were instinct and you’d kissed him a thousand times before. knowing him for quite some time, it was evident that he didn’t link up with anyone, whether that be for a single night of pleasure or months of commitment, so it was ***most definitely*** more than alike to a jack-in-the-box when he knew what he was doing, and so well too. his hand **softly*** stroking your cheek with your thumb and your hand ***softly **rubbing*** his neck were a pair you never would’ve expected in light years would be together. the whole ***thing** was just unbelievable…and undoubtedly **breathtaking***, as such as you would ***hate*** to ever tell him.

flashes of blue and red glossed wonwoo’s face again as you looked up at him. “would you look at that,” a slight tinge of satisfaction laced his tone and captured his expression, as you heard a faint “level 147 unlocked” behind you.

the exact reason you were at the dorm for you had completely abandoned; your endeavor was ***seemingly** cut short by your id, too strong for it to be tamed by your superego. in fact, all goals for the game were temporarily thrusted into the iceberg of your unconscious thoughts as you looked up at wonwoo again while tugging his shirt.

it was a precarious game of truth or dare you were playing with yourself, and you were losing to nothing none other than your current desires? mere attractions? repressed feelings? whatever it was, it didn’t really matter as wonwoo leaned into you again, this time more ***forcefully/intensely**, with both of you managing to slip a tongue in here and there. french kissing wonwoo? not exactly on your bucket list but something you were glad to have checked off, be it for lust, regret, or simply nostalgia of how you once felt for the boy who’s sweater you were tugging at to bring him closer and closer and closer.

it had **certainly** been more than a few good minutes of locking lips with jeon wonwoo, and what resulted was both of you panting heavily and looking each other in the eyes a little too intensely for your liking—not necessarily a look of sin but rather of repressed longing and ***regret**. the tension swore to engulf you and spit you out but what was sprinting through your mind instead was that wonwoo kissed you back.

had the naive, freshman you known that making out with jeon wonwoo would become a reality, you would’ve jumped at the thought. was he cute or irritating? bold or brazen? or was he simply just there that you immediately caved in and let your libido think for itself? it was just like that class where he palpated you; did feelings resurface because of a craving for affection? or was wonwoo a person you genuinely wanted to pursue something with. restating what he’d said earlier, that’s not what you’d thought a few months ago.

confusion. that’s what it was at most, at best, with the clearest label. wonwoo was there, yes, but he was also ***caring** (yet competitive), offering (yet **pretentious**), and someone you’d cared for back. the way he carried himself around you was *annoying** at times, sure, but he was never malicious. wonwoo had not one bad bone in his body, and you were willing to stand by that statement. his competitiveness and bold nature that peeked in once in a while were far outweighed by his humility.

no matter how many times he corrected you as naive and curious freshmen, you’d always find yourself falling back to feelings. just like now. but what was it really? did bubbles reappear just because of his hand on yours? because of his somewhat secret smiles when he knew you enjoyed his company? maybe. but it certainly wasn’t because he was just there.

even if bubbles popped and didn’t reappear, it would be better to get feelings out, right? it would lessen the blow, for both you and wonwoo. would you come to terms with what you once harbored for jeon wonwoo? maybe not.

sitting on the bed, wonwoo perked his head up at the sight of you in the chair finally facing him. “this…this isn't a heat of a moment thing…” you began, taking as much of your precious time as possible. if you were going to confront how you felt and didn't feel simultaneously, it might as well have taken some thought at the very least, especially for wonwoo’s sake.

the raven-haired** boy hunched over with a quirked eyebrow to continue to hear you out.

“i like you—i’m sorry, i mean i used to like you. like a lot. sometimes a lot for my own good. back in freshman year.” it was a struggle to get it all out in one breath. confrontation should be something you’d never have to do again. wonwoo stayed silent, his eyes no longer **trained* on yours, but shifted **somewhat** nervously to the floor. the way your heart pulsated mercilessly at the brutal sound of silence forced the temperature to shoot up suddenly.

it didn’t work; you didn’t feel clean, worse actually, and from what it looked like at the moment, wonwoo probably did as well. he usually did well when it all boiled down to fear, feelings, and *rationality* mixing, because he pushed it away. everyone knew that, and you especially. he didn’t take any hard hits when he was third-wheeling soonyoung or roaming mindlessly at one of **NCT’s** notorious frat parties.

maybe it was time to leave. perhaps those moments of silence where you had to recollect yourself, your dignity, and your feelings were a pure waste.

“i’m sorry, i don’t know why i just threw that at you. i’ll leave now—and uh, thanks for the help.” sometimes feelings weren’t merely felt, other times they were ruthless and just sprung up at the worst of times. maybe that’s why your body was unforgiving and threatening to prick your eyes with water. hurriedly, you grabbed your headphones and clenched them tightly in your fist before taking a step to leave.

however, a pang of something hit. it was unidentifiable, that thing that was keeping you from taking any more steps to leave wonwoo’s room. it was agonizing at the same intensity as it was delirious, and wild and tantalizing even. whatever it was, it was piercing you, forcing you to stay in place.

once again, the air around you was impassioned and the evident thumping and thrashing and thrusting in your chest occurred as wonwoo stood up in front of you. his tall stature didn’t threaten you, only how you felt did.

“how long?” he pried with a *cold** kind of warmth before sitting down in the computer chair. his knees were almost touching yours, and he leaned back with burning curiosity.

“i…don’t know. it was a while back…and for a long time; that’s all i remember.”

the unspoken miracle had graced you as river that almost formed around your eyes earlier had finally dried up.

wonwoo had that same look on his face he always had when no answers or solutions came to mind right away. it wasn’t expressionless, far from it. you didn't know if it was inquiry or discontent, or even a thrill; the latter you’d wished but was far from being a reality.

the way wonwoo struggled to get out what he wanted took you aback. he always knew what to say, whether witty, spiteful, or helpful, and to plain sight of him also choking on his words threw you for a numbing, yet throbbing** loop.

“do you still like me?” wonwoo finally made eye contact with you, the kind of eye contact someone makes when they itch for the answer to so badly be yes.

it was at that moment that he locked you in again. but you spent the last year convincing yourself you hated him. indeed, hate was too strong of a word for it. something else. and just as you’d told him, it was absolutely not the kiss that stirred you to confess in a half-assed manner. it was just so bothersome to not know what those feelings were.

it almost choked to say it, because you *genuinely* felt it, but didn’t know what exactly to do about it.

“i-i don’t know.” you couldn’t keep up with eye contact. it was much too biting.

wonwoo captured your eyes again, but this time it wasn’t the same confused gleam they held, but rather one of clouded elation. you couldn’t exactly tell, but you knew it was just electricity in there somewhere.

“do you want to kiss me again?” was the million dollar question that was lurking. wonwoo asked it with such subtle amusement. instead of taking advantage of your feelings and vulnerability in this situation, which he would never think to do, he decided to act upon his own.

there was an evident yearning in his tone, his body language, his eyes, everything. you knew the difference between when wonwoo was simply waiting for an answer and when he was aching for it immediately. this moment called for the latter.

his inclination provoked a smile out of you. whatever it was, you didn’t know how you felt; you just knew you needed to kiss him again.

you dropped everything you had been clenching so tightly in your hands and and bent down to hold his face in your hand as you leaned in. his soft lips finally met yours again, and unlike the first couple of kisses you shared, this time it was *softer***, slower, driven by an avid and throbbing want to be as close to the other person as possible. this time it had meaning. and you couldn’t find yourself pulling away as wonwoo’s hand came behind your thigh to pull you closer to him.

he was never one to make the first move, for most things, and it surprised you when he popped the question and pulled you to him. practically falling on him in the chair, you whispered out a faint “sorry”, as he rushed to hold you. he *giggled softly** before he continued to kiss you. eventually you repositioned yourself to straddle him in the chair and oh my god you were making out with jeon wonwoo.

videogames, huh?

[nightingaelic]

Do that last one about Drunk weddings for the Sole Survivor, too. I may have my biases, but Fallout 4 can have a little love, as a treat.

Cait: "Don't be makin' so much noise in the back if you aren't going to share, you hear?"

Prior to her journey into Vault 95, Cait is just as stumbling drunk as the sole survivor, giggling with reckless abandon and daring guests to go a round with her outside the venue. She enlists the sole survivor to help her change out of her dress to make good on these bare-knuckle boxing promises, but the two of them wind up forgetting about the whole thing and singing loudly over the music on the dance floor. Post-sobriety, Cait heckles the sole survivor after they pass the point of no return, but she abstains in favor of demolishing Piper's gifted stash of Nuka-Cola.

Curie: "Do not indulge too much, mon glaçon. Excess of drink is the cause of many health problems."

Curie, ever the picture of innocent poise, laughs politely when the sole survivor starts making outbursts at the party, then corners them in the bathroom when she's free and insists they drink several glasses of water and eat some mirelurk cake hors d'oeuvres in front of her. She enlists Danse to help her carry the sole survivor to bed when they finally wear themselves out, and she does it all without staining or ripping her dress.

Danse: [speechless, awkward blushing]

Paladin Danse turns beet red when the sole survivor climbs onto a chair to get the party's attention for a toast, and dashes to their side when they start to wobble. To him, a wedding is no reason to let down his guard and drink, but the rest of his Brotherhood brethren don't share that viewpoint: Particularly Proctor Teagan, who is just as far in as the sole survivor. Once embarrassed, Danse tries to stay on the opposite end of the room, and steers his new spouse clear as well. He will give up his avoidance tactics if asked to dance, though.

Deacon: "Everyone drink up, we're trying to erase any memory of this get-together in case the Institute captures us and demands to know what menu and color scheme we picked."

Given his career and his own personal history, Deacon insists on having a small affair with close friends over a large shindig. He's mostly joking about forgetting the party- or is he?- but either way, he's handing out bottles of Bobrov's Best like it's going out of business. Valentine keeps side-eyeing him and calling him an "enabler," but Deacon couldn't care less.

Hancock: "Cheers to you, cheers to me, cheers to us and the whole fucking Commonwealth!"

The sole survivor's drunk? Good, so is Hancock. Like Deacon, the mayor of Goodneighbor is handing out bottles of booze left and right, along with palming chems to anyone in the Third Rail who looks too mellow. Whitechapel Charlie complains loudly when the groom and the sole survivor start dancing on the bar, but Hancock does not care one whit about property damage on his special day. That is, unless someone starts getting fresh with Magnolia.

MacCready: "So when I said partnering up with you beat drinking myself blind in Goodneighbor, that wasn't me saying we should switch spots, boss."

MacCready is too overwhelmed with disbelieving happiness on his big day to care if the sole survivor is wrecking shop. He's too busy staring at his new spouse holding Duncan and laughing with joy to notice the sole survivor spilling drinks on other guests, but he will perk up if they manage to hijack the jukebox. He'll roll his eyes, switch the song back to something more to his taste, and then drag the sole survivor onto the dance floor to work off some of their excess energy.

Valentine: "Gonna water that battery acid down with anything, or do I need to tell Vadim to cut you off?"

The synth detective takes in the sole survivor's antics with a wry smile before pulling them aside to make sure they're going to behave for the rest of the night. Any further shenanigans will earn them a withering frown from across the party. Rather than leave his new partner's side, he enlists Ellie and Piper's help in strong-arming them away from the moonshine supply and out into the fresh air for a bit.

Piper: "Really, Blue, on my wedding day? I don't do many editorial cartoons, but I think this might warrant one."

Piper has roses blooming in her own cheeks from drinking, but she'll insist the sole survivor switch to Nuka-Cola, park them in a chair next to her and toss tongue twisters at them until they can recite them back to her straight. Like MacCready and Danse, she will also accept some impressive dance moves as penance for their crime of disrupting the celebration, but if she starts dancing too, she'll slip quickly into the same territory of overdoing it.

Preston: "No thanks, but you keep going. We'll see whose head feels better come sunrise."

On the opposite end of the scale from Deacon, Preston doesn't want to forget a second of this day and is therefore abstaining. His Minutemen compatriots aren't though, so the sole survivor fits right in with the crowd. Ever the model of manners, Preston will join in on their drunken rendition of Dion's "The Wanderer," but he'll just as quickly bow out to go grab his new spouse a drink, chair, snack or anything else they might need.

X6-88: "Strange. The sensation leaves me unbalanced, but... warm. Perhaps the SRB was right to restrict substances such as this."

The Courser is puzzled the first time the sole survivor hands him a drink, but he accepts it and downs the lot admirably, shaking his head at the taste. He likes the way it makes him feel for a little bit, but learns quickly that if he keeps going, he'll wind up draped over the nearest furniture like the former vault dweller. Once the sole survivor is hiccupping and incoherent, he easily hoists them over his shoulder and deposits them as far away from the liquor supply as he can, ignoring the impressed cheers of Deacon and MacCready.

BONUS!

Gage: "No, I don't care if it was brewed in a settlement, that stuff'll knock you on your ass just as well as the beer that's been sitting still for 200 years."

Porter Gage has been dry for decades, and his own wedding isn't going to be enough to ruin that streak. Seeing as he's pals with a whole bunch of raiders, he can't well keep the rest of them from indulging, but he can sure as hell protest if the sole survivor tries to push a bottle on him. Repeated inquiries will earn them a black eye, but he'll let them steal his eyepatch for the rest of the night as condolence.

Longfellow: "Here's to full glasses an' fulsome lasses, ain't that right, honey? Bottoms up!"

There's not much to do on the island when you live alone, other than get really good at your hobbies and drink. Old Longfellow lives accordingly, and he can out-swig anyone attending his little party, including the sole survivor. By the end of the night, those who dared to pick up a glass around the man are under the table, while Longfellow is still singing sweet, fully-coherent lullabies to his new gal beneath the glow of the bottle lanterns. Knowing him, she's probably just as seasoned at drinking as he is.

Maxson: "Dull senses make for poor soldiers, but I suppose we can set our weapons aside for one evening."

Any Brotherhood of Steel Elder's marriage is a huge deal, and subsequently warrants a huge celebration. Alcohol flows freely at such parties, and any drunken behavior on the sole survivor's behalf is probably drowned out by hundreds of other Knights, Scribes and Lancers acting foolish too. Like Longfellow, Maxson holds his own in contest with everyone else, but doesn't push those around him to keep up. Anyone counting his drinks can't help but wonder where he's putting it. If the sole survivor's not too far gone, they can spot him dumping his glasses after a sip or two to keep up the mythic image, but he'll swear them to secrecy.

Desdemona: "Being able to take a moment to breathe can be just as vitally important for an organization as resupply missions or exterminations. Stop touching my hair."

The Railroad leader appreciates being able to cut loose, but she's still too paranoid to trust any glass handed to her and favors the flask inside her ballistic weave-armored dress that she fills herself. Once relaxed, this is the only time she'll allow the sole survivor and friends to get rowdy and fawn over her in the least. Liquored-up compliments on her outfit, her leadership abilities and her organization are fair game, but any probing into her personal background will result in her simply standing up and walking away.