#dem model legs are back

[n-znm]

le skinny jeans are back

pic

[seafarersdream]

Campaign Trail | Modern AU! (Gwayne Hightower x Y/N)

Strap in for the wild ride of Gwayne Hightower’s political rise, as seen through the eyes of his campaign manager, Y/N. From clueless debates to dodging scandalous tabloids and pretending he knows the price of a pint, Gwayne is your classic posh boy gone rogue running as a Lib Dem candidate. And it’s Y/N’s job to keep his ego in check, his speeches on point, and, occasionally, his pants on. Welcome to the Gwayne Hightower campaign. Expect chaos. Word count: 12k

TW // Strong language and profanities, characters frequently consume alcohol (including scenes of heavy drinking), boss/employee romantic trope, power dynamics, sexual and crass humor, depictions of extreme wealth and privilege (rich assholes basically).

“Bloody hell, Gwayne, are you even listening to me?” Y/N slammed her pen down on the table, the clatter echoing through the dimly lit campaign office. It was well past midnight, and the stale smell of cold pizza mixed with the faint scent of Gwayne’s overpriced cologne was starting to make her head spin.

Gwayne Hightower, the posh prat in question, barely looked up from his phone. He was lounging back in his chair, long legs stretched out like he owned the place — which, to be fair, he probably did in some indirect, old-money, nepotistic kind of way. “I am listening,” he drawled, though his thumb kept scrolling. “Something about, uh, housing and healthcare. Right?”

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard she could’ve seen the back of her skull. “Yeah, mate, just the minor detail of your whole bloody platform,” she shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, the stuff that actually makes people vote for you?”

Gwayne’s lips curled into that infuriatingly perfect smirk, the kind that belonged more to a model, not on some would-be politician. “You mean the bit where I pretend to care?”

She let out a frustrated sigh and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, the pretending bit. But let’s make it convincing this time, yeah?”

The office was a mess of coffee cups, crumpled notes, and campaign leaflets. A lone desk lamp threw a harsh yellow light across the room, casting long shadows on the wall. Outside, the rain battered against the windows, the only sound in the quiet street below. The clock ticked loudly, reminding them of every minute they were wasting.

Y/N picked up a sheet of paper, waving it in his face. “Look, you need to hit them where it matters. People care about the NHS. They care about whether they can afford to put a roof over their heads. Not about… whatever posh nonsense you were going on about last week.”

Gwayne finally put down his phone, leaning forward with a feigned look of interest. “What was wrong with what I said?”

She snorted. “Mate, you can’t promise a home for every hardworking Brit when your idea of a starter home is a bloody Georgian townhouse in Chelsea.”

Gwayne chuckled, and for a second, she hated how charming he could be when he wasn’t being an absolute prat. “Fair point. Alright, Ms. Campaign Manager, what do we say?”

Y/N leaned in, their faces just inches apart, and she could see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. “You say,” she whispered, “that you’re going to make housing affordable, that you’ll protect the NHS like it’s the crown jewels, and that you actually give a damn about people who don’t have trust funds or daddy’s money to fall back on.”

He stared at her, something unreadable flickering across his face. “You think they’ll buy it?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Not if you keep looking like you’re about to laugh every time you say it. You need to mean it, Gwayne. Or at least act like you do. Think of it like… theatre.”

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that surprised her. “Theatre, is it? So what, am I Olivier or just a bloke in a bad panto?”

Y/N grinned. “Depends. You reckon you can handle a bit of method acting? Maybe imagine you’re someone who doesn’t have everything handed to them on a silver platter?”

Gwayne leaned back, still watching her, and she felt a strange tension crackle between them, something electric, something unspoken. “You’ve got a smart mouth, Y/N. That why I hired you?”

She shrugged, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her neck. “Nah. You hired me because I’m the only one who’ll call you out on your bullshit.”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You like calling me out, don’t you?”

Her breath hitched for just a second, and she cursed herself for letting him get to her. “Someone has to,” she said, her voice steady. “And you clearly love it.”

His smirk grew. “Maybe I do.”

She felt her face flush and decided to change the subject before she ended up doing something stupid. Like kissing that smug grin right off his face. “Right, back to work. We need a slogan that sticks. Something the punters will remember. Something that makes them think you’re the real deal.”

Gwayne leaned back, eyes still locked on hers, a challenge glinting in them. “You mean something like, Vote for me or I’ll bloody well buy your house myself?”

Y/N snorted, and for a moment, the tension eased. “Yeah, that’ll go down a treat in Hackney.”

“Alright,” he said, leaning closer again, his voice softer now, more serious. “Help me, then. What do I say?”

She felt that pull again, that magnetic draw that made her want to slap him and snog him in equal measure. She shook her head, trying to focus. “You say,” she murmured, leaning in so close their noses almost touched, “that you’re going to fight for them like you’d fight for your own bloody life. That every day you’re in office, you’re not just some posh tosser playing politics. You’re there because you bloody care.”

Gwayne’s breath brushed against her lips, and she swore she saw his eyes flicker to her mouth. “And you think they’ll believe me?”

She felt her heart race, her pulse quickening. “They’ll believe it,” she whispered, “if you say it like you bloody well mean it.”

For a second, everything hung in the air between them, the rain pounding against the window like a drumbeat, their breaths mingling in the space between. And then he moved back, breaking the spell, his grin back in place.

“Alright,” he said, voice light again. “Let’s do this, then. Make me sound like a bloody hero.”

Y/N smiled, picking up her pen. “Oh, I will. And you better not cock it up.”

He winked. “Wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at her lips. She will either kill this campaign, or it kills her first. Which she is not sure yet.

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“Remember, Gwayne,” Y/N muttered as she straightened his tie, fingers brushing against his collar for a moment too long, “Stick to the message. Focus on the solutions, not the problems. You’re not just some arse in a suit; you’re the bloke who’s going to fix this mess.”

Gwayne’s grin was too confident for her liking. “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he replied, eyes twinkling with that familiar arrogance. “It’s not my first rodeo.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Right, because you’ve handled so many housing crises in your plush penthouse.”

He chuckled. “Come on, love. Give me a bit of credit. I’ve been prepping for this all week.”

“Yeah, and it shows,” Y/N shot back, sarcasm sharp enough to cut glass. “Now, get in there, charm their pants off, but for God’s sake, don’t let him corner you on the numbers.”

The studio lights were blinding, hot enough to feel like the sun itself had decided to join them inside. Across from Gwayne sat Martin Caldwell, a journalist infamous for his pitbull tactics and never letting a politician off the hook. Caldwell looked like a vulture in a cheap suit, his eyes narrowed and mouth twitching as if he could already smell the blood.

Gwayne settled into his chair, flashing that perfect smile. “Thanks for having me, Martin,” he said smoothly.

Martin didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Gwayne?” he said, leaning forward, voice like a scalpel. “Housing crisis. The capital’s got over 60,000 homeless households, more than 80,000 children living in temporary accommodation. And that number’s only climbing. Now, you’re here, all clean and polished, talking about affordable housing, but let’s be real — what’s your plan, really? Because people out there, they’re struggling. They’re angry.”

Gwayne didn’t flinch, kept his smile steady. “Look, Martin, the housing crisis is a massive issue, no question. It’s about more than just numbers; it’s about people, families—”

“But let’s talk about numbers, Gwayne,” Martin cut him off, eyes gleaming. “Since 2010, there’s been a 70% increase in households in temporary accommodation. 70%! That’s a bloody lot, isn’t it? How do you plan to fix that with just more of the same?”

Y/N watched from the sidelines, her heart thudding against her ribs. This wasn’t going to be easy. She’d told him to stick to the message, keep it simple, but she could already see Caldwell trying to lure him into a trap. Gwayne’s jaw tightened — just a fraction, but she saw it. And so did Caldwell.

“Look, the current policies clearly haven’t worked,” Gwayne replied, leaning in, voice steady. “What we need is a radical overhaul. A commitment to building a new generation of affordable homes, partnerships between government and private sectors, and a serious plan to cut down the bureaucratic red tape that—”

Caldwell pounced. “Right, but where’s the money coming from, Gwayne? You’re talking about a ‘radical overhaul,’ but that means a radical budget. Are you going to raise taxes? Cut other services? Let’s hear it, Gwayne. What’s the actual plan?”

Gwayne hesitated, just for a second, and Y/N felt her stomach drop. That was all Caldwell needed. The interviewer leaned in further, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Or is this just another politician’s promise? More hot air while kids sleep in shelters?”

Gwayne’s smile faltered, just a flicker, but it was enough. He could feel the pressure mounting, the audience’s eyes on him, waiting for a stumble. “Look,” he started, but his voice wasn’t quite as strong now, “it’s a complex issue, and we’re working—”

Caldwell cut him off again, like a shark sensing blood in the water. “Working on what, Gwayne? A plan that doesn't exist?”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her ears. Damn it, this was spiraling, and fast. She moved closer to the stage manager, whispering frantically. “I need to get on his earpiece. Now.”

Seconds later, Gwayne heard her voice, calm and clear through his earpiece. “Stop defending. Go on the attack. Talk about the real culprits — landlords, greedy developers, government failures. Take control, Gwayne, before he buries you.”

Gwayne’s eyes flicked to the camera, and his posture straightened. He smiled, but this time there was steel behind it. “Alright, Martin, let’s talk about the real issue here,” he said, his voice steadying. “The housing crisis didn’t happen overnight, and it didn’t happen because of the people living in temporary accommodation. It happened because of decades of government inaction, because landlords were given free reign to hike rents, because developers were allowed to build luxury flats while people can’t afford a basic home.”

Caldwell raised an eyebrow, surprised by the shift. “So, you’re blaming the private sector now?”

“I’m blaming a system that’s rigged, Martin,” Gwayne shot back, finding his stride. “A system where a handful of people get rich while everyone else suffers. And that’s what I’m here to change. To fight for a fair deal, not just for the few, but for everyone.”

Y/N could see Caldwell’s eyes narrow. He wasn’t expecting this. Good. Keep him off balance.

Caldwell pressed again, but now there was a hint of frustration. “But specifics, Gwayne. People want to know how—”

“I’ll give you specifics,” Gwayne cut in sharply, leaning forward. “First, we cap rents to stop people being priced out of their own communities. We fund social housing properly, no more of these half-hearted measures. We build homes people can actually afford, and we crack down on empty properties left to rot while families go homeless. And yeah, Martin, if that means stepping on a few toes in the private sector, so be it. Because this isn’t about comfort. It’s about doing what’s right.”

There was a pause. Caldwell seemed momentarily lost for words, and that was all Y/N needed. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Gwayne finished strong. “I’m not here to make friends with the developers or the landlords, Martin. I’m here to make sure that every child in this country has a safe place to call home.”

Caldwell recovered, trying to regain control. “Strong words, Gwayne. But can you deliver?”

Gwayne smiled, this time without hesitation. “Watch me.”

The interview wrapped up, and Y/N could feel the tension slowly ease out of her shoulders. As Gwayne walked off set, she met him in the wings, her expression a mix of frustration and begrudging admiration.

“Nice save,” she said, crossing her arms.

Gwayne grinned, a bit of the cockiness back. “Thanks to you. You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a smile. “You were one misstep away from a bloody train wreck, you know that?”

He stepped closer, his voice low, teasing. “Maybe I like a bit of danger. Keeps things interesting.”

She felt that familiar heat rise between them, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Well, next time, try not to give me a heart attack on live TV, yeah?”

Gwayne chuckled. “No promises. But… thanks, Y/N. Really.”

She gave him a nod. “Just doing my job. Now let’s go. We’ve got a lot of damage control to do.”

He watched her walk away, a smile tugging at his lips. “And here I thought we just saved the day.”

Y/N looked back over her shoulder, grinning. “Maybe. But the day’s not over yet, Hightower.”

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“This place is bloody ridiculous, Gwayne.” Y/N muttered as she wandered through the lavish rooms of his Belgravia townhouse, glass of absinthe in hand. The place screamed money — old money, the kind that people like her never saw outside of films or the pages of Tatler. She ran her fingers along the gilded edge of a massive mirror, its frame probably worth more than her yearly salary.

Gwayne, sprawled comfortably on a deep leather sofa, shot her a lopsided grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She rolled her eyes and took a swig of her drink, the bitter taste burning down her throat. “I mean, look at this,” she said, gesturing around with her glass. “A townhouse in Belgravia? You’ve got Raphaels hanging on your walls, for fuck’s sake. You collect rare artwork like most people collect fridge magnets.”

He glanced at the painting she was pointing to — a delicate Madonna in blues and golds, her serene face glowing softly in the low light of the room. “Not just any Raphaels. The best ones. Acquired at private auctions, if you must know,” he replied with a lazy smirk. “It’s not a crime to have taste.”

Y/N snorted. “Yeah, because that’s what everyone does with their disposable income. Attend auctions with the world’s elite and outbid some oligarch for a Bernini bust.”

He grinned wider. “It was a spirited bidding war, I’ll give you that. Oligarchs can be quite tenacious.”

She laughed despite herself, shaking her head. “You’re something else, Hightower.”

The townhouse was ridiculously opulent. The kind of place that would feature in a glossy spread titled London’s Most Exclusive Homes. Velvet drapes framed enormous windows that looked out onto pristine, manicured gardens. The walls were adorned with priceless works of art, paintings that most people would only see behind thick glass in a museum. A faint scent of rich leather and wood polish filled the air, mingling with the sharper notes of absinthe.

Gwayne had insisted on pouring her a drink the moment they got in, promising her it would “take the edge off.” And she had to admit, it was doing the trick.

“Alright, you’ve buttered me up with the fancy booze,” Y/N said, plopping herself into a chair that felt like sinking into a cloud. “Now spill. Why the bloody hell are you running as a Liberal Democrat?”

Gwayne blinked, surprised by the bluntness of her question. Then he chuckled. “You’ve been dying to ask me that, haven’t you?”

“Are you kidding? It’s been killing me,” she shot back, leaning forward. “I mean, look at you. Everything about you screams Tory. The suits, the townhouse, the art collection that could fund a small country. And yet here you are, waving the Lib Dem flag. It doesn’t add up.”

He took a slow sip of his own absinthe, letting her words hang in the air. “Maybe I like a challenge,” he finally said, a hint of mischief in his tone.

She snorted again. “Oh, come off it. You’re not in this for a challenge. You’re in it for… hell, I don’t know, but it’s not because you’re a bleeding heart liberal. So why?”

Gwayne’s smile faded slightly, his blue eyes studying her carefully. “Maybe I actually believe in something, Y/N. Did you ever think of that?”

She held his gaze, not backing down. “Sure. I just thought that something would involve tax cuts for the rich and a couple of fox hunts on the weekends.”

He laughed, a real laugh this time, not the polished, practiced chuckle he usually gave to the cameras. “Alright, fair play. I can see why you’d think that.”

“So…?” she pressed.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, swirling the emerald liquid in his glass. “Alright, you want the truth?”

“That’s why I asked,” she replied, her tone softer now.

He hesitated, just for a moment, before speaking again. “I was supposed to be Tory. God, was I ever. Family’s a line of them. Granddad, Dad, every bloody Hightower since time began, probably. I was raised for it, groomed for it. Eton, Oxford, the whole bloody conveyor belt to Westminster.”

She nodded. “I’m with you so far. Still not seeing where the Lib Dem part comes in.”

Gwayne leaned forward, his voice lower, more serious. “It was all set up. Tory membership card practically in my cradle. Then one day, I actually took a look at what was happening around me. Went to a few dinners, talked to the ‘right’ people. Listened to them… talk. And, Christ, Y/N, it made me sick.”

She blinked, surprised. “You? Sick? You love a posh dinner as much as the next trust fund baby.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t the dinners, love. It was the people at them. The entitlement. The utter lack of care for anyone outside their bubble. I realized I didn’t want to be part of that. Not if it meant towing the line on policies that only protect the people who’ve already got everything. The way they talked about people… like they were numbers, not lives. I couldn’t do it.”

She leaned back, considering his words. “So, you’re telling me you had some grand epiphany?”

He shrugged. “Something like that. I figured, if I was going to get into politics, I’d do it to actually make a difference. The Lib Dems… they’re not perfect, but they’re about giving a damn about everyone, not just the privileged few.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “And you’re not one of the privileged few?”

He laughed. “Oh, I am. Born and bloody bred. But that doesn’t mean I have to play by their rules. Maybe I want to rewrite them.”

She stared at him, her heart unexpectedly softening. Maybe this privileged prat actually believed what he was saying. “So, what’s the endgame then? 10 Downing Street?”

He chuckled. “Maybe. But that’s for another day. Right now, I just want to make some noise and see if anyone’s listening.”

She took another sip of her absinthe, feeling the warmth spread through her chest. “Well, you’ve got my attention, at least.”

He leaned closer, a playful glint in his eye. “Oh, I noticed.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t let it go to your head, Hightower. I’m still here to make sure you don’t bollocks this up.”

He grinned. “I’d be lost without you, Y/N.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Yeah, you would.”

For a moment, the room seemed smaller, the space between them charged, and Y/N felt that familiar pull again — the magnetic tension that always seemed to hang in the air whenever they were close. She tore her gaze away, looking around at the paintings instead.

“This absinthe’s going straight to my head,” she muttered.

He chuckled, watching her closely. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Careful, Gwayne. I’m still your campaign manager. You need me sober enough to make sure you don’t say something stupid again.”

He leaned back, his smile still in place. “Fair enough. But maybe just for tonight, we can forget about campaigns and crises. Just… be two people having a drink.”

Y/N met his eyes, and for once, she couldn’t find a quick comeback. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Maybe just for tonight.”

And for a brief, quiet moment, neither of them spoke. The townhouse, with all its ridiculous wealth and art, seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them, caught in the electric tension of what might be.

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The rain was coming down in sheets, turning the streets of Hackney into a grey, slick mess. Puddles formed in the cracks of the pavements, and the smell of wet concrete hung in the air. Y/N was soaked to the bone, her coat heavy with rain, but she didn’t care. She was too busy making sure Gwayne didn’t make an utter arse of himself.

They were in the heart of Hackney, one of the neighborhoods hardest hit by the housing crisis. Rundown council flats lined the streets, their brick facades crumbling, windows boarded up or patched with mismatched panes of glass. Gwayne’s designer shoes were caked in mud, and she couldn’t help but smirk as he tried to navigate the uneven pavement, clearly out of his comfort zone.

“Careful, mate,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow. “Wouldn’t want to scuff those fancy loafers of yours.”

Gwayne shot her a look, half-amused, half-exasperated. “I’ll have you know these are perfectly sensible shoes.”

“Sensible?” she scoffed. “For what? A yacht party in Monaco?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Just focus on the job, yeah?”

The rain showed no sign of letting up, but the community center up ahead was buzzing with activity. Inside, a group of local residents, activists, and a few journalists had gathered. The room was crowded, the air thick with the smell of damp coats and instant coffee. There was a mix of skepticism and curiosity on the faces of the people, and Y/N knew this was their chance to make an impression.

She turned to Gwayne, lowering her voice. “Alright, here’s the plan. Listen more than you speak. They don’t need another politician giving them empty promises. They need to feel like you’re actually listening to their problems.”

Gwayne nodded, adjusting his jacket. “Got it. No posh nonsense.”

She gave him a small, approving smile. “And for the love of God, don’t mention your townhouse.”

He grinned. “Noted.”

As they stepped inside, all eyes turned to them. The chatter quieted down, replaced by the soft hum of whispered conversations. Y/N could feel the tension in the air, the weight of expectation. Gwayne moved forward, shaking hands, offering polite nods and warm smiles, and to his credit, he seemed genuinely interested.

But she could sense the underlying wariness from the crowd. These were people who had been promised a lot by politicians, only to be disappointed time and again. They weren’t going to be won over by a posh accent and a well-tailored suit.

She nudged him toward a group of women huddled in the corner, each with tired eyes and worn faces. “Start here,” she murmured. “Single mothers. Most of them on the housing waiting list for years.”

Gwayne approached them with a disarming smile. “Hello ladies, I’m Gwayne Hightower,” he began, reaching out to shake their hands. “I’m here to listen to your concerns and see how we can work together to make things better.”

One of the women, a middle-aged lady with a mane of curly hair and an accent as thick as the rain outside, crossed her arms, eyeing him suspiciously. “You a politician, then?” she asked, her tone laced with skepticism.

Gwayne nodded. “Yes, I’m running for Parliament—”

She cut him off, snorting. “Figures. Another posh boy with promises, eh? What makes you different from the rest?”

Y/N held her breath. This was it. Make or break. She watched as Gwayne took a breath, steadying himself. “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’m here because I want to change things. I know I come from a different background, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about what’s happening here.”

The woman eyed him for a moment, then turned to Y/N. “And you? You believe him?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Yeah,” the woman pressed. “You look like you’ve got a brain in your head. Why you working for him?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Gwayne. For a second, she wasn’t sure how to answer. But then she decided to be honest. “Because I think he actually gives a damn. As much as it pains me to admit it.”

The woman’s eyes softened a fraction. “A posh boy who cares, eh? That’s a new one.”

Gwayne chuckled, relaxing a bit. “I promise you, I’m full of surprises.”

Before the woman could respond, a young man in his twenties stepped forward, anger flashing in his eyes. “What are you going to do about the housing crisis?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “I’ve been stuck in a hostel for two years with my daughter. No council house, no help. You lot don’t care about us. You don’t have to live like we do.”

Gwayne met his gaze, a serious expression crossing his face. “You’re right. I don’t live like you do. But that doesn’t mean I can’t fight to change it.”

The man scoffed. “Easy for you to say. You’ll go back to your fancy house tonight, yeah? What do you know about struggling?”

Y/N felt a surge of defensiveness on Gwayne’s behalf, but before she could speak, Gwayne raised a hand, his voice calm. “I don’t know what it’s like to be in your shoes. But I’m here because I want to learn, and I want to do something about it. I want to make sure that people like you don’t have to go through this.”

The young man seemed taken aback by the directness of his answer. “Yeah? And how are you going to do that?”

Gwayne looked him straight in the eye. “By building more affordable homes, by fighting for rent controls, by holding landlords accountable, and by putting pressure on the government to prioritize housing over profits.”

Y/N watched the young man, his expression slowly shifting from anger to something closer to consideration. Maybe even hope. She felt a flicker of something in her chest — pride? Maybe.

But then, the conversation was interrupted by an older woman, her face lined with years of hardship. “Talk is cheap, love,” she said quietly. “We’ve heard it all before.”

Gwayne nodded, not shying away from the hard truth. “You’re right. It is. But I’m here because I want to prove I’m different. And if I’m not, then hold me accountable. Make sure I deliver.”

The older woman studied him for a moment, then gave a small, reluctant nod. “Alright, then. We’ll see.”

Y/N turned away from Gwayne for a moment and spotted an elderly man sitting in the corner, his hands trembling as he held onto a cane. She approached him, crouching down. “Hello,” she said softly. “What’s your name?”

“Frank,” he replied, his voice raspy. “I’m here every week… watchin’… listening.”

Y/N smiled gently. “What do you think of all this, Frank?”

He chuckled, a dry, weary sound. “Think he’s different, your lad. Might even mean it. But they all mean it at first, don’t they?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah, I suppose they do.”

Frank’s eyes twinkled. “But he’s got fire. And fire’s what we need. Someone to burn the whole bloody system down and start fresh.”

Y/N glanced back at Gwayne, who was deep in conversation, genuinely listening, and she felt something stir inside her. Maybe Frank was right. Maybe Gwayne wasn’t just a posh boy with a fancy townhouse and a taste for absinthe. Maybe he was something more.

She turned back to Frank and smiled. “Yeah, maybe he is.”

Frank nodded, then winked. “You make sure he don’t lose that fire, eh?”

Y/N grinned. “Oh, I will, Frank. I will.”

Y/N could feel the crowd’s eyes on her, a mix of doubt, curiosity, and frustration etched into their faces. This was her moment. If they were going to stand a chance of winning over Hackney, she had to make them believe. Not just in Gwayne, but in what they could actually do together.

She stepped forward, hands raised in a gesture of openness. “Alright, listen up,” she called, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the room. “I know what you’re all thinking. Who’s this posh boy, swanning in here with his fancy shoes, telling us he’s going to solve our problems?”

A few people in the crowd nodded, some even chuckling in agreement. Gwayne shot her a wary look, but she ignored it, pressing on.

“You’re right,” she continued. “He’s got a swanky townhouse, he collects art worth more than most of us will see in our lifetimes, and he probably can’t tell a Greggs pasty from a bloody foie gras. But wouldn’t you rather have one of these posh boys on your side for once?”

The crowd was listening now, intrigued. She could see the skepticism starting to crack just a little.

“Think about it,” she went on, her voice gaining strength. “He’s got money. He’s got connections. He knows the people who pull the strings, the ones who make decisions about your lives while sipping champagne in Mayfair. He’s got the kind of influence that actually moves things along. Don’t you want someone like that fighting in your corner instead of against you?”

A few heads nodded slowly. She caught the eye of the young man from earlier, still frowning but clearly considering her words.

“And before you write me off as just another one of his people,” she added, raising her chin, “I’m not like him. Not by a long shot. I’m from Manchester — Manny born and bred. My dad owns a power tool shop, and my mum’s been working as a caterer for as long as I can remember. I worked my arse off to get into university, full ride scholarship because that was the only way I was getting in.”

She saw a few faces in the crowd soften, nodding in recognition. They knew what it meant to work for everything you had.

“And now here I am,” she continued, with a hint of defiance in her voice, “standing next to this posh, pretty boy. Not because I believe in his money or his connections, but because I believe he actually wants to do some good. Because for once, we’ve got one of these guys willing to take a stand, to fight for something other than his own bloody bank account.”

There was a murmur of approval now, a few people nodding, even clapping. She saw Frank in the corner, grinning like he’d just won a bet.

“So yeah,” Y/N said, letting her voice ring out strong, “I’m all in with him. And if you give him a chance, he’ll show you that he’s all in with you too. What have you got to lose? Another empty promise? Another politician who forgets about you the second they get to Westminster?”

Gwayne looked at her, a new appreciation in his eyes. He hadn’t expected her to go all in like that, to put herself on the line for him in front of these people. She had just thrown her whole story out there, her whole self, and it was resonating.

Y/N turned back to the crowd. “We know how this works, don’t we? We know the system’s rigged, and we know it’s not built for people like us. But here’s the thing — we can’t fight it alone. We need someone who can get into the room, sit at the table, and make some noise. Someone who’s willing to push the boundaries and shake things up.”

She took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline pumping through her veins. “I’m putting my money where my mouth is. I’m working with him, and I’m going to make damn sure he doesn’t just talk a good game. And if he tries to slack off, I’ll be the first to give him a kick up the arse.”

The crowd chuckled, a few cheers going up, and Y/N felt a surge of relief. They were starting to come around.

“So what do you say?” she finished, raising her voice. “Give us a chance. Hold us accountable. Make us prove it to you. Because I promise you, he’s not perfect — far from it — but he’s got fire, and he’s got the guts to use it.”

A small cheer went up, and Y/N felt a smile break across her face. The woman from before nodded approvingly, the young man seemed to relax a little, and even Frank was clapping slowly, his grin widening.

Gwayne stepped forward, taking his cue from her. “I know I’ve got a lot to prove,” he said, voice steady. “But with Y/N by my side — and with your support — I’m going to fight like hell for this community. For every single one of you.”

A louder cheer erupted this time, and Y/N felt her chest swell with a mix of pride and something else she wasn’t quite ready to name. She caught Gwayne’s eye, and he mouthed a silent “thank you,” a look of awe on his face.

She nodded, just a small dip of her head, but she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her lips. “Don’t thank me yet,” she whispered as he turned back to the crowd, her voice low enough only for him to hear. “We’ve still got a long way to go, posh boy.”

He chuckled, that infectious grin back on his face.

And as they continued to work the room, shaking hands and listening to stories, Y/N felt something shift.

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“This place doesn’t even have a bloody sign,” Y/N muttered, peering up at the unmarked black door set into a pristine brick facade. She shot Gwayne a sidelong glance as they stood on the dimly lit Mayfair street. “Is this one of those places where they judge you if you ask for ketchup?”

Gwayne smirked, adjusting the cufflinks on his tailored suit. “Only if you pronounce it wrong.”

She rolled her eyes, but her nerves were starting to kick in. “And you’re sure I’m dressed alright for this? I’m feeling a bit like Bridget Jones at a state dinner.”

Gwayne gave her a quick once-over, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. “You look perfect,” he said, a bit softer than usual. “Better than perfect. Trust me, they’ll be too busy being themselves to notice.”

She snorted, trying to shake off the unease creeping up her spine. “Well, that’s reassuring. So, remind me again why I’m here?”

Gwayne’s grin widened. “Because I want you to meet my father. And my sister. And because I’m tired of them assuming I’m completely useless.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “So, I’m your human shield, then?”

“More like my secret weapon,” he replied, flashing that grin again, and she felt a flicker of warmth despite herself.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” she muttered, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The restaurant was beyond posh. It was the sort of place you didn’t even know existed unless you were born into a world where five-course meals were standard Tuesday fare. Dim lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, and tables spaced so far apart that you’d need a map and a compass to navigate. A sommelier in a suit that probably cost more than Y/N’s rent stood by the door, giving them a nod as they entered.

“Mr. Hightower,” he murmured with a deferential nod. “Your party is already seated.”

“Cheers, mate,” Gwayne replied, slipping the guy a tip that was probably equivalent to a week’s worth of groceries for her.

They were led to a private alcove, tucked away behind a velvet curtain. At the table sat Sir Otto Hightower, the very picture of an aristocratic patriarch, his white hair immaculately styled, a pin on his lapel glinting in the low light — the insignia of a Knight Grand Cross of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire. Because, of course, he bloody was.

Next to him sat Alicent Hightower, Gwayne’s sister, her auburn hair twisted into a perfect chignon, a string of pearls draped around her neck. Alicent was the epitome of a British socialite — impeccably dressed, with that strange air of religious guilt that seemed to cling to her like perfume. Y/N knew the type: all sweetness and light on the surface, but beneath… God only knew.

“Father, Alicent,” Gwayne said, his tone a bit too cheerful. “This is Y/N, my campaign manager.”

Sir Otto’s eyes flicked to Y/N, appraising her with a cold, calculating stare. “Ah, the one steering my son’s misguided adventure,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk but with a sharp edge.

Y/N offered her hand, forcing a smile. “Nice to meet you, Sir Otto. Though I prefer to think of it as a ‘guided’ adventure.”

Otto’s lips twitched slightly, a half-smile. “Quite. And what brings a… Manchester girl to this peculiar position?” He spoke ‘Manchester’ like it was a foreign concept.

Y/N bristled slightly but kept her composure. “Good old-fashioned hard work, Sir Otto. That, and a full scholarship to UCL.”

Alicent, who had been sipping her wine in silence, finally looked up. Her green eyes were bright, inquisitive. “UCL, how… admirable,” she murmured, her voice soft. “Tell me, Y/N, do you believe in God?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Er, not the best topic for a first dinner, is it?” she replied with a grin. “But sure, I’d say I’m more spiritual than religious.”

Alicent smiled, but there was something unsettling in it. “Oh, how lovely,” she cooed. “Spiritual… but not tethered to the truth of the Lord’s word.”

Y/N couldn’t help herself. “Well, I suppose the Lord’s word didn’t help much with the housing crisis, did it?”

Gwayne’s eyes widened slightly, and he hid a smirk behind his hand. Sir Otto, however, leaned back, an amused glint in his eyes. “I see you’ve brought a firecracker, Gwayne.”

Gwayne grinned.

Sir Otto’s expression shifted, serious now. “Gwayne, I’m concerned about this… campaign of yours. It’s one thing to indulge in some youthful rebellion, quite another to throw away your future in politics for a party that, frankly, doesn’t hold much weight.”

Y/N decided to jump in. “With all due respect, Sir Otto, that’s precisely why he’s running with the Lib Dems. Because they don’t have the same old baggage, because he wants to make a difference, not just go along with the same tired rhetoric.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp and assessing. “And you believe he can do that, Miss…?”

Y/N didn’t miss a beat. “L/N. Y/N L/N,” she replied with a slight tilt of her head, James Bond style. Her tone was cool, collected, and a bit cheeky. She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her, not tonight.

Sir Otto chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound, as he scooped a bite of beluga caviar onto his spoon. “What’s in it for you, Miss L/N?” he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity as he placed the expensive delicacy into his mouth.

Y/N smiled, her expression nonchalant, and met his gaze without flinching. “Well, money, sir,” she said bluntly. “Can’t say no to a decent paycheck, can I?”

Otto laughed, a genuine, hearty sound that seemed to surprise even him. “Ah, honesty. A rare trait in politics. Refreshing.”

Alicent, who had been quiet for a moment, leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and a hint of amusement. “She is quite pretty, isn’t she?” she said with a small, mischievous smile. “Tell me, Y/N, any boyfriend? Fiancé? Surely someone must have snatched you up by now.”

Y/N kept her smile, though she felt the sting of the question, the way Alicent’s words seemed to pry at her personal life like a needle. She decided to answer truthfully, but with a touch of humor. “Well,” she began with a dry smile, “the last one ended because he cheated on me with his co-worker.”

Alicent’s eyebrows shot up, and even Otto paused mid-sip of his wine, surprised. Gwayne’s head whipped around so fast he nearly knocked over his water glass.

“Seriously?” Gwayne blurted out, before catching himself. “I mean… sorry, that’s… that’s bloody awful.”

Y/N shrugged, as if it were nothing more than an amusing anecdote. “Yeah, well, it makes for a good story at dinner parties, doesn’t it?”

Otto chuckled, clearly impressed. “You’ve got a tough skin, Miss L/N. You might just be what my son needs after all.”

Y/N grinned, raising her glass slightly. “Cheers to that, Sir Otto. Here’s to tough skins and thicker wallets.”

Alicent smiled, though her eyes were still studying Y/N carefully. “You certainly are… interesting, Y/N. Different from the usual lot Gwayne brings around.”

Y/N met her gaze without flinching. “Good. Because I’m not here to impress anyone, just to get the job done.”

Gwayne couldn’t hide his grin. “And that’s why she’s the best, Father. She’s real. And she’s not afraid to tell me when I’m being an idiot.”

Otto leaned back in his chair, still smiling. “Well, she’s got her work cut out for her then, doesn’t she?”

Alicent laughed softly. “Indeed. I rather like you, Y/N. And believe me, that’s not something I say often.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”

As the dinner continued, the conversation flowed a bit more easily, a bit more openly. Y/N felt the tension easing just a little, but she knew better than to let her guard down completely. This was still the Hightowers, after all. They were never off-duty, never fully relaxed.

As they walked out of the restaurant into the crisp night air, Gwayne turned to her, an amused smile on his lips. “You were bloody brilliant back there. I think you might have actually impressed them.”

Y/N shrugged, her face breaking into a grin. “Well, it’s about time someone shook things up around here, don’t you think?”

He laughed, slipping his hands into his pockets. “God, I really do need you, Y/N.”

She shot him a sideways glance. “Yeah, well, don’t go getting too soppy on me now, Hightower.”

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The campaign office was buzzing with a nervous, almost frantic energy. The air was thick with the scent of coffee, sweat, and anticipation. Papers were scattered across desks, phones were ringing off the hook, and the TV in the corner was blaring the election coverage at full volume.

The room was packed with volunteers, team members, and every random person who had decided they wanted a front-row seat to Gwayne Hightower’s political gamble.

Y/N stood by the window, staring out at the rain-slicked streets of Hackney. Her arms were crossed, her foot tapping against the floor in a steady rhythm that betrayed her nerves. She could feel the tension building in the room like a pressure cooker about to blow. This was it. Months of work, endless nights, arguments, laughter, and more cups of coffee than she could count — all leading up to this moment.

She glanced over at Gwayne, who was sitting in the center of the room, gripping a bright orange stress ball in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. His hair was slightly disheveled, his tie loosened, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. For the first time in weeks, he looked genuinely worried.

“Jesus, Gwayne, if you squeeze that thing any harder, it’s going to explode,” Y/N teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He gave a tight smile, his fingers tightening around the stress ball even more. “What, this?” he muttered. “This is keeping me from climbing out of the window and legging it down the street.”

She chuckled, walking over and plucking the glass of scotch out of his other hand. “And this?” she asked, taking a sip. “Liquid courage?”

“Something like that,” he muttered. “How’re we doing?”

Y/N glanced at the TV, where the talking heads were dissecting the election results, constituency by constituency. “Early counts look good,” she said, though her voice was steadier than she felt. “But it’s still too close to call.”

Gwayne nodded, his eyes flicking nervously to the screen. “Bloody hell. I haven’t felt this nervous since that time I accidentally set fire to the old headmaster’s garden at Eton.”

Y/N snorted. “You did what?”

“Long story,” he muttered, squeezing the stress ball again. “Involved fireworks and far too much brandy.”

She shook her head, laughing despite herself. “Remind me never to leave you alone with flammable objects.”

Across the room, one of the volunteers called out, “Turn it up! They’re about to announce something!”

Everyone fell silent, their eyes glued to the screen as the anchor shuffled his papers, looking far too pleased with himself. Y/N felt her stomach twist into knots. She glanced at Gwayne, who was sitting on the edge of his seat, knuckles white around the stress ball.

The anchor spoke, his voice calm and measured, “And now, the latest results coming in from Hackney South and Shoreditch…”

Y/N held her breath. This was it. The moment of truth.

Gwayne muttered something under his breath, his eyes wide, and she could feel the tension radiating off him like heat. “Come on, come on,” he whispered.

The anchor continued, “It appears we’re seeing a significant swing tonight. Early numbers suggest that the Liberal Democrat candidate, Gwayne Hightower, is making a strong showing in what was expected to be a closely contested race…”

A cheer went up from the room, and Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her. But she knew better than to celebrate too early. “Still just early numbers,” she called out over the noise. “We’re not done yet!”

Gwayne turned to her, his face a mix of disbelief and hope. “We might actually pull this off,” he breathed.

She smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Might? Don’t you dare start doubting now. We’ve come too bloody far for that.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, and squeezed the stress ball once more. “Alright, alright. Deep breaths.”

Y/N chuckled. “You look like you’re about to have a heart attack. Maybe lay off the scotch for a bit, yeah?”

He laughed, but it was a nervous sound. “Can’t promise that.”

Another volunteer rushed over, holding a phone up to Y/N. “Call for you,” they said breathlessly. “Someone from the party headquarters.”

Y/N took the phone, pressing it to her ear. “Yeah? What’s the news?”

She listened for a moment, her expression hard to read, and Gwayne felt his heart leap into his throat. “Y/N?” he asked, voice tinged with panic. “What is it?”

She hung up, turning back to him with a grin. “They’re saying it’s looking even better. We’ve got a real chance here, Gwayne.”

He exhaled sharply, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “God, I hope so.”

Y/N nudged him gently. “You’ve done the work, Gwayne. You’ve talked to people, you’ve listened. Now it’s in their hands.”

He nodded, looking around the room at all the people who had put their faith in him, who had worked tirelessly by his side. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

They both turned back to the TV, watching as the coverage continued, the tension building with every passing second.

GWAYNE HIGHTOWER HAS WON HACKNEY SOUTH AND SHOREDITCH.

The words flashed across the screen, and for a heartbeat, the entire room fell silent. The anchor’s voice echoed in the stillness, confirming the impossible — Gwayne Hightower had won. He was going to Westminster.

And then, the room exploded. Cheers erupted, people jumped from their chairs, and the air filled with the sound of shouting, laughing, and the popping of champagne corks. Y/N felt a wave of exhilaration rush through her as she was engulfed by a sea of hugs and high-fives from the volunteers, their faces lit up with joy and disbelief.

“WE BLOODY DID IT!” someone shouted, and another cheer went up, even louder this time.

Y/N turned to Gwayne, who was standing in the middle of the chaos, his mouth hanging open in shock. He still had the stress ball in one hand, but his grip had slackened, and the glass of scotch dangled precariously in the other. Slowly, a grin spread across his face, growing wider and wider until it seemed to take over his whole expression.

“We won!” he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “We actually fucking won!”

Before Y/N could react, Gwayne grabbed her and pulled her into a bear hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. She laughed, breathless, feeling the pure, unfiltered joy radiating from him. “Put me down, you idiot!” she shouted, but she couldn’t stop laughing.

He finally set her down, his eyes bright, his face flushed with excitement. “We did it, Y/N! We actually did it!”

She grinned back at him, her heart pounding with pride. “You bloody well did, Hightower. I told you you could.”

He took a deep breath, looking around at the crowd of volunteers, staffers, and supporters, all of them hugging, toasting, and celebrating like there was no tomorrow. “Right,” he announced, raising his voice above the noise. “This calls for a proper celebration.”

He made his way to the corner of the room, where a large cabinet stood. Y/N watched as he pulled open the doors to reveal a stash of bottles that looked like they’d been imported from some long-forgotten royal cellar. “Alright, who wants a drink?” he called out, holding up a bottle of whisky so rare it probably had its own pedigree.

A cheer went up, and Y/N laughed as Gwayne began pouring glasses of the finest whisky she’d ever seen. “I thought you were saving that for… I don’t know, the King’s visit or something,” she teased, accepting a glass.

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Forget the King. This is better.”

The glasses were passed around, and Gwayne raised his own high, a look of pure triumph on his face. “To everyone in this room,” he began, his voice strong, clear, “to every single person who believed in this campaign when no one else did, who knocked on doors, who made phone calls, who put up with my bollocks day in and day out… thank you. This isn’t my victory. It’s our victory. Ours. And I promise you, I’m going to make every single one of you proud.”

Another roar of approval filled the room, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a lump rise in her throat. She watched Gwayne, standing there with his messy hair, his loosened tie, and that damned expensive whisky in his hand.

“To Gwayne!” she shouted, raising her glass high.

“To Gwayne!” the room echoed back, and they all drank, the whisky burning a warm path down her throat. She felt Gwayne’s arm slide around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, feeling a sense of relief and joy wash over her.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he murmured in her ear, his voice soft, almost lost in the noise of the celebration. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

She turned to look at him, her heart thudding in her chest. “Oh, please,” she replied with a grin. “You did all the hard work. I just yelled at you a lot.”

He laughed, a deep, happy sound, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them, standing in the middle of that chaotic, jubilant room. “Well, keep yelling at me,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. “Because I’ve got a feeling we’re just getting started.”

She smiled, a warm, genuine smile, and clinked her glass against his. “To Westminster,” she said.

“To Westminster,” he echoed.

But then, “Gwayne, it’s your father.”

Gwayne looked down at his phone, the name “Otto Hightower” flashing on the screen like a warning sign. He shot a glance at Y/N, who was still grinning from ear to ear, surrounded by the celebrating team. With a sigh, he swiped to answer the call.

“Father,” he said, raising his voice above the noise of the room, “calling to congratulate me, are you?”

Otto’s voice crackled through the phone, formal and clipped. “Of course, son. It’s a remarkable achievement. The family is very… proud. Your mother insisted we call. We’d like you to drop by the estate at Kew so we can celebrate properly.”

Gwayne’s face flickered with something Y/N couldn’t quite read. He glanced at her, then back at the phone. “Tonight?” he asked, a slight hesitation in his voice.

“Yes, tonight,” Otto replied. “Your sister is already on her way. It’s only right that we toast your success together, as a family. You’ve done well, Gwayne. It’s time to show the world that we stand united.”

Y/N caught his eye, sensing his indecision. She smiled, trying to keep it light. “Go on, Gwayne. They’re your family. Go celebrate with them.”

But Gwayne’s brow furrowed, his grip tightening on his phone. “Yeah, but…” he started, then turned away slightly, lowering his voice. “Look, Father, I appreciate it, really. But I think I might stay here, with my team. With the people who made this happen.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, then a slight huff of breath. “Gwayne,” Otto said, a touch of impatience creeping into his tone, “these are the optics you have to consider now. Come to Kew. Show your face. You’ve won a political seat, but don’t forget your roots. You’re a Hightower. It’s time to act like one.”

Gwayne closed his eyes, his jaw tensing. “I know,” he muttered. “I just… I need to think about it, alright?”

Otto’s voice softened just a fraction. “Just think about what this means for all of us, Gwayne. We’re waiting.”

The call ended with a click, and Gwayne stared at the screen for a moment before slipping the phone into his pocket. He turned to find Y/N watching him, an eyebrow raised.

“So?” she asked, trying to keep her tone casual. “You off to the family estate then? Sounds like a big deal.”

Gwayne frowned, his expression conflicted. “I don’t know, Y/N,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, they want me to, but…”

Y/N gave him a playful nudge. “Go on, posh boy. It’s your moment. Go drink champagne in a fancy mansion, eat some ridiculous hors d’oeuvres, bask in the glory of finally being the golden child.”

But Gwayne shook his head, his eyes still fixed on hers. “It’s just… that’s not where I want to be tonight.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean? They’re your family. This is huge for them too.”

He sighed, leaning against the table, his gaze never wavering. “Yeah, but they weren’t the ones who stood by me through this whole bloody mess. They weren’t the ones knocking on doors, calming me down when I thought I was going to blow it, or making sure I didn’t look like a total prat on TV.”

Her grin softened, a bit of warmth creeping into her voice. “Gwayne…”

He took a step closer, his voice dropping low, just for her. “You’re the one I want to celebrate with, Y/N. You’re the one who I owe all of this to.”

She felt her breath hitch, her heart racing in her chest. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, trying to laugh it off, but her voice came out a little too shaky. “You did this, Gwayne. You won.”

Gwayne shook his head, determination in his eyes. “No, we won. Together. And I don’t want to go to some stuffy dinner with my family when I could be here, celebrating with you. With the people who actually matter.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a grin, a teasing light dancing in her eyes. “Alright then, MP,” she replied, leaning back with her arms crossed. “But if we’re going to celebrate, we’re going to do this right.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what does right look like to you?”

“No posh nonsense,” she declared with a smirk. “I’m in the mood for a proper drink. None of this ‘hand-picked by the King’s personal sommelier’ rubbish. We’re going to my favorite pub in Camden.”

Gwayne chuckled, clearly amused. “Camden? Really?”

“Yeah, really,” she shot back, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m talking Guinness, maybe some Negronis if we’re feeling fancy. Real drinks, in real glasses, in a place where they don’t care what your last name is or whether you’ve got a seat in Parliament.”

He laughed, already feeling a sense of relief wash over him. “Alright, alright, Camden it is. I’m game.”

She grinned, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door. “Come on, MP. Time to show you how the other half celebrates.”

Thirty minutes later, they walked into a well-worn pub in the heart of Camden, the sort of place where the tables were sticky, the music was too loud, and everyone shouted over it anyway. It was packed, warm, and smelled faintly of spilled beer and fried food. Perfect.

Y/N pushed through the crowd, leading the way with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where they were going. “Oi, Derek!” she called to the barman, a burly man with a thick beard and a friendly grin. “Two pints of Guinness, and keep them coming!”

Derek gave her a knowing nod. “Y/N, love! Been a while. You brought a friend?”

Y/N grinned back. “Something like that. This is Gwayne. Gwayne, Derek. Derek, meet Gwayne, our newest MP.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “MP, eh? Well, blimey, look at that! In my pub? Must be a special occasion.” He winked at Y/N. “What’s he doing slumming it here with the likes of us?”

Gwayne laughed, feeling more at ease than he had in weeks. “Trying to remember what real people are like,” he said, and Derek let out a hearty laugh, clapping him on the back.

“Good on you, mate. First round’s on me,” Derek declared, pouring their pints with a flourish.

Y/N grabbed the pints and handed one to Gwayne. “Cheers,” she said, clinking her glass against his.

“Cheers,” he echoed, taking a long, satisfying sip. The Guinness was cold and smooth, and he let out a contented sigh. “God, that’s good. I see why you like this place.”

She smirked, leaning against the bar. “Told you. No frills, just fun. And now, we celebrate properly.”

Gwayne’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Alright, then. Let’s have it. What’s next?”

She grinned. “Next, we toast. To winning. To not being a total prat. And to more nights like this.”

He laughed, raising his pint high. “To more nights like this,” he agreed, his voice filled with a happiness he hadn’t felt in ages.

They drank, they laughed, and they joked, and for once, Gwayne felt like he could actually breathe, like the weight of the election had finally lifted. He didn’t have to be the polished, perfect politician tonight. He could just be… himself.

Y/N leaned in, her voice low over the din of the pub. “See? Isn’t this better than some stuffy dinner with your dad?”

He smiled, his eyes locked on hers. “Much better,” he admitted, “though I think it has more to do with the company than the location.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. “Flattery will get you everywhere, MP.”

“Good,” he replied with a wink, “because I’m just getting started.”

They spent the rest of the night laughing and drinking, sharing stories and toasting to every little victory. By the time they were onto their third round of Negronis — and perhaps more than a little tipsy — Gwayne realized he hadn’t felt this free in years.

As the night wore on, the pub became louder, rowdier, and Gwayne found himself leaning closer to Y/N, his shoulder brushing against hers, her laughter in his ear. He looked at her, really looked at her, and wondered how he’d managed to get so lucky.

“So, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and sincere, “if I’ve got any shot at making it in this crazy world of politics… it’s because of you. You know that, right?”

She smiled, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, her eyes bright. “I think you’re doing just fine, Gwayne. But I’m glad to have helped knock a bit of sense into you.”

He laughed, reaching out to clink his glass against hers again. “To knocking some sense into me,” he agreed, his voice soft.

She grinned, and as their glasses met with a gentle clink, he felt that same familiar spark — the one that had been simmering between them for weeks. And tonight, with the pub alive around them and her laughter in his ear, he felt like this was exactly where he was meant to be.

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A few hours later.

Y/N stumbled out of the pub, her head spinning from the pints of Guinness and the Negronis they’d downed. Gwayne was beside her, his arm draped lazily around her shoulder, his laughter echoing in the cool Camden air.

“Alright, MP,” she slurred slightly, flagging down a cab that seemed to materialize from nowhere. “Time to get you back to Belgravia before you pass out on the pavement.”

Gwayne pouted, a tipsy grin spreading across his face. “But I’m not done celebrating,” he protested, swaying slightly.

She chuckled, tugging him towards the cab. “Mate, you’re done. Trust me. Come on, get in.”

She pushed him gently into the backseat and climbed in after him, giving the driver Gwayne’s address. The cabbie nodded, pulling away from the curb.

Gwayne leaned his head back, staring at her with a goofy smile. “You’re a bossy one, aren’t you?” he slurred, his eyes half-lidded.

“Someone’s got to keep your posh arse in line,” she shot back, smirking.

He laughed, the sound warm and careless, like he’d never had a worry in his life. “S’true,” he murmured, leaning his head against the window, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “You’re my rock, Y/N.”

She chuckled, feeling the warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “Alright, Shakespeare, save it for when you’re sober.”

The cab wound its way through the quiet London streets, the lights blurring past them. Y/N’s head buzzed pleasantly, and she kept sneaking glances at Gwayne, who was still grinning like a fool.

Finally, they pulled up outside his townhouse, and the cabbie turned to look back at them. “Here we are, mate,” he said. “You alright getting out?”

Gwayne blinked, looking around like he’d just woken up. “Yeah, yeah, this is me,” he mumbled, fumbling with the door handle. He managed to push it open, but instead of getting out, he reached for Y/N’s hand, pulling her along with him.

“Oi, what are you doing?” she laughed, stumbling out after him. “You’re home. Get inside and sleep it off.”

He turned to her, his eyes wide and a bit desperate. “Wait, wait,” he said, his words slurring together. “I need you to… to punch in the code for me.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “You’ve forgotten the bloody code to your own house?”

He nodded with all the seriousness of a drunk man trying to seem responsible. “I need your help,” he insisted, tugging at her arm. “Can’t… can’t do it without you.”

Y/N sighed, but she couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. “Fine, fine. Come on, let’s get you inside.”

He beamed, still holding onto her arm like she was the only thing keeping him upright. “Knew I could count on you,” he said, leading her up the steps to the front door.

She punched in the code he mumbled under his breath, shaking her head in amusement. “Honestly, Gwayne, you’re hopeless.”

The door clicked open, and she nudged him inside, making sure he didn’t trip over the threshold. “Alright, you’re in,” she said, hands on her hips. “Now go upstairs and sleep, before you do something stupid.”

But he didn’t let go of her arm. Instead, he turned to face her, his expression suddenly serious, almost vulnerable. “Stay,” he murmured, his voice low and soft. “Just… for a bit. I don’t wanna be alone.”

Y/N’s heart did a weird little flip, and she swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “Gwayne, you’re pissed. You need to sleep it off.”

He shook his head, his grip on her arm tightening just a little. “Please,” he whispered, his eyes searching hers. “Just… just for a minute. I don’t want this night to end.”

She hesitated. “Gwayne, I…”

But his eyes were so earnest, so genuinely pleading, that she found herself nodding, unable to resist. “Alright,” she sighed, trying to sound annoyed but failing. “Just for a minute.”

He smiled, that boyish grin that made her insides twist, and he led her inside, closing the door behind them. The grand entrance hall was dimly lit, the soft glow of antique lamps casting shadows on the walls.

They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, and she could feel her heart racing in her chest. “Okay, you’re in,” she repeated, a bit breathless now. “Now what?”

He stepped closer, his hand still on her arm, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “For everything. For… believing in me.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, and she looked away, suddenly feeling very sober. “Yeah, well,” she muttered, “someone had to.”

He laughed softly, his thumb brushing against her arm. “I think… I think it had to be you.”

She met his gaze again, and for a second, she forgot where they were, forgot everything but the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing that mattered.

“Gwayne,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Stay,” he repeated, his eyes dark, serious.

Y/N sighed then she left Gwayne sprawled out on the leather couch, one arm dangling off the side, his head leaning back with that drunken, lopsided grin still on his face.

“Yeah, sure,” she muttered to herself, looking around his ridiculously posh townhouse. “Just for a bit, and somehow I’m now in charge of making sure you don’t choke on your own tongue tonight.”

She glanced at him one more time. “Stay put, alright? I’m getting you some water.”

Gwayne gave a lazy thumbs-up, eyes half-closed. “Water… perfect idea. You’re brilliant, Y/N. Absolutely… magnificent,” he mumbled, slurring his words, his grin widening as if he’d just had the most profound thought.

She shook her head, smirking. “You’ll thank me in the morning, trust me.”

Y/N made her way toward the kitchen, weaving slightly as the room swayed around her. She was definitely feeling the effects of those Negronis. “Right,” she muttered under her breath, “just need to get some water. How hard can it be?”

She turned the corner and entered what could only be described as a space-age kitchen — all sleek chrome and glossy surfaces, like it had been designed by some avant-garde architect who’d clearly never boiled an egg in his life. She blinked at the sight of a state-of-the-art water system built into the counter, with more buttons and screens than the bloody cockpit of a plane.

“What the hell is this?” she muttered, frowning at the contraption. “It’s a water tap, not the bloody TARDIS.”

She poked at one of the buttons, and the display lit up with a series of choices: Still. Sparkling. Ice Cold. Room Temperature. Mineral Infused. pH Balanced. Alkaline. There was even an option for Artisanal Mountain Spring, which she was pretty sure was taking the piss.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she groaned, rubbing her temples. “Why does he need this much choice for a glass of water?”

She jabbed at the Still button, but nothing happened. She tried Room Temperature. Still nothing. The machine made a faint, mocking beeping sound that she swore was laughing at her. “Come on, you fancy piece of crap,” she growled, slapping the side of it. “Give me some bloody water!”

She pressed another button, and a small panel opened up, revealing even more buttons. “Are you kidding me?” she muttered, leaning closer, trying to make sense of the digital display that was now flashing at her like she’d accidentally triggered the launch codes for a nuclear missile.

“Alright, let’s try this…” she muttered, tapping another button labeled Dispense.

The machine hummed for a moment, then spat out a single drop of water. A single, mocking drop.

“You have got to be joking,” Y/N muttered, staring at the droplet like it had personally insulted her. “Come on, work, damn you!”

She tried again, this time holding the button down longer, and finally, a stream of water began to flow — freezing cold and spraying out far too fast, splashing over the side of the glass and onto her shirt.

“Bloody hell!” she yelped, jumping back and nearly slipping on the pristine marble floor. “Why is it so complicated to get a drink in this bloody house?”

Gwayne’s voice floated in from the living room, a lazy, amused drawl. “Y’alright in there, Y/N?”

She shot a glare in his direction, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah, fine!” she called back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just wrestling with your bloody spaceship tap!”

She finally managed to fill the glass without any more incidents and turned off the tap, which thankfully didn’t require any further button-pressing. Taking a deep breath, she made her way back to the living room, where Gwayne was now lying sideways on the couch, humming some Beatles tune to himself.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the glass into his hand. “Drink. You need water, or you’re going to wake up tomorrow feeling like a truck hit you. And I’m not in the mood to deal with your whining.”

He blinked up at her, his eyes glassy but grateful. “Thanks, Y/N,” he murmured, taking a sip. “You’re… amazing. Like, really. You know that?”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, yeah. Drink up.”

He chuckled softly, downing the water like he hadn’t had a drink in days. “Seriously, though,” he continued, setting the glass on the coffee table, “don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She felt a flutter in her chest, but she kept her tone light. “Probably end up dehydrated on your fancy couch, for starters.”

He grinned, his eyelids drooping as the alcohol started to catch up with him. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d just… still be lost.”

Y/N’s breath hitched for a second, but she brushed it off with a chuckle. “Alright, enough with the confessions. Time for you to sleep.”

He nodded, his head lolling to the side. “Yeah… sleep sounds good,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

Y/N watched him for a moment, making sure he was actually dozing off and not about to get up and start another drunken adventure. “Goodnight, Gwayne,” she whispered, almost too softly to hear.

He mumbled something in his sleep, a smile still on his lips, and Y/N turned to leave, shaking her head. She’d gotten him home, hydrated, and onto his couch. Mission accomplished for now.

[pinkyjulien]

🟨 Better Feet ━━ for Kerry Eurodyne!

By request, an optional mod that edit Kerry's vanilla body to use my new feet is now available on my main mod!

⚠ Does NOT contains any new HD texture! ⚠ NOT compatible with custom Kerry body mods

🔹 On Nexus

aaaand some behind the scene struggles under read more CW for heavily distorded (Kerry) mesh and materials!

SO.... I never paid attention to Kerry's meshes and files

I knew him and Johnny have custom thinner bodies and have their own rigs- but I didn't expect *modding* his body would be such a stroke HAHGFH

Firstly, Kerry's body is broken down to 2 submeshes only, compared to the regular MA body and its 10 submeshes

Kerry's feet are merged with his legs, so I had to cut and sew my custom ones- but that wasn't unexpected or hard

HOWEVER... Here I thought that importing the body back over his original one would be all it takes, right?

Right... I smelled trouble there AHGFH

So I went ahead and edited a few things- merged the actual models, re-merged the UV maps correctly...

The mesh is working!.... But what the Fuck is happenin with the material? "Probably a problem with the faces normals" I told myself, going back to blender to once again do some basic tweaking...

But nothing was working

SO I decided- if Kerry's body won't accept the new feet model, I'll try to export it over the MA body and then transfer all of Kerry's data into it, right? Easy

Oh .... Right........ Mister Eurodyne has his own little Rig and Animgraph

Stroke aside- the feet were finally "working properly"! So all I had to do now is to fix the -vague gesture- the Everything Else

For that, I exported both my Kerry new-feet body mesh and his OG mesh to .json, transferring his OG bones names and positions's lists over to my edited mesh to correctly match his rig and animgraph files

All I had to do now was to export my fbx over the newly edited mesh!

AND VOILA

I thought sharing the modding journey might be interesting for anyone wanting to edit Kerry's body in anyway! AND a good laugh to everyone else GHFHGF

Modding can curse you with some deeply fucked imagery that really punch you with "All those amazing characters and world you love so much are a bunch of polygons that can break in an instant"

ITS GROUNDING But it doesn't takes away from the immersion- at least for me 🧡

Never intended this to become deep and emotional but fuck me LMAOGFHHGF BUT YEAH Enjoy dem new feeties :3c

[weimarhaus]

George Grosz (German, 1893-1959) Lotte Schmalhausen auf dem Tisch sitzend, mit Beinen aufgezogen (Lotte Schmalhausen sitting on the table, legs raised), 1928. Oil/canvas, 83.5 x 67.3 cm. @Christie's, Oct. 13, 1994.

Lotte Schmalhausen (1898-1990) was a model and a painter Otto Schmalhausen's wife, George Grosz's brother-in-law and best friend. Lotte was George Grosz' wife Eva sister.

Lotte, a professional photographer, who was married to the Berlin artist Otto Schmalhausen, was using her plate-back camera to photograph Grosz's work in his studio. Very often, both sisters, Eva being brunette and Lotte being blond, used to model for Grosz, the artist depicting them as naked playmates.

[2-dsimp]

Hi hi, in case Yandere Itto is a gang leader at school, could I ask how he would treat reader in case she is a new student? I would imagine that at first he would try to be normal by giving her flowers or sending letters through his gang mates, but when he sees her getting closer to someone else who has a better reputation his alarm bells go off, even worse when he finds out from his close ones that his family doesn't want him so close because they think he will be a bad influence and prefer the qualified student who is the 'lovely competition' for reader's heart.

Ha, sorry if I wrote too much, I got excited and thank you so much! 👁️❤️

You just gave me brainrot like this is perfect I-I can’t even, just here 💳💥💳💥💳 TAKE IT—

Yandere! Delinquent Gang Leader! Arataki Itto!

Headcannons 👹

⛓The moment you bumped into him and looked up to him not in fear or nervousness like most people in the school since he can’t help his intimidating looks, he was hooked

⛓In fact your sweet apologetic smile and your laidback ‘My bad’ as you were on your tippy toes to attempt to brush some nonexistent dust off his shoulders was just so endearing that he couldn’t help but to show interest in you becoming his woman

⛓As you were the only other girl besides his right hand, Kuki, in this school who didn’t sneer at him for being the degenerate bad boy stereotype or cower from his daunting form as he sure fit the bill of being a sexy Yakuza leader

⛓Such as being built like the giant from Jack and the beanstalk, tall bulky frame of pure solid muscle straining through the shirt that was barely buttoned, exposing his broad chest to everyone as his loosened tie dangled from his neck

⛓His pants were no better as he settled for the baggy kind to be more comfortable with his thick thighs and demanding size in between the legs… No he doesn’t wear a belt, I mean who needs belts when you got all dat thicc ass inside dem jeans

⛓He’d be clumsy at first debating on what to give you in order to be able to successfully make you his future wifey, and would think about it hard enough for his blood vessels to almost pop due to him stressing over what’d be the perfect welcoming gift for the new student who knocked him off his feet literally

⛓Doesn’t have any experience with courting girls since you were the first one to make him feel giddy and accepted with the way you gazed up at him with your non-judgmental doe eyes, which he’s very grateful for as he was always treated like the bad apple of the batch by the teachers/staff

⛓His right hand would step in and advise him on what to do and what NOT to do in front of said Senpai and cue him on the types of gifts to give to his lackeys that’ll soon become his “Instant Cupid messengers”

⛓Will give you short sweet haikyu poems along with goodies such as candy, stuffed animals, and even small trinkets which got an thumbs up from Kuki since she was sent to observe you in order to find out what you liked/didn’t like basically she acted like an intel spy for Itto

⛓Sadly because of his looks he’s garnered a bad reputation throughout the school as rumors of how he was practically a lost cause who liked to wreck a path of carnage wherever he goes or one instance of where he was sent to juvie for stabbing a man in the neck just because he looked at him funny

⛓Which wasn’t a very good incentive for your parents to approve of you getting within a 7ft distance of him especially since Xingqiu, the straight A model student who helped tutored you after school, was a much more appealing fit to be your boyfriend

⛓In fact the rumors were farther from the truth since he was a pretty nice guy just misunderstood

⛓He’d grab onto balloons that happened to float away and hand it back to the a kid chasing after it with a big friendly sharp toothed grin slapped on his face

⛓Hell he’d be the type to walk old grandmas across the street or make a shelter for some abandoned puppies and feed them routinely after school maybe even giving them homes via gang members, some of which have a sweet spot for animals and will be sure to take care of them

⛓Don’t get it twisted he won’t hesitate to rock anyone’s shit if they do happen to mess with his clique or if some rival gang wants smoke, although he may be young he’s still got knack for being the face of the Arataki gang who’s numbers are only rising under his strong tenacious acts of leadership

⛓He’d be conflicted with how close your getting with Xingqiu but wouldn’t resort to any underhanded means as he would straight up challenge him to a fair one-on-one duel for your favor since he’s that kind of guy who’s bold enough to declare his love for you basically broadcasting it to the whole damn school

⛓Que Romeo and Juliet type relationship best believe he’ll be knocking at your window perched on top of the railing so he could hop in your room and have some frisky quality time…👀

⛓He’s not often seen at school because he’s adventurous nature gets him into some trouble so, best believe he will whisk you away to skip school and go on a exiting getaway with him

“ Senpai! Please become my woman! I’ll give you everything you want and more…Just be mine and I’ll make you the happiest you’ve ever been as my future wife I swear on my name I’ll make that a reality ”

[blogger-yura]

Entry #6 July 7th '21

#YurasLife #WholesomeWednesday #Animals #Cat #ChoisDiaries

𝐖𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 - 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢

Hello hello my lovely little birds! How's the week treating you all so far? Have you been taking care? I sure hope you have! Remember to take breaks, eat enough, stay hydrated, take a shower! Make some time for yourself today, alright? Promise me!

Today I bring y'all a little Choi for the heart alongside a very important quote. (!!!)

Before getting to that, though, lets appreciate how FUNNY little Choi looks without his fur T.T This dumbass ran off when my friend left the window open for a second and he got COVERED in thistles and branches from the neighbors yard so I had to take him to the groomer, there was no way we could take them off without hurting him more :( His fur was so dirty and tangled. He's ok though! Fur is growing back so fast! But he looks so funny with his hairy legs and big ass head alone LOL

Have you ever had to shave your pets because they did something dumb?

Now moving on!

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲.

𝐍𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

Today's quote is from a creator I love lots. You might know him or have seen his works around, R.M. Drake. "Some people just aren't ready. No matter how much time passes. They'll never understand the type of sacrifices you made for them. They'll never understand how long you waited for them. And they'll never. Ever. Understand how badly you wanted to make things work. And how hard it was for you to let them go." Now, this doesn't mean these people is bad. Just that these people aren't ready for you. Everyone is a world of their own, and just imagine- Picture it like this, some people have such a hard time on this world we live at, how can we expect them to understand us? Sometimes people don't mean to hurt us even if they do. Sometimes people just isn't compatible. Just because someone can't completely appreciate you it doesn't mean they can't appreciate others. This doesn't make them bad, but it won't be satisfactory for you either. And just because someone isn't bad it doesn't mean they're good for you either.

Here is where I share a second quote for today, also very important. "Sometimes you just have to move on. And sometimes you have to do it overnight. Without giving them any hints or warnings. Sometimes you just have to pick up your sh*t and go. And not look back. And start over. And rewrite your own story."

I feel like so many of us have a hard time setting our own boundaries- Or actually, respecting them. Setting them is easy, saying what we are willing to put up with or not, that's easy. Pulling through? Especially when it comes down to people we love or are fond of, that's actually hard. It's important to remember sometimes you just have to move on. For your own wellbeing. Sometimes you need to prioritize yourself over others, and not look back. And that's ok. Please remember, just because you love someone it doesn't mean you can't let them go.

To close off today, I want to remind all of you that you're worth it. You ARE loved and you ARE needed and you ARE appreciated even if that one person can't see it. Even if you don't feel validated by that one person, you ARE valid, and beautiful, and strong. You are deserving of good things. Nothing can change that. I'll see you around, ok? Take care, my lovelies. -Yura ♡

🧡: @vitoria-oc @archangel-oc @shin-haneul @m00n-miaka-cb @lunaaofthemoon @moongoddesselene @jinju-oc

@cb-museclub @achillesunwoo @uridealbf-cb @uridealgf-cb @fairymiso @ares-bc @piratesunwoo @fairykingdom-bot @warblerchangmin @guitaristhanse @moongoddesselene @dmonchan @mafia-chae @botuniverse @sweethomebot @greenwitch-felix @unseelie-dejun @musicianjennie @sirenscb @skz-cb @betrayerjongup @urhexgirls @idol-academy @dem-oneus @mafia-bots @powerpuff-3ye-cb @model-lucy @moonlightchn @slasherdoyeon @temptationcb @lucifertaemin @yourmysticbot @carnival-skz @demigodnct @vampiremomo @uniboimark @suburbanbots @dbdbots @everglowcb

[alia-turin]

A-Z for Ge'els please?

Hello my dear, here is a stoic sexy painter for you, I hope you enjoy him ;) 

NSFW Alphabet 

NSFW below cut

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Despite his seemingly cold nature, Ge’els is an attentive lover and likes to take care of his partners. He would always find time after sex to spend at least few quality moments with them making sure they are feeling well. 

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers) As a true artist he is not attracted to a single part of the body but rather what makes someone unique - if his partner has great legs, that would be his favourite part in this person, but if another partner has elegant fingers, that is what will attract him in them. 

As for his own body, he does not have a preference - it has all been created to serve a purpose so he does not show preference from one place to another. 

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Ge’els is a firm believer that the Aen Elle race needs to grow so unless there are exceptional circumstances he would always cum in his partner. 

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

He is known to use dry paint brushes to arouse his partners. The idea is constantly at the back of his mind. 

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

Ge’els has been around for awhile so he knows exactly what he is doing and more importantly he knows how to please. He is very set in his ways about what he likes and he does not like, and he would not go out of his own boundaries, but that does not mean he is not creative in bed, just it’s always going to be mostly his way. 

F= Favorite position

He likes seeing the face and body of his partner move so he would allow them to fuck themselves on him as he is watching or running his fingers through their body. 

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

Serious, he does not understand the idea of being silly in bed. 

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

He is rarely rough, but also he cannot be described as romantic unless he truly cares about his partner. How dirty he goes would entirely depend on his mood or his goal provided he is using sex for political power. 

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Not his thing, waste of valuable genetic material, due to his position he can always find someone to satisfy his needs with. 

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

Anything related to painting, he is not just inspired by nudity but he is known to ask his models to please themselves once he no longer needs to pose for him. Sometimes he might even ask them to do it while he still paints - helps his inspiration. 

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

Ge’els has no shame and he can do it anywhere. His studio and his bedroom are perhaps on top of his list, however he will also be considered of his partner’s needs and preferences. 

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Two things can get him gooing, one is inspiration, if he finds his interest physically and mentally inspiring they could turn him on easily. The other thing is political power, nothing can excite him as much as getting advantage to his opponents. 

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Anything he finds disgusting. 

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

He prefers to receive rather than give, however he is not unskilled in that either. 

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

He likes taking his time, it is all art for him, so he needs to make sure it is all done properly, he would tease a lot and play a lot with his partners before he even gets to the main event. 

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

Not really a fan of, but he has been known to indulge now and then, especially if a painting session gets too heated. He would always prefer to take his time and do it right instead of doing it fast. 

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

He has no interest in trying new things as he has tried a lot and knows exactly what he wants and what he likes. If the thing is new for his partner and he does not like it, he would just decline and move to something else.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

Despite his age he could last a lot and more importantly he has amazing self control. His partner could be dripping and begging mess before he even allows himself to get turned on properly. 

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

He does enjoy using toys and he does have a good collection of them, always for the pleasure of his partners but not his own

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

He is a massive tease, and would allow to be teased as well although due to his great ability to control himself he really needs to allow it, it won’t work just because his partner decided so. 

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

He is not loud, if he is very turned on there might be the occasional grunt. He does like complimenting his partners and telling them exactly how they make him feel. 

W= Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

He would draw paintings based on his sexual experiences, but he would never do it with someone he cares about as that later could be used against him. 

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

He has a very good sized cock and he knows how to use it. He would act as if that is nothing, but he enjoys watching his partners moan as he enters them. 

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

He does have good control over his sex drive however most of the time his painting would end up with sex. 

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

Ge’els is always busy and he does not sleep a lot. Unless sex was at the end of the day for him, most likely he would take care of his partner and them just get dressed and go about his business.

[jjungkookislife]

If you're still up for drabbles, I wouldn't mind seeing more of You Up? couple. I've developed quite a soft spot for them. I even just re-read the whole thing cause I love it so much! I'm not asking for anything specific. Surprise us, queen!

i miss you! i hope you’re doing well!

pairing: you up?!jk x oc

tw: jk is a little insecure about being on cam, face time date, mutual masturbation, hickeys, lots of cum! sorry idk where my mind went!

Jungkook was nervous. He wasn’t sure why? It wasn’t like you’d never seen him naked. In fact, you’d seen him naked more than anyone else ever had. So why was he nervous now? Could it be because this was the first time you two were apart? He knew by FaceTime date, it’d eventually turn sexual. He was fine with that. He honestly was, but what if he looked different on camera?

“Hey,” you greet him when he answers your call. “I miss you!”

“H-hey!” he stutters, cheeks flushing with heat. He chastises himself, ‘get it together!’

“How’s Japan?” you ask with a smile.

Jungkook relaxes; your smile immediately, putting him at peace. 

“It’s great!” he bubbles with excitement, telling you about his adventures of the day. He’d be away two more days, having scored a modeling opportunity after being scouted on campus. He was astounded, but took the opportunity despite being so far from you at the moment.

He was looking forward to getting paid and flying back home to you. He wanted to hug you, squeeze you and kiss you until he couldn’t breathe.

You looked adorable in your pajamas, he quirked his head, “are you at my place?”

You smile sheepishly, tugging at the hem of your sleep shorts, “I couldn’t sleep without you. I thought it’d be better if I were surrounded by your scent. I’m sorry,”

“No! Don’t apologize, baby. I miss you just as much, if not more,” Jungkook admits, feeling weird now that he could be honest with you.  It had been a long journey to get here, to be comfortable with his feelings, especially when they were about you.

“You don’t mind that I’m in your bed? Wearing your plaid shirt?” you ask, tugging on the red and black shirt. Jungkook bites his lip. He loved how it looked on you. He wondered if you’d keep it on while he fucked you? The thought has heat pooling in his abdomen, biting his lip as he admires your beauty.

“Fuck,” he curses, carding a tattooed hand through his hair. He groans. He’d do anything to bend you over his bed and fuck you until your voice was hoarse, thighs trembling, struggling to stay in position. What he wouldn’t do to cum all over your back. Or maybe your stomach? Your chest? Your face? Your mouth? Pools and pools of his cum dripping down your chin to your chest? Fuck.

“Jungkook?” your sweet voice draws him from his reverie.

“Yes, baby?” he asks, mind whirling with lustful thoughts, his mouth watering when you begin to unbutton the shirt, exposing your breasts.

“Fuck,” he curses, licking his lips as you scoot back on his bed, easily tugging off your sleep shorts to reveal you’re not wearing anything underneath. “Oh, fuck!”

You giggle, “Kook?”

“You look good! So good,” he says, practically drooling over you. He fumbles with his t-shirt, ripping it off to toss on the floor of his hotel room. He moves back on his bed, his hand moving to cup his growing erection over his sweatpants.

You smile, cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples as you get onto your knees, moving up and down.

“I miss riding you, Kook. So, so much,” you whine, a pout on your lips. Jungkook groans, eyes glued to your body as you seduce him, his hand moving under the waistband of his sweatpants. A soft groan leaves his lips as he strokes himself.

“Just wanna bend you over. Fill you full of me,” Jungkook curses, eyes fluttering shut as a moan of your lips tumbles from his lips. 

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, yeah!” he exclaims, a breathy sigh escaping him. “Wanna fuck you full of my cum.”

“Kook,” you moan, your hand brushing along your wet folds, teasing yourself and your boyfriend.

“Spread your legs, baby.” Jungkook demands, eyeing the hickeys he’s left on your thighs when you do as he says. He curses up a storm, cock twitching in his hand as he uses his pre-cum to aid him in getting off.

“Jungkook!” his name rolls off your tongue as you arch, toes curling at your touch. You imagine him on top of you, inside of you, filling you to the brim. Stretching you. Your nails dragging down his back, his marks on your neck and your breasts. His name filling the room as your body quivers from his fucking.

“Baby!” he gasps, letting you know all the filthy things he plans to do to you the moment he walks through the door. You beg him for it, pleading and writhing on his bed. You’re dripping wet, fingers curling inside you for him to see.

Jungkook strokes his cock, imagining your warm mouth wrapped around him, the sweet sound of you gagging and crying as he fucks your throat pleasantly. His hands embedded in your hair as you beg him for more with tear-filled eyes.

“I’m gonna cum!” he warns, moans filling your room through your phone. He sounds so close, so whiny and fuels the fire deep inside you. His name escapes you over and over again, thighs trembling, body contracting as you cum all over your fingers and his bed sheets. Jungkook watches in awe, licking his lips as he cries out for you, not giving a single damn of who hears him. He cums, hard. IT seems to go on and on, pooling on his pelvis until he’s truly and utterly spent, lying in a heap of his own mess.

“Fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his sweaty hair as he tries to collect himself. He smirks, “wow!”

“Jungkook!” you hide behind your hands, feeling shy.

“Don’t hide from me, beautiful. I love you.”

“I love you too, Jeon.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, “I’ll see you in two days. Get some rest, okay?”

“I will,” you promise, blowing him a kiss before he has you hang up first.

[missielee]

A token

Day 4,5&6: Bulky, radio& blade

“….zz… In other news, two people have been missing on recent report by Sheriff Midton… zz..zz”

“Darn this old junk never work! Might as well dump it out in trash” A frustrated male struggled to twist the broken knob jammed to the left side “Oh come on, work you piece of garbage!”

The rouge machine was clearly trying the patience of him, squeakily grumbling against the twisting force. Craig was this close to throw the rusty radio through the window if he can’t switch to his favorite morning show. A “Plop” sound was heard when the turning comes off as Craig growled directly at the poor outdated device.

“Piece of junk! Not a thing works anymore!”

There go his good morning, Craig muttered while biting his toast and putting on his jacket. Without “Jack the Bumpernickel”, he couldn’t even sit at home peacefully to enjoy breakfast. Rummaging the couch for his keys, Craig cursed himself for not putting it on the drawers and probably going to waste half of the morning looking for “dem jingles”.

*Knock Knock*

“Mr. Krimel? Are you home?”

Craig looked up from the table “Just a sec, darn jingles!”

Searching but no avail, he gave up and went for the door.

It opened, showed a young girl in a thick fur coat with red mitts and scarf. A small wool hat covered most of her hair but some got out. Pink face lit up with a toothy smile as blue sapphires gazed up to Craig.

“I had a day off! There is a lot of snow at school so mama told me I don’t have to go to school!” she beamed “I thought I could hang out at your place!”

“How much snow was it that they let ya skip school?” He raised an eyebrow at the petit figure in front of him

Following the direct where the youngling pointed, Craig peeked out to see his truck sank in 5 inches snow, the top was covered in thick white. Groaned in agitation, he knew this day was gonna be sour the moment that radio roared his last glory buzz before going into deathbed. With this weather, driving isn’t an option so either he spent another hour shoveling or walked to Bernie’s to get his stereo fixed.

Wait a minute…

“Emma, did ya tell ya mom that ya here with me?”

Little Emma has already snuck through the wooden door and into the living room to play with Hoppers – the old German shepherd sleeping peacefully next to the fireplace.

“I snuck out through the gate! Momma wouldn’t mind!” Craig frowned

‘This didn’t sound like it’s gonna be good…”

As predicted, his phone rang from the other room. Rushed to pick up, Craig prepared himself for a tantrum from the other line.

“Craig! For godsaken, is Emma at your place!?! She isn’t in her room and I’ve looked everywhere!! Oh please tell me she’s at your house!” the frantic voice of a female bursted louder even though it’s not on speaker

“S’alright, Jane. She’s here. Little squirrel must have forgot to tell ya. Don’t worry, I’ll drop her at yours on the way.”

“Oh thank you so much!! What a relief! Can you put her on so I can talk to her?”

“Later, Jane. You can have a talk with her when she’s back, ‘kay?” He hung up

Head into the living room, Craig saw a very happy Emma rubbing old Hopper grumbling on his bed. Emma is daughter of a florist in town, who likes hanging out with the lumberjack than with her friends around her age for some reasons. Despite living over a mile from the town, this little girl will find her way on his front porch whenever she got a chance. It’s not the first time Jane – her mother, call Craig of her daughter whereabouts.

“Alright kiddo, let’s go. I got a radio to fix and I ain’t letting ya stick around here” Craig whistled “Come on Hopper boy”

“We’re going to Mr. Porter workshop?! Woohoo! Come on Hopper!” Emma ran to get his leash, too familiar with the surrounding.

The old man put on a scarf, gazed at the cigarettes on the table with lighter. ‘Kid’s here, can’t smoke or damn well Jane will give me an earful’

Emma, accompanied by Hopper, was excitingly waiting at the door. She gave him her scarf, saying that “Doggie might get sick!” but Craig already put a different one on her before they went out.

“Looks like we’ll have to walk to town. Are ya down for some boot in the snow, kid?” Emma perked up

“I’m always down! Let’s go!”

 __________________________________________________________

The town sparkled in the cold white powder, stores lit in warm yellow lights. Emma ran up ahead with Hopper to join some kids playing in the snow. A few townsfolk were cleaning up snow on the street as well as those piled in front of their shops. Craig told Emma to stay near the town square while he went to Bernie’s. The little one nodded before running off joyfully with the hound. Craig turned his heel and headed towards the wooden store on the left side of the square, Bernie’s Workshop.

The floorboard creaked as the heavy man stepped in, bell chimming woke the sleep male at the counter. Bernie Porter was Craig’s good friend back in the days, but after the incident that cost him his leg, he retired and opened a workshop in town. His shop originally sells weapons for hunters but with people’s demands in fixing household appliances went up, he decided to change it into a workshop, even sells some others tools which earns him quite decent. It’s winter so his orders pile up on fixing heaters, stored up quite a few in the back. Craig went up to counter to greet his friend.

“How ya doin’, old bud? See ya got quite a lot orders here ‘round the cold weather”

“Crappy weather I tell ya! Mah’ knee ain’t lovin’ this icy breeze, crampin’ up and gave me hella hard time!” Bernie scratched behind his ear and put on a worn trapper “Ain’t got no idea why people keep messin’ around with the heater, if ya broke it, better just buy new. What ya got there?”

“Ah, the old rusty bastard broke. Thinkin’ ya might give it a try” Craig put the radio on the counter, along with a singular turner

Bernie gave it a look, grunted in disapproval while taking the whole thing apart. The inside is all dusty and the inner weren’t looking too good. Craig left his friend doing his job while taking a look around. Most of the weapons for hunting seasons have been put away, instead there are tools and materials for multiple purposes. A sharp gleam caught his attention in the corner of the shop. Thick wooden haft, clean-edge blade shone in his eyes. Craig picked up, felt the smooth pine handle and lightness on his palm. It’s been years since he last held an axe this nice, it gave out a homey sensation, so familiar to him.

“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” Bernie spoke up “Careful now, she’s sharp enough to split a hair. Interested?”

“Hard to resist, I can say. But ya know I don’t do axe no more. I ain’t got the gist like before” Craig admired it before carefully leaned it back to the corner

“You ain’t got the gist? Strong as a grizzly, you ain’t fooling me. I may lose a leg but not an eye” Bernie cackled while twisting the screws.

It’s true that despite being in his 50s, Craig still looks like he’s in his prime. Body stone stiff and bulky, tall like a pine tree. It would be a joke to think that the lumberjack couldn’t handle an axe.

“Maria never likes me leaving these at home. Said it ain’t good if Nancy found them”

Bernie glanced up “Maria ain’t minding that, I’m sure. Holding on to old things ain’t good for ya, Krimel”

“You do you, Bern. Ain’t have to worry ‘bout me” Craig snickered “How’s mah thing? Can ya get it to work?”

“Can’t say I haven’t tried. This thing is a sight for a sore eye. I could always get ya settle on something better...” Dull eyes answered Bernie “…but I’ll see what I can do for the time being”

“Thanks, old pal. I swing by next week to check on it” Bernie waved at his friend as he disappeared behind the snow curtain.

Bernie returned to his work, baffled on how he’s going to get materials for such outdated radio model. “I’ll be damn if I can find where to get quadcoil to fix this wreckage”

On the side carved an inscription ‘For my beloved, Maria Fall”

[toonstarterz]

BECAUSE I’M NOT POPULAR, I’LL READ WATAMOTE: CHAPTER #167

Hey, I’m not dead!

Yeah, sorry that took a while. Had a lot of real-life shit to work through, honestly. In any case, I finally sat my butt down to really crack down on yet another fun-tastical chapter. Tomoko’s actually doing what a lot of quasi-incel degenerates are afraid to do in high school and is taking an actual stab at self-improvement. Will karma rear its ugly head, or is the series now beyond that point?

Chapter 167: Because I’m Not Popular, I’ll Spend My Time Wisely unlike me

This is a really pretty shot and...that’s about it. Real pretty. 

Oh dear! The friendship disease has disrupted Tomoko’s gremlin-like body clock and has her waking up early like a healthy human being!

Reminds of that one Gintama episode. You know, that one with Kagura and the sick kid and you don’t care, do you?

I know Japan prides itself on its cheap, quality goods, but Tomoko is a real penny-pincher, eh? Well, she’s a Gen Zer, so I can’t complain.

Not sure if this makes me sound like a perv or whatever, but hot damn, the detail on this model is stupidly good. I mean, just look at the patterning on that bra. You can really tell when Ikko’s really getting into the art.

They’re really milking the armpit fetish, aren’t they?

Tomoko...sweetie...my girl...

You don’t even have a dick. I mean, sure, you could find it fascinating from a purely educational, not-applicable-to-you perspective. And yeah, I suppose it could be useful if you were to start a sexual relationship with a noncanonical male. But to be honest, I can’t help but take it as more signs of your gender dysphoria here. 

I mean, hey, whatever floats your boat.  

Well, they say kids learn more about practical knowledge out in the real world than in school, don’t they? 

Then again, coughgoogleitcough.

I always thought Tomoko was just having some kind of psychosomatic experience when she talks about being de-energized from a lack of sexual stimulation. 

Now I’m inches from calling that shit an actual, physiological withdrawal.

Ah, the good ol’ days. Back when future prospects felt like a lifetime away and you could spend days on end dicking around, lamenting the need to get serious, and disregarding your resolve right after because you secretly didn’t really care.

...I gotta stop projecting.

Despite Tomoko proving time and again that she can be a crass-hole with a negative outlook on life, it’s when she does childish things like laying your head on your arm when studying and cuddling her plushies that her innocent side pops up and you realize that Tomoko’s a legitimate cutie. 

Fake-smoking? Tomoko, stop! If you keep this up, you’ll turn from a deconstruction of a cute, moe girl to becoming an actual cute, moe girl.

I only just noticed that Tomoko’s wearing a “happy” shirt. Remember when she was sporting the “alone” shirt back in year one? Even her clothes get character development.

Oh, shit. Your girl Yuu-chan talking this whole cram school thing seriously even though she’s at a disadvantage. You see, this is why Yuu is literally the best. Despite being at the “top” of the school clique food chain, she has not once ever felt like “bottomfeeders” like Tomoko and Komi were below her in any way. Sure, she knows they’re weirdos, but she makes those acknowledgments without judgement, and all while putting herself on the same leveling field. She doesn’t love them ironically–she loves them sincerely, and that’s why Yuu is awesome. 

Sorry if this turned into a ramble, but Yuu only gets like, one panel of dialogue nowadays and I wanted to make the most of it. 

Tomoko be raising that “phone-call” flag like a motherfucking chad. 

...

...

...

Oh, sorry. I saw Yuri with her hair down and lost track of time.

...

...

...

Damn, Yuri’s pretty.

Black leggings at home? That’s exactly the kind of conservative attire Yuri would wear and only Yuri could look amazing in. Seriously, If Ikko hadn’t become a manga artist, she would have made a damn fine fashion designer.

And Tomoko be crushing that “home-visit” flag like a motherfucking chode.

I could make a pretty tasteless joke about how “haha, Yuri will never look at you like you’re trash like she does at Tomoko,” but, 

a. it’s just the angle of the smartphone like Yuri said, and

b. you’d probably prefer to get denied like that, wouldn’t you?

I can’t help but wonder if Tomoko realizes just how homoerotic she sounds. Like, does she have any inclination that her borderline-sexual harassment jokes could easily be misconstrued as flirting? Sure, she might be using the old excuse that “we’re both girls, so it’s fine right?”, but given that Tomoko at least knows about LGBTQ+, you’d think it would have at least crossed her mind.

Or maybe, on a sadder note, Tomoko doesn’t see it as flirting because she really does have zero faith in her own attractiveness...  

There is no heterosexual reason for this exchange whatsoever.

Alright, so I’m a dude, so...hell do I know. But do girls typically not wear bras when just lounging around the house? I know Tomoko is the kind to just wear tank tops if she can help it, but I always thought that was a characterization unique to her, and that other girls wear bras for the comfort and support like any other undergarment. I mean, sure, Yuri’s kind of reserved, but I wouldn’t think wearing a bra at home would be considered an oddity, yeah? I ask this out of genuine curiosity, but I’ll stop before it gets too creepy.

Side note, you can officially tell when Yuri gets pissed by her nose crinkles.

I could give a long, analytical spiel about why Yuri didn’t give Tomoko a straight answer and speculate on what she was doing, but I eventually realized the answer was actually really simple:

It didn’t fucking matter to the story.

The last time Tomoko had one of these “I know!” moments, she ended up trimming her pubes on a class trip. But surely Tomoko’s character growth wouldn’t allow something like that to happen again, would it not?  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Adorbs.

Can’t fight awkward with awkward, can you?

Tomoko, what are you playing at? You just said that video chatting was erotic and tried to get Yuri to lewd herself for you. And now you were planning to appear on-screen totally naked and you somehow don’t see any sexual implications for this at all? Finding it funny would be an elementary schooler’s mentality. If you seriously have no confidence in your sexuality, then sweetheart, you need some help. 

You ever notice that Tomoko can lie through her teeth when trying to screw with people, but when lying to be nice, it sounds so phony? I think that says a lot about the kind of person she is.

Ya’ll knew I was gonna add this panel, didn’t you?

I was never one to go crazy about blushing anime girls ‘cause to me, it always felt like it stemmed from some sadistic desire to see girls look uncomfortable. So while I can’t get behind it for reasons like that, I can admit that Yuri’s blush is fucking precious and I think that’s because I love seeing her so emotionally transparent for once. It feels rare, raw and well-earned after all this time, so yeah. A++ 

Oh, Tomoko, if only you knew that skill often has nothing to do with it. Yuri’s not embarrassed because she sucks at humming, but because you saw a side of her that she only lets out in private. Trying to reassure her is a good move, but putting the girl on blast like that is not going to end well.  

I felt like the vibration alone would’ve left a huge-ass crack on Yuri’s phone screen. This whole moment is like eleven tiers of funny because even though Tomoko is probably miles away, the impact of Yuri’s punch still jostles her. It also helps that we can visibly see Yuri’s fist come down mere millimeters from Tomoko’s mug. 

There is no escaping her wrath, Tomoko.

I feel you, girl. For me, nothing beats a good ol’ burger and fries after a hard day of studying.

Careful there, Tomoko. If there’s one thing that studying has taught me (other than I hate it), it’s that you could get serious burn out if you go all-out on the first day, especially if you’re typically not a regular studier. Always make sure to get dem breaks in. 

That sounds like the kind of line you’d see in a mainstream shounen action manga like [ ]. I don’t even have a direct reference here, so feel free to fill in the blank.

Hey, with Tomoko’s luck, I was expecting karma to hit her harder than Truck-kun in an isekai anime, so I consider this a small loss. 

Man, remember when we were young and had ambitions as high as the sky, and we all wanted to change the world by being firefighters, astronauts, idols, and presidents?

Kind of sucks that “financial stability” has become our goal in life as we enter adulthood. Perhaps that’s just the mindset creative-types like Tomoko have towards the STEM industry when it’s hard to see what makes that world so personally fulfilling. 

Oops, my opinions are starting to seep in, so let's move on.

Nooo, don’t do it, Nico Tanigawa Tomoko! Don’t sell out your passions for financial security even though it’s a totally viable career decision! How else are we going to validate the pursuit of our artistic dreams?  

How in the hell is Tomoko balancing that drink? I’m willing to let it pass for rule of cute, but I don’t care how secure that cup is. One wrong move and those practice sheets are done for. 

Jesus Christ, Nemo is on some otherworldly dimension of cute right here.

I don’t even think Tomoko is trying to one-up her or anything. This is already the most effort she’s given to study in a single instance, so I think she genuinely just wants to share this personal accomplishment.

You know, while it’s already been established that Tomoko and Nemo have different tastes in anime, that doesn’t necessarily mean they wouldn’t watch the same show, right? Just for different reasons. While Nemo would watch her cute slice-of-life series earnestly, Tomoko would probably watch them ironically MST3K-style. In any case, it’s a good way for them to find some common ground.

Bruh, Nemo must be over the fucking moon for this opportunity. Think about it: when was the last time she’s had someone to watch anime with her? After concealing her power level for so long, this could be the first time Nemo has had a fellow anime fan to geek out over a series with. And not just discussing it afterward, but actually reacting to a live episode together.  

Nemo may give Tomoko all kinds of shit, but this is actually what she wanted all along, wasn’t it?

Boy, Tomoko sure gets pretty demanding when she’s sleep-deprived, huh? I’d hate to see how loose her inhibitions get when she’s stark-raving drunk.  

Is this referencing the Quintessential Quintuplets anime? I don’t know anything about it other than that’s a kickass title.

Hey now, Tomoko, beggars can’t be choosers. Let Nemo give you the play-by-play at her own pace. She’s even acknowledging that you hate the source magazine without a hint of judgment. She’s gonna go places.

At first, I thought all this recent armpit content was just an incidental joke. Then I thought it was the mangaka slyly inserting their fetish into the series. Then I realized the series turned the joke on its head and made it a meta-reference about their very thing their readers were accusing them of. 

Well played.  

You ain’t slick with that leg service, Nino Tanigawa. Just sayin’.

Seriously though, I love the dynamic going on in this conversation. Tomoko and Nemo are approaching the discussion from different outlooks, the former looking at it from a degenerate’s perspective and the latter looking at it more optimistically. But even so, they’re not trying to “get the upper hand” like they might've done before. They’re simply having a totally organic talk about what they do and don’t like about the series, while still recognizing each other’s personal preferences. For once, it’s completely devoid of passive aggressiveness and it really shows how earnest their friendship has become.

At some point, I think Tomoko’s consumed so much near-pornographic content that pretty much all anime, manga, VNs, etc. looks like the same hentai to her.  

Every fiber of my being says that this is a reference to Komi-san Can’t Communicate, but it could just as well be the mangaka shooting themselves in the foot for a good joke. In any case, I do like how they point out shy, socially awkward girls is a rising trend that borders on romanticizing communication problems. 

Does that make Watamote a hipster manga since it did the whole “social anxiety girl” shtick before it was cool? 

I wanted to make a pretentious joke about how basic that anime sounds and how I’m so above a show that panders to the masses, but even I like junk food, so I’ll spare you the hypocritical humor.

If Ucchi caught a glimpse of this, she’d probably explode right on the spot.

I spent a good five minutes trying to decipher how Tomoko’s sleeping expression could be seen as “happy”, and I realized that it’s not that she looks happy. It’s that she doesn’t look unhappy. I’d imagine that those plagued by anxiety and stress have it evident on their face when they sleep, so the fact that Tomoko fell asleep in relative bliss must mean she’s had a pretty satisfying day. To top it all off, this is one of the few times someone–and Nemo of all people–has seen Tomoko in all her vulnerability. 

And you know what? Nothing bad happened. No punchline undermining the moment, no sarcastic quip, no embarrassment. Just genuine sweetness and it really speaks to the series’ faith in its heartwarming moments.

As a final note, I just wanted to thank everyone again for their patience. I’ve been trying to put a fresh spin on this, making it a little more comedic since its honestly getting harder to “analyze” without constantly repeating myself. It’s a lot of fun, and I hope you guys enjoy it for what it is.

[rawiswhore]

Shawn Michaels x Fem Reader- “I Luv Dem Strippers”

July 22nd, 1998.

This month during this year, after spending a hiatus in the company due to a back injury as well as retirement after having a long, virtuous career throughout the 1990's, Shawn Michaels is now back in the WWF.

He isn't wrestling anymore, but he's making guest appearances on "Raw", spending time at the commentary table.  

And thank God he's back. We've missed him so much.

Not only is he back, but he's even sexier than ever before.

His hair is shorter, and instead of dressing in his iconic outfits he wore during the 90's, he's dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt.

And...even better, July 22nd is his birthday!

Backstage, when the cameras weren't rolling, and thousands of people weren't in the seats, Shawn was sitting backstage in a leather chair, unbeknownst to what he'll get for his birthday.

It's a shame that 2 nights ago before his birthday, there was a WWF show, and this moment that's about to happen won't be filmed in an arena with several people in the seats and everyone around the world watching.

Several other pro wrestlers in the WWF were in this room with him, some of them that he feuded with in real life, others he was friends with.

Two men were rolling in a huge, white, nonedible cake as tall as they are.

Shawn's face lit up when he saw that cake, his mouth spreading a huge, ear-to-ear smile across his face, looking the way he did when he saw that Jenna Jameson lookalike in the audience wearing an Austin 3:16 spaghetti strap top flash her tits to Triple H and Shawn.

The other men in the room were reacting the same, the room filled up with their shouts and cheers of "yyyyyeaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!!!", sounding like the men in the audience when some hot diva like Sable, Sunny or you enter the arena.

Sadly, this cake isn't an edible cake, which is a shame and disgrace.

Shawn could probably take a guess at who's inside the cake, so could the other wrestlers in the room, though, who is it inside that cake?

Once the cake was right in front of Shawn, the other 2 men walked away from this cake, whereas some other man pressed play on the boombox .

An erotic moan came out from that boombox, the moan instantly recognizable to all of the men in the room as well as just about any WWF watcher, much like the giggle at the beginning of Trish Stratus's "Time to Rock N Roll" or the glass break at the beginning of Stone Cold's entrance theme.

And much like pro wrestling, all the men in the room shouted "yyyyyyeaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" when they heard and recognized that erotic moan at the beginning of the song.

Your body sprung up from the top of the cake, and that wasn't the only thing that sprung up ifyknowwhatimean.

Inside that fake cake was you, and not just you, but you were dressed like how Shawn was dressed during his 90's heyday in those red, tacky, male stripper outfits he wears in the ring.

Shawn loved it even more seeing you wearing an outfit modeled after what he wore throughout his wrestling career.

Two other men stepped up to the cake, where you lifted one of your legs up out of the cake and planted your foot on , these two men holding onto both of your hands as you escaped this cake.

You walked down this fake cake like they were stairs, more of your outfit being exposed for all the men to see.

Some of the men in this room chuckled seeing you dressed as Shawn during his 90's heyday.

Shawn, too, got a kick out of you dressed as him.

You sauntered up to him on beat during your WWF entrance song, you trying to look sexy.

Before you could do what you really wanted to do with him, you sensually and slowly walked around him, his head

When you were behind the chair, you stopped behind him, where you lowered yourself down, your hands sliding down his clothed chest.

Shawn's head was turned to the right side and looking at you, a little smirk was on his mouth as he looked at you.

You wish you could take his shirt off so you could let your hands roam down his chest, but, sadly, no.

You raised yourself up a little bit, and not just that, but lifted one of your feet off of the floor and gently rested the back of your knee on his right shoulder, your calf dangling down atop of his torso.

This took Shawn by a bit of surprise as well as the other men in the room, Shawn's facial expression going from a slight smirk to "oh, my!"

You gently brushed your calf up Shawn's torso, until your foot reached his shoulder.

You then walked slowly and sexily around the right side of Shawn, his eyes looking up and down at you.

When you were standing right in front of him again, your hands grabbed onto your vest, where you began to shuffle your vest up and down, back and forth, like how Shawn did with his vest during the 90's.

The men in the audience shouted "yyyyyyyyyeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!!", one of them doing a corny "wolf whistle" at you.

When your hands were gripped onto that vest, you shimmed that vest off of your shoulders, where your vest shed down your arms, revealing your topless torso.

No bra, no bikini top, no nipple tassels or pasties under your vest, just you topless.

Shawn's eyes grew wide seeing you topless, the other men in the room seeing you topless shouted "woooooooooooooooooo!!!!" and "yyyyyyyyeaaaaaaahhhh!!" when they saw you topless.

You let that red leather vest drop to the carpet, not picking it up.

You then turned your body around, showing Shawn your bare, naked back.

You sat down in between Shawn's thighs, where you began to roll your ass up Shawn's erection, rolling your ass up his crotch while your hands were on your knees.

When you reached the top of Shawn's erection, you rolled your ass back down his clothed genitals, only to roll it back up.

Shawn feeling your ass roll and grind up his crotch over his clothed erection felt so good for his cock.

The men in the room absolutely loved seeing you topless, though, they've seen you topless before.

They were also jealous Shawn's the one getting the lapdance and not them, but this lapdance and striptease is reserved to Shawn, not them.

And unlike in actual strip clubs, you're gonna let Shawn touch you and rub you.

Shawn put his hands on your hips, where he slid his hands up and down your hips.

Feeling his touch sent chills and sensations through your body that felt so good.

Shawn let his hands roam all over the front part of your torso, his hands roaming and traveling all over your torso.

His hands stopped at your tits, where he gave your tits a few little squeezes and caresses.

Since you're giving Shawn a lapdance, Shawn removed one of his hands from your tits and slid his hand down his pocket, where he pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

He opened up his wallet and pulled out a $20 out of that wallet.

Not enough money, but Shawn's gotta pay his own bills too.

Some of the men in the room saw Shawn pull his wallet out, these men shouting "yeaaaaaah!", "alright!", one of them you heard "there you go!".

Wonder if they should shower you with dollars since you're basically playing a stripper?

When Shawn shut his wallet and put it back inside his pocket, he slid that dollar bill in between the waistline of the chaps you were wearing.

You felt Shawn slide that money in the elastic of your chaps, and you were proud of him for doing that, even if he gave you $20.

He'll still get his chance to caress your tits some more.

You then turned your body around, this time your face in front of his face and your chest in front of his, where, instead of rolling your ass up his crotch, this time, you rolled and grinded your crotch forward on his erection.

That wasn't all, your legs were spread apart on his lap, straddling him.

While you were giving him a lapdance, your hands were at the elastic of your chaps, where you separated the straps apart from the velcrow they were attached to, only to toss the chaps to the floor.

Hopefully no one steals the money in your chaps.

Shawn's hands resumed back to your tits, where he squeezed and caressed your breasts, fondling and playing with them.

Feeling his hands on your breasts, especially your areolas, felt so good, so good, you could lean your head back and look like you were in the middle of an orgasm.

One of your hands moved to behind his head, where you ran your fingers down his brown hair.

You didn't want his hair to get messy, so you ran your fingers down and through his brown hair instead.

Your other hand, however, crawled under his shirt and up his torso, your hand brushing up to his chest.

His skin felt the same way as yours when his hands caressed and roamed all over your body.

Some men did see one of your hands crawl up his shirt and your fingers run down his hair, many of them shouting "yyyyyeaaaaaaaaaaahhh!" and dragging that word out, another shouted "hands off the merchandise!".

You wish you could rip Shawn's shirt off of him and everything else off of him, and you'll probably do that later.

You've grinded your crotch on his lap too much, so now, you shifted and turned your body around, your hand slipping away from behind his head and up his shirt.

This time, your hands gripped onto the elastic of the tights you were wearing, the same red, iconic "Heartbreak Kid" tights that Shawn wore in the 90's, the words "Heartbreak Kid" plastered on your ass.

You lifted your ass off of Shawn's lap and slightly bent down, showing your ass in front of his face.

Shawn could nearly reach down his pants and pull his cock out and masturbate, but nah.

He was, however, getting a good view of your ass.

Your knees were sticking out back and forth, one knee sticking out, then the other, etc.

While this happened, you began to slowly pull your tights down, revealing a red thong under your tights.

You even matched under your tights, how awesome of that.

The men watching you pull your tights down, Shawn included, were getting a huge kick out of this, some of them doing that stupid, corny "wolf whistle" as its called, others pumping their fists up in the air and cheering you on.

Some of these men were chanting "take it off! Take it off!" over and over again at you.

Your tights slid down your legs courtesy of your hands, your upper part of your body bending down to your ankles as you got lower and lower the ground.

While you were showing your ass off in front of Shawn, his hands reached out and squeezed your ass cheeks, and not just that, but one of his hands gave a playful little smack on your ass.

"Yyyyyyyeaaaaaaaaahhhhh!" you heard one man shout in the room over Shawn smacking your ass.

You, meanwhile, were trying to keep a straight face as Shawn squeezed your ass and smacked it.

Shawn had to reach down his pocket and pull his wallet out again, opening his wallet back up and picking out a $50 this time.

He could make it rain on you if he wanted.

He slid that $50 bill beneath your thong strap, you feeling that dollar touch your skin.

Thank goodness you aren't wearing boots (though it completes the Shawn Michaels look), and when your tights were at your ankles, you lifted one of your feet out of the tights legs, then the other, letting those red tights lay on the floor.

The music stopped playing, and you turned your body around, plopping yourself right on top of Shawn's lap, your face in front of his, you looking like AJ Lee when her legs were wrapped around Kane's hips before she kissed him.

Someone by the boombox pressed "pause" on the stereo.

"Today's my birthday" Shawn said at you "And a birthday isn't complete without a cake... I've got the icing!"

His hands pointed to his crotch, albeit his fingers were attached to each other, forming "chopping" motions as if he was chopping a board in karate, doing his iconic "suck it" gesture, his hands forming a "v" shape at his "bikini line" area of his crotch.

That sexual innuendo is something Triple H at the beginning of 1998 would say or Val Venis at the height of his popularity, not Shawn.

Though, you love it when Shawn (and Trips, too, for that matter) are sexual. Val's kinda cute too.

The men in the audience filled the room with shouts after Shawn said that, shouting and yelling "yyyyyyeaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!!!", many of them clapping their hands.

You couldn't help but burst out into a huge, ear to ear smile when Shawn said that.

Later on that day, you and Shawn had some hot birthday sex, where yep, you got a taste of his icing.

Nowadays, Shawn would say "I've got the icing for those cakes!", since the term "cakes" referring to your ass cheeks didn't exist back in the 90's.

[siriuslyblack12]

chapter 4

Remus felt the sofa dip as James sat down beside him, the popcorn he was carrying spilling as Peter took a handful. Movie night, a time-honoured tradition for the marauders, had fallen on a Thursday this month, but the inconvenience wouldn’t stop them. James always hosted, so at least they could rely on Mrs Potter to wake them for school in the morning. Sirius flicked through Disney Plus on the TV, sat criss-cross in the most ridiculous onesie James had jokingly bought him one birthday, struggling to pick a film.

 It made him look great, hugging everything delightfully, whilst still having that sense of humour that he adored.

 Can you stop being a gay disaster for 5 minutes?

 Sirius had begun to act normally again after only a few days, refusing to attest to what exactly was bothering him, ignoring people when asked. On the first day he’d laughed along with his friends as he used to, Remus had given Lily a concerned look which was shrugged off timidly.

 “How ‘bout Shtar Warsh? We haven’t washed dem in a while.” Peter suggested through a mouth full of food.

 James huffed, “No, Wormtail, we watched all the bloody films last month, remember?”

 “Well what about Narnia? Magic and shit.” He tried again. Everybody groaned.

 “Ok, ok, I get it,” He defended, hands going up in mock surrender. “What do you suggest then?”

 Remus watched as Sirius thought for a moment, pulling at his hair before switching to the Marvel section, “You can’t go wrong with Avengers, lads.”

 “Sirius, you are literally the only person who likes the Avengers.” James said as he put his head in his hands, snatching the popcorn bowl from Peter and offering it to the room. “Moony, you’re awfully quiet, what do you think?”

 Remus tore his eyes away from Sirius just as he tilted his head and offered his infamous puppy dog eyes, the caramel flecks shining in the light of the TV. Truthfully, he didn’t much like Marvel movies, finding them a bit boring, but how was he supposed to say no to those eyes? “I don’t mind, let Sirius pick.”

 Sirius squealed girlishly before starting the film, getting up from the floor and situating himself right next to Remus, body pressing against his side. He drew in a breath.

 Stay calm. You’ve sat close to him before.

 “Wait who’s that? What’s he doing?” Peter was one of those people who talked the whole way through a movie, asking question that would be answered within a few minutes, and it was annoying to say the least. “Oh fuck! Why’s he doing that?!”

 Sirius laughed seemingly right into Remus’s ear and the sound was infectious. The slight feeling of hot air against his face sent a jolt down his spine; he didn’t dare to move an inch in case he got too close, or in case he got too far away. He couldn’t deny himself the feeling of it, even if it was only temporary.

 As the evening faded to night, sun into the moon, the four of them lay tired, barely processing what was happening on the screen with eyes blinking wearily. Yet Remus was wide awake, all too aware of the soft dundun dundun dundun of Sirius’s heartbeat. It was calm and lethargic, accompanied by the rise and fall of his chest. The screen was busy with action and explosions, and Remus’s brain was loud with spinning thoughts.

 James yawned exaggeratedly. “I don’t know if I can stand anymore of this Padfoot, turn it off.”

 “But this is the best bit!” He pleaded.

 “It was the best bit half an hour ago, hell, it was the best bit 10 minutes ago. Poor Peter’s trying to sleep.” A snore came from the floor almost in agreement.

 Sirius sighed, “please… just let me watch this, I’ll turn it off straight after. Swear down.”

 “Fine, but I’m going up to bed. Turn off the lights when you’re finished, would you? Mum says we’re trying to save money on the electric.”

 “You got it Prongs!”

 The room was eerily silent as the film continued, apart from Sirius’s quiet reaction and Peter’s thundering snores. Remus’s breathing evened out gradually as he settled back into the heat of his friend’s body. He knew he was crossing some sort of boundary but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Staving off a yawn, he braved a look at the other boy, only to meet bleary eyes and a drooping head.

“You don’t actually like Avengers, do you?” He smiled.

 Remus’s breathing picked up again. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

 “No, I know, I know… It’s fine. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

 He scoffed, “I wasn’t pretending. Why would I?”

 “You tell me, Moons.”

  ~~

  Remus woke up to a head heavy on his shoulder, still peacefully sleeping, his lips slightly parted and hair falling onto his back. When had Sirius fallen asleep? And when had he gotten right there?

 “Boys, boys, I can’t believe I forgot!” Mrs Potter entered the room briskly. “It’s time to get up, hurry now.”

 The head on his shoulder jerked up, obviously startled as he brought his arm up to cover his eyes from the intensity of the light. “What time is it? Moons?”

 “It’s about 8, Sirius love. Was it a late night?” Mrs Potter asked, tidying the blankets and bowls scattered all over the floor.

 He stretched lethargically. “Not quite.”

 She left the room with a final wake up call to Peter, leaving Remus to deal with a half-asleep Sirius Black practically on his lap. He watched as he brushed his hair out of his face, rubbing at his eyes and pressing into the material of the other’s pyjama t-shirt. The bastard doesn’t even look dishevelled.

 “Morning, Moons, you alright?” He mumbled.

 Remus stuttered, “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m great, yeah, I’m… peachy.”

 “Peachy?”

 He didn’t notice the way Sirius’s cheeks flushed and his face fell, nor did he notice the waver in his iron confidence that was built up so high. The boy sobered slightly, finally lifting his head and coming back down to reality.

 “How did you-, um, did you sleep okay?” Remus asked.

 “Absolutely peachy.” Sirius laughed, “How about you?”

 His palms began to sweat as he answered shakily, trying his best to change the subject “Oh, yeah, do you know where I put my, um-, my bag?

 The other boy faltered, gathering his own belongings and spare change of clothes. “I think it’s in the kitchen mate.”

 “Right, thanks, yeah,” Remus said.

 Peter looked up from the floor, appearance in stark contrast to Sirius’s effortless, I woke up like this aura. He felt around for his phone and once found he cursed loudly, “Shit! I forgot to charge it, my mum’ll go mad.”

 Remus wasn’t listening as he stared at the back of a certain someone’s head, wondering if he’d done something wrong. It seemed as if there was an entire section of his brain dedicated to Sirius, whether that be anxious thoughts about his wellbeing and emotions, or pathetic crushing.

 James burst through the door, “Do you need me to call your mum? Is she worried about you?” He cooed. “Okay now, that gesture wasn’t very nice.”

 When Remus turned back to look at Sirius, he had already gone, presumably to the bathroom. James spoke warmly, “What do you want for breakfast? Dad says he’ll make bacon if you fancy it.”

 “Have you got sausages as well? That’d be nice.” Peter had stopped panicking about his phone, perking up at the mention of food.

 Remus truthfully was quite hungry, but suddenly wasn’t in the mood. “I’ll eat at school, thanks though Prongs.”

 “It’s no trouble, he always makes too much anyway.” James reasoned.

 “Seriously, I’m fine.” He said dismissively, giving one last reassuring smile before stalking into the kitchen to sit at the bar, scrolling through his own phone lazily. Mr Potter was hard at work at the stove, the bacon James had spoke of by his side.

 He sought out conversation, “How’s your mum these days? I haven’t spoken to her in a while.”

 “She’s doing well, yeah.” For a moment he let his mind linger on the thought of his mother, pushing herself to her limits just for mere household chores, every adult he knew always asking about her. He tended not to think too much of it, but occasionally it was impossible to ignore. Never did he talk openly about what was going on, he was similar to Sirius that way.

 “Something smells good.” Sirius sauntered into the room, looking even more perfect than before, if that was possible.

 James chuckled, “Unlike you.”

 “Very original.”

 “Again, unlike you.”

  ~~

  Marlene looked away from where she was tracing glitter onto Remus’s eyelids, “Seriously, Re, I don’t know why you were so against this. It looks good!”

 “I wasn’t against it, I am against it. This is stupid.” He huffed.

 Remus was sat in the girls’ bathroom, legs folded on a closed toilet seat, head tilted up to meet a makeup brush. Surrounding him were Lily, Mary, Dorcas and Marlene, all gossiping excitedly about an art project they were doing. After he’d come out to Lily, he’d found it easy and comforting to tell the other girls too (though still not ready to tell the boys), who’d jumped on the excuse to show him love, support and happiness. They were currently working on a project about gender expression, using Remus as a very unenthusiastic model.

 “Jeez, Marls, doesn’t this seem like a bit too much?” He asked.

 Dorcas laughed, “There’s no such thing as too much!”

 “Tell that to the people who are going to be blinded by my fucking-,” He winced as the brush pressed harder against his skin, “be careful with that, -my eyes.”

 Marlene swiped a thumb over the glistening skin, before leaning back to inspect her work. “Hey babe, do you think I should go for red or pink on the lips? I think the red goes cute with the eyes.”

 “Whatever you think.” Dorcas smiled sweetly.

 Remus made a noise in the back of his throat, “As long as it doesn’t take too long, I have to take all of this off before my next lesson.”

“You should keep it on, it’s nice.” Lily suggested, “I think Sirius would think so anyway.”

“Fat chance.”

 He felt his phone buzz in his pocket so he got it out, not without protest from Marlene. The beating of his heart picked up as he saw it was a snapchat from Sirius, his momentary freeze allowing Lily to snatch it right from his hands.

 “Speaking of him, what’s going on?”

 He snatched the phone back. “I haven’t opened it, dumbass.”

“Well then you better open it before I do, dumbass.” Lily teased.

 He wondered for a moment what it could be, considering Sirius must have been well into a lesson. Not that I know his timetable. That would be weird. He tried to reason with himself about all of the possible things it could concern, and how practically none of which aligned with his fantasies and wishes. Reasoning had always gone out the window when it came to his friend.

 Friends. That’s all you are.

 “C’mon Remus, let’s see it.” Mary sang.

 Marlene joined her, “You cannot leave us waiting like this.”

 “He’ll open it when he’s ready, guys.” He heard Dorcas say vaguely.

 He only hesitated for another second, until with a surge of confidence he tapped his phone to open the message. For a moment, he thought I’m overreacting, it’s just a stupid snapchat, but this moment was cut short by a glance at the picture of Sirius from under the desk with the caption ‘meet me in Slughorn’s empty lab in 5. We need to talk’

 Holy. Shit.

 “Um, Marls?” She hummed in recognition. “How fast can you take all of this off my face?”

  ~~

  It was eerily quiet as he cautiously walked into the lab, having never been there outside of lessons. It was also strange to see Sirius perched atop the counter, legs swinging wildly and fingers picking at his nail polish. Remus remembered when he’d first started painting his nails, claiming he was only doing it because it pissed off his mum, but it was to be suspected that he secretly loved it.

 Sirius lifted his head and scanned Remus’s face in confusion. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

 “Marlene happened.”

 He laughed, “That explains it.”

 The two looked at each other for a moment, searching for the words but not quite finding them. It was awkward, but the comfortable kind. Remus broke the silence shyly, “Did you need to talk to me about something?”

 Sirius sighed, “I was hoping you wouldn’t bring that up.”

 “What-, what do you mean? Isn’t that why you wanted me here? No offence, but I wouldn’t just risk detention with Slughorn to just stand here,” He asked, before realising what he said. “Not that I don’t… I wouldn’t… I just wanted to know what’s up.”

 Sirius rubbed at the back of his neck. “Keep talking, please, it makes me less nervous.”

 “What do you have to be nervous about?” Remus said, kicking at his shoes.

 “A lot, apparently.”

 Sirius stilled where he was sitting, hooking his ankles together to stop the violent swinging, running a hand through his hair. Remus’s mind reeled trying to make sense of what was happening, or what he should be doing. Say something, idiot. “Me talking makes you less nervous?” It was more of a statement than a question.

 “I guess it does, yeah.” Sirius replied quietly.

 Remus found a poster on the wall to burn his eyes into, reading the same sentence again and again without really understanding it. Truth be told, he had no idea what was going on, and at this rate he’d never find out.

 He spoke with a care-free façade, “So who’s lesson are you skiving? Wait no, don’t tell me, it’s Binns, isn’t it?”

 “You know me so well.” Sirius said with a hand over his heart. “He doesn’t even notice! It’s a wonder anyone shows up.”

 Remus paused a moment for a thought, “Perhaps it’s just the people who actually care about their grades. Or the people who chose the subject because they enjoy it, not just because James picked it, who only did it because Lily did.”

 “Couldn’t be me.” Sirius giggled. Giggled.

 “Well, for once I can’t be too angry,” Remus mirrored his laugh. “You did save me from the wrath of Marlene’s makeup brush. I don’t think I could have been able to stand any more glitter.”

 “I don’t blame you.” Sirius said amusedly, before adding, “I don’t blame her either. Looks nice.”

 Remus’s breath caught in his throat. “You think?”

 Rather than be embarrassed as he was before, Sirius let out another hearty laugh. “You’re always so self-deprecating, mate. You look good, any bird would be lucky to have you.”

 “I’ll have to take your word for it.” Remus replied happily, any sadness slipping from his shoulders as he took in the compliment. He’d never been good at taking compliments, either out of disbelief and surprise, or his anxiety.

 They’re only saying these things out of pity, he’d think. But he didn’t think that now.

 It subdued for only a few seconds, the two laughing about anything and everything, before Sirius blurted something that made Remus’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “I like boys, by the way… that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

 FuckfuckfuCKFUCKFUCKSHITSHIT

 “What-, you-, I don’t, what?” He spluttered, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

 “Do you really want me to answer that?”

 Remus had to bite back a smile, “No, I absolutely do not. I just… wow.”

 Sirius nodded. “Wow. That sums it up pretty well.”

 “I-, I had no idea, I mean, that came out wrong.” He then realised how awful this sounded, probably making Sirius think he was homophobic or something. He debated it in his mind, he had the perfect opportunity to tell him of his own truth. “Does-, does anyone know? James maybe?”

 Sirius’s squeezed his hands between his thighs. “The only people who know are my so-called parents and Regulus. Long story short, they’re not exactly the most accepting people in the world.”

 Remus let out a sympathetic noise, “I’m so sorry.” You can’t tell him now, it’d take his moment away.

 But maybe I have a chance. A very small one, I’m probably not even his type. But a chance.

 “Can I… Do you… A hug, maybe?”

 Before he could blink Sirius was wrapping his arms around him, pressing a teary face to his shoulder. It was slightly difficult at the angle, and Remus had to stand on his toes to put his own arms on his waist to steady him.

 Sirius breathed, “I left, Re. I told them and stood up and I left.”

 “I’m proud of you, it takes a lot to do that”

 He hadn’t known when tears had started to stream down Sirius’s face. “But Reg, he’ still there. I left him in that fucking house! I could have-“

 “He’s a smart kid, you know that. You had to get out, you can’t put all the fault on your shoulders, Pads.” He was saying anything he thought could cheer him up. “Where did you even go? After you left, you had to have gone somewhere.”

 “Round James’s. Mrs Potter set up an airbed and everything.”

 Remus smiled, relieved that he’d gotten the comfort of the Potter household. “Pads, can I tell you something?”

 “Course, Moons.” He lifted his head from where it had been pressed against Remus, looking him right in the eye.

 “Me too.”

 “What?”

 “I-“ Spit it out. “I like boys too. And girls. Pads… I’m bi.”

 This time he did notice how Sirius’s face flushed as he cleared his throat. “I’m happy for you, mate. Although the glitter might have given it away.”

 “You think?”

  ~~

 One week ago.

 Sirius was running. He didn’t know when it had started raining, but now he was picking up the pace as to not get caught in the heavy downpour. It was cold – dark with an evening breeze and freezing – and he was only wearing a thin, white t-shirt and jeans. His long hair stuck to his forehead unpleasantly, beads of rain and sweat dripping down his entire body.

 ‘Then leave! Get the fuck out of my house!’ Mr Black boomed.

 He hadn’t expected to leave, to tell them he was gay or to stand up for himself. It had been an idea in the back of his mind for a while, but as he was now actually going through with it, he was regretful. It was the name of his brother coming from Mr Black’s mouth with such disrespect had been the final straw.

 He knew exactly where he was running, the only place that had ever felt like home. He flinched as he heard himself bang on the door heavily, his mind swimming elsewhere, and fell into the arms of the woman who opened the door with a startled smile.

 “Sirius love, what’s going on?” She inquired. “Gosh, you’re soaked through, let’s get you to the shower.”

 He nodded glumly and heard his best friend hurry down the stairs, “Padfoot! Are you okay? Who was it? I bet it was his parents. Those bastards, I don’t know why you stayed there for so long. Is Reg okay? Is he here? We’ll take him in too if we have to.”

 “James, stop crowding him. I’m sure he’ll tell us when he’s ready. In the meantime, let’s get you cleaned up.” The last part was directed at Sirius.

 He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Can I stay the night?”

 Mrs Potter’s eyes curled kindly, “You’ll stay as long as you need. Who would I be to send you away in this state?”

 “Sick!” James exclaimed while his mother shushed him. “We’ll have a sleep over, wouldn’t that be cool?”

 Sirius hadn’t smiled all night, but in that moment he did. “Thank you.”

 “C’mon, mate. You can pick some of my clothes.”

 “Not a chance, you dress like a 9-year-old kid.”

 “Do not.”

[daddychims]

The Muse Finale!

Took out the links because of Tumblr playing around with my sanity, Please go to my master list for other parts!

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, Final

Genre: Smut, Pwp, Author AU

Pairings: Fuckboy!Tae X Author! Reader X Colleague! Jungkook

Other BTS members all make a cameo as well because I’m an OT7 Trash!

You find yourself in a dead end , contemplating if you should just quit your job as an author in a big publishing company when your boss demands you to add more “Edge” to your writing. But your best friend is quick to give you a hand out of your misery, suggesting he could be your “Muse” for the night to help you in desperate times.

Word Count : 4k

Warning:

Smut, Dom!tae , Fuckboy!tae , implied DDLG , Cum play , Throat fucking, Gagging , a bit of Breath play, Choking Kink, Thigh riding, rough sex, Unprotected sex, Spanking, daddy kink, alcohol use, swearing, PWP, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Pure filth basically! Read at your own risk!

A.N. This is the last part guys! I can't believe I managed to finish this fic! Thanks for reading this story so far, I wanna give a big shoutout to those who continued to support me and encouraged me to finish this! 

Special shoutout to my Floofy Babe, who proof read this and gave me inspiration to continue writing this! (she’s not on tumblr but I’m still gonna mention her!)

@littlebangtanwriter for her endless support and asks whenever I update

@afangirllikeme-blog for always providing me quality memes LOL

@choppe96 for always bombarding my messages with supportive feedback on this story!

And to all those people sent in comments, feedbacks and asks about this story!

"Get on your hands and knees," he demands, keeping his eyes fixed on you carefully

You look at him for a few moments before turning around and settling into his requested position, keeping the weight of your body on your elbows and knees.

"Ass up for me," he orders, hands gripping your ass and guiding it up against his body "I'm gonna give you 10 spanks as your punishment babe, if you take them well you'll be rewarded after."

You remain silent, considering the weight of his words when his hand grazes over your ass cheeks.

"I need to know if you're fine with this Y/N," he murmurs carefully, tone suddenly much lower and serious before blending into his act again "Do you want Daddy to punish you?"

"Y-Yes Daddy," your voice trembles and he gives you hum of approval

*Smack*

The first impact comes to your flash abruptly and your body stumbles forward on the mattress while a muffled moan rips through your lips. The delicious sting spreads over your ass cheek and you can feel the arousal dripping down the side of your inner thighs from pleasure.

"Do you know why you need this punishment?"

"Yes Daddy, I was a bad girl-Aaah*

*Smack*

"Right," he mutters in approval "Bad girls need to be punished to learn their lesson. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Daddy."

*Smack*

"Will be acting like a thirsty whore again, babe?"

"Never Dadd-Aaah!"

*Smack*

"Good, remember the pain next time you wanna get on your knees for another man's cock like the filthy slut baby."

"I will Daddy," you whisper uncertain, the slight genuinity in his voice making you question whether all this is just an act or he is saying all those things seriously

*smack*

You whine as the pain starts to spreads in your body, your core dripping from the pleasurable sensation shooting in your nerves.

You would have never expected such ruthless treatment would turn you on but somehow being the receiving end of Taehyung's seemingly cruel punishment was turning you on far more than you could ever imagine.

"Can you take more Babe?" he murmurs, hand gently touching the red marks spread on your bottom "you don't have to-"

"No," you voice out, sticking your ass up towards him "I can take it, Daddy, give me more please."

He gulps, as his nervous hand raises up to come back down on your ass but he stops midway and instead leans in to spread gentle kisses on the red flesh of your ass cheek.

"Fuck, you're so good for me babe," he breathes out, plastering butterfly kisses on the abused flesh "So good for your Daddy."

You jolt in surprise, feeling the gentle touch of his lips on your ass making you whimper from the soothing sensation. His lips then trace back to your core, parting your ass cheeks, the cold air making you shiver.

He plasters some gentle kisses on your inner thigh. He observes the dripping lips of your pussy, throbbing and red, inviting him to sink his cock between them.

"You were so good for me babe," he murmurs as his fingers spread your pussy and stretch you ready for him, "I think Its time Daddy rewards you, babe."

"Yessss," your voice trails off weakly as your anticipation for your high finally seems to come to an end "Please Daddy, Please."

He positions himself against your body and lines himself over your dripping cunt. Spreading your lips with two fingers, he palms himself before sliding it over your dripping entrance teasingly.

"Nghh, Daddy please," you beg, losing your mind as your walls clench around air "please fuck me."

"You want Daddy's cock in your cute little pussy?" He teases with a smirk, enjoying the way your body moves in his accord

"Yes, Daddy Ye-AAAHH" you cry as he sinks his pulsing member deep inside your walls and your body trembles as he slowly moves his way in.

"Just like that baby," he coos watching his length disappear inside you "I knew you'd take me well."

"Taehyung," you call out, hand reaching back with your hand to hold his thighs desperately "Fuck …. give me- give me a second …"

He immediately ceases his movement as he realizes you're having difficulty with his size, your walls squeezing his cock tightly testing his self-control of ramming himself inside you. He leans closer, careful to not push his length any further as he comes down in level with your ear and whispers

"We can stop if its too much babe," he murmurs the reassuring words as he tucks your hair to the side carefully as he observes your painful expression

"No," you shake your head, the sensation of your walls slowly accommodating to him setting your pleasure off to another delicious start "Just a moment, just-" you sharply inhale  as he shifts slightly away "No, Tae, Please …" you turn around facing him as your hand comes to hold his chin against your shoulder "I can take it, Please." You beg desperately

"I don’t want to hurt you!" He murmurs, words tinted by concern

"I know," you flash a grimacing smile to him, hoping it would convince him "You can move now."

"Are you sure?" He murmurs, nose digging deep in your neck as he murmurs ever so gently "I can always make you cum with my fingers-"

"No," you groan in frustration as you move your hip back to him "Fuck me, please Tae, Fuck me!" you demand helplessly 

"Alright," he grunts, voice strained as he tries his best to control his urges to fuck senselessly into you "I'm gonna move now."

He thrusts his hip forwards slowly, each movement of his hip parting your pussy further apart as your walls slowly adjust to his ginormous girth.

"F-Faster," you breath out, hip bucking back to his thrusts "Faster Tae."

"As you wish babe," he fastens his pace, hip snapping against your walls in an insane pace, hitting every sweet spot in your walls.

"Yes, Yes," you cry as you dig your head in the mattress, the muffled word echoing in the air "Right there!"

"You like it, babe?" He asks as your pleas flutter his ego, hand reaching forward to toy with you clit "You like me pounding your tight little cunt?"

"YES," you cry, the bundle of nerves being toyed, shooting pleasure all around your veins "Its so fucking good,"

"You wanna cum on my cock?" he asks as he leans closer and presses his lips against your ear "You wanna cream Daddy's cock babe?"

"YES YES," you nod frantically "Please let me cum Tae!"

"Cum on my cock," he urges, fingers flicking your clit at the same pace as his thrust in your pussy "Cum all over and make a mess babe."

You scream your orgasm out as the pleasure takes over you, body withering and shaking with waves of pleasure under him. Your sensitive core burns with overstimulation as he continues to fuck through your orgasm, his thrust becoming sloppy and messier by each second.

"F-Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he warns as he presses your hip against his body "I'm gonna fill your tight cunt with my seeds."

"YES," you nod in approval, moving your hip to facilitate his thrust despite the burning sensitivity between your legs "Cum inside me Tae, fill my pussy please."

He suddenly ceases his movement, drawing a whimper from your lips as he retracts his body and falls back sitting on the bed "I can't," he breathes out in a vulnerable tone.

You immediately turn your body around with bewildered expression covering your face "What's wrong Tae?" You ask him in a dazed tone, not bearing with the immense craving to be filled by him

"I can't Y/N," he shakes his head, avoiding your eyes "I can't do it," he gulps nervously as he shifts away from you as if he is scared of touching your body again "I can't continue this."

"This was your idea," you snap back, brushing your hair away from your face "You can't just chicken out now. This was all about you getting your payback, for you to cum."

"I'm s-sorry," he hesitates as he grabs a blanket and wraps it around your body to cover your quickly, "I think I'm too drunk- No, I was too drunk when we came here-"

"Is it my body?" You ask in a quiet tone, voice weaker with embarrassment "Do I turn you off?"

His widened eyes travel to you, not believing your interpretation of his actions "What are you talking about?"

"I knew it," you nod as you quickly cover your body with the blanket he wrapped you with "After all, you're Kim Tae, you wouldn't cum if your girl is not Victoria's Secret models." you chuckle trying to mask your embarrassment

"You need to stop your bullshit," he yells back as he raises on his knees in rage "it has nothing to do with that."

"Then what is wrong with you?" You demand leaning closer to him "Why do you play this game of push and pull Tae?" You ask, with furrowed eyebrows, anger taking over your words "why did you stop me from fucking Jungkook, only to bring me and make me fall on knees for you to just say you can't  cum with me here."

"Stop fucking talk about him," he yells back furiously as he cards his hair back from his face "I didn't plan for things to turn this way. And I- 'm sorry if I messed up your plans with Jungkook." he continues with venom in his words, as if he doesn’t really mean what he's saying.

"Tae-"

You watch him with trembling gaze as he starts to build the walls between you, although the physical distance between your bodies is quite short.

"It was a mistake," he declares looking at you sternly "I can't just fuck you and pretend to be your best friend tomorrow," he hesitates before looking away and forcing the words out "I'm gonna sleep in the guest room, you sleep here."

You then watch as he gathers a few pieces of clothing before exiting the room you're in, leaving you all alone with your thoughts there.

  -

   You wake up to a throbbing headache pounding on your temple, squirming on the bed sheet to sniff the familiar scent of Taehyung's Giorgio Armani cologne you bought for his birthday.

You sigh as the memories of the night before flashes through your eyes, remembering how you fell asleep thinking of the guy abrupt leave after your scandalous time together. Somehow you wish that his warm embrace was what you woke up to instead of the scent of his cologne.

You scoot over the bed, tiptoeing your way to his drawer to grab an extra large shirt that can cover your body for now before leaving the room to find him.

You footsteps cease as you hear his deep voice reaching you from the living room, conversing with someone and from the lack of response you can tell he's on the phone.

"Hyung, I understand," he snaps in anger, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible "but you need to talk to dad about this, I'm really not sure if this will work,"

You drift closer, hating yourself for eavesdropping when he speaks up again

"I know who she is," He suddenly grunts "Jung Seri, the daughter of JH Group, I've seen her in last year's-"

You're so focused on hearing his words that you dont realize the increase in the clarity as the voice gets closer to you until you see Taehyung standing at the door, staring at you with surprised eyes.

"Hyung," he heaves, observing you carefully "I need to go, I'll talk to you later."

You stay still, gulping nervously as he disconnects the call and examines the situation for a few seconds before abruptly questioning "How long have you been listening?"

"N-Not long," you quickly shake your head defensively "I'm sorry, I was gonna say I'm here-"

"What did you hear?" He interrupts anxiously

"Jung Seri," you pronounce the name, trying your best to hide the slight jealousy that may drip out from your tone "The daughter of JH Group," you bat your eyelids slowly as you mutter "Is she the girl you're marrying?"

"I guess," He shrugs, gaze trembling away from you

"Oh," you breath out, stomach sinking at his simple response as you lose all the words you prepared earlier "Okay."

"My dad wants me to!" he adds as he brings his gaze to you and observes your expression carefully

"I heard about their company," you nod, blinking rapidly to fight the tears "they're pretty rich."

"Y-Yeah," he nods, shoulders slumping down upon your words "They're an affiliate of our company."

"Your dad must like her a lot then," your voice sounds far more bitter than you intend and Taehyung doesn't fail to notice it

"he doesn't care," he responds uninterested "He just wants me to settle down and have kids," he hesitates before continuing, "he says he's getting old and he wants grandchildren before he dies and since I'm not contributing to the company I should at least make babies."

Your heart suddenly drops at the thought of Taehyung having babies, imagining mini versions of him running around the house tugging at the strings of your heart knowing another girl would be sharing that happiness with him.

You suddenly feel a rush of anger through your body, the situation seeming unfair on your end. You were fine with being his best friend, with having only a platonic relationship with him for years.

But he had to go out of his way to change the way you perceive him, tangling you in this complicated tug of war between your feelings only to be declaring another girl will have his babies.

The complicated rush of emotions all surge through you and you find yourself blurting out the words carelessly.

"Then what about me?"

"W-What?"

"Why did you do all those things with me?" You ask defeated, fist clenching by your side "Why did you have to bring me over and fuck me over your sheets?"

"B-Because ... I just thought- I mean, It was about the payback ..." he explains nervously 

"What does that make me then?" You snap back, tears threatening to roll down your cheek "I was your best friend, but after all of this I dont even know where I stand in this relationship ..." you inhale sharply as your gaze wanders on his dazed expression before asking "Or you want me to be your side chick?"

"WHAT?" He asks bewildered by your sudden accusation

"Is that what this is about?" You ask as the sudden realization hits "You want to marry her, but you kind- kinda want to have me as your side chick, like a friends with benefit-Aaah"

He cuts your sentence short as he grips your arms and presses you against the wall, his eyes tingling with rage and fiery.

"That's all you see isn't it?" He asks through gritted teeth "You look at me, and all you ever fucking see is a boy trying to play with girls..." he sighs  "a fuckboy, isn't it?"

"Can you blame me?" You ask, your eyes glazing with fresh tears "You ignore me for days, making me worried sick about you only for me to find you cumming deep in a girl's throat in your VIP room,"

You press your hands against his chest, trying to create some distance "Then you fuck me on your bed, bringing me onto my knees only to tell me you're marrying another girl in the morning who you're probably going to fuck on the same sheets."

"What do you want me to do?" He yells back furiously "My dad wants me to get married and the only girl I ever imagined a future with is dating someone else ... So I'm trying to take it like a man and move on so I at least dont lose her friendship, " he goes silent for a second before staring directly into your eyes "Can't you fucking see I'm trying?"

You furrow your eyebrows, still trying to make sense of his words when he shoots the next question

"Are you serious about Jungkook?" He interrupts you as he looks at you with a serious expression, "Jeon Jungkook, I'm asking do you fucking like him?"

"W-What?" you furrow your eyebrows "Why is he coming into this-"

"Answer my question, how far did you guys go?" He asks "Do you like him?"

"No," you simply shake your head, the train of questions he's bombarding you with not allowing anything but raw truth seeping out your words

"Did you fuck him?" He asks before quickly adding "Other than the bathroom incident, how far did you go with him?" he asks again, face frowning at the mention of the infamous incidence

"Nothing," you quickly stop him "We- It was just that-"

"Alright," he nods, reassured by your responses "So I can still call dibs on you."

"Call dibs on me?" You chuckle awkwardly at his choice of words not believing him "What am I? a candy?"

" I like you Y/N," he shots back in rage, eyes observing your lost expression.

Your reaction is exactly as he expected, eyebrows furrowing closer before your eyes widen in shock.

"Tae … W-What-"

"Right," he nods panting heavy in anger "I like you so fucking much I couldn't see you sucking that bastard's dick, So I brought you back home to suck mine," he scoffs at the irony of his words "I was jealous like a five years old, that's why I need to know if you regret following me here and if you're serious about him."

"Tae," you call for him, thoughts rushing to your brain at an insane speed "Y-You, seriously, You …"

Your voice trails off as you try to digest the words that come one after another, your attempts fail completely as your brain shots back a big error to you. Your thoughts are blank as you try and process the guy's devastated look along with his previous words.

"I can't even cum without imagining your face," he exhales bringing his eyes to you "I'm fucking the "Victoria's secret models","  he quotes you with a bitter tone "But all I can ever think about is you and your God damn face."

"How long-" you ask with a dazed tone "Since when-"

"I dont even remember when it started," he replies, head falling low as he tries to think "I  believe it started when we started going to rehab," he mutters eyes wandering as he reminisces the memories "I used to lay in bed, sore all over from my cravings for those pills and all I could ever think of was your face."

You look at him, listening attentively to his words as you remember the days you used to go to his rehab sessions together. Back then he decided to quit his addictions to the recreational drugs he used to take with his rich friends and you promised to help him go through the process.

You never truly realized how deep he was attached to those pills and how much you neglected him until you followed him to his therapy sessions, watching him scream and tremble from his cravings for the drugs that gave him his highs before.

Deep inside you felt guilty for being so careless about what he did or who he hung out with while you were working your ass off to get recruited in a prestigious company.

So you made sure you'd be with him every step of his heart-wrenching battle with the addiction, ensuring you don’t regret neglecting your best friend ever again.

"It's not my fault," he snaps defensively as he presses your body against the wall "You were always there at my weakest," He breathes out as he watches you carefully "I just wanted to  close my eyes and die and you were on my bed forcing me to eat and drink into another day."

"I-I'm ..." you start, stumbling through the words "I didn't know!"

"Of course you didn't," he scoffs with a bitter smile "I worked so fucking hard to hide it, sleeping with every God damn girl in this town to hide the fact that I want to my best friend you every time she hugs me so sweetly."

You sigh imagining how hard you were making it for him all these years, without even realising you might be torturing the guy with your overly affectionate behaviour, barging into his life and his personal space almost all the time.

"I'm sorry Ta-"

"Cut it," he hisses eyes closing close "That's exactly why I worked so hard, I dont wanna fucking hear you pity me for my feelings," he clenches his jaw "I shouldn't have started this, my jealousy about you and Jungkook got the best of me and I thought with my dick for a moment, I'm sorry-"

"No," you quickly shake your head "I dont regret a thing about last night Tae. We both made a decision and we did it knowing fully what the consequences could be."

He goes silent for a few seconds eyes lowering as his grip on your arms loosen and he stands passively against your body.

"Are you serious about what you said?" you ask with a defeated tone, letting emotions take control of your words "about having a future with me?"

He brings his wavering eyes to you, lips parting "All I ever wanted was to be with you Y/N," he whispers "No matter how many girls came and left my life, It was always you."

“Then let's make babies," you blurt out, the words slipping your tongue before you even chew them properly

"You- You seriously ..." his eyes widen in surprise "What?"

"I wanna be with you Tae ,” you drift closer to him "and if this what it takes for your Dad to accept me, I will have your babies," you then hesitate before biting the corner of your lips shyly and adding "even if he doesn't, I'll probably still have your babies."

"Y/N," he breaths out in disbelief "You want to be with me?" He asks, eyes about to pop out of socket from the weight of your sudden suggestion "Me?"

"Yes," you nod determined "I dont think I have the confidence to let you go Tae," you admit, heart trembling at the thought "I dont think I can trust any other woman to take care of you either."

His expression softens to a sweet smile, eyes glittering with joy for a few seconds before his mischievous aura takes over his features again. He leans closer to your ear with a smirk as he whispers

"You want to have babies huh?" he murmurs making your cheeks heat up from the suggestive words "and I thought your daddy kink was a surprise, Who would have known my baby has an impregnation kink?"

He then grips your thighs firmly, picking you off the floor, legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he settles you on the wall "Since you asked so nicely," he smirks as he hoists his hands around your torso "Daddy will give you babies." He whispers before crashing his lips on yours. 

A.N. Hope you enjoyed this fic! Please comment, reblog and send in asks! love ya’ll! 

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 29--Grown

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Grown.” It’s Ienzo’s birthday.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo didn’t come here often. Some would say not often enough.

The garden wasn’t very busy. It usually wasn’t; a majority of these people’s loved ones were simply gone, leaving no one to mourn them. Ienzo felt--perhaps selfishly--that he had spent enough time mourning and memorializing all these people that to come down here more than desired was not necessary.

Today was different.

The little corner with the red maple was well-cared for. Ienzo suspected that this was probably Demyx’s doing--a little gentle prodding had netted that his culture highly valued cleaning a loved one’s grave. There were even the remaining ashes of a stick of incense. Ienzo took a fresh one out of his pocket, lit it, and set it in the holder of the mortuary tablet.

He wasn’t sure why he’d felt drawn here, today of all days.

It would probably always hurt a little to see their picture. The pain was becoming more acute as he thought of it. His memories of that time, without his powers to bolster them, were fading slowly. This newfound forgetfulness was not pleasant. There might someday be an instance where all he had left was this photo, these tablets, this tree.

In his periphery, he could see a small girl and what looked to be her grandmother kneeling by one of the blooms in the field. They clapped their hands, bowed in a show of respect. Was it rude, or wrong, if he did not do this also? His parents had never been religious, or even spiritual. Wherever they were, if they had any consciousness whatsoever, did they know they were here? ...That he was?

Ienzo thought he’d spent a long time thinking about death. This was not actually true; he’d spent his time thinking about darkness, what it means to fall. But to die? (To sleep, perchance to dream?) Even would tell him that a cessation of life was a cessation of existence. Ansem would probably waffle on philosophically about what certain religions believed . Demyx would probably say to not worry about it, at least not now.

Dying was a natural part of living; it would happen to him someday too, eventually.

His legs were starting to hurt from kneeling so long. A slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the tree.

“Oh… hey. Surprised you’re here.”

Ienzo looked up. Demyx was holding a canvas bag. “I could say the same for you. Though I figured this was your doing.”

Demyx shrugged, a bit sheepish. He set the bag down, knelt, bowed his head for a moment, and then began to fuss with the tablets, brushing away tiny specks of dirt. Ienzo felt a stab of something like frustration, or maybe resentment; he seemed to know how to mourn Ienzo’s parents better than Ienzo. “I mean… it’s what you do for family, you know? And they’re kind of mine, now. We’ve got the same name.”

Ienzo relaxed a little. “Right. I didn’t think of that.” Their marriage was very, very new; they were still navigating the change in dynamic.

“If it bothers you, I’ll stop.”

“No… that’s kind of you, to do that.” He took a deep breath. “Do you do this often?”

“I stop by once a month or so. Usually when I’m passing through the area.”

He hummed in response. “So what’s that?”

“Oh… this was for later. For you, you know?”

Ienzo stared at him blankly.

Demyx cocked his head. “Did you forget? It’s your birthday.”

“I didn’t… forget. It’s usually a nonissue.” He’d never celebrated, even when he was very small. It was normally another day; last year, Demyx hadn’t even known the date, and so Ienzo was able to get away with not celebrating. Not to mention, the year before that he’d been laid up, unable to breathe around the swelling in his throat from the replica--He clasped his neck automatically.

Demyx frowned. “It happened this time two years ago? The, uh. Thing?”

“I don’t believe so. But it was during my… recovery.”

“Oof. Big yikes. Well, uh. Sorry?”

Ienzo smiled. “It’s alright.”

“I just figured we’d… celebrate.” Then, off Ienzo’s look, “A little. Like, cake?” He gestured towards the bag. “Maybe some drinks.” He shrugged.

“It seems… indulgent, to take a whole day for oneself.”

“A lot happened this year. A lot.” He squeezed Ienzo’s hand gently, running a finger over the ring. “That’s worth acknowledging.”

“I… I suppose.” Ienzo bit his lip. “Truthfully I feel much older than that.”

“I know. You don’t look it, though.”

He laughed a little.

“Is that why you came here today?”

“Perhaps.” Ienzo frowned. “I was thinking… that they’d never see me be grown. Sometimes I’m reminded more of them than others. I… I feel like a bad mourner.”

“There’s not a right way to do this.”

“You know they were my age when they had me?”

“...I can understand why you’re tripped out now.”

Ienzo chuckled. “Maybe that is why I feel so unsettled.”

Demyx kissed his cheek. “I cannot stress this enough--parenthood is optional.”

“I know. And I am not ready to consider it more at the moment.”

“You and me both.”

“I barely feel like an adult--I couldn’t possibly imagine--”

“I thought you said you felt old.”

Ienzo shrugged. “As you can see, I am all over the place today.”

“...Sounds like you could use a drink.”

“Yes… maybe…” He stood and flinched as the blood rushed painfully back into his legs. “Or several--”

“That’s the spirit!”

---

So far there was only one pub in town. It had been one of the first buildings to open back up after the Fall--which made sense. Healthy or not, those in pain need an escape, or perhaps the illusion of safety, and alcohol could provide both.

Being early evening, the place was relatively empty, and quiet. He relaxed a little.

“Happy birthday!” someone yelled shrilly in his ear, and he jumped.

“For fuck’s sake, Yuffie. I asked you to be chill about this,” Demyx said. He gave Ienzo’s arm a reassuring squeeze. Ienzo tried to get his breathing back under control.

The guilty party scowled. “You two are no fun. Ever ,” she said.

Ienzo looked past her and saw that Leon and Aerith were here, too. “I’d really like this to not be about me,” he said. “If possible.”

“That’s fine,” Aerith said. “We’re just friends, hanging out.”

“And there just happens to be a cake,” Demyx said. “What? I can’t exactly return it.”

“So what do you want?” Leon asked. “First round’s on me.”

“I’ll have--” Yuffie said quickly.

“Not you,” Leon said. “You’re on your own, kid.”

“I… I’m honestly not sure,” Ienzo said. They rarely drank aside from some wine. “Nothing too terribly strong, I suppose.”

“We’ll just have what you’re having,” Demyx said, with a shrug. “Can’t be picky when it’s free.”

Leon chuckled. “Alright.” He crossed over to the bartender.

“This… is another thing that feels strange, but shouldn’t,” Ienzo said quietly to Demyx.

“Is it bad? Do you want to go home? I’m really sorry about Yuffie. She’s just… like that.”

He smiled. “No, I know it comes from a good place. I just need to… get comfortable.”

“Alcohol will help.”

“I surely hope so.”

Leon came over with two glasses of brown soda. “Rum and coke okay?”

Demyx nudged him. “You’ll probably like that.”

Leon smiled. “Go easy, okay?”

“Thank you,” Ienzo said. He took the glass, sipped. It was sweet, and he could just barely taste the undercurrent of the rum. “The things we do for fun.”

Yuffie came over with a pint of beer. “Well, cheers,” she said, and clinked her glass against his. “So I guess you grew up pretty sheltered, huh? You guys never got out much?”

Ah, right. This was part of it. Talking and drinking, drinking and talking. He felt Demyx rest a hand on his waist. Ienzo took a breath. Yuffie was blunt; she did not mean to offend. “Putting it mildly,” Ienzo said. “I never used to… see the reason for such things. I’d rather hole myself up with a book. That was my entertainment.”

“Eesh. Party animal.”

He smiled. “Different times. Not so much now.”

“To be fair, a lot of us were wet blankets,” Demyx said. “No point getting fucked up if everything’s already kind of numb, right?”

“I didn’t think of it that way. You know. It’s still really weird you guys were Nobodies.”

“Tell me about it,” Demyx said, with an eye roll.

“For me, the opposite is strange,” Ienzo said. “Very much so.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Like how?”

“Like…” Ienzo looked down into his drink, which seemed to be going down easily. “Well, I was a Nobody for nearly twelve years. A lot of… typical things passed me by. Like this. Drinking with friends in a bar was something I only ever read about in books. I thought it wasn’t something that really happened; or at least, it never would to me. In the Organization… you get used to hiding, and doing what you’re told.” Was this conversation too dark? Did he lighten it up? Was she actually curious, or being polite?

“Same for me, kind of,” Demyx said.

“You seem like you had a more normal time, though,” Yuffie said. Then to Ienzo, “no offense.”

“None taken. It’s the truth.” His glass was empty. He didn’t know where to leave it, but holding onto it was awkward.

“You want something else?” Demyx asked. “I’m done too.”

“Get whatever you want. I’ll have the same.” He wasn’t feeling quite tipsy, just a little warm. He probably couldn’t hold much, being not only small but unused to all this.

He went over to the bar. Aerith came over to them, with her wine. “All this time and Demyx barely talks about those days. I think he thinks it’s taboo.”

“Isn’t it?” Ienzo asked. “It’s… there’s quite some tension there, isn’t there?”

Yuffie snorted. “Yeah, well.”

“We’ve… let go,” Aerith said. “You’ve both proven yourselves to be good people.”

“Practically model citizens, actually,” Leon said. “At least I don’t have to drag your drunk asses home. Unlike some of the people who come here.”

Demyx came back with two more glasses, clear this time. “It’s a time,” he admitted. “It’s not fun to deal with their alcohol poisoning. Trust me.”

Ienzo took the new drink. “Every time I believe I get a grasp on the scope of work you all do, I’m proven wrong. How do you possibly do all this?”

Leon laughed. “Very carefully. Things are settling, though. We’ve got some actual people in charge. So instead of dealing with the infrastructure, and the construction…”

“Medicine and bureaucracy--” Aerith added.

“Heartless and bar fights,” Yuffie said.

“We’re cutting it down. But it’s a lot to ask even now. I think if I were a few years older I couldn’t take it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Demyx said. “I do barely half of what Aerith does and I’m exhausted.”

“You’ll get there,” she said. “And Ienzo, it’s not as if you yourself are a stranger to overwork. How many days did you go without sleeping?”

“Three,” he said.

“Four,” Demyx said. Then off Ienzo’s look, “Sometimes I still have to babysit him. But he’s gotten better.”

“You two are good for each other,” Aerith said.

“Nauseatingly so.” Yuffie drained her beer. “Anyone want to play pool?”

“Sure,” Demyx said. “Ienzo? Do you want to watch? It’s fun.”

He found himself perched on a bar stool, nursing his second drink, which was something clear and carbonated and almost entirely flavorless aside from the sharpness of vodka. He felt the same warmth as earlier, a little more heavily, his anxiety whispering now instead of shouting, though his head still felt clear. Wine had only ever really made him sleepy, but he was quite alert. He watched Demyx and Yuffie play the game. Both of them were pretty terrible at it, Demyx only winning by a slim margin. “Let’s let Ienzo play,” Yuffie said.

“I’m rather content watching.”

Demyx offered him the stick. “I thought we were trying new things.”

He looked at his glass, just ice now. “I’ll try, but don’t blame me if you lose.”

“I never lose with you.” He winked. “Alright. Stand here. It’s okay, you can bend down a little low, and use your hand to aim it.” Ienzo tried to listen, but Demyx’s hand was on his waist, and he felt something like a flashburn of want. Not enough to be physically evident, but enough to give him pause in public. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. His shot looked hopeless, but he did end up sinking one of the balls--just not one of Demyx’s.

“Aw, thanks,” Yuffie said. She blew him a kiss. “Your next one’s on me, okay?”

“You’re such a traitor,” Demyx said playfully. He kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll get you for that.”

Such suggestive flirtation was usually off the table in public, but he found he didn’t mind. “Is that a promise?”

“Ugh, gross,” Yuffie scoffed. “Well. At least I won. Speaking of promises. I’ll be right back.” She went over to the bar.

Demyx took his hand. “You feel okay?”

“I feel… good. Perhaps a bit tipsy.”

“I figured. You’re not usually so flirty. I like it.” He chanced a quick kiss.

“This is kind of fun,” Ienzo said. “Thanks for…  planning it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Those guys can always used an excuse to get hammered.”

Yuffie came back, holding a few small glasses. “I got shots,” she said.

Demyx turned to him. “You don’t have to drink it all at once.”

“Yes you do. That’s the point.”

Demyx rolled his eyes at her. “Let’s just let him do what he’s comfortable with.”

“What is it?” Ienzo asked.

“Straight whatever,” Yuffie said. “Whiskey, I think.”

“Alright, I’ll try,” he said.

Yuffie let out a whoop. “I knew there was an interesting person in there somewhere.”

They drank; it tasted more or less like cough syrup, and he flinched, feeling the burn all the way into his stomach. Already he was feeling a little bit heavy, a little bit undefined, and definitely very warm. If there were a threshold between tipsy and drunk, he’d definitely just crossed it, and realizing this was a little dizzying. The sensation was instantly placeable, and he spent a minute trying to study it, to understand it.

“Cake?” Demyx asked.

“Sounds… very good.”

This wasn’t like being high, where everything was the same, only larger. Not quite dissociation, but not quite being in his body. He laughed more than he was wont to normally, at jokes that were less witty; it was easier to talk, which was how he found himself having a long, involved conversation with Leon about the state of the city, how it was ragged-yet-not. It would never be the same as it was, they decided.

After another drink, he felt again heavy, and had to sit down, contemplating the woodgrain in the table for probably too long. His thoughts were scattered, not quite so frenzied, but not as calm as when he smoked.

A cold glass was being pressed into his hand. Demyx sat across from him. “It’s just water. You’ve had a couple and not too much to eat. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I must be quite sloppy,” he mumbled.

“No, not at all. You’re fine. You think you’re a mess, look at that guy.” Demyx pointed to a patron at the bar, who was slumped over, fast asleep, while the bartender mopped up his spilled drink.

“Are you having fun?”

“I always have fun with you.”

“I’m not holding you back?”

“Why would you?” He looked genuinely confused.

“Just… not being good at this.”

“I don’t think you want to be an expert at drinking,” he said, with a laugh. “That’s definitely not good for you.”

He drank the water down.

Yuffie came over to them, stumbling a bit. “All good?”

“We’re fine. Just chilling.”

“Oh, cool. I thought you’d died.” She hiccuped.

“Died?” Ienzo asked. “What do you--”

“Like, threw up, passed out,” Demyx said. “Not literally.”

“I wanted to sit down,” he said.

“Mm, that does sound nice. You’re so smart.” She wandered over to Aerith and sat next to her.

“See, you’re fine,” Demyx said to him, with a wink.

“It just feels very odd to be so uninhibited in public. Usually it’s just you and me. And I.”

“Weird in a bad way?”

“Weird in a weird way.”

“Do you feel anxious?”

“Not really,” he said. “Is it bad I want to keep going?”

“I don’t think so, if you feel okay. But if you’re worried, have some more water first.”

“Let’s do that.”

He felt less lightheaded after all the water, but it made him need to relieve himself, and being alone in the washroom made him aware of how strange this whole situation was. He had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. He washed his face with a paper towel, felt a bit better, and rejoined Aerith at the bar.

“Leon took Yuffie home,” she explained. “She was getting a bit… belligerent.”

“Oh dear,” Ienzo said. He snorted despite himself.

“It happens. She talks a tough game, but she doesn’t get to cut loose much, either.” She set aside her glass. “You two in a hurry to get home?”

Demyx stretched. “Not really.”

“I figure we could have one or two more at mine. It’s on the way for you, anyway.”

“Sounds good. Ienzo? Want to go?”

The bar was noisier now, more crowded--how had he not noticed earlier--now that it was later. “Sure.”

Aerith lived alone in a two-room house on the edge of town. “It’s not much,” she said to Ienzo.

“I like your house. It’s cute,” Demyx said.

“Maybe one day you’ll have one like it.”

“Maybe,” he said. He flopped onto the couch.

The room was full of plants. More illumina, glowing gently in the dark; herbs, ferns (“I have a soft spot for ferns,” she said) and lilies, though their smell was less pungent than regular lilies.

It reminded Ienzo, for just a moment, of his mother; clipping and propagating roots and stems. He touched one of the plants.

What would they think if they saw him now? Grown up, married?

Very, very drunk?

The laughter was harder to contain now. “Something funny?” Aerith asked. She was rummaging in a cabinet.

“Probably not to anyone but me.”

“He does that sometimes,” Demyx said. “Keeps himself entertained. Thinks himself into a corner.”

Ienzo glared at him. “You’re not much better.”

Demyx stuck his tongue out at him, then giggled.

Aerith came back with a bottle of wine and some glasses balanced precariously in one hand. In the other, a joint. “You guys want?”

“I’d rather have that than a drink.” At least this much was familiar.

“Sit, it’s okay. You’re basically family.” She took a few tokes and passed it to Demyx.

“So much for one of us being in commission.”

“We’re far past that,” she said.

Ienzo settled next to Demyx on the couch. “It was… very kind of you all to come out today.” The taste of smoke was welcome.

She raised her eyebrow. “Why? We’re friends.”

“It’s… nice to remember that.”

She patted Ienzo’s hand. “So long as you had a good time.”

“I… did.”

“I don’t know why you don’t bring him around more,” Aerith said to Demyx. The joint moved from each of them.

“It’s not… Demyx’s fault,” Ienzo said. “These things take a certain strength from me. It’s easier to keep myself busy with my work.”

“You have nothing to worry about. You’re very personable,” she said. “But I understand.”

He snorted. “Sure.”

“It’s true,” she said.

“He’s very polite. To everyone but me.” Demyx nudged him.

“What can I say? Manners are the most obvious social skills.” He exhaled smoke. “I don’t think I have a conversational middle ground.”

“I talk to the sick and wounded most of the day. I get it.” The joint was done with; she stubbed it out.

“Hey, I do too,” Demyx said.

“Compared to me you’re still wet behind the ears.”

Demyx barked a laugh.

“Oh,” she said after a minute. “God. You two have had such weird lives.”

Ienzo thought about it. Maybe it was the mixture of substances in his body, but he said, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They left soon afterwards, too tired to keep talking. He was feeling more high than drunk now, a welcome reprieve, and the night air felt almost like silk. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d stayed up this late (sans all nighters).

“I’m glad I married you,” Demyx said.

Ienzo smirked. ““And I love everyone in this bar?””

He stopped, touching Ienzo’s shoulder. “I mean it. I’m not drunk anymore. Well, not really.”

“I’m glad too,” he said softly.

“I couldn’t imagine doing all this alone. At the bar, I was… hearing them all talk about the past, and how they always all had each other, and I realized how lonely I was for so long. I appreciate you so much.”

Intoxicated or not, Ienzo could tell he meant it. He kissed Demyx, in the dark, in the street, and they let it go on more than they were normally wont to in public. Despite this, Ienzo was disappointed when he pulled away.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “We probably shouldn’t--while we’re--”

“That’s… practical.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go home.”

[noonetosmilefor]

weird asks.

thanks for asking me all of these, @uneven-odds​. <3

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans? - wine glasses.

2. chocolate bars or lollipops? - chocolate bars.

3. bubblegum or cotton candy? - bubblegum.

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? - loud but good at school.

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? - soda bottles.

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear? - formal.

7. earbuds or headphones? - earbuds.

8. movies or tv shows? - tv shows.

9. favorite smell in the summer? - the sea.

10. game you were best at in p.e.? - volleyball.

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day? - nothing.

12. name of your favorite playlist? - “current.”

13. lanyard or key ring? - key ring.

14. favorite non-chocolate candy? - haribo gold bears.

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment? - sunrise by michael köhlmeier.

16. most comfortable position to sit in? - cross-legged.

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes? - my nike sneakers.

18. ideal weather? - rainy and cloudy.

19. sleeping position? - on my left side.

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)? - on my laptop.

21. obsession from childhood? - star wars.

22. role model? - my grandparents.

23. strange habits? - i don’t know if i have any.

24. favorite crystal? - amethyst.

25. first song you remember hearing? - everybody by backstreet boys.

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather? - swimming.

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather? - reading.

28. five songs to describe you? - nightmare by halsey, too afraid by MARINA, paper crown by alec benjamin, somebody by the chainsmokers and jasey rae by all time low.

29. best way to bond with you? - making me laugh.

30. places that you find sacred? - idk.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? - my high waisted jeans and a black top and heels.

32. top five favorite vines? - MUR - Murder!, Wtf Richard!, Adam, Fresh Avocado, Jesus Christ Hotline.

33. most used phrase in your phone? - wtf.

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? - none rn.

35. average time you fall asleep? - around 11 pm.

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing? - bad luck brian.

37. suitcase or duffel bag? - suitcase.

38. lemonade or tea? - tea.

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie? - lemon cake.

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? - someone set the paper towel dispenser on fire.

41. last person you texted? - @uneven-odds​. <3

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? - jacket pockets.

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket? - jean jacket.

44. favorite scent for soap? - roses.

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero? - fantasy.

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? - just a shirt.

47. favorite type of cheese? - blue cheese.

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? - an apple.

49. what saying or quote do you live by? - live and let live.

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? - in the last few days it definitely was the moment @handsomestarlord and i watched that one teleshopping advert. just saying: DEN BRATEN ODER DEN SPIESS?

51. current stresses? - none.

52. favorite font? - always been a slut for times new roman.

53. what is the current state of your hands? - fresh mani.

54. what did you learn from your first job? - that i don’t wanna do it ever again.

55. favorite fairy tale? - snow white and the seven dwarfs.

56. favorite tradition? - hm don’t have a specific one.

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome? - not loving myself, forgetting about certain people and knowing what i really want.

58. four talents you’re proud of having? - listening to people and let them be heard is my biggest talent, i also have kind of a sense of how people feel and am really good at making people laugh. my dad also always told me, that i’m really good at telling stories.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? - “fuck off!”

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be? - uff, idk i really do have no clue about anime at all.

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? -

it’s from “Die Blutschule”, a german book. and i LOVE this quote. “Das Leben geht weiter. Manchmal fragte ich mich, ob diese Tatsache nicht das Grausamste an unserem Dasein ist. Nicht der Tod und die ihm vorausgehenden Schmerzen, sondern der Fakt, dass ganz gleich, welche Schicksalschläge das Leben für uns bereithält, die Uhren niemals innehalten. Nicht einmal für einen Wimpernschlag. Dabei hat das Universum doch alle Zeit der Welt. Wäre der Unfalltod eines Menschen nicht viel einfacher zu ertragen, wenn sämtliche Autos für einen Moment stehen blieben? Wenn die Wellen, die das Kind ertränkten, nicht mehr rauschten? Nur für eine kurze Zeit, wenigstens die Trauerfeier über, bis der Sarg sich in das Grab gesenkt hätte. Wird uns die Bedeutungslosigkeit unseres Daseins nicht alleine dadurch gewiss gemacht, dass wir neben dem Totenbett eines geliebten Menschen im Krankenhaus stehen und gleichzeitig vor den Fenstern das Lachen spielender Kinder im Park hören könnten?  Das Leben geht immer weiter. Immer.”

62. seven characters you relate to? - legolas, sirius black, sherlock holmes (because i hate most humans), thranduil, crowley, arya stark and valkyrie.

63. five songs that would play in your club? - sucker by jonas brothers, bad guy by billie eilish, i want it that way by backstreet boys, old fashioned by panic! at the disco and handmade heaven by MARINA.

64. favorite website from your childhood? - we didn’t have “websites” back then.

65. any permanent scars? - yeah, on my knee.

66. favorite flower(s)? - tulips.

67. good luck charms? - don’t have one.

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? - broccoli in general.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned? - a ducks quack has no echo.

70. left or right handed? - right handed.

71. least favorite pattern? - don’t have one.

72. worst subject? - maths.

73. favorite weird flavor combo? - strawberries and salsa.

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen? - 12.

75. when did you lose your first tooth? - i can’t remember.

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)? - FRIES!

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill? - orchids.

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store? - sushi from a grocery store.

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo? - driver’s license photo.

80. earth tones or jewel tones? - jewel tones.

81. fireflies or lightning bugs? - lightning bugs.

82. pc or console? - console.

83. writing or drawing? - writing.

84. podcasts or talk radio? - talk radio.

84. barbie or polly pocket? - polly pocket.

85. fairy tales or mythology? - fairy tales.

86. cookies or cupcakes? - cupcakes.

87. your greatest fear? - losing loved ones.

88. your greatest wish? - be fully happy.

89. who would you put before everyone else? - my sisters.

90. luckiest mistake? - creating a fanfiktion.de account.

91. boxes or bags? - bags.

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights? - fairy lights.

93. nicknames? - crissy, brodo and tamara.

94. favorite season? - autumn.

95. favorite app on your phone? - twitter.

96. desktop background? - my cats.

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized? - 2.

98. favorite historical era? - 1920′s.

[blogger-yura]

Entry #4 June 23rd '21

#YurasLife #WholesomeWednesday #SelfCare #MentalHealth

𝐖𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 - 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞

Hello hello my loves!!! How has this pretty day treated you? I hope all you are ok and taking care!

Some friendly reminders for this week:

• Free time doesn't equal availability. Don't be afraid to say no and spend time with yourself.

• Be nice to yourself, your mind and your body. Take a break! Watch that movie, check out that new cafe, read that book you've been wanting to.

• Relax! this is just one more day you'll get through. Take a deep breath, relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw. You got this!

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡

𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭...

Today's quote comes from a place that might be familiar to some, maybe not so much to others. Healing doesn't work the same for everyone, you know? Some people experience healing as a one way street, others have it more like a huge flight of stairs going up. For some people, healing is a rocky road, or a frozen lake. Stumbling happens. Falling down, sliding back. Sometimes the way is smooth, and sometimes your legs hurt, or you scratch your knees, or the ice cracks under you.

"There is always rebirth in falling apart."

You will always find yourself again. No matter what. No matter the circumstances, or how far in the way you stumble and fall. No matter how many times you break down and fall apart. There's always rebirth, there's always a new chance. Like a star coming to an end, turning into a supernova and being reborn from it's own stardust, we are eternal.

And I want you to remember that every day. Nothing can destroy you. You're beautiful, needed, and eternal. Sometimes we need to fall apart to be able to put ourselves back together again, like a puzzle you put off for way too long and you forgot what the picture was supposed to be.

You'll make it through, just remember falling apart its completely normal and you're not failing. You're never failing unless you give up.

Keep your head up, darling. You're doing great already. -Yura ♡

🧡: @vitoria-oc @archangel-oc @shin-haneul @m00n-miaka-cb @lunaaofthemoon @moongoddesselene @jinju-oc

@cb-museclub @achillesunwoo @uridealbf-cb @uridealgf-cb @fairymiso @ares-bc @piratesunwoo @fairykingdom-bot @warblerchangmin @guitaristhanse @moongoddesselene @dmonchan @mafia-chae @botuniverse @sweethomebot @greenwitch-felix @unseelie-dejun @musicianjennie @sirenscb @skz-cb @betrayerjongup @urhexgirls @idol-academy @dem-oneus @mafia-bots @powerpuff-3ye-cb @model-lucy @moonlightchn @slasherdoyeon @temptationcb @lucifertaemin @yourmysticbot @carnival-skz @demigodnct @vampiremomo @uniboimark