#discussion welcome but pls do not reblog with hate

[hwaightme]

Take me back

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR BIKER!HWA’S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist) (join taglist)

🏍️ pairing: biker!seonghwa x afab!gangster!reader 🏍️ genre: smut, pwp, exes to lovers, fluff, a little angst, romance, just two fools in love 🏍️ summary: you want to convince yourself that you do not need seonghwa, that your rejection is for the best, but when instead of another rose he is the one waiting by your door, you are not so sure. 🏍️ wordcount: 6.9k 🏍️ warnings/tags: biker!hwa, quick solo edit, language, hwa has grills, head over heels enamoured hwa, mention of contraband/dealing of illegal substances, rejection, knight on a bike courting you, discussion of gang activity, set in strictland, lmk if anything else 🏍️ a/n: why hello there <3 i am trying to get back into writing, and seonghwa + the song 'take me back'… transformed me. always, any notes, reblogs and comments are appreciated, much love~

🏍️ perma-taglist: moved to the end of the post!

🏍️ nsfw tags: sub!hwa and soft dom!reader, no protection (wrap before you tap pls), oral (both giving and receiving), hints of scent kink but more for hwa's perfume, dirty talk, intense pet name content (baby, darling, sweetheart, love, pretty boy), praise both ways, riding/cowgirl, reader double orgasm, overstimulation, slight dumbification, creampie, implied cockwarming, cuddling and two people falling in love more and more with each passing second

It did not take much effort to figure out who left the solitary rose on the window sill, between floors three and five - an ironic nod to tradition despite the world moving in a four four time,  right on the stairwell that led to your apartment. A white rose sculpted to an ideal by nature and by a cosmetic selection, cut away and left a stilled beauty in full bloom, honoured to wilt in your presence. Picking it up with two fingers, you admired the careful handiwork employed to remove the thorns, because heaven forbid you were to hurt yourself. A smirk pricked at the corner of your lips, but you dared not reveal it - the admirer could be waiting just for this, and you were not feeling particularly merciful tonight. Twisting the rose a couple of times, noting the lack of any tears, breakage in the petals or even as much as a hint of browning due to thoughtless damage, you turned your attention to the stark white sheet of paper, neatly folded in half so as to conceal the contents. Though, who else would dare touch any gifts that were obviously left for you? Certainly not those who knew you, or knew of the admirer who was waiting for a single sign that you would accept the offerings. Opening up the note, you found a new selection of confessions written in poetic lines, ink meticulous, a permanence introduced in a neat and familiar hand, every stroke a cry for you, over you, a projection across the city in an attempt to win your heart. Just like last time, except this time the theme was the moon instead of the sun. The stars, the ocean waters, the air embracing you. If one were to paint a portrait through the words etched onto the pages that you had become a secret collector of, you would become the universe. All-encompassing and all-consuming, having permeated into the heart, soul and mind and turning into reason and motivation, you were the eternal muse. Gaze slowly drifting from the page and onto the dim, dark street outside, you looked out at the corner of the street, right to where it faded into a miniature intersection, leading to a shopping district that was long abandoned and shut down aside from a few underground businesses and repurposed buildings that a regular passer-by would, or should never visit. You would never admit it, but you had grown to expect the silhouette that waited for you, maybe even welcome it. A singular constant in your daily life, one that you hated to admit, but had transformed into a grounding, a tether to something less than madness.

It was not comforting, however. Far from it. The man who was leaning against his motorcycle, side profile distinguishable against the faint lights emanating from the far backdrop was someone who had brought you emotion. And just as the government had prescribed in its comically persistent propaganda, disease was human emotion. Whether one served the nation or was working against it, whether one was a public figure for peace or a private figure for war, the state of feeling was oftentimes a disadvantage. It was, most certainly, the case in your line of work, despite you never directly subjecting yourself to risk - you were not that foolish quite yet. But the dedication of the man in black, blue and silver was forcing you to reconsider. Eroding the boundaries you operated within, knocking on the barriers to find a hollow which he could break. One of these days you knew that Seonghwa was going to be the death of you. Or perhaps the revival. Folding the note tightly shut you pressed it against the rose’s stem, and holding both items between your fingers you began your ascent to the door of your apartment, keys dangling from their ring that was in your other hand.

Soon enough, you heard the rumbling of the engine; that same motorcycle which you had come to see more often than the supplies you managed. As you slid the key into the door, you shut your eyes, imagining Seonghwa’s journey away from your complex. How his glasses, those you had joked about being from a laboratory, would glimmer under the jittery neon of old signs and the fading streetlights. How he would accelerate at the end of the road, making a sharp turn to the right. The grip you had on the note and the rose tightened as you recalled the exhilarating feeling of having your arms wrapped around his sensational waist, feeling the toned muscle underneath his black tank top, snaking your hands, letting them roam his body as he struggled to contain himself and keep on driving. You paid the risk no mind - if anything, this risk was the one you preferred so much more, over any other you had to keep subdued under a brutal thumb. Wondering why your mind was so afflicted this evening, you raised the rose again, detecting nothing suspicious. It was only once you raised the note as close to your face as possible that you rolled your eyes and let a sigh escape you. Of course, the perfume. That damn sweet perfume, with hints of coffee and vanilla, one only he could wear, one that you swore you would never be able to rid yourself off, even if you were to burn the house down and shed your own skin. The memory would remain and you knew that if anywhere, anyone, anyhow would let this perfume enter your system, only Seonghwa would be on your mind. Cursing under your breath, you finally unlocked the apartment and entered, washed over with a sense of dread due to your evident proximity to the handcrafted abyss. It was only a matter of time that this game would end. 

Kicking your shoes off your feet and ambling to the living room, you approached the glass that you had positioned at the centre of the tiny dining table, taking out the rose you had previously received and replacing it with the new beauty. Mumbling a goodbye, simply to remind yourself of the fact that you could speak, more than anything, you let the flower disappear in the bin that was across the corridor, in the kitchen. You returned, regarding the white rose again, imprinting its every curve in your mind and hesitantly allowing yourself to compare the softness of the petals to your admirer’s lips, and moved to the cabinet off to the side. A contraband piece, unregulated, from someplace abroad that clearly had more daring, inspiring tastes than your home ever could, which was exactly why you had your loyal employees smuggle it along with the regular supplies to feed the insatiable demand of the sinful city that turned into bills for you. One door opened, another, a few numbers on a keypad pressed and you were in - one of the numerous safes hidden around the flat, the only ones that would stand the test of time, with this one containing the butterflies that plagued Seonghwa, those that he could not help but share with you, fighting pleas that you contained in steel. A cage for the emotions that the man stirred within you, your keeping of the notes supposedly out of sight and out of mind was the last resort for denial. You did not want to witness your demise, and yet, in the night when you were tossing and turning back and forth, illuminated by a hazy blue and grey, your retinas had every note burned into them and your brain would repeat every line back to you over, and over, and over again until you were lulled into a slumber, again, induced by the notion of the one man who you were trying your hardest to avoid. He was behind every corner, physical and spiritual. 

He was in the way you cleared away the dishes after eating, the ghost of his torso pressed against your back as he would leave a peppering of kisses over your shoulder, in the crook of your neck and stopping right over the jugular, caressing the sensitive skin with his breath. Seonghwa was in the way you lied down to bed, always occupying the same side, gliding under the sheets that, even though you had washed them, softened them time and time again, you swore still held his echoes - how your body tried to reignite the reminiscence of how his arm would languidly find purchase on your hips or waist, how he would whisper sweet nothings into your ear, the shameless adoration tickling your cheek and colouring it in a faint blush. As you shut the safe with more aggression than anticipated, making the cabinet rattle from the impact, you shut your eyes, the sensation of the memory becoming too strong to handle. Seonghwa’s hands tracing abstract shapes on your stomach, sides, seemingly absent-mindedly trailing upwards to tease a timid gasp out of you, only to follow the curves and contours of your body down until he could have you in ultimate pleasure. And how, polite as ever, he would ask for it. Ask to touch you, beg for it unabashedly, recounting just how good he had been for you, how he would do anything for you, should you command him. 

Seonghwa’s blind faith in you, his trust in harmony between outlaws and the timelessness of your union was the very reason you stepped away. With every fibre of what you had remaining of your tainted heart you wished for him to find someone better, someone safer, as far as possible from the rotten criminal hydra of which you were one of the many heads. Part of you always held onto the hope that he would leave the city for good. You knew there were better places out there where he could thrive not as a gang member or a fiend of the roads, but as an artist, a dreamer. You had heard enough stories of lands across the oceans where the sun smiled down on those who walked the grounds there, and how people had choice. Desperately, you wanted Seonghwa to make the right one and leave. But all your senses were far too close to overpowering your rationality that served as the single stop sign for the both of you. The one flicker that would set the gasoline ablaze, and leave you two to burn, unable to turn back. Without bothering to turn on any lights, you felt for your bedroom, stripping off the clothes that screamed both business and dealing, and collapsing onto the covers. Hands tracing the lace of your lingerie, you mused what the man of your dreams and nightmares was up to, across the district, under the same omniscient and omnipresent moon, perhaps thinking of you. His name rolled off your tongue far too easily, too comfortably for it to be forbidden. You knew exactly what would happen should he appear instead of another rose, and this awareness - you feared.

As soon as you stepped into the complex, met with the ancient and occasionally flickering bulb that hung right above the entryway, barely outside of the swinging reach of the rusted metal door, you felt the air had shifted while you were gone. The first sign, however, you had caught onto a lot earlier, during your brisk walk down the street, where you caught sight of a familiar motorcycle parked some ways off to the side, obscured by the smog-dulled trees and coughing shrubbery, and only just peeking out from behind a couple of dumpsters. You had to give it to Seonghwa, the place he chose to hide the vehicle was one of the best in the vicinity, but it was not a surprise - something told you that he had your part of the city mapped out and committed to memory, judging by how easily he navigated every corner, and knew exactly where and when you could catch sight of his presence. Slowly, you stepped towards the stairs, trying to steady your breath, failing to ignore the accelerating pace of your heart. The drumming overtook you, pushing away any sense of control and commitment to rejection, and it was as if you could feel every capillary, every artery and vein being set on fire, oxygen being reduced to nothing, lungs screaming and smoke filling your skull. Leaden legs lifting themselves one step, another until you covered the first flight, making a turn. Forgetting to count, you let your instincts guide you, and even though you knew that you were not going to find them, you were half hoping for another rose and note, a secure arrangement that meant you could fool yourself into not feeling as strongly as you, in reality, did. Suddenly, your suit was too tight over your body, the collar digging into your flesh, the sleeves constricting. You wanted to melt away, sink into the floor, turn into concrete, into the walls or the particles that drifted with the drafts before you were to come face to face with what you were so adamant on denying, with whom you were so adamant on denying. The sturdy soles of your dress shoes resounded on the hard stone stairs, marking your arrival. There was no going back, not now, not ever. As soon as the door to your part of the complex closed, so did the door to a destiny without the man who you could now spot on the next flight of stairs, sat outstretched on the cold angularity, elbows perched on one step higher than his body, impeccably balanced while his legs, bent slightly, were stationed on the flat turning. As you regarded his form through the dark grey, sparse railings, taking in the gravity of his unbelievable presence he did not spare you a single glance, instead choosing to remain downcast, peering off to the side, at the merging of the wall and stairs, or maybe he was caught up in his own thoughts, much like you had been a few too many days and nights.

It was only when you stopped right in front of him, stock still, crossing your arms - be it in defence or in threat, did he look up at you, shattering your heart into an innumerable torrential downpour of pieces. Eyes hidden behind those clear visor glasses were misty, hinting at unspilled melancholia, unexpressed need that only you could tear out of him, a living energy that had always been a sacrifice to your being. At your feet, much like how he was now, even though the pose which he had found himself in was nothing like what he had meant in the notes, in the actions, in the past. Seonghwa pushed himself off the stairs, sitting up straighter, head tilting upwards to not break eye contact. Almost as though if he were to look away, you would evaporate. The buttoned up silver collar of his jacket, concealing a few chains underneath, was gently applying pressure to his neck as he moved without daring to make any excessive movements, including adjusting his clothes. The man determined that he was toeing a far too dangerous line to try his luck with confidence.

After so long, after so many roses, after so many secrets that he had spilled in his poetry he could not continue any longer. Gone were the days when your mirage was enough, a hallucinatory visitation in the middle of his day never did satisfy him, but out of fear of disappointing you, he never went ahead with his urges and the cries of every nerve cell. Distance. A hint of your existence, a glimmer of the lights in your apartment, a dismissive picking up of his gifts from the window sill - those were his only joys as of late, but even that was no longer enough. He wanted you. He needed you. He needed you like a man needed air, needed earth, water, and fire. Seonghwa marked too many days on his calendar, drove too many miles without there being one last hope. So he gave into a risk, and bet his own life on it. As he allowed himself to drown in your ethereal glow, the beautiful, pleading man only just caught onto the words that sliced through the months of silence.

“No rose this time?”

Seonghwa let out a breath he did not know he was holding, and reached out for your legs, pulling you closer to him in a desperate call. Wrapping his strong arms around you, he pressed his forehead into your thighs, only a bite of the lip holding him back from breaking apart. He could not care less if you were going to scold him for crumpling your outfit, or for staining it with tears if they were to spill, for it was worth it. You were real. You were here. You were speaking to him and regarding him. Practically falling onto you and at your feet, Seonghwa wanted to be as close as possible, blend with and into you. Taken aback by the suddenness of the lurch towards you, you could only hold your hands up and let the proximity intoxicate you. Staring down at the top of his head, you had to give up your equilibrium to the man if you were to stay standing. Stay above him. And yet, a stray hand found itself floating through and towards the dark, slicked back locks that your palms remembered far too well. As you followed the lines of each strand, digits grazing the scalp, gently patting the impossibly soft and luscious hair, Seonghwa breathed raggedly beneath you, shaking ever so slightly. For how long had he been keeping it in, you wondered. For how long had he been carrying the weight of feeling with him without letting it escape into public exposure. Gently, you hooked the glasses upwards, letting them rest on the top of his head - a gesture that made him look up once more, hands still clenched around the material of your trousers. A flush of pink across his face, glistening eyes and the beginnings of a waterfall marking his relief threatening to trickle down his cheeks. You noted how his lips parted a couple of times, almost like he was in search to find the right words to say to you, maybe he had even already found them, but none made their way to your auditory, remaining a pantomime. Seonghwa was waiting for everything, and his everything was you.

“Oh come on, Hwa, why are you- up. Let’s get up, yeah?” you motioned with both hands for him to get up, and when he would not follow took a hold of his forearms, tugging until he submitted to the request, more moisture rushing to the surface as he was now right here, level with you on the same ground, in one another’s arms like before, with his nickname turning to the most magical melody when you uttered it, “Hwa, no, don’t cry, baby, I can’t stand to see you hurting.”

Thumbs running under his gorgeous eyes, over the stunning smooth skin and hands stopping to cup his face, you admired him with a full heart, letting go of prior inhibitions. There was no point in trying to ignore what had always been, what you would never be able to escape. You hated how you made him feel this pain. You knew you were the instigator, it was obvious to anyone how you were the one who did not want to follow through with hardships and looked for an easy way out, only finding dead ends and lies in the process. His aroma embraced you in a hypnotising cloud, the same one that never left you. The addictive sweetness that you wanted more, more of until there was nothing remaining. Leaning closer to Seonghwa, you took it in, faces a mere centimetre apart, suspense on a single breath. 

“I’m sorry, I could not help it… I-”

“I should be the one who is sorry, baby, don’t say that,” he was too good for this world, you concluded yet again. The longer you knew Seonghwa, the more convinced you became that he was not meant for the city, nor for the life you or he led. You needed to work harder if that could mean buying your and his freedom out of this system.

“Sorry…” he mumbled again, unsteady, inching towards you until his nose brushed against yours. His gloved hands were securely under your suit jacket, toying with the fabric of your white shirt. You nudged him again, reassuring that he was doing everything right, that at least now, he was safe. With you, he was safe.

One of your hands etched the alluring edges of his jawline, travelling down his body and stopping at the jacket. Index finger under the collar, you tugged on the silver material, earning a deeper, expectant sigh from the man. As you snapped the button, pushing the outerwear apart to give you access to his accessories, you felt the metal - warm from the impossible heat oozing from Seonghwa, and slid your digits down the middle of the chest, stopping momentarily at the solar plexus, catching the erratic rhythm of his heart, so intense that you would not be shocked if it were to jump out at any second. You pulled at the black material of his tank top, forcing him to be up right against you, and to stop him from attempting to apologise any more, shifted attention to direct him by his chin. At your mercy, Seonghwa followed. Plush lips parted in anticipation, glossy orbs gaining a darker undertone in the palette contained within, he waited for your final say.

“Did you miss me?”

“Yes. Damn, yes. So much. Too much.” he whispered feverishly, fingers digging into your hips as he sensed your intentions.

“In what ways did you miss me, Seonghwa darling?” knowing that he would achieve nothing if he were to close the gap now, your reawakened passion darted between watching how your mouth moved as you spoke, and studying your irises, head clouded by what had been, and what could be.

“In… every way.”

“Oh, baby, you’re going to have to be a lot more detailed than that.” you mumbled against his lips, leaning away just as he was about to instinctively seek you out.

“I… your company… your words…”

“Should I move? So we can talk?” you teased, jokingly trying to detangle yourself, but to no avail as Seonghwa’s hold got only stronger, and you felt the leather of his trousers fully aligned and pressed against yours. He was impatient, seeking any form of friction, and yet was still holding out well. 

“No… please Y/N.”

“Then tell me, what did you miss, exactly, so I can help you out?” an intensity behind the question threw Seonghwa off balance, making his head spin. Your newfound mastery of the dual renaissance bled onto the pages of the future, yet to be written, determined by every action.

“Your lips.”

“Mhm,” you leaned closer, planting a pack on his lips when he least expected it. Just enough to make him realise what you had done, but not any more, denying him the satisfaction of falling into you. Upon hearing his frustrated whine - music to your growing desire, you continued, “what else?”

“Your- your tongue.” he stuttered, eyelashes fluttering as he glanced everywhere except at you, all while rocking ever so slightly on the spot.

“Elaborate, sweetheart, or do I need to drag everything out of you?” you tightened your hold on his chin, dragging him back to you. 

“No. Goodness… this is embarrassing…” 

“Oh, is my poor baby getting shy? Since when? You always made such pretty sounds for me and now can’t tell me what you want. How am I supposed to take that, hm?” Seonghwa’s cheeks transformed before you, traversing every shade of pink before settling on the deepest hue, “will you be good for me, Hwa? Will you tell me what you missed?”

“I,” he paused, reconsidering, weighing his words, “I miss the way you make me lose my breath when you kiss me. I miss how you unravel me, ruin me with your tongue and mouth around my cock. I miss the feeling of you riding me, I love how every part of you and I is riddled in pleasure as I fill you up with cum and how you don’t stop until I am barely present, and then you bring me right back. I miss how you know me. How you- how you taste. I miss you, Y/N,” he shot at lightning speed, stumbling over his words as he revealed the scenes of his long-standing collections of fantasies that echoed from when you had lived heart to heart, body to body.

The depiction set you ablaze more fiercely than before, and any hints of fear were fully replaced by a carnal greed for the man before you. Need was an understatement. You redefined sin with your voiceless urgency, pushing yourself into Seonghwa’s arms fully, feeling a considerably stronger pressure against your hips where he was standing - clearly you were not the only one who was damning the existence of locks and doors that were barring you from direct access to your apartment.

“See, was that so hard? Now, let me show you how much I miss you.”

A rush, an all consuming energy, a passion that you had not known, taken for granted and realised only when you purposefully lost it and gained it back thanks to Seonghwa being the one to not give up on you, on the flame the two of you created. Your lips moved in a seamless tandem as you stumbled forwards, pushing Seonghwa closer and closer to the door. Fortunately, he had a good enough sense of his surroundings to not trip, falling only for you. You hummed into the sensation, heat pooling to your core as you tasted the coolness of his grills. Nipping at his lush lower lip, you beckoned him to deepen the kiss, a request to which he obliged almost immediately, tilting his head for a better angle. Groaning into the intimacy, you fished out your keys, and after a couple of clumsy tries, finally heard the click of the mechanism. With his foot Seonghwa curled around the door, opening it to give the two of you access, and just barely, you managed to catch it back and slam it shut. As soon as the sound reverberated over the two of you, a switch flipped in your lover, and his hands which were previously almost tied to your hips now freely roamed your body, relearning it, tracing every curve like there was nothing better in this world. Like you were the statue of a goddess and he was a devoted sculptor, working on the masterpiece for all of eternity, aware that he would never be able to replicate the true beauty but still remaining fixated on the blessing that was the process.

Shoes left in a messy pile on the doormat - a problem for later, the two of you tripped over one another, choosing to remain in one another’s arms as you finally made it down the corridor and to your bedroom. As you stood by the frame, you ran over Seonghwa’s inner lips with your tongue, seeking access, and relishing in his taste, better than you could have ever recalled even if you made the effort to. Seonghwa tasted of longing, of a faith that was so rare you swore he was a man from long-forgotten myth or fairy tale, and of the slightest hint of strawberry that he loved so much - the first contraband not meant for human ruin that you had arranged transport and distribution for. Tongue grazing the gold that covered his lower teeth you were finally fully aware, trusting the now; you were not dreaming, you were with him, and you need not deny yourself nor him.

You led him deeper into the room, patient as he felt for the bed behind him to obediently take a seat. Taking his glasses off his head, leaving them on top of a dresser, and motioned for him to rid himself of the jacket and gloves, an order that was punctuated by the articles falling with a thud to the floor. Chuckling to yourself as you recalled Seonghwa’s usual concern with neatness and organisation, the action turned to be a confirmation of his yearning for you. Your own jacket now hanging off the back of a chair located in the far corner of the room, you sauntered back to Seonghwa, swinging a leg over his lap and taking a comfortable seat, facing him. His breath hitched as you grinded closer, feeling his clothed arousal against your body. Following the motion with a few more moves of your hips, Seonghwa gasped, letting his head fall forward, forehead hitting the crook of your neck.

“Y/N, please.”

“Please what?”

“I need you…”

“How do you need me?” you coaxed every wish out of him, gaining pleasure every time he would pause to contain his urge to hide, to back out of answering you, aware of the consequences if he dared to question or dishonour your demands in this sultry ritual.

“I need your mouth, please love, I cannot stand this.”

“But it is right here,” you pointed at your lips, reddened from the previous contact, a coy smile rendering Seonghwa helpless.

“Do you not feel it? Please Y/N I am begging you I need you to su-”

“Not so fast, pretty boy, I need you to convince me.” you cut him off before he could finish his sentence, “can you do that for me?”

“Yes, a million times yes. Please.”

“I suppose I’ll be nice and help you with my clothes,” one button, another, it seemed that Seonghwa was counting with you, ravenous. His hands undid the button and zipper of your trousers, pulling at them to ask for you to let him slide them off. In a few practised moves, you were left only in your bra and panties, a lacy white, earning whispers of praise from Seonghwa, a love for just how well the piece he had bought you some time ago looked, and you, by a twist of fate, happened to choose to wear today.

“Will you lie down for me? All the way up,” without further explanation, Seonghwa shimmied backwards until his head practically hit the headboard, eyes remaining on you, widening as you hastily took off your panties, exposing what he had been pleading for. Crawling towards him, you placed a hand on his chest to tap him out of a lustful stupor, “now darling, can you show me how much you missed my taste?” a nod, another, but you did not move, “words, Seonghwa, I need words.”

“Yes, let me taste your pussy, please.”

“Of course, since you asked so nicely.”

Positioning yourself over Seonghwa’s face, you gripped onto the headboard and lowered yourself until a hungry tongue ran over your already soaked folds, making you gasp. With tentative licks he drew tender, slow circles over your clit before dragging his tongue back to taste you fully, moving in and out of your hole, curling into it. He returned his attention to your sensitive bud, rolling right over its tip, earning a rewarding moan which spurred his eagerness to drive you to higher pleasure. Knuckles turning white from your efforts to maintain at least some illusion of balance, your breaths quickened as he continued to run his tongue over your core, accelerating the buildup of your climax with every flick. Attentive, worshipping every part of you, he sucked on your clit, relishing in the taste of your slick that now coated him. 

His hands found purchase on your thighs, levelling you and bringing you even closer to him until his nose was pressed against you, and tongue driven deeper into your wet cunt. A parched man, Seonghwa groaned against you as he felt the first signs of your approaching orgasm, with the vibration sending an electrifying jolt straight to your core. 

“Ah- Hwa I-”

“You taste so good, thank you, love,” he mumbled from under you, only to return to abusing your heat with his swift tongue, speeding up as he felt your pussy begin to clench, beg for more, and a light trembling start to course through your muscles. Burying his head between your legs and lapping at the nectar from the lustful, voracious pokes into your hole at the very base to intricate sensuality over your clit, Seonghwa drove you over the edge.

Supporting you through your orgasm with his powerful arms, he moaned as you rode it out, drinking your release and revelling in its sweetness. Stars in your vision, you struggled to lower yourself off your lover, a shudder running over your body as he lifted you a little higher, sliding upwards to give himself a better angle. The action snapped you out of a loss, and you found yourself kneeling next to him, smiling in gratitude.

“Such a good boy for me, thank you my love.”

“Always. May I… kiss you?” he inquired meekly, wondering if his present state could potentially deter you.

“Of course,”  you leaned in, closing the space, tasting yourself on Seonghwa’s lips, tongue and grills, but even then, nothing could be more perfect. His hand stretched to run over the side of your face, motivating you to come closer. Fingers in your hair, tugging ever so gently left you breathless. Breaking away, you mumbled promises against his lips, hands moving to work on his leather trousers.

Getting the hint, his top, too, was soon found strewn on the floor, leaving him in the accessories that appeared to only highlight his beauty, so meticulously picked and paired that you had to force to take your gaze away. His irresistible tanned body, every rise and fall of his chest highlighted by the shadows that decorated the room. His beguiling, glazed over expression that was trained on you as you planted kiss after kiss on his torso, each making him question if he could ever breathe again.

“I missed you, Hwa, so,” one peck, “so,” another, “much,” ending below his navel, hand hovering over his member, so painfully erect that you almost felt guilty for getting him to eat you out first.

“I missed you ah-” hand coated in precum and your spit, you positioned it at the base of his cock, causing the abrupt cut in his response. With a steady pumping, you addressed Seonghwa, feigning obliviousness.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

“I- I- fuck-” squeezing its girth, you rubbed circles over the tip, making him lose his train of thought, or its remnants.

“So?” holding his dick in place, you waited for his response before reacting to his earlier words.

“Y/N I missed you- ah shi-” upon hearing the sought after phrase you lowered your head.

Opening your mouth, you shifted position to take in as much of him as you could, gliding your tongue against the shaft in practised motions and moaning as you felt him twitch with the warmth. The dribble that ran down the still exposed length added to the wantonness of the situation as you left behind any wish to remain cautious with Seonghwa; after all, he had been explicit with his love for ruin. Centering yourself, you relax your jaw further, taking in more until you could sense the tip approaching the back of your throat. You placed one hand on your lover’s pubic bone, warning him to not buck his hips, even though you were perfectly trusting of him remaining obedient. Dragging your head up and back down, it was easier moving to the sounds escaping from Seonghwa’s throat.

Gripping onto the bed sheets, he was abandoning the clarity and resolve with which he had showed up at your door so many times. Rose after rose he had not been sure if it was you he was convincing or himself. But here, amidst the unfathomably divine pleasure, Seonghwa was merely grateful for how trivial it was, how natural it was for you to take him back. His high was fast-approaching, but before he could act on it you were already removing yourself with a lewd pop, fingers between your folds and twisting to massage your overstimulated clit. Unclasping your bra, you noticed Seonghwa’s otherwise unfocused gaze immediately switching to paying close attention to your breasts, cock twitching in anticipation as you repositioned yourself to be on top of him. Teasing the tip of his leaking member by trailing it between your folds, you watched Seonghwa’s face contort in pleasure once more, wholly submitted to you as you guided it inside of your pussy. As you sank down on him, sighing from the way in which he filled you up, pushing against your walls in all the right places, Seonghwa grunted, eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed from the stimulation. It was clear that he was using all the strength he had left to hold himself back from acting rashly - he wanted you, he missed you, and he was not about to let this heaven go. 

You started to ride him, hands on either side of his body as you lifted your hips only to drive them back down, sheathing his member inside your cunt. Conscious of the fact that he should let you take the full lead, Seonghwa took to searching for anything better to hold than the sheets, crumpled into oblivion and leaving little in terms of comfort. Grounding him as you rocked your hips forward and back, you found his arms, gliding upwards until your fingers intertwined. Seonghwa’s eyes snapped open and he stared at you open-mouthed, in disbelief at your initiative for what he had clearly remembered you labelling as ‘too close for comfort’. Instead of abandoning the gesture, you tightened your hold, your own moans amplifying and joining his breathlessness as the knot in your core grew tighter and tighter with every thrust. 

“Is this- what- you cannot live without, Hwa?”

“Fuck- yes, yes, yes-” words spilled out of him while you picked up speed, spurred on by the nudge of his hips that signified he was close. When he was not submerging himself into pure darkness, he could only manage to register the rhythmic motion of your breasts and an 

“Can’t stop thinking of this pussy even when your cock is stuffed inside, huh?”

“Love this pussy- please, Y/N…”

“Love to be fucked dumb by me?”

“Yes, please I- I am so close Y/N…” his wavering voice and feeble pants cried for affection, which you readily provided even though you had no plans of slowing down.

“I know, baby. Fill me up, fill me up with your cum. You can do it darling-”

Seonghwa did not need any more encouragement. With a final groan, suppressed only by a snapping of his jaw to turn the sound into a prolonged hiss, his hips bucked uncontrollably into you, painting your pulsing walls with ropes of white, the awaited release rendering any speech into indecipherable babble. But you still had your high to chase, and restarted your movements, grinding your hips over his throbbing member to build up your climax while Seonghwa held onto you, whining from the excessive stimulation.

“Such a good boy for me, letting me cum over your cock.”

“I- this is too much I-”

“Are you feeling okay, baby?”

“Don’t, please do not stop- I want to make you- ah, cum,” he answered, each word uneven as you raised yourself repeatedly until, with one final movement and the stroke of the tip against your most sensitive spot, you collapsed on top of your lover, a shiver running over you as your pussy clenched around his dick, milking him of the last of his release.

Rolling over to the side, but not quite wishing to move, you remained in one another’s arms, sweat glistening in the night light, adoration ablaze in every feature. Sliding out his softening member from your warmth, a shy smile adorned his lips as a mixture of slick and cum followed, spilling onto your gorgeous thighs. He tapped you on the shoulder, helping you up so that your faces would be level with one another, and pressed his forehead to yours. He focused on your proximity, pulling you closer, closer until there was no space left. He never wanted to let you go. Never again. If you so wished, you could walk away, but he was sure that his heart would remain with you.

If you wanted to, you could throw it away, burn it, cut it into pieces, but it would still be yours. As he saw his future being written in your pupils, he planted a loving kiss on your lips, for it to be returned with just as much feeling. No longer did you wish to hide it away from him. Your emotion, your expression and vision were his. It was clear to you that there was no one else in this universe who could be trusted more than him. If he so wished, you would let him leave you in the cold. If he decided you need not create, you would agree. If innovation was not in his plans, you would follow. In love was sacrifice, in love was offering, in love was future, in love were you and him. It was as simple as the unfurling of a pearl white rose, as clear as ink on white paper.

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[gojonanami]

‧ ˚. 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 !!

‧ ˚. BEFORE YOU FOLLOW

minors do not follow — this is an 18+ blog with explicit content. I don’t have time to check every blog that follows me nor police anyone.

this is a not spoiler free blog — I tag under jjk spoilers and jjk leaks — so block at your discretion

this blog is dark content friendly and aged up characters friendly -- if you don't like that, don't follow / block me -- both are put in warnings so if you don't like it - don't read or block me (send hate in any form and you will be blocked).

i post a lot of things, including asks (under sab [asks]) — not just about jjk, but sometimes about outside interests and my life — mostly under sab speaks — but I sometimes discuss fic stuff under there as well.

any hate towards me, any person, group, religion, race, sexuality, etc will not be tolerated and you will be blocked.

if you’re a mutual and you wanna break our mutual, no offense taken, but please block me so I don’t keep following you unknowingly.

‧ ˚. BEFORE YOU TALK TO ME:

please be nice - to me, but also every respectful person on this blog. this is a positive space - i try to give people the benefit of the doubt (except obv blatant hate / harassment)

don't come into my askbox starting discourse / hating (like a ship) - it's okay to express an opinion (ex. "i don't like [insert ship / thing] for x, y, z] , but with respect, not disgust / hate.

don't ask me to be mutuals - i rather develop an organic relationship, so feel free to chat through asks / reblogs / comments / messages and we can become friends that way!

please come chat in my askbox! - open to talking about ideas, fics, your day, really anything honestly (but also i'm not a therapist so pls don't treat me as such - i'm willing to listen but only to a point!)

i reply infrequently sometimes T_T - i'm busy and going through a lot personally (i honestly reply infrequently to my irl friends so don't take it personally!! i want to reply, just the goblins in my head make it hard :(

‧ ˚. BEFORE YOU READ MY WRITING OR REQUEST/SUGGEST ANYTHING

i write f!reader (unless stated otherwise) for: jujutsu kaisen (other fandoms possible in the future) - no ship fics planned.

i write for: gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, yuuji, yuta (and possibly more!)

genres i write: smut, fluff, angst, and rarely, crack

content i write: dark content (mostly just dub con and very rarely non-con), aged up characters in adult situations, poly relationships,(sometimes), degradation,

I don't write: stepcest, incest, rape, anything. to do with: piss, vomit, scat, etc

don't rush me on updates - its totally ok to ask when i think something will be posted but be respectful :).

i don't specify any traits for reader when it comes to appearance - no exceptions (unless its for a specific fic i want to write)

don't use my concepts, don't plagiarize, don't repost / translate my fics here or on any other platform or use my headers i made

‧ ˚. thank you for reading - i appreciate you taking the time :). feel free to chat with me! i welcome all to my askbox and i want to thank you all for being here and regardless of if you follow or not, i hope you have the best day!

[everyonehasthoughts]

❤🧡💛💚💙💜🤍🖤💖💔💕📖🏳️‍🌈🏳️💀

hi cas. pls answer my questions

To preface this I have only been on the outskirts of this fandom for a hot minute but because you asked me so nicely to reblog this I will give my two cents

❤ mischaracterized by the fandom

I'd I had to say that anyone was most mischaracterized it would have to be hm. Dame Alina. They hate to see a woman winning. She's very much written to seem like a bee eye tee see ach but like. If my boyfriend dumped me for a girl 100 years younger then me I'd be pissed too.

🧡 popular theory I disagree with

I don't actually know any current theories you'd have to send me some and I'll see if I agree with them

💛 popular ship I can't get behind

I've seen a large amount of Fitz and Marella shippers right now (lavacake?) And you know I respect the hustle but they're gay girlbesties to me I just can't see them dating. Otherwise I was literally the pioneer of every poly ship ever back in the early days. Multishipper Supreme

💚 what does everyone else get wrong abt your fave character

That Fitz is well adjusted. Or that his attitude problems somehow manifested out of nowhere and he was definitely not affected by his tumultuous childhood and borderline abuse but you didn't hear that from me

I would need to take a deeper look but if it's anything like it used to be probably everything the fandom thinks abt dex.

💙 - not as hot as everyone thinks

I would have to say uhmmmmmm kenric (pun not intended) I never vibed with him

💜 - hotter then everyone thinks

Bronte. He could get it

🤍 - not as morally bad

This is a difficult thing I would have to say uh. Idk do Sophie antis still exist? She can do whatever she wants forever. Fitz and probably Linh as well based on how she acted in the last book. Alina also since I said that before

🖤 - more morally bad

Literally every adult that isn't Grady, Edaline, Juline, Kesler and Della

💖 - unpopular opinion

Apparently thinking Alden is a bad father is unpopular atm so there's that. Also disliking forkle maybe he's always given me rancid vibes. Also I would like to say i think alden being a bad or not great guy would be a fantastic writing decisions

💔 main character you would remove

Lol. Forkle. Either one of them. Or both

💕unpopular ship you like

Is there such thing as an unpopular ship? I was pretty sure we were a great multishipping fandom. I like sofitz! And Fitz and Linh

📖 book you would take away

This new one that's coming out lol. I really don't care abt whatever Keefe got up to

🏳️‍🌈 fandom thinks they're queer but you don't see it

It's impossible for me to not see the possibility of queerness in everyone

💀 who should die

I'd say forkle but he's technically dead. I also don't want alden dead because I think the story would be really cool if she leaned into him being a bit nefarious. Lady Gisela probably cuz like. Idk how she keeps surviving this shit. Mostly for the dead to stay dead this isnt supernatural

Welcome to discussion abt any of this but BE NICE it's a book series. I respect your opinions, please respect mine

[strawberrybuni]

RULES & REQUEST INFO

Welcome to my blog! I hope you enjoy you're time here! Here's a few things to keep in mind, as well as info on requests :)

RULES

↠ this blog is 18+ so please DNI if you're a minor. but, at the end of the day I can't control who interacts with my blog and I'm far too busy to check everyone for their ages. besides, people can lie, so all I ask is that you respect my boundaries and understand that as an adult it makes me very uncomfortable to interact with underage people. so please, respect that ↠ I have a zero tolerance policy for discrimination of ANY kind, as well as if you don't support the rights and safety of people ↠ I don't tolerate overly opinionated behavior. I'm all for debating and discussing differing opinions, BUT if you're trying to force your opinion on me or try to argue with me, I'll just ignore. It's not that hard to respect the opinions of others ↠ any and all negative energy or nasty attitudes will be ignored/ blocked. this blog is a safe space and I will not taint it with shitty behavior. I'm too nonchalant anyway soo hurting my feelings won't happen if that's your goal lol ↠ plagiarism/reposting will NOT be tolerated, I will throw you into the sun. if you're interested in translating, just send an ask/dm and we can discuss it! ↠ this blog is not spoiler free due to things I may reblog, but i will do my best to put spoiler warnings for my own posts ↠ I do have a lot of obligations outside of this blog, as well as I get overwhelmed sometimes, but I'll respond to things as timely as I can! patience is appreciated :)

REQUEST INFO

who i write for: ↠ jujutsu kaisen (no naoya or mei mei) ↠ attack on titan (no floch or zeke) ↠my hero acadamia (no endeavor) ↠ chainsaw man (no makima or himeno) ↠ genshin impact ↠ honkai star rail ↠ there's a few others that i'd be down to write, so just ask! for smaus: ↠ if there are specific characters who aren't in my main lineups, make sure to specify pls! ↠ my max of characters per prompt is 12 ↠ you can also request for specific character random bf/gf texts, or if you'd like to see certain prompts for a particular character who wasn't included when I originally did them!(unless the reason they weren't included was bc they wouldn't fit the prompt) writing pieces: ↠ for stuff that is multi character, the max i'll do is 6! ↠ I'm not the best at smut, I'll be so real, but I will do my best! ↠ nothin major to say other than these take a bit longer to get too, but I promise they'll get gotten too! I won't write: ↠ no minor characters, and absolutely NO aging characters up ↠ nothing that's too out of character ↠ I only write for either a fem!reader or an afab gn!reader ↠ I only do character x reader ↠ no topics where the character or reader is cheating, it gives me a major ick and it's just not fun for me to write ↠ for yandere/dark concepts, nothing too outrageously dark or anything that could be deemed problematic ↠ for smut I won't write: non-con, scat, piss, vomit, incest, gore, ageplay, heavy degradation

PSA!! I am by no means a pro at writing, I just have a lot of ideas swirling in my overactive imagination that I enjoy writing about, as well as I just deeply enjoy creating. If you do not enjoy my writing or how I write a character, that's okay!! just move on, I literally do not care if someone doesn't enjoy how I do things, since this is MY blog. any and all hate will just be ignored :3

[iamanartichoke]

So I saw the new Spiderman movie before Christmas (and it low-key gave me Peter Parker feels for about a week, which was kinda a weird thing), and I meant to write about the multiverse aspect and how it relates to Loki and just never got around to it.

But, there are a lot of things that happened in that movie that have some pretty significant (I think) implications about Loki, and I just wanted to kinda parse that out a bit.

Cut for length. Also for Spiderman spoilers, I guess, though that's been out like a month now.

The first thing that bears mentioning is that the multiverse fuckery that happens in that movie has nothing to do with the events of Loki. That is, at the time the movie takes place, either Sylvie hasn't killed HWR yet, or the effects of her doing so haven't reached Earth, bc everything is business as usual (as much as it can be) in New York. Peter's personal crisis is that the whole world knows he's Spiderman, and it's ruined not only his life but also Ned's and MJ's, so he goes to Dr. Strange for help and Dr. Strange comes up with the idea to erase everyone's memory of the knowledge that Peter Parker = Spiderman.

Dr. Strange's spell was shown to be fairly contained until it started going awry bc Peter kept interrupting it to add people to the list of who he wanted to still know he was Spiderman. He lost control of the spell very briefly, and contained it again, but that brief interval was enough to pull other variants (the movie didn't refer to them as variants but I'm going to bc it's just easier) into Our Peter's timeline.

But the only ones who did any universe hopping were those who had knowledge that Peter Parker was Spiderman. That is, Dr. Strange's spell was specific to Peter's situation and when it went wrong, Peter was the only one affected (more or less). This wasn't the world's problem, it was Peter's problem. And Peter's conflict with Dr. Strange - which is the major crux of the film that sets all the worst fuckery in motion - is that Dr. Strange wants to send the variants back to their own universes, but they've figured out that the variants will be going back just to die in their own timelines, and Peter thinks they can be saved instead.

What's important here is that Dr. Strange wants to send them back to their own universes. Not prune them. Not erase their existence. Just send them back where they came from. Notably, the TVA is nowhere to be found when all these universe jumping shenanigans are happening. And when the film ends and Dr. Strange fixes the spell, the variants are simply transported back to their own universes. Those universes don't get erased, nor does Our Peter's.

So you have to wonder, what does this mean about the Sacred Timeline? In this post, @lokigodofaces explained it very well but basically it seems like the Sacred Timeline can be several timelines that are allowed to exist as long as nothing happens in them that will lead to the Kang variants coming back. And this aligns more or less with what Mike Waldron said in this interview about it:

"The best I can explain it is our approach with time travel was the philosophy basically that time is always happening. So there are infinite instances of time always occurring at once ... And that’s just how time works. There’s always like different permutations and instances happening. The TVA has their own barometer, their own gauge of what constitutes a deviation from the baseline, the way it’s supposed to go. The way it went that produced He Who Remains. That is their baseline. And so they are constantly calculating ... When it becomes a problem for the TVA is when, according to their own rules, when could something branch off in a way that it could actually produce a new timeline that could produce a new version of He Who Remains? That is the practical thing that they’re guarding against."

So the Peter Parkers and Doc Ock and Green Goblin and the others who were pulled into the MCU 'verse weren't pruned and could simply be sent back to their own universe bc nothing in them leads to HWR coming back. (Which, I mean, obviously, as they're whole other franchises, but in-universe.)

And, I mean, the reason this is interesting to me is bc it means that, theoretically, there are timelines or universes that exist where Loki has a different fate, as long as his existence in those timelines doesn't cause a ripple effect leading to HWR. And this explains, to me, why so many of the Loki variants are completely different. Their worlds could have been completely different from Our Loki's, their backstories could have been different, with only vague similarities.

All three Peter Parkers lived in Queens and were bitten by radioactive spiders, which led them to their superpowers with which they chose to become crime-fighting vigilantes -

but, Tobey's Peter's story and events and even people are totally different from Andrew's Peter, which are totally different from Tom's Peter. Instead of Peter and Harry being best friends, for example, Our Peter has Ned. Our Peter doesn't have an Uncle Ben. Neither Tobey nor Tom's Peters had a Gwen Stacy. Tobey and Andrew's Peters don't have the Avengers. Magic isn't a real thing in their universes.

I mean, those are some pretty significant differences and it stands to reason that such is the case for Loki as well - that is, these variants could have universe commonalities and similar personalities but very different lives. Could this have been made clearer in the series? Definitely, but that's neither here nor there at the moment.

The other reason I found this so interesting was bc of the implications on the question of whether or not Sylki is incest. I've never thought it was, but I also wouldn't care if it was (like, I ship Thorki, come on now). And I think that the way things played out in Spiderman kinda contextualize exactly what Loki and Sylvie are to one another - variants. The root of the word itself is vary - ie, to differ. They're both Loki, but they're not. They both were royalty of Asgard, they both were adopted, but aside from the bit we saw of her as a little girl, we were told very little about Sylvie's life pre-nexus event. Maybe she never mentioned Thor bc she didn't have a Thor. Yknow? In one of those worlds, alligators are sentient and one of them's Loki. There are red-headed Lokis. There's at least one black Loki. All from varying timelines, the elements of which we don't know.

Furthermore, it also means that Sylvie and Loki don't share DNA. (Which, again, I never thought they did.) I mean, for one thing, we're assuming Jotun biology works the same way as human biology does, which it probably doesn't, but for another thing, Sylvie was never the same person as Loki. She was born into a different universe, to a different version of Laufey and whomever else, with their own sets of genetics. If she and Loki are variants the way that the Peters are variants, then the timeline she came from was its own, whole other universe that presumably would have kept on existing on its own timeline had Sylvie not had a (still unknown) nexus event. People can't share genetics, something physical, across dimensions. I mean, I'm no scientist but I'm pretty sure physics don't work that way.

(I realize there's wank about the Peters calling each other "brothers" or something, but if one is really so determined to take everything as literally as possible and assumes that means they're all genetic brothers, well, I don't know what to tell you. "He's like a brother to me" or "I feel like you're my brothers" is in no way saying "We are related." But I digress.)

Anyway, so, yeah. To me, it seems that Spiderman (inadvertantly or not, idk) matches up and contexualizes what Loki established. It's not insignificant that at the end of the movie, Dr. Strange had fixed the spell and sent the variants back to where they came from and the multiverse was closed. Presumably, his movie will be about exploring how all of these universes exist and are occuring in dimensions all around them, and his spell for Peter was merely one doorway. He closed that door but, in the meantime, on the other side of the universe or in a dimension all its own, Sylvie broke down the whole damn wall.

I know better than to hope for a Loki appearance in Dr. Strange, bc my life is trash and I never get what I want, but it may stand to reason that the possibility of Dr. Strange becoming cognizant of the events of Loki taking place, which would connect Loki back to the main timeline. But I'm just rambling at this point.

[annesthaeticc]

His Constant | Sherlock x Fem!Reader

His Constant | Sherlock x Fem!Reader

| a uni!Sherlock fanfic

| FLUFF (and pining that kind of stuff idk)

| 2088 words

| NOTE: hello, how u doing in this trying times? here's a good comfort/fluffy piece for u. comments, hearts, reblogs make me happy so pls do !!

“He stepped down, avoiding any long look at her as one avoids long looks at the sun, but seeing her as one sees the sun, without looking.”

Your eyes traced the familiar words and you recited them under your breath, already memorized it by heart. Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina was firm in your grip; your copy tattered and worn. You flipped the page and slumped back in your seat, enjoying the peaceful late afternoon. The early fall breeze swept through your hair and your cheeks. The leaves lightly fell down from the trees and it was a calming sight. You watched as a red-orange leaf fell in front of you, watching it slowly descend to the ground. The leaf was soon replaced by a pair of black Italian loafers, a crunching sound was heard when he stepped on the leaf. You looked up at him and his face remained expressionless, and you knew exactly what he wants. He placed his bag on the farthest side of the bench and finally sat down. He loudly exhaled before making himself comfortable; half his body laying down on the bench, his legs hanging on the iron arm rests. Then, he slowly reclined himself, letting his head fall into your lap.

Just like the falling leaf, he was gentle.

The familiar and comforting weight of his head on your lap was welcome to the both of you. You smiled to yourself and he closed his eyes. Then, his hand shot up; his pale, lean, yet beautiful hand, crawled up to hold yours. You let him, and your hand landed on his head, on his brunette curls.

You always marveled at how soft and pretty his hair is. Especially when the early morning or afternoon light hits it, glorious brown shades just come out of his wild mess of curls. You’d always tell him how pretty they are and you’d say you envy him. He would always roll his eyes and tell you “If you want the same hair color as mine, you should let me color your hair then.” But you’d always refuse, turn down his offer of playing hairdresser. “If I did, then I’d be unrecognizable and you’ll forget me.” you would say. “Oh please, me? Forget you? Not a chance.” and that’s how the discussion ends, he'd always have the last words.

One hand on your book, one hand on his hair, you gently ran your hand through his curls, gently tugging and playing and he hummed in content.

“How bad was it?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“The worst.” he replied, his deep baritone voice vibrating.

“You always say that. Does it ever change?”

“The real question is; will it ever change?” he scoffed.

The last few weeks, Sherlock was grumpier than ever. To say that a rainstorm was always brewing above his head was an understatement, no, it was always a thunderstorm. He’s finding it really hard to connect with others, especially his new classes had been posting activities that required partnering up or team building and shit. He hated it, of course. Socializing was not his forte and it was proving to become a real trouble for him. You shared classes with him in the past and it was all fine, but now, it was different. Yours and his schedules became complex, making it hard to meet in between and take classes together. And everyday since the new semester, he was like this, brooding. And everyday since the new semester, his answer was always the same.

It was the worst.

The only thing that wakes him up in the morning was the possibility to see you after classes in the late afternoon; sitting under your favorite tree and reading a book. He was always looking forward to meet you and tell you how awful his day was, and at the same time, listen to you read Tolstoy. He’ll never tell you this of course, it’s a well-hidden secret, buried right in the pits of his mind palace where light and darkness meet halfway.

You, on the other hand, were feeling the same. The days were tolerable, yes, classes were bearable, but you always hoped for that moment he’d show up. Excited to see him and spend an afternoon with him.

Because the world is a chaotic mess; but you’ve always felt safe around him.

The sun slowly sunk between the high-rise buildings of the campus, disappearing to make way to the moon. You softly tapped his shoulder, bringing him out of his mind palace. He sat up and slung his bag over his shoulder, he waited for you as you packed your belongings in your bag. You stood up and walked along the gravelly path, unto the smooth concrete. Then, the two of you began your walk through the campus.

“Do you really want things to change, Sherlock?” you asked out of the blue, kicking the stone by your shoe.

“It depends. How about you?” he replied, burying his hands into his trouser pockets.

“Same as you, it depends.” you said with a smile.

You and Sherlock continued to walk in companiable silence, just letting thoughts come and go. And this is the part of your day you enjoy most, the long walks and talks with him. You’d never run out of things to ask and to say to him, he always indulged you, challenged you and made you smile. And for someone small, you really walk fast. Sherlock could choose to keep in step with you, matching your cadence and the rhythm of your walk but he’d always choose not to.

Because moments with you were golden and worth the time. He doesn’t want to rush.

Once your walk starts to become quick, he’d always tug your backpack, bringing you back to his slow pace. Then you’d smile, secretly happy at the gesture. But it all changed on this particular night. You were speaking, talking about your latest project proposal for your major subject and he just listened. Your pace was becoming quick and you expected he’d tug your backpack, but no, he chose to surprise you. Instead of doing that, he caught your hand in his.

Sherlock was holding your hand.

You stopped and slowly turned to look at your hands linked together. His hand was warm and firm around yours and you cautiously locked your fingers with his, testing the waters. You looked up at him and saw a faint smile starting to form on his lips, you did the same, but your smile was wider and your cheeks were rosy. He saw you blush, even in the dark early evening, only the streetlamps illuminating the path. He saw your pupils gradually grow darker but glossy and shining against the little lighting in the night.

You were unbelievably beautiful, he mused to himself. You were still wearing your uniform; blouse, skirt and blazer, your dark hair in a bun; a few pieces of hair sticking out in odd ends, softly blowing in the cool night breeze, your eyes shining and your lips were pink. You were his definition of beauty.

“You were walking too quick.” he said, clearing his throat.

“And you were walking too slow.” you smirked at him and let out a laugh. A throaty chuckle escaped his lips and finally moved forwards, walking with you.

Now, it was your turn to quietly think.

Your mind was a jumbled mess, a great contrast to the peace and quiet that surrounded the two of you. No, you were not confused, you were just having trouble organizing your thoughts about him. You didn’t know what to think first. But you were greatly aware that it’s all about him. Ever since the first day, your world quietly revolved around him.

As if he was your sun.

His presence was inevitable, he was always there. His presence in your life required no change, as if he perfectly fit in your life. He was meant to be in yours and over time, you secretly hoped, you were meant to be in his. You’ve always felt something for him, you weren’t sure what to call it but all you know is that he is your home, your comfort and safe place. You were always guarded when it comes to how you feel about him, you didn’t dare to say it because you know how icky he gets when it comes to talking about emotions. But you just can’t seem to stop showing him how you feel; the secret touches and smiles, the intense gazes and comforting silence.

Your feelings for him were in the shadows, only coming out when he’s nearby. Again, as if he were your sun.

You’ve tiptoed around him for a long time, ever cautious and somewhat tired of hiding what you feel. But on a particular October night, Sherlock finally let you touch your feet on the ground, and walk with him. Not in front of him, or behind him, but with him; side by side.

“I don’t know what I want to change, Y/N, but I know things will change, eventually.” he spoke.

“Yeah, it will.” you exhaled.

“You want to know what I want?” he said, and turned his head to look at you. The pace slowed down as you waited for him, you gave him a nod and squeezed his hand lightly. Then, he finally stopped, and you did. There stood under the streetlamp of Cambridge University; two best friends who love each other, with a secret promise to love each other forever.

“I don’t want you to change.” he said, his voice almost a whisper. A breath was caught in your throat and tears started to well up in your eyes.

“As a psychology major, I think that sounds wrong.” you giggled and step closer to him carefully and he pulled you closer to him, not caring if you step into his personal space. That hesitation and holding back was long gone the moment he held your hand and threaded his fingers with yours.

He rolled his eyes at your remark and said, “The point is, I want you to be the only constant in my life, in this ever-changing world.” A hint of hope shone through his eyes, reflected by the golden glow of the streetlamp. It was true, always has been. Because you, oh you, you were his home. And in this crazy world, where almost everyone mocks him for being who he is, you were his comfort. There’s nothing he’d want but to always come back to you, and to be with you.

“Oh, Sherlock…” you gasped, a wave of emotion tiding over you, knocking you down. You have no desire to fight it, you let yourself get carried away. You embraced him, wrapping your arms around him, around his neck, and he reciprocated. He gently swayed your bodies and breathed in your scent. He felt it first before he heard it, you were crying. He pulled away and gently ran his thumb across your cheeks, wiping off your tears.

“Where’d you get that from?” you joked and he chuckled.

“Have you no faith in me? If I’d known then I shouldn’t have said anything, then.” he said.

“I’m just kidding.” you smiled up at him and held onto his arms, afraid of falling.

“I know you are.” he replied, took your hand in his, and spun you around before catching you. You ended back in his arms and there it is again, the overwhelming emotion you feel for him, you fear it might burst.

“What do you say, Y/N?” he asked you, a boyish grin threatening to form in his pretty lips. You stood up in your tip toes and his face met you halfway, his forehead bumping against yours. You took a deep breath in and closed your eyes, just enjoying him and the closeness between you.

“You are my sun, Sherlock. My constant. And I’d be utterly happy to be yours.” you whispered against his lips. No words were further needed, he leaned down and softly kissed you, lips against lips. When you pulled apart from the kiss, you grinned at him, beaming and brimming with happiness and Sherlock painted a picture you; happy and smiley, before hanging it on the wall in the room in his mind palace.

Once again, he linked his hand with yours and together, you ran. Young and in love, with a thousand changes to face, a hundred plans to make, all sealed with a promise and a kiss.

READ THE NEXT PART OF THIS FANFIC ; HIS PROMISE

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( very very soft and fluffy yeah? lemme know if its good and i'll try wrack my brain for more if u ever like it, have a wonderful day u lovely being and stay safe, all the love, anne )

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Siblings. (Day three)

A/N:Sorry for posting this so late I'll try to catch up tomorrow. Anyway, this is the continuation of DAY 1, and I think I'm going to do a part three since this was kind of short. Though if I do it's not going to be for a while.

@biodad-bruce-month

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Meeting Part two.

To say Bruce was baffled by Marinette’s reaction after the shock wore off was an understatement. 

It would have been less surprising if she had just slapped him. 

He expected tears, maybe some confused screaming, but no instead she turned to the principal and calmly asked to be excused for the remainder of the day. 

Then after bidding the two adieu, she grabbed him by his suit and yanked Bruce with a surprising strength towards the door. Catching him and everyone else off guard.

"If you want to talk, it's going to be with my parents present.” Marinette said between gritted teeth as a sort of explanation as she continued to drag him even once they got outside.

Bruce tried to free himself from her grip but it was pointless. It was impossible to escape her iron grip.

Which was ridiculous, he was Batman for God's sake! And there he was being dragged by a petite teen across the streets of Paris. 

Unbeknownst to them, a group of young men and a Butler watched from across the street. 

~♡~♡~♡~

Once inside the bakery, Marinette finally released her father. "Wait here," she muttered before leaving to find her parents.

Bruce stood there awkwardly until Marinette's adoptive parents rushed in. Tom and Sabine were definitely surprised at his sudden arrival, but much like their daughter, they snapped out of it quickly and began to usher customers. Closing the bakery, though not before glaring daggers at him. 

Meanwhile, Bruce took the time to examine the people who had raised his daughter. They looked like nice people. Both of them looked more concerned over Marinette's well-being than anything else.

Finally, the Dupain-cheng's welcomed him to their apartment. Sabine even offering Bruce something to drink.

Once they had all settled down in the living room, Bruce cleared his throat "Well, first I wanted to apologize for showing up unannounced," Marinette scoffed. "I had some issues with the traveling arrangements." Tom nodded comprehensively while Sabine eyed him in suspicion.  "But, I came here because as you know I am Marinette's biological father and I wanted to get a chance to know her." Bruce concluded.

"Why now?" Sabine asked, still looking at him skeptically.

 Bruce coughed, "I, well. I was not aware of having any biological children until a year ago when I met my son actually. It wasn't until I received your letter that I learned that I had a daughter." He explained.

Marinette looked at him in alarm. "Wait, I have a brother?" She asked.

Bruce smiled, "Actually I ado-" he was cut off by a series of knocks coming from the front door.

Sabine rushed to open it. After exchanging some words with whomever was on the other side she let them in.

Bruce stood up when he heard the familiar voice of his eldest son. 

"Really Bruce? You came here alone?" Dick shook his head.

Instead of responding, Bruce looked at Alfred who was standing next to him. 

"My apologies Master Bruce, but the young Masters were insistent on coming here." Bruce frowned. Well this is going to complicate things.

As he tried to think of a way to try to explain this to Marinette she waved a had in front of Bruce's face. "Hello? Earth to supposed father of mine? Would you mind explaining to me who they are." She asked pointing at the group.

 "Marinette, these are your adopted brothers" Marinette's eyes widened. "And this is Alfred Pennyworth, my butler and an honorary member of the family. He took care of me when my parents died." 

"Pleasure to meet you Miss Marinette." Alfred said.

"Pl- Please just call me Marinette, and it's nice to meet you. " Marinette stuttered. Looking like a deer in the headlights. 

She then turned back to look at Bruce. "Adopted? What about the biological one? Mon dieu, am I going to have keep a list?" Bruce opened his mouth to respond but Marinette waved him off. "Nevermind, I'm going to need names, birthdates and measurements."

Jason smirked. "Ooo, I like her already. Shes feisty and she hates Bruce already! Don't worry Pixie-pop you'll fit right in. Name's Jason by the way, I'm the coolest brother."  

Dick rolled his eyes and pushed Jason away. "I'm Richard, but you can call me Dick." he said said cheerfully. "As he already said, that is Jason. He is not the coolest though, I am." Marinette laughed. 

Dick then grabbed Tim by the shoulder, pushing him forwards. "And this is Tim."

Tim smiled at Marinette. "I saw you dragging Bruce, I have to say that was impressive. I got it on video, so thank you for the blackmail material." 

Marinette chuckled nervously at that. Some first impression she had made. 

Sabine suddenly appeared with a tray of pastries. "Why don't you all go to Marinette's room and get to know each other better? Tom, Bruce, Mr. Pennyworth and I have things to discuss" 

Bruce winced, that… that was going to be interesting.

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[bopbopstyles]

1. December 26th, 2016

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 6.4k

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Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

A/N: welcome to chapter one of THE ONLY EXCEPTION! i’m so flipping excited i could scream!!!!!! this fic is going to be a long boi so buckle up. also thank you to @meetmeinfleetwood​ for supporting this fic from the start ilysm!!!! xoxo, willa

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

Y/N’s dad had been having these Christmas parties for the past five years or so, each time on the 26th of December, each time packed with music industry people and lots of bottles of tequila and red wine. Her first time had been two years ago, and she had found it surprisingly enjoyable—she had expected it to be boring and to want to leave after the first hour. Instead, it was full of people she had known since she was a kid, musicians and producers and her dad’s old A&R guys who she had grown up hanging out with in recording studios and backstage at her dad’s shows. They had come to family dinners before and after her parents’ divorce, and so when she ran into them at the parties it was easy to catch them up on her life and suddenly it was after midnight and the party was emptying out. 

This year she had volunteered to help set up. Her dad had rented a massive house out in the hills and it came already decorated, but it was on Y/N to make sure there were chairs set up for the music circle, a massive bar laid out and plenty of glasses ready. Her dad’s friend was making the food, eager to use the opportunity to promote the new restaurant he was opening, so when Y/N opened the door it already smelled like garlic and olive oil, her favorite scents on earth. 

“Karl!” She called through the house, shutting the heavy oak door behind her. Her arms were laden with boxes of plastic glasses—her dad was too scared of the guests breaking glass ones—and she wandered into the kitchen. The tall ceilings of the entryway where a massive Christmas tree sat adorned with ornaments gave way to a modern, sleek kitchen. Karl twirled around to greet her, a grin on his face. “Smells delicious in here.”

He set down his spatula and came over, grabbing a box and giving her a kiss on each cheek. “Hello, darling. Are there more in the car?” 

She shook her head, unwinding her scarf from her neck and placing it on the counter. Karl had been her father’s college roommate and somehow they’d stayed close over the years, every one of Y/N’s birthdays spent at one of Karl’s restaurants with all of her favorite dishes made special, a birthday cannoli with a candle in it for her to blow out. “This is all of the glasses. Dad told me to get the bar ready—he’s bringing the booze in a bit.”

“Hope there’s a glass of wine in there for the chef,” Karl said and Y/N chuckled—there always was a bottle of Karl’s favorite expensive wine set aside when he did one of these things and he knew it. It was part of the pay, her father always said. “Want to taste test?”

“Always.” Y/N joined Karl at the stove, eagerly tasting the sauce he was cooking. It was a simple sage butter sauce, but Karl always excelled at the most simple dishes. “Delicious, as usual,” she said. 

Karl jabbered her ear off about the updates on the restaurant—they’d run into problems finding a good sous chef and he was about to do the job himself if he didn’t find someone soon—while Y/N decided where to set up the bar. Finally, she settled on a high table against the glass wall in the wide hallway between the kitchen and the sprawling dining room, which opened up onto the patio. She tugged open the accordion glass doors and breathed in the cool Los Angeles air, thankful for a relatively cold evening, since she always got overheated at parties like this, where people were crammed into every corner. Her dad seemed to know more people every year. Satisfied with the position of the table, she set out the glasses and paper napkins, before asking Karl if he had an extra cooler he’d brought with. She’d forgotten to ask her dad for one before she had left. She filled it with ice and set it next to the table with a scoop, and grabbed the special shot glasses her father had told her to bring, placing them on the table next to a bouquet of flowers. 

Her job done, she wandered through the rest of the house. It was gorgeous—she wondered how her father had found it. If she remembered correctly, he had said something about it being an official venue for music and parties, he’d done a private gig here a few years back and the owners had loved him enough to offer it for this party. It’s not like anyone really had gigs on December 26th anyway. She closed all the doors to the back bedrooms, remembering her father’s request, and set up a coat closet of sorts out of the bedroom closest to the front, before heading to change into her outfit for the evening. 

“Y/N!” She was securing her favorite pair of earrings in her ears when she heard her father’s voice through the halls of the house. “Where ya at, sweetheart?”

“One sec, Dad!” She grabbed the hanger she had kept her top on and shoved it into her massive purse, settling it into the back corner of the room for safety. Her father was waiting for her in the kitchen with Karl, also getting a sample of the sauce she had tried earlier. 

“Hi you,” her father said when she came in. His salt and pepper hair was balding a bit, but his bright smile was what drew people in, olive skin that tanned easily in the California sun. Y/N had selected his suit for the evening, a maroon red and a black tie, something a bit out of the ordinary for him, but Y/N loved it. “Look gorgeous.”

She hugged her father tightly. She had spent Christmas with her mother, as usual, so this was the first time she’d seen her dad during the holidays. “Not too bad yourself, captain.”

“Ha!” Her father pinched her cheek softly, just as he had when she was a child. “I’ve got your present in the car, come grab it with me?”

“Sure.” They had decided to exchange gifts at the party and Y/N had hers tucked in the back pocket of her jeans—dinner on her at Karl’s new restaurant, something she’d discussed with the owner a few weeks ago. Her father’s car sat in the driveway, trunk open where boxes of alcohol laid waiting to be carried inside. “That my gift?”

“You wish,” her dad answered, and Y/N gave him a pouty look that he just shook his head at. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out an envelope. Y/N couldn’t help but hope it was cash—she needed a new computer and was running a bit short. She knew her dad would help if she asked, but she hated asking him for money. 

She took the envelope and opened it, a sheet of paper and something thicker hiding between its folds. She opened the letter and found a homemade coupon of sorts, just as she had done for him. 

TWO TICKETS TO ANY SHOW IN LA - NON-REFUNDABLE, FUN REQUIRED!

“Papa,” she said, giving him a beaming smile. “My favorite!” She threw her arms around his neck and he chuckled, hugging her right back. 

“Just give me a few weeks heads up, okay?”

Y/N nodded, and looked back down at the letter, eyes running over her dad’s sweet words of love and pride. It was their thing—homemade cards always, never store bought, despite that neither of them could draw. “Thank you.” 

“Welcome, sweetheart.”

“Now yours!” She reached into her pocket and pulled out his envelope, aptly addressed, Dad, and handed it over. Her father read her card as well, and chuckled at her drawing of them at dinner together. 

He kissed her forehead gently. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

“Merry Christmas,” she said, squeezing his side. “Now let’s get all this booze out of your car before I drive away with it!” Her dad laughed and followed her to the back of the car, them each grabbing a carton of wine. There had to be enough for over a hundred people, Y/N thought to herself. Who would be new this year?

The party was in full swing, her dad’s favorite music playing softly through the speaker system, people littered all over the house with the alcohol flowing. Karl was cooking up a storm in the kitchen, his food a massive hit, and Y/N couldn’t have been happier for him. She’d caught up with her dad’s friends and people who were essentially her godparents, sharing how her job was going (fine) and her relationship prospects (non-existent), sipping tequila and red wine on rotation. 

Y/N leaned against the patio railing overlooking the hills, a glass of tequila on the rocks settled in between her palms. She could hear her father’s voice in the distance calling people to come and start the music, the scrape of chairs and strumming of guitars. It was about time for her to go in, but she lingered, relishing the quiet of the night and the biting air wrapping around her. Since she didn’t play an instrument, despite her father’s attempts, this part of the evening was the part where she just sat back and observed. And also usually got quite drunk since all she had to do was drink and sing along. 

“Y/N, right?” She turned around, eyes focusing on the person standing a few feet away. “I’m Harry.”

Harry Styles. How had he ended up here, and how had she not seen him yet? “Nice to meet you,” she answered, standing up straight and taking a sip of her drink. “Not going in to play?”

He shook his head. “Bit nervous, if I’m honest. Lot of talent in that room.”

She cocked her head to the side as he joined her at the railing. “You’re plenty talented,” she told him. It was true. She was a huge fan of his, had been for a while, following his work in One Direction since its inception, and now in the solo career her dad had mentioned. He was recording with some guys out at The Village a few months ago and called her at the end of the day, saying he ran into Harry Styles in the middle of a session doing some solo stuff. Said it sounded good, which she wasn’t surprised by in the slightest. 

But Harry just chuckled. “Nah, those people are legends,” he said. She knew who he was talking about, too. One of the Dixie Chicks was there, some guys who had written with John Mayer and Kanye West, a dozen other Grammy-nominated musicians, some record label execs who had practically formed the industry as they knew it today, the A&R people who had found them. It was intimidating, definitely, but for Harry she didn’t think it would be. 

“Just people.” She sipped on her drink, studying him. He was in a long black coat, a loose black v-neck silk shirt and red and white plaid pants that tapered at the leg, his cropped curls falling into his face slightly. He also had a tequila on the rocks gripped in his hand, rings adorning every one of his fingers. A skull, a red stone, a silver band, amongst them. “Having fun?”

He smiles at her, thankful for the change of topic. “Loads. Haven’t been at a party like this in a while.”

“What do you mean?”

The breeze passed between them, ruffling his hair a bit. “I don’t know. Just, people who didn’t really give a shit about me, if you know what I mean? Holidays can be a bit much sometimes.”

She nodded as if she understood what it felt like to be a popstar of his fame, which she didn’t, but she could imagine. “Didn’t go home?”

“My mum and sister came here, actually,” he said. “They were craving a respite from the cold English winters.”

“Well, this is definitely a respite,” Y/N said, and Harry chuckled.

Silence stretched between them and Y/N tapped her fingernails against her cup. Maybe it was time to go inside, she thought. “So, Y/N, what do you do?”

His question pulled her out of her head easily. “Brand strategy,” she answered, thankful for a comfortable topic. “I work mostly with fashion and product companies, preferably sustainable ones.”

“You like it?”

“Love it.” She did. She loved her work—she’d gone to school for it and thrown herself into it after school, loving pitching projects for clients and helping them understand their core purpose and how they could grow and evolve  most authentically. “It was that or books, but I decided this was a bit more profitable. Also wasn’t too keen on living in New York.”

Harry nodded, twirling his glass in his hands. She took the opportunity to run her eyes across his face—he was gorgeous in this way that you weren’t sure was real. It was interesting to see how much he’d grown up. At 22, his cheekbones were cut and his jaw defined, his former long locks he had recently cut and Y/N liked these more, she decided. “What are your favorite writers?” He asked, pulling Y/N back into the conversation. 

“That’s like asking which one of your children is your favorite,” she joked, and he chuckled, the sound music to Y/N’s ears. “Dunno, really. I read so much it’s hard to choose, you know? Reading a Louise Erdrich book right now that’s absolutely stellar. The Round House—you should give it a go if you’ve got the time.”

He pulled out his phone and she watched him type in the name to his Notes app, the action making her smile. “Been looking for a new book,” he said. “Just been reading The New Yorker and my mum about took my head off for not reading enough.” They both laughed, the sound filling the night air. 

“Harry!” A man was standing in the doorway to the patio, a guitar in hand. “Come sing, mate.”

Harry glanced back at Y/N. “Coming?”

Y/N nodded and followed him inside, refilling her glass on the way. Harry handed her his, and she did the same, giving them both another glass of tequila to sip on while they listened to the circle of musicians. Someone had decided to do some Christmas tunes she Y/N smiled when she heard her father’s voice—he’d made it a bit country, just like he loved to do with popular songs. He’d grown up on a steady diet of folk music and country, just as Y/N had, and he always joked it was in his blood. Harry took a seat next to his friend who Y/N didn’t recognize—probably some producer her dad had met recently, maybe one of the guys from The Village if that was how they’d connected, and Y/N grabbed the seat her dad had saved for her next to him. 

She joined in immediately, knowing this rendition of “The Little Drummer Boy” by heart, since it was the same one he had made up when Y/N was eight or nine. Karl was in the circle too, a plate of food in his hands and his bottle of red wine on the ground, and he gave her a warm smile. This was her favorite part of the night—feeling a part of something her father loved so dearly. When he gave her a kiss to her temple and introduced her to the group, she couldn’t help but find Harry’s eyes, his irises twinkling back at her under the lights. 

At one o’clock, people finally began filtering out of the party, and Harry decided it was probably time for him to head. Jeff, who had invited him to come with, had already left, exhausted from the holidays with family, but Harry had stayed, hoping to talk to Y/N for a little while longer. He had unfortunately failed to catch her, though, the music running long and after it had wrapped up people had tugged her in for hugs and conversation. Despite knowing who she was through her father, he was still in awe of how intimately she knew all of these people. He overheard snippets of her conversations, asking about children and partners, parents who had cancer and career-defining moments she’d missed out on because of work. Harry was in this world too, but many of the people at this party were a bit older than his usual set—they belonged to the group of his heroes, rather than necessarily people he felt were his peers. He was still getting his solo career together, still only a boyband member in their eyes. He tried not to feel less than, but sometimes it was hard when you were sat next to Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks with utterly nothing to say but awe-inspired ramblings. 

Finally, Y/N was alone, the older couple she was talking to having left for the door, and Harry seized the opportunity. “Y/N,” he said, and her head popped up from her phone to look at him. Her dark brown hair was soft against her skin, and he eagerly wondered what it felt like against his skin, brown eyes that searched his soul. “I loved talking to you earlier.”

She smiled and Harry loved it when she did. Lit up the whole room, just about. “Me too. Glad you came—with Jeff, yeah?”

He nodded. “He introduced me to your dad when we were at The Village.” Y/N nodded as well, obviously having figured out the story. “I—I was wondering, would you want to grab coffee sometime? I’d love to chat more, get to know you.” He restrained the urge to bounce on his heels, nervous in front of her. He felt like a kid asking out his crush, but that’s what this was, a crush. Even if it came to nothing, she was kind, interesting, and fit into the world he revolved in. It wasn’t the most important thing, but he appreciated it all the same. 

“Oh,” she said, tone somber. “Sorry, Harry, but I don’t date musicians. Get home safe, yeah?” She turned away from him, feet carrying her back into the living room, presumably finding her father.

What? She didn’t date musicians? “I’m sorry—what?”

Y/N turned back to look at him. “I just don’t. Bit of a rule.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Don’t feel the need to explain it. Bye, Harry.” Then, she walked away and Harry was left in shock. The abrupt change in tone was like whiplash—she had seemed so interested, involved in their conversation, only to tell him she didn’t date musicians? What the fuck kind of rule was that? 

He huffed and tugged out his phone to tell his driver he was ready, and went outside, leaving behind Y/N and her confusing rule. But this wouldn’t be the last time he saw her, he decided. He wanted to know why she had this rule, this stupid rule that was stopping her from getting to know him. It wasn’t like he even asked her to date him, just to get coffee for Pete’s sake. Harry sat down in the car and pulled out his phone, composing a text to Jeff. 

Could I write with Peter? Seemed like a great guy, really talented. Maybe if she got to Y/N’s dad, he could earn some brownie points. Maybe then she’d bend her rules for him, because despite their short conversation, Harry was intrigued. 

Definitely, Jeff replied. I’ll text him tomorrow.

Harry closed his phone and smiled. Hopefully this worked, because Harry was dying to know more about this rule of hers. 

Y/N’s eyes narrowed when she pulled into her dad’s driveway. There was another car sat in the drive, a black 4-door SUV she’d never seen before, the windows tinted so she couldn’t see in. It reminded her of those cars the FBI drives in crime dramas, which obviously led her to a part of her brain that was not necessarily a hopeful place. She scrambled to grab her bag from work and her keys, launching herself from her car and towards her dad’s door. 

“Dad!” She called into the house, slamming the door shut behind her. “Whose car is in the drive? Didn’t tell me we’d be having company!” Gripping the wall for balance she toed off her shoes and set her bag on the floor next to the door, shrugging off her coat and setting it on a hook. “Dad?”

“He’s in the toilet.”

Her head whipped around and found Harry Styles standing in her hallway, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. As much as she had planned to forget about him after the party, never really expecting to see him again, she hadn’t been able to. And now he was in her house, hair pushed back from his face, a grin painted on his lips. It was irritating how gorgeous he was. “The fuck are you doing here?”

A hand went up to scratch the back of his neck and for a second Y/N regretted being quite so aggressive. “‘M writing with your dad,” he explained. “Guess he didn’t tell you.”

“No,” she answered. She brushed past him into the living room where, as Harry had said, it was obvious they had been writing. Her dad’s treasured old Gibson guitar leaning against his favorite armchair where he’d set it, computers out with GarageBand up for recording demos, papers with scribbles strewn across the coffee table. “Good session?” She decided that there was no way he was here just to pursue her—he was there for professional reasons, after all. Her dad and Harry must’ve hit it off at the party last week. There was also the fact that her dad was a really fucking good songwriter, so of course Harry would want to work with him. Ever since he’d stopped touring, her dad had started doing mainly writing, his songs appearing on records from everyone from up-and-coming artists the label found him to John Legend. 

Harry just nodded. Her eyes drifted to his own guitar, a soft brown wood that had obviously seen some heavy use and travel. She recognized it from her dad’s own guitars that he used to take on the road with him, the nicks and faded wood at the base of the bridge. 

“Y/N!” Her dad’s voice fell through the silence of the room as he re-entered. He was wearing his favorite old UCLA shirt, where she’d just graduated from not too long ago. “Home earlier than usual. Was going to give you a heads up about this one,” he pointed to Harry then, “but I see you’ve already found out.”

Her eyes drifted to Harry, who stood awkwardly next to the couch, unsure if he should sit or stand. “Finished my projects early and didn’t have any meetings, so thought I’d get out early and surprise you.”

“Well,” her father said, giving her a quick hug, “glad you did. I’m getting hungry, how about you?” She nodded, she was always ravenous after work. “Harry, would you want to stay for dinner?”

No, she thought. The last thing she wanted was to sit at a table with a guy she’d rejected and her father and eat an awkward dinner on a Friday night. She just wanted a massive glass of red wine, her delicious romance novel from her bedside table, and maybe lighting a fire in the pit in the backyard. 

Instead, Harry said, “Sure. Don’t want to impose though.”

“Nonsense! Y/N why don’t you go change and Harry and I can tidy up from working. We were about done anyway.” Her dad kissed the top of her head sweetly and she just did as he said, Harry a forgotten thought behind her as she went to her room upstairs. 

It was her childhood bedroom which she had been residing in for a month now. How her landlord could put her out for this long was beyond her, but she hadn’t had the energy to fight it—plus, it was an opportunity to spend some quality time with her workaholic father. So she was spending her evenings in her light blue colored room, sleeping between her soft pink sheets, and picking her work clothes that butted up against remnants from high school she’d left behind as memories. Y/N pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt that probably belonged to an ex-fling from college—Daniel maybe? Y/N couldn’t remember. Slipping on a pair of socks to keep her feet warm from the tile floors of the kitchen, she left her room, tugging her door shut so if Harry went exploring he wouldn’t stumble into her room. 

Downstairs, Harry was sat at the kitchen island with a glass of wine and a smile on his face, deep in conversation with her dad about Fleetwood Mac’s chord progressions. A glass of red was waiting for her on the counter and she picked it up, wandering over to where her dad was cooking

“Whatcha making?” She asked, peeking into the pot. 

“Pasta,” he replied. “Now stop being a nosy Nelly and talk to our guest while I try to focus on not burning the pasta.”

“Dad you haven’t even put it in yet.”

Her dad shooed her from the stove and she chuckled, backing away. “Get out of here, ya pest.”

She turned to Harry, realizing her dad was actively trying to get them to hang out. He was so annoying sometimes. “How do you feel about a fire?”

“Positively,” he answered and she led him outside into her backyard. 

It was chilly out, but nothing too bad. She set her glass on the table and went over to the stack of wood her dad kept against the fence, picking up some logs and carrying them over to the fire pit they’d had for years. At first it was so Y/N could roast marshmallows at home, her father trying to do anything to get her to come over to his house more after the divorce, and as time had gone on it had become her favorite place in the whole house. When her dad was out of town and she came over to check up on the house in high school, she’d bring her weed and smoke out here under the stars. 

Harry sidled up next to her and picked up a few logs, following her to the fire pit. “This is cool,” he said, words breaking their silence. 

Y/N dropped the logs into the fire and looked up at him. “Favorite part of the whole house.” A box of matches sat next to the door and she grabbed them, as well as some kindling, and brought it over to the logs, setting the kindling under the logs before lighting them. The fire leaped up, the wood nice and dry from the lack of rain recently. “So, who got in touch with who?”

Harry looked at her in confusion. “Huh?”

She settled into one of the chairs set by the fire, wine tucked between her fingers. “The writing. You or my dad?”

“Oh,” he answered, joining her in the chair next to her. “Me, actually. Through Jeff.”

As expected. “And?”

“He’s really good,” Harry said, to which Y/N chuckled. 

“That he is.”

“What was it like growing up with him as your dad?” He asked, breaking the silence between them.

Y/N shifted in her chair. She’d been asked this question so many times over the years, but it still was hard to answer. “Hard, if I’m being honest,” she told him, truth surprising her. But she had a feeling Harry would get it to a certain extent. He was a hugely popular star, after all. She’d heard rumors that he was a part of a movie coming out this year, something historical. “Like, my parents are divorced, which I assume you know.” He nodded,  probably having figured it out by now. “And with my dad’s tour schedule when I was in school, I didn’t see him all that much, especially in elementary and middle school. He was gone all the time, even missed my birthday a couple times because of tour dates, so I just didn’t really know him that well, I guess. Fuck, sorry, this is a lot,” she breathed out, realizing she was rambling. Harry was just surprisingly easy to talk to, his eyes steady on her, intently listening to her every word. Boys didn’t usually listen to her like this.

“S’fine,” he replied. “When did it change, if you don’t mind me asking? Seem so close now.”

The fire, having grown by now, crackled in front of them. “Late high school, but mainly when I was in college. My mom moved to San Francisco for a job and I went to UCLA, so my dad was closest. Came over to do my laundry sometimes, have a home cooked meal, he’d take me to dinner, that stuff. Came to football games with me, sometimes, which he always tried to be interested in but never succeeded.” Harry chuckled at that and Y/N smiled at the sound. Harry was obnoxiously pretty. Like, impossibly pretty in this way where you couldn’t help but look at him again to make sure that yes, he was a real person. And it was really fucking distracting. “His touring kind of stopped when I went into college too,” she added, trying to refocus on the conversation. “Started writing mainly, putting out music only when it suited him. He’s a lot happier now, I think.”

“That’s good,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “I’m glad you guys were able to have that kind of relationship, even if it was later.”

Y/N blinked at him, his words so kind and honest. “Me too.”

“Always been one of my fears, if I’m being honest,” he said, words soft in the cool night air. Sun was starting to set and it was getting dark around them, the light of the fire putting an orange ember to his face. “About having kids with my career, you know? I want to be a dad, but it’s like…how do I do that while being gone all the time?” His honesty shocked her, but then again Harry Styles seemed to be excelling at that in every regard. “Sorry, that’s a lot to unload on you.”

“No it isn’t,” she reassured him. “Just told you about all my daddy issues, yeah?” He chuckled, and it lightened the mood just enough. “You’ll figure it out.”

Harry nodded, taking another sip of his wine and she did the same. It was her favorite, the one her dad bought multiple of whenever she came to stay. Even though they’d gotten closer over the years, his desire to make his house perfect for her never seemed to fade. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Shoot.”

“The rule—I—why is that?”

Well, fuck. This was the exact conversation she didn’t want to have, the one she was hoping he wouldn’t bring up. “It’s actually related to what you were just saying,” she said slowly. He’d get it after everything she’d explained and the fears he shared, right? “I don’t date musicians because they’re always gone.”

Harry was quiet, absorbing her answer. It was true, they always were gone—she had every right to her rule, she told herself. She didn’t want a repeat of what her parents had experienced, what she’d experienced. Her dad’s job had ruined everything in their family, ripping her parents apart, keeping him away from her for more of the year than he was home. She didn’t want the same thing for her kids. “That’s a pretty broad stroke, isn’t it?” Harry said though, pushing back against her. “Like all musicians. Kinda a generalization ‘bout us.”

“You said it yourself,” she said, leaning forward in her chair and resting her elbows on her thighs. “You’re gone all the time. How do you build a life with someone who isn’t there half the time?”

“Devil’s advocate,” Harry said, setting his wine on the arm of his chair, “but hypothetically you’re dating someone who tours all the time. But they make you a priority, coming home and seeing you, putting your relationship first. That wouldn’t matter? You wouldn’t even take the chance that it could work out okay?”

This time it was Y/N who was quiet. “I mean, musicians only have so much control over their schedules,” she said, remembering the excuses her dad used to tell her. “Plus, it’s not the relationship that’s the problem. It’s the part when you get to marriage and kids.”

“…So it’s better to just avoid the whole thing entirely?”

Y/N nodded, her logic laid out in front of her. She’d never had to do this before—most times, guys just took her at her word and dropped it all together. Harry pushed though, wanting to understand in a way the others didn’t care enough to do. “It’s safer.”

“But then you miss out on the opportunity to fall in love with someone,” Harry says, his words like rocks in her stomach. “And what if that person was a musician?”

Y/N had a feeling they were no longer talking in hypotheticals. “We can fall in love with tons of different people.”

“No soulmates and shit for you, then?” She shook her head. She didn’t believe in all that crap, never had. Relationships were about work, effort, time. The person was important, but the life that person led mattered more to her. How much they’d prioritize the relationship, the kind of life they wanted to build. “That’s kind of depressing,” Harry said. 

The fire crackled and popped. “I don’t think so. It’s…practical.”

“Love isn’t supposed to be practical, Y/N.”

Y/N found herself speechless. She didn’t have an answer for him. She’d never been in love before, that was for sure. Hadn’t found that kind of love that people like Harry write songs about and she’d often found herself wondering when it was going to happen for her. There just hadn’t been any guys that were right for her yet. 

“Y/N! Harry!” She turned and her dad was in the doorway, pasta sauce splattered on his shirt. He’d always been a messy cook. “Dinner’s ready.”

Y/N took one last look at Harry before grabbing her wine and heading inside, Harry following at her heels. 

After dinner, Harry decided this was his last chance at Y/N. He couldn’t exactly use the same excuse twice and after understanding her rule, he was determined to be the exception. He helped Y/N clear the plates while her dad settled in at the TV in the other room, telling them it was his time to watch the nightly news and they could clean up since he had cooked. Harry had missed being in a home like this, the kind where he got told to clean up from dinner and there was calm and normal conversation at the table, Y/N talking about her day at work and Harry sharing about his activities from his mum’s visit. It brought him a kind of peace he didn’t know he needed. 

The plate clattered on the counter as he set it down, Y/N turning, her hands soapy with the water from the dishes. “Gonna break our dishes,” she said with a snort. “Be careful, please.”

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. He’d cleared the table, so he grabbed a dish rag from the peg and joined Y/N at the sink, taking the clean dishes from the rack and drying them, stacking them on the counter since he didn’t know where they belonged in the cabinets. 

They worked in silence, the only sound her dad’s TV from the other room. He could hear Rachel Maddow’s show on NBC, the same one he liked to watch, learning from her commentary on American politics that he was still trying to wrap his brain around. 

“Y/N,” he said when they’d finished the dishes. “I promise I heard everything you said earlier.” She looked at him with curiosity in her eyes, trying to figure out where he was going with this. Harry tried to pick his words delicately, wanting to make sure she knew he did hear her, he was just entranced by her and couldn’t give her up. “But what is the likelihood you would be willing to give it a shot? With me?”

She took the dish towel from his hands and dried her own, considering his words. The waiting was killing him, but he didn’t want to rush her. He knew what her worries were and he was asking her to put them aside. 

“We’ll take it slow,” he told her, stumbling over the words. “Promise. You set the pace, you decide about commitments. I just…” Can’t stop thinking about you.

But then Y/N surprised him by saying, “I know. I feel that way too.” His eyes widened, not believing the words from her mouth. “I’ll give it a shot,” she said slowly. “Better make the date good.”

“You sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask again unless you’d like me to change my mind.”

“Can I get your number then?” She nodded and read it off, Harry typing the numbers into his phone next to her name. Then Harry shut up and just smiled at her, following her like a puppy dog into the other room where her dad sat watching TV. She curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket her dad had so it would cover part of her and his heart softened at how sweet she looked. He loved seeing her like this, at home, comfortable in her space. “I’m going to head out,” he said. “Thank you so much for dinner, Peter.”

Y/N’s dad turned from the TV and gave him a wide smile. “Of course, Harry. You’re welcome anytime—wouldn’t want you to get lonely out here!”

His eyes drifted to Y/N and he knew that with her around, there was never anyway he could be lonely.

TAGLIST

@smokeinherperfume @afire-hes @harryinsweatersandbandanas @marinalima3 @havethetimeofyourstyles @ursogoldenshan @inmygardensuit @marinalima3 @amaridon @harrys-watermelons @dontgiveupthedayjob @cronias13 @apples2019

Would you like to know when I update The Only Exception? Let me know here!

NEXT CHAPTER COMING JULY 4TH @ NOON CST

[dramarising-replacement]

Hey! It seems like there’s been a Lot of Confusion about the crow subspecies. The subspecies creator wrote a blog post off dr a while back clearing up some of that misinformation. It didn’t get seen by many people since it was in a reblog to one of the many crow drama posts here. I’ve reposted the relevant parts here: to read the rest or doublecheck that I didn’t make it up, just find the original post. Like the author or hate the author: those with firsthand knowledge of the subspecies can agree on all the parts reposted here. Several sections of the original post have been snipped as it speculated on the reasons behind the confusion. That section was removed because this post is not about who did what, it’s about keeping more people like T from Ice from being caught in the crossfire. From their replies on DR, the subject of that speculation seems to have that same goal as me and has been defending 99.9% of crow owners in their DR replies. That makes them no enemy of mine. Full disclosure: Like some other anons here, I own crows and the idea of getting caught in the drama crossfire (unless it’s from my own mistakes!) is exhausting. I don’t want to break any rules by saying my name so: I’m that person with the crow lineage project threads who used to raffle off lore hatchlings. Even though I don’t use Chinese inspired lore, I’ve been revamping my own projects based on some comments from the poc commenters here so thanks for your wisdom. tl;dr for long post: The asian crow subspecies actually has no connection to any Asian cultures. Some people in it make personal lore that’s inspired by fantasy genres, real life cultures, or even cowboys: but it is not an ‘Asian’ subspecies. All known allegations (and anyone with allegations to levy pls correct me if I am wrong) are against 2-3 people and don’t reflect the many many more with the subspecies in their dens. ————————— Hello, I am the creator of the Crow subspecies that is currently being discussed. I want to clear up some of the confusion that has been surfacing over it due to the overwhelming number of misunderstandings arising from the subject. Regarding Subspecies Owner: There is one subspecies creator and that is myself. Neither T from Ice nor C from Earth (anon note: nor FJ from Fire or me for that matter) are creators of the subspecies. Any mentioned excluding myself have played no part in the creation of the subspecies lore. Any other user’s personal lore likewise has had no involvement in the subspecies lore itself, and are separate entities. Regarding Subspecies + Racism/Other: There seems to be misinformation saying that the subspecies is inspired by one or multiple Asian cultures. The subspecies itself is a blank slate that has no cultural inspiration and is meant as a springboard for other people to develop their lore with. There is no real-world culture involved nor even humans in the subspecies lore. Some members enjoy gijinka art and that is their personal choice: humanizations which occur due to personal lore preference is entirely separate from the subspecies lore as a whole. The subspecies lore itself focuses solely on dragons as reflected in their representations on-site on Flight Rising, following theming from the Plague Flight. The subspecies lore has been used as a starting block for users to write their own lore, taking inspiration from a combination of their own cultures and experiences, fantasy genres and historical novels that they've enjoyed, and more often from their imaginations. In my awareness, no one is looking to recreate much less condense a culture more than it is a few members taking respectful inspiration from real-world cultures. Some of the accusations of racism may be the result of misconceptions about the naming theme that I use with my personal dragons. Most users have a common theme for how they choose their dragon names. Mine are named after various types of fictional and real weapons. Some of these weapons have English-specific names like the scythe or the sickle. Some weapons don't have an English-specific version of their names like the kukri or the kujang. And some of my dragons depart from this naming system and are named after the naming systems of the FR users who gave them to me/whose lore stories they participate in. If this naming system has caused any confusion then I hope this provides further clarification. As for dark/disease themes: Nothing about the subspecies lore requires dark themes. The subspecies lore itself only mentions a viral as a result of being inspired by the Plague Flight, with no attribution to people. The subspecies dragons themselves are exceptionally healthy and while their claws have different “venom types,” this is not meant as an allegory for people spreading diseases or plagues. The original abilities are based on the “Contaminate” battle stone and its description. (anon note: The subspecies was created in early 2019 and is not a reference to recent real life events. That would be abominable. The disease-spreading element is based entirely on the Plague Flight and that battle stone.) Regarding Personal Clan Lore: The FR users involved in the subspecies are as varied as any other group of FR users. Some users don't write lore and just like the look of the dragons. Others write their subspecies lore based on fairytales they read as a child, after famous novels or popular games. A few of the users who like the subspecies happen to draw inspiration from real-life cultures. As stated above, this isn't unusual for FR users. I've found that many of these users do their best to draw from personal experiences, cultural studies, and books or movies created by those cultures. If someone finds something offensive with the writings of those who use my subspecies lore, I encourage you to contact them over FR and discuss it with them. Likewise, if anything in my lore is offensive then I would be more than happy for you to contact me over PMs to talk about it. But before doing so, I suggest reading it for yourself over making any judgments based on secondhand information. (anon notes: A section here was removed because it called out a former discord member.) Other minor clarifications: Unfortunately, there’s a lot of misinformation that seems to have led to misunderstandings which have resulted in innocent people being accused or made needlessly uncomfortable. If there are any continued concerns about racism/fetishism, I encourage you to read through the subspecies lore and people’s contributions to it. It’s less exciting than secondhand rumors but the truth usually is. If there remain any grievances outside of this, I still welcome you to contact me privately over PM to discuss. ————————— anon notes: If you made it this far: wow you have a lot of patience! All words left in the reposting of V’s post reflect my own experiences as well. I might make a tumblr to respond to any questions that people might have: but as the main people bringing up allegations against members of the crow subspecies have firsthand experience with the subspecies, maybe they can help confirm that this information is true too. tl;dr is at top of post

[let-patton-say-fuck]

Hello and welcome

This post is going to be long and detailed, but here’s the gist:

I want to create a blog that will serve as a collection of Patton content in which he's portrayed as the extremely interesting character that he is. This includes angst, character studies, theories, discussions of gray morality, etc, etc. Also, I personally heavily identify with Patton, and whenever I see content of him being absolutely feral? Incredibly cathartic. I just think it’s neat. So, this is a blog for Patton content that presents him as more than the “innocent soft little puffball” he tends to be percieved as in the fandom. And, to be honest, more than anything I just want to inspire as many people as possible to join me in my #LetPattonSayFuck agenda. Let him do it. He deserves it.

None (or almost none) of the content on this blog is going to be mine. If you have content you want me to put on here, you can:

Tag me in it

Submit a post

Send me an ask

DM it to me

I will reblog the things people send me and try my best to organise them (more on that after the cut). You can send art, fanfiction, edits, rants, headcanons, memes, just related thoughts that come to your head, basically anything you want.

I will also sometimes reblog things to this blog just because I feel like they fit and I want to. If I reblogged something you created to this blog and you don't want that, please let me know, and I will delete it. Essentially, this is just a place for me to hoard (and navigate) any and all content about my favourite types of Patton characterisation. And you can join, if you want!!

And now onto the details:

About The Different Kinds Of Patton:

Different sides (ha) of Patton might be explored in the posts of this blog, so I think they will require some sort of classification. You can block or search certain tags based on your preferences.

The tags I will be using:

#let patton say fuck - any post where Patton swears (not necessarily “fuck”)

#feral patton - feral Patton. That’s it that’s the tag. Let my boy go feral. Whatever level of feral. From dying your hair at 4am to murder. Give me feral Patton

#angry patton

#patton angst - h u r t  h i m (then help him pls. Not a requirement, just a personal request. Unhappy endings accepted but not without tears). This one will probably have a lot of subcategories

#flirty patton - I will be using this tag for any flirtatious actions from Patton, especially those that wouldn’t usually be seen as “typical” for him.

#suggestive patton - taking the previous tag a step further, this one is for any innuendos, sexual jokes/hints from Patton, whether in a flirty context or just for humour reasons.

#smart patton - any kinds of intelligence. Emotional intelligence, academic intelligence, strategic intelligence, musical intelligence, etc. Bring it on. If anyone wants me to make separate tags for different types of intelligence, please let me know exactly how you want me to do that, and I will, as soon as I can.

#BAMF patton - let him fuck shit up a little. As a treat

#mischief patton - Patton doing pranks, teasing someone, making fun of someone light-heartedly, messing with people. Sarcastic Patton. All that adorable devious shit. Gimme

#smug patton - smug bastard man,,,,,, sarcastic bastard man,,,,,,,,,, teasing bastard man,,,,,, (this one and the mischief one will probably overlap yeah)

#patton and morality - gray morality Patton. Being confused abt moral concepts because morality is hard, man. Patton being wrong, but learning. Patton making mistakes,,,,, I love him

#nsfw patton - I accept NSFW content, it will always be tagged. These posts will also be tagged with "#nsfw" and "#nsfs" (Not Safe For Sanders). This tag is for explicitly sexual things only. Sexual humour/innuendos/hints will all be in the "suggestive" tag. You can filter out one or both, if you want.

Once again, if anyone wants me to make a separate tag, I will.

About The Different Kinds Of Content:

As I’ve mentioned before, absolutely any form of content is accepted. Some tags that will help in looking for specific things:

#pat art - Some art,,, of the Pat,,,,,

#pat fanfic - More on ships later

#pat thoughts - any kinds of thoughts/rants. If you wanna share your ideas or just talk about Patton, this is probably how it will be tagged. Lemme know if you want me to change anything

#pat analysis

#pat theories

#pat hcs - any headcanons!! Ship headcanons!! Random headcanons!!! Vent “This is about Patton but I Am Patton” headcanons haha definitely know nothing about those!!! All headcanons are welcome

#pat memes - memes, shitposts, funny thoughts, incorrect quotes. Anything like that

#pat edits - Video, photo, audio, GIF. Once again, if anyone wants separate tags, I will add them.

Any other types of content will be given their own tags in the future, if they will be needed.

The tag for any asks is just "#asks". Anything related to this blog will be tagged "#blog stuff".

About Ships:

All ships will be given their own tags. More ships (poly ships, ships without Patton in them) will be added later as we go. For now here are the tags I will be using for Patton ships (tell me if anything needs to be changed):

#moceit

#logicality

#moxiety

#intruality

#royality

All characters will be tagged as “#ts *character name*”:

#ts logan

#ts janus

#ts roman

#ts virgil

#ts remus

If you don’t want to see certain characters or ships, please just filter the tags.

About Trigger Warnings:

If you ever need me to tag (or change) anything for any reason, please feel free to tell me, and I will do so as fast as I can and as thoroughly as I can.

Trigger warning tags are added to this post as content is being posted. Before posting anything, I will review it for potential triggers and update this post if needed. If anyone wants to add a tag for anything in advance - let me know, and I will do it.

So, let's start:

#pat discourse - any kind of argument against the way Patton is treated by the general fandom. While I think most people here would agree with those opinions, sometimes just the notion of an argument is distressing.

#tw cursing - I mean just in case

#tw murder mention - for references to murder with no details or visuals

#tw murder - discussion of murder with some details and/or visuals

#tw repression

#tw self-hatred

#tw anxiety attack

#tw threats

#tw alcohol

And finally!!!! This is a No Unsympathetic Patton Allowed zone. I guess it depends on how you would define "unsympathetic", but no content of Patton being abusive and/or anything similar to that will be posted, and please, please do not send it in. Please don't send Patton hate either, I won't post it, but it will hurt me quite a lot, please don't do that. If you don't like Patton, just go to another blog.

#tw arguing

#tw self-destructive behaviour

I'm sorry in advance if I ever forget to tag anything, please tell me right away so I can fix it! I don't really know how to run a blog, so I'm sorry if anything is wrong. I'm willing to try my best to keep this as organised as possible, since it's For A Good Cause. Thank you so much for visiting this blog, and I hope you enjoy it!!

[shimishimii]

sfw & nsfw works, Minors dni with nsfw posts. Again, this is a 16+ blog.

minors pls block the following tags, NSFW works tagged as #keysmashed , NSFW reblogs & posts tagged as #haru-runs

may contain content not suitable for everyone so mind the warnings, will be tagged as #tw [topic] & I don’t write dark content.

I write for gn, male, female (dom/sub) readers. Note that I dive into different fandoms sometimes.

I write time skip characters (manga based)

interactions are very welcome, send an ask whenever ^^ (no pet names/gendered terms pls tysm), I accept anons, dm is open even to non-mutuals. I don’t roleplay and my social battery drains abruptly, also busy oftentimes. And I may delete some asks answered to minimize amount of posts.

I don’t tolerate r/cism, r/pe, homophobia, p/dophilia, and don’t interact if you’re Zionist, exclusionist, xenophobic, ableist, aphobic, arophobic, transphobic, pronoun invalidator, cyberbully or sends hate.

I don’t partake in any fictional controversial discourse. But real world issues are worth discussing.

do not repost/plagiarize/steal any of my works

content reblogs

#[fandom] fanart

#[fandom] reblogs

#[fandom] fic recs

interactions

#[fandom] talks

#asks answered

nsfw // minors dni & block the following tags

#haru-runs

#keysmashed

[gendernewtral]

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

welcome to my house

im sterling! he/him/his or they/them/theirs pronouns, you can use one set or the other, or switch in between, whatever floats your duck.

i do not post or reblog donation requests. anyone who sends an ask requesting donations will be blocked and the ask will be deleted.

yeah i did name myself after sterling archer. and all the customer reviews are things people have actually considered appropriate to say to a stranger on the internet.

im 23 and don’t tag nsfw. i don’t post it often but you’ve been warned

original posts are #sterling speaks asks are #answered + #anon when applicable

i add onto posts a lot, either to fact check or just say shit. it’s usually not directed at op or the above commenter i just like talking

i tag anything i think could be triggering including cops, medical mention, abuse discussion, etc.

trigger tags are “tw blank” (ex: tw antisemitism), other possible triggers mentioned or implied but not directly in the post is in the / (blank thing) format ( ex: / institutionalization)

you can ask for trigger tags if you hang around my blog a lot

unless you’re gonna ask for queer to be tagged a slur bc im not doing that lol

seriously fuck off with the q slur stuff. block me if you don’t like it but it’s not exclusively a slur. stfu

i have a side blog for some anime/genshin impact stuff to keep this one from being insufferable. you can dm for the url and genshin uid if you really want

if you don’t get why i say ‘i’m a libra (if it matters)’ please consult the song feels like summer by weezer

i like men. i think liking men is cool. if you like to ‘make jokes’ about how either of these things is any way bad, go away.

DNI/before you follow make sure i won’t hate you

like any decent fucking person, i don’t want racists, homophobes, ableists, etc following me. you’re just gonna get blocked so go away (note: if you are confused by ‘etc’ there are nuances to oppression and discrimination that aren’t immediately clear to people who aren’t associated with it, so basically pls keep bigoted opinions away from here. k thx)

other: transmeds, gun enthusiasts/ no regulation supporters, anti-aquariums/animal reserves, anti self diagnosis, anti-recovery, vegans who don’t know that meat consumption isn’t the root of all evil, fanblogs for: hazbin hotel, attack on titan, 13 reasons why, south park/other ~adult animation like it~. hamilton is on thin ice.

feel free to tell me if a post was made by some shithead. ill probably block so thanks

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

[liquorisce]

decisions, decisions pt 2

Fandom : Bleach 

Pairings : Ichihime (ft. some ichi x ishi bickering which we love around here)

Rating : T

Part 1

A/N: A few months ago I wrote a post-tybw-karakura-gang-finishes-high-school kinda thing called ‘decisions, decisions’  ft career choice discussions and orihime thinking of leaving town for uni. I wanted to write some more of that stuff and more ichihime pining obvs, so here it is. also i hate myself for not being able to participate in ichihimeweek2020, i suck, but anyway, ‘nuff with the nonsense, here’s the fic: 

(ps: pls be nice to me and like/reblog/comment or whatevs and tell me what u think, ily thx)

...

It’s five minutes to two, and Ichigo fought to stifle a yawn. The menacing five hundred pages of English grammar exercises in front of him wasn’t helping. 

“... Unbelievable,” he curses, slamming the book shut, much to the annoyance of his bespectacled classmate sitting across him. “Why the hell can’t they just teach us proper English in school?! I’m absolutely fucking positive that Honda-sensei didn’t mention more than three tenses in her class. And what kind of English lesson takes place in Japanese anyway?!” 

“... Quit your whining, Kurosaki. Some of us are trying to study here.” 

Ichigo fumed. By ‘some of us,’ Ishida was pointedly referring to just himself and the long-haired beauty sitting right opposite him, who, judging by her giggling at his outburst, welcomed his distraction. The same giggling that was contributing to the problem, contributing to Ichigo’s immense distraction since after dinner. 

“You’re not even human, Ishida,” he says dismissively. “Keigo’s literally made his bed on my dad’s couch, you can hear his goddamn snores, and Mizuiro left to ‘watch the stars’ with some new girl thirty minutes ago.” 

“You’re the one who invited us over to your place for an all-nighter group study session and you’re calling it quits before the sun is up? As expected, you’re weak.” 

He was right, this had been Ichigo’s idea, Yuzu had offered to make them dinner and his dad had plans tonight, so they were guaranteed some peace and quiet. Despite the noise and the chaos of their group, he missed hanging out with his friends. Ever since the school had given them voluntary study holidays for the upcoming University Entrance Exams, he didn’t get to see much of everyone, as they were either studying or training for competitions. Even today, Tatsuki and Chad left after dinner because they had to get up early for practice and they had decided they wouldn’t be giving the exams anyway. 

Ignoring Ishida’s pointed attempts to rile him up, he turns his attention to Orihime, who despite enjoying their banter, was more focused on the cram book in front of her.  

“Inoue, how are you still so motivated and so… awake?,” he asks, exasperated. “It’s almost 2 am! And you’ve been scribbling away furiously for the last thirty minutes. What are you even studying?”  

“Mouuu, you’re right. I’m not able to solve this proof anyway. Maybe I should call it a night?”

“Electromagnetism?” Ishida asks, skimming the title of the chapter, “Oh, I’ve done this one, I can explain this to you if you want.”  

He doesn’t know what irritates him more, Ishida’s nerdiness, or the soft look in his eyes as he unfailingly offers to help Orihime out, as he’d been doing a lot more of late, ever since they had started studying for the entrance exams together. In fact, it’d been this way this entire evening, starting from when he took a seat right next to her at the table as if he fucking belonged there, leaning over into her notebook, whenever she needed help, his arm casually brushing against her long, silken locks, her answering smile bright and incredibly close to him, and - Ichigo forces that thought to a halt because it has him gritting his teeth.  “... For God’s sake, give her a break,” - 

“... Shut up, Kurosaki, not everyone is applying to study *English* in University”- 

“And what exactly do you mean by that, asshole?” Ichigo snarls, with more venom than needed, because despite having had enough with Ishida’s condescending attitude towards his study choices, his recent behaviour had Ichigo prickling under his skin.  

“... Err, Kurosaki-kun…” Orihime starts, because she’s used to Ichigo and Ishida arguing (they’re just being affectionate, she always insists), there’s a glint in Ichigo’s eyes that’s different.

“... Exactly what I said, some of us don’t have the luxury of skipping the math and science exams,” - 

“Ah, Kurosaki-kun is right! I think my brain really can’t function anymore tonight,” Orihime declares loudly, inserting herself in between them. “Kurosaki-kun, I think I will leave now. Thank you so much for hosting us today.” She bows, her formality annoying him even more, but still throwing him off guard.

As always, Orihime’s pleasant demeanour diffused the rising tempers… somewhat. With one last glare, Ishida grudgingly agreed, “Then I guess I will take my leave as well.” 

Ichigo wants to be polite and say something like, “we should do this more often,” but he’s pissed off, and couldn’t wait to be rid of Ishida’s arrogant mug, so instead he offers, “Inoue, can I walk you home?” 

He doesn’t notice the faint red on her cheeks or the hesitation on her face, when she mumbles, “If it doesn’t inconvenience you.” And he’s torn again - tearing his eyes away from the pretty blush dusting her cheeks unable to stop himself from wondering bitterly if she’d let Ishida walk her home without much protest.

“Ishida lives in the other direction and it would be out of his way, so I don’t mind.” 

“Well then,” Ishida says, looking at her with more fondness than Ichigo would have liked, “Your eyes are all red and puffy. Sleep well. Don’t strain yourself, okay?”

“Yes sir,” she gives him the salute, “... good night!” 

“... And text me that you got home safe. This idiot can’t be trusted with anything,”- 

“... for fuck’s sake, just go home already!” 

“Kurosaki-kun,” she whispers, amused, as she watches Ishida walk away with a cheeky grin on his face, “you’ll wake the neighbours with your angry yelling.”

“Ah, you’re right,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck sheepishly, as their footsteps fall into place beside each other, “I’m sorry for all the swearing, I don’t know why I let Ishida under my skin so much.”   

“Hmmm,” she says, “It’s kind of cute, your bickering. If this were a yaoi novel, I’d totally ship it!” 

“... what the hell?!” His face is red, not just because the thought of him… and Ishida… Ew. But also because this is coming from Orihime, the last person he’d ever expect to engage in fantasies of this sort.

Giggling, she quickly switches to a more somber note. “You seemed... on edge today. Did something happen between the two of you?” 

He doesn’t know how to answer that question. Truth be told, he’s barely able to understand it himself. Sure, there was the usual trading of insults that took place between the two of them, but it was different this time. His whole demeanour just pissed him off. The way he always seemed to know what Orihime was asking, the way he was always able to help her, the familiar way he spoke to her… and the revelation that they’d been studying together for weeks now! 

“I don’t know,” he sighs, because he can’t even explain what he is feeling, let alone the reason behind it, “... I guess it’s just the stress of the exam.” 

“Ugh, tell me about it,” she whines, “I’m so thankful Ishida-kun is giving the same exams as me, and we can share practice questions and tips. I really wouldn’t be able to do this alone.” 

He ignores her mention of him and the tick in his jaw in reaction. “But I don’t get it. You’re giving almost all the exams. Why?!? There’s surely no need.” 

She blushes, ashamed, “I know it sounds stupid, but I really haven’t decided what I want to study in University. I figured if I just gave all of the exams, I would have more options to choose from.” 

“... Come on,” - 

“... And I will also prefer to go wherever I get a scholarship.”  

His fist clenches, “... So you’re definitely applying outside of Karakura?” 

“Yeah, although I’m not sure if there’s any point. It’s so difficult to aim for the National Universities, I’ll never get through. But the counselor says it’s worth a shot for the scholarship.”

“... I thought your aunt was helping you with tuition?” 

“... Only till high school. And I cannot burden her anymore. I’ve received so much from her already.” 

Ichigo doesn’t miss the way her voice wavers at the end, the guilt evident in her words. And he can’t stand it. “... Cheer up,” he says softly, playfully elbowing her. “You’re one of the smartest kids in school. Rank #2 after all the shit we went through last year! If anyone can do it you can.” 

“... You think so?” she mumbles, looking up at him, her insecurities heartbreaking in the grey of her eyes.  

Everything about her is so honest, it hurts him a little bit because his first thought is to say no, to talk her out of it, because the revelation is too sudden, too jarring - he can’t bear  the thought of this town without her. But he nods, smiles encouragingly, because that’s just way too selfish.

Shaking his head out of these thoughts, he asks, “... what was the counselor’s recommendation, again? As a career path?” 

“Ah, Hirata-san said maybe I should just follow my love for baking,” she says, smiling. 

“... and? Why don’t you consider that? You wouldn’t have to give these blasted exams then.” 

He liked the idea of this, now more than before, momentarily regretting his role in convincing her to apply to university. Orihime working in the local bakery, coming around his house everyday to share the leftovers, staying back for dinner maybe… 

“... but Kurosaki-kun was the one who said I wouldn’t be very good at it!” She pouts, “You said I’d make too many things in weird flavours and nobody would want to buy them.” 

Crap. He truly felt like waltzing back in time and whacking the past version of him for saying something like that.  Because if it were anyone else shitting all over Orihime’s dream, he’d have sent the punk flying. Where were all these feelings coming from anyway?! 

“... Shit, I didn’t mean,” - 

“... it’s okay, you’re right. And besides I can work there part-time through University. I was thinking…” She took a deep breath. “Well, actually, it was Ishida-kun’s idea. Maybe I could study to become a doctor? My strength is in healing people anyway…” 

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "Well of course, he'd say that. He's going to study medicine too." And of course he would try to talk Orihime into it. The bastard had taken every opportunity to slither by her side - 

She laughs, a pretty sound, interrupting the profanity in his mind. "Yeah, he did say it would be nice to have some company… but I'm not sure." Sighing, she asks, "How did you decide on English Studies?" 

It wasn't too difficult for him honestly. It helped that he was fairly certain he didn't want to study math or science going forward. "... I like stories. And I want to be able to read and share stories in a global medium, so I decided to study English." 

He looks at her only to find her looking at him in fascination, "... Truth be told, I didn't spend too much time thinking about it. The career aptitude test returned similar results as well, so I just went with it." He shrugs, "I think I'll enjoy it. Let's see." 

"Ahh, you sound so optimistic about your studies, Kurosaki-kun. I wish I could be like that." 

They've reached her apartment building now and she turns to look at him, wistfully. He wishes he could do something for her, ease her anxieties in some way. 

"What about you?" He asks. 

She looks at him, puzzled.  

"... You've told me all about what everyone wants you to do. What do you want to do? I'm sure you must have some inkling." 

“... I,” she stops, opens her mouth again to say something, but nothing comes out. “... what I want… ah, you’ll probably think it’s silly.” She smiles wistfully to herself, because this wasn’t something that she’d ever admitted out loud.

He rolls his eyes, “... Try me.” Because she was many things, and yes, definitely silly sometimes in that unique way of hers, but he would never, could never, call her dreams silly. It’s a moment of realization for him, when he gets angry with the way she dismisses her own dreams that way, and he feels overwhelmed with the desire to pick them up, and keep them safe where no one can trample them, along with that spaced-out, wistful smile of hers. 

“Well,” she gulps, nervous, “I’ve never really thought too much about going to university. Sensei says I’m wasting my potential... but honestly, I think I’ll be happy working.” 

She looks at him unsurely, waiting for a reaction, an opinion, like everyone else. Everyone who’d been urging her to continue school and pursue all kinds of studies that she could possibly do, but… “I just - I want to build a simple life with someone I love. A family, maybe, someday.” 

It comes out so fast, she wishes she could grab the words and shove them back in her mouth. She chances a glance at him, her cheeks hot and furiously embarrassed. 

His expression is unreadable as he gazes down at her. She’s beautiful in the moonlight, he thinks, and it isn’t really a revelation to him, but the melancholy of her beauty is, the loneliness that he wishes he could extinguish as easily as he does hollows. “A simple life huh…” he murmurs. And he can almost picture it, Orihime, ten years from now, a child in her arms, a little boy maybe, with her wide brown eyes and - 

“Well, looks like you have planned it out better than any of us,” he manages hoarsely, unable to look her in the eye anymore. Not with all these… feelings simmering so close to the surface. And before he can help himself, “Do you already know who this mystery man is?” 

He’s come to realize how absolutely unequipped he is to hear the answer, but her unassuming statement has already taken residence inside him somehow, a burning sensation accompanying it. 

 His question jolts her into consciousness, and she notices they’re almost at her apartment. “Ah Kurosaki-kun is very curious today,” she laughs nervously, “only one confession per day! That’s the limit!” The fake cheer in her voice grates in her own ears but she hopes desperately it will steer him away because she’s this close to telling him sometimes, and this was one of those times. Especially in these rare moments when she feels an odd mixture of weakness and greed, where she wants to latch on to him and ask him to stay by her side, hoping selfishly that his kindness will make him say yes. But Orihime was practiced at hiding those feelings away. 

 “Is that right,” he smiles teasingly, albeit weakly, “... I didn’t know you were so mysterious, Inoue. Well goodnight, then.” 

And as he watches her climb up the stairs to her floor, and then lean over the railings to wave goodbye one more time, he can’t help but think of that image of her again, happy and in love and so beautifully fulfilled. And he thinks of the shadow of the man next to her, who will protect that dream and that smile, and his stomach clenches bitterly. 

“You deserve it,” he whispers to her retreating figure, “... You deserve all of it.”

- fin - 

A/N : The ending was cheesy, I KNOW UGH

[whostheblondegirl]

you stan frank grillo a known racist pls don’t ever speak on race again

Could I say opinions are like assholes- everyone’s got one? I could, and just call it a day. But what good does that do? About as much as sending anon hate trying to silence or shame, or whatever these anons think they’re doing, someone who didn’t attack or insult anyone.

Do I frequently objectify a fit male specimen (in this case- Frank Grillo), watch/enjoy some of his work, and love a role he’s famous for? Yep.

Am I an adult who can comprehend that I’m able to enjoy aspects of some thing or some one without being so wholly devoted to them/it as to not understand that no one is without flaws or cancel that interest because they/it aren’t perfect, and instead extract what I do enjoy from the media I choose to consume without feeling like everything is an all or nothing? You bet.

Should I kowtow to anon hate for days ago making a long post encouraging kindness and genuine dialogue about sensitive issues such as racism (and other -isms) from those choosing to engage in those discussions? Hell no.

Will I stop asking respectfully for people to work cooperatively to make change, educate others, listen and speak with attention and empathy and hope that people can work cooperatively for the betterment of everyday life and tumblr users’ experience on this hellsite? Nope.

For anyone unfamiliar with the apparent vitriol and awful post I made that warrants anons to tell me to shut up on my own blog, -which they are more than welcome to and encouraged to unfollow or block and learn to maturely curate their online experience and how they spend their time- or didn’t get it the first time, feel free to peruse the screencaps below of my reply to a post I saw reblogged on my dash where several people were beginning to devolve into aggressive replies and insults about differing interpretations of how or if tfatws’ episode last Friday was racist.

[mothwingtruther]

Tag List

Welcome to my tag list! I’ve created this list to help make navigation of my blog easier. If you don’t know how to find things on this blog, keep scrolling!

Miscellaneous tags

ALL posts will be tagged #warrior cats and #wc.

For quick access, this post will be tagged as #tag post.

For quick access, my introduction post will be tagged as #introduction post. This post should always be pinned, but unless it’s not this will be the quickest way to find it.

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Posts that hate on a character will be tagged as both #hate and #[character name] negative (ex. #bramblestar negative ). Lovemail will be tagged as #Minishermy <3 [character name] (ex. #Minishermy <3 Mothwing ).

Text posts detailing personal thoughts or theories about the series will be tagged as #wc thoughts.

Things related to roleplays will be tagged as #wcrp.

Humorous posts/shitposts will be tagged as #silly cats. Angst posts will be tagged as #sad cats. Cute/sweet posts will be tagged as #sweet lil cats.

Shipping posts will be tagged as #shipping. ALL ships will be tagged as #[character A] x [character B] (ex. #Mothwing x Leafpool ). Shipping hate will be tagged as #[ship] hate (ex. #Bramblestar x Squirrelflight hate) I will not tag combined names UNLESS the name is very well-known (ex. #Mothpool ). Friendship posts will be tagged as #[ship] platonic (ex. #Firestar x #Ravenpaw platonic ).

Original warrior cats characters/information pertaining to these characters will be tagged as #wc oc. Specific names/clans/ships etc will not be tagged.

Warrior cats alternate universes, or aus, will be tagged as #wc au. If this is a recurring and named au, it will be tagged as #wc au: [au name] (ex. #wc au: Swiftpaw lives ).

Posts discussing the erins will be tagged #those fucking erins.

Tag list will be updated if necessary but here it is so far!

-Mothwingtruther

[aurelianatlas]

| Rules |

A simple referential for potential members to read over for understand any restrictions we may have. For now the list is kept relatively short and changes could later be made, all adjustment updates will be listed in the Discord Server for existing members.

| Essentially we’re pretty easy going,  but it’s good to get down in an easy to understand guideline. 

There is no inclusion or emphasis on rules about god-modding and meta-gaming, those are very general restrictions within the roleplay community and are rarely accepted.  ____________________________   F A Q ________________________________________

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