#dissolving over the way they explain things

[distinctlywhumpthing]

First Night Home pt. 1

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Aiden wishes he could know the way home by heart. Feel a sense of comfort, that indescribable pull, as familiarity marks the closing distance to the place where he belongs. It’s a foolish, naked yearning. One that hangs in the spotlight of his focus a moment too long, leaving him feeling just as exposed. 

He spreads his fingers on his legs to stop from curling them into fists. Curling his toes in his shoes is a cheap substitute for grounding himself but at least it keeps that look off Leo’s face. 

The one that confirms Aiden is a burden he didn’t sign up for, companion or not. 

“Almost there,” Leo says, pulling away from a stop sign and turning left. 

His stomach drops and he turns toward the window to hide his face. 

Just like the first night, he has no idea what to expect when they arrive. He should be able to grant Leo a fraction of the trust he has felt but is always unable to find when he needs it most. It’s overwhelmed too easily, road salt cloudy headlights on an unlit route, feeble light swallowed by darkness before it can illuminate anything more than the rush of pavement before it disappears. His catastrophizing is stunted by exhaustion but the longer they drive down the winding roads, the more his stomach knots and twists, anticipation-turning-to-dread the only mile marker he has. He worries about losing to his nausea, as much as a passenger in his body as he is in the car, heading toward the inevitable. 

When Leo turns off the road, Aiden panics even more, scanning the row of four identical condos, porch lights still casting a dim glow in the pre-dawn light. He doesn’t recognize anything, except Leo’s work van at the end of the shared driveway. Shame rises along with the bile in his stomach. It’s disrespectful to Leo and the invitation to share any part of his home––to entertain it as a place he could pretend to belong—if he can’t even recognize it from the outside.

For fuck’s sake, it’s the barest of minimums required to lay claim to any place.

He bites back his apology. Stutters won’t be the only thing that comes out if he opens his mouth just now. He wouldn’t be able to articulate the transgression anyway. Little progress he made earlier trying to explain he wasn’t trying to run from Leo at the hospital, that he was just trying to give him a shot at getting his life back. The one before he took on a damaged—

“Home sweet home.” Leo kills the engine and lets his head fall back against the headrest with a sigh.

Aiden lowers his gaze, guilt swirling in his stomach. Again, the apology is on the tip of his tongue but his eyes start to burn hot with tears. He will not cry again. He cannot. He bites the inside of his cheek and the taste of blood is a quick distraction. 

Worse than dissolving into a crying mess would be getting sick in Leo’s sister’s car. 

Leo’s on the move anyway. With another sigh, he gets out, leaving Aiden alone to clap his good hand over his mouth and force deep breaths in and out through his nose. He even closes his eyes to beg himself to be capable this time. Better for this second-second chance. Easier after everything. 

Little good it does. 

By the time Leo reaches his door, Aiden is resigned to ducking around him to throw up. The bar lowered to please just don’t get sick on Leo’s shoes. 

The cold air hits him in a blast when Leo reaches the door and helps him out. He blinks against the sharp sting of it, both hands gripping Leo’s forearm. Another lungful of brisk winter morning and the nausea settles. 

His next inhale is full of sky. Deep blue night softening with the light of day from one horizon to the other. A whisper of purple hinting at the brilliance of more colors soon to come. He could stay here forever, taking in the spectrum of dark to light, the stars fading out in the west and the sun soon to rise in the east. He watched the sunrise a few times from the bedroom window upstairs but he can’t remember the last time he stood under a sky like this. 

Or the last time he was outside in daylight at all. 

“Hon, you alright?”

Leo’s expression has probably passed concern because Aiden let a few tears escape. They’ve already slid down his cheeks, warm at the outset, their wakes chilled in the fresh morning air. 

He wipes his face with his sleeve, still looking up. “Thank you,” he hears himself whisper and somehow it comes out crystal clear. He wishes he could say more, thank Leo for this morning sky he had nothing and everything to do with. But he doesn’t trust himself not to ruin it. 

Leo doesn’t say anything back, just wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

As soon as they step inside, he wants to run back to the feeling he found under the sky. But Leo’s exhausted and he already waited with Aiden until the sun started peeking over the horizon. Watching the sun rise wouldn’t stave off the inevitable. It’ll be over in minutes anyway. 

Aiden winds up hovering at the edge of the kitchen, unsure if he should stay out of the way or help. The bags sit on the island, handles still standing at attention from being lifted there. 

Leo relieves him of any guesswork by setting a glass of water on the island. “Think you can drink this?” 

He nods, grateful for an easy opportunity to be obedient, and slides onto a stool, watching for any reaction from Leo out of habit, but he’s looking down. Aiden’s stomach knots when he realizes he’s reading the slip of paper from the doctors again. 

If Leo tells him to take any of the medicine, he should. He will. He’ll do anything Leo asks him to. Happily. If what Leo said about finding him is true, he owes him his life twice over, maybe three times if he considers—

“Aiden?”

He jumps and Leo quickly leans over to clamp a hand around his teetering glass.

“M’sorry.” He tucks his hands between his legs, apology not quite audible even to his ears. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“S’okay,” he whispers. 

Leo’s sigh makes him flinch before he can catch himself. 

Leo holds up his hands, one still holding the rescued glass. “Easy, sweetheart. We’re all good. It’s all good.” 

Aiden nods. He’s overreacting, reading into Leo’s every fucking exhale. He’s just overreacting but still, tears are building behind his eyes. He nods again, squeezing his hands into fists but the pain that radiates up his arms makes the tears fall. “M’sorry, m’sorry.” He shakes his hands out at his sides, swipes furiously at the traitorous tears, and refuses—refuses—to meet Leo’s gaze to see how completely exasperated and disappointed he is. “M’sorry, m’sorry—”  

“Aiden. Aiden.” Leo’s beside him now, warm hand on his shoulder making him realize just how much he’s curled forward. “Just breathe. That’s right. You’re okay, you’re good.” 

He nods, sniffling. He needs to pull himself together. “M’sorry, m’sorry.” 

“Hon, look at me.” 

He meets Leo’s eyes, letting himself shelter in the ease of obedience. 

“You’re good, it’s all good. We’ll figure things out together, step by step, in the morning—or, well, later today.” Leo’s soft chuckle, tired as it is, tempts Adien further into the lulls of earned safety and he doesn’t have the energy to resist. Leo rubs his shoulder. “Everything will look a little better after some sleep, yeah?” Leo goes to the sink to top up his glass. “Let’s head up.” 

His stomach drops and maybe even his lungs too because he can’t feel himself breathe anymore. He’s too busy trying to read Leo’s face. What about the mess upstairs? Should he get the bleach? Or is this the moment Leo finally punishes him? 

He follows Leo to the stairs, shoving his shaking hands into the pocket of the hoodie. He knots his fingers together as much as he can without it hurting too much. He’s not sure what they’ll find upstairs. He can only remember blurs and there’s no telling what happened after his memory stops. 

“Better get scrubbing, ‘359.” 

He shakes his head but the flashes of the facility tiles, covered in blood, are so bright in his mind. His hand gripping the banister feels far away, feet climbing the stairs even further. A few more steps and he’ll be able to see the bathroom. 

The blood, the tiles. 

“Aiden?” 

He flinches, attention snapping back to Leo a few steps ahead. “M’good,” he says, too quickly because Leo narrows his eyes. He walks back down and stops one step lower so they’re the same height. 

“There’s no–– there’s nothing to worry about. I asked Jesse to come over while we were out.” 

He nods slowly.  

“Everything’s clean, it’s all good.” 

Aiden hopes he hides his shameful relief better than his lack of understanding. “Mmm’thanks…” It’s not enough. He’ll never be enough. 

Leo holds out his arm. “All good, hon.” 

At the top of the stairs, he goes the extra mile and flicks on every light in the bathroom. The brightness hurts Aiden’s eyes but the bathroom is indeed spotless. 

Like nothing ever happened.

Leo walks him to the second bedroom, sets the glass of water on the desk and clicks on the little lamp. “I’ll get you some clean pajamas.” 

The pressure in the room changes when Leo leaves. 

Aiden’s breath comes easier, inhale and exhale deeper. The air no longer feeling finite to leave space for all the anticipation that accompanies Leo. 

But his relief is quickly spoiled by the discomfort of idleness. 

Using the desk chair for balance, he strips to his underwear, neatly folding the dirty clothes to be put in the hamper in the bathroom. He doesn’t want to see the bandages on his hand or arms, nor the gauze taped to his elbow and collarbone. Any visible trace of blood and Leo will want to check them, clean the stitches, change the bandages, ask him how he’s feeling, if he wants to take something for it and he can’t answer, he can’t look, he can’t handle having Leo examine him like that, so careful like he’s breakable when he’s done all this to himself and— 

He covers his face with his hands. Tries to pull in a deeper breath but the smell of betadine under the bandages makes his stomach churn so he lets his hands fall. 

There’s a smudge on his upper arm. Rubbing at it with his thumb does nothing. He turns to see it in the faint light coming through the window–– 

It’s blood. Dried blood, all over. A ragged stripe of it snaking across his upper arms and chest. He can see it spreading, hear the drip, drip, drip of the faucet he was shaking too much to turn off completely. 

He pinches his eyes shut and shakes his head but when he opens his eyes again it’s even worse. It’s everywhere, splotches up and down his arms, all over his torso. 

Splattered all over the bright, white tiles. 

He can’t get it off. He has to get rid of it. He has to wash away the blood. 

“Scrub those tiles good and clean, ‘359.” 

No, this can’t be happening right now. 

His breath trembles and he can’t fill his lungs anymore but it doesn’t matter because the sounds of his panic have already caught Leo’s attention. 

“Aiden?” 

He spins to face Leo, bumping into the door which hits the wall and makes him jump all over again. His apology comes out as more of a strangled whine. 

“Easy.” Leo makes his movements slow and deliberate as he sets the clothes down. “It’s alright.” 

Aiden nods along. Of course it’s alright. He knows it’s alright but he still can’t seem to catch more than tiny gasps of air at a time. It’s just Leo. He’s here with Leo. He’s––

“Hey, hey, look at me.” 

Leo doesn’t try to move any closer, just holds his gaze. “That’s good, just breathe. We’ve got all the time we need. There’s no rush. Just take it easy. Take some slow, deep breaths.” 

He hates how immediately possible it is when he can hear it as a command. 

“Good, that’s good. You’re good.” 

Hates even more that he sinks his teeth right into all the warmth and relief he can get from the shallow praise, a shiver running up his spine in its wake. But it helps and he can already stand a bit straighter, think, and see a bit clearer. 

Leo waits a few more deep breaths. “All good?” 

“Mhm, m’sorry—” He clears his throat. “I––I––” He steels himself and lets his arms fall, eyes locked on Leo’s expression. 

“Ah. I didn’t think of that.” 

Leo’s frown makes his heart start to race. He crosses an arm over his chest, as if there might be a chance Leo can actually see the hair-trigger reactivity he’s got tonight. 

“I’ll get a washcloth with some soap, I can––” 

“Please––” he chokes out, calves hitting the bed frame. He blinks away Harrison, standing over him, cold and indifferent while he begs and cries. 

“Okay, never mind.” Aiden is still holding his breath so Leo softens his voice. “Hey, hey, easy. Not that one, okay? Forget I suggested it.” 

He drags in a strained breath. “M’sorry.” Forces himself to take a step back toward Leo.

“It’s alright, don’t be sorry. I need to know these things, it’s good you’re telling me.” 

He swallows and looks down. Unsure if he’s more ashamed that Leo has to spell it out for him or that it’s necessary at all. 

“Well, I guess a shower is the next option. What do you think?” 

Aiden nods, trying to look at least a little more composed to face the bathroom. 

“Okay,” Leo says but he doesn’t move. 

Aiden looks down again to let him think. He wants to shake out his arms, and his legs too while he’s at it. Just because he can and that’s why it helps. But he doesn’t want Leo to think he’s impatient. He’d probably tip right over anyway. 

“Sorry, okay, yeah. Just a quick shower, I’ll help you.” He turns and Aiden follows. 

It won’t be as simple as that but it’s a lie of solace they’ll cling to like a life raft. 

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@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

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@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps

@batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @pirefyrelight

@whumps-and-bumps @i-eat-worlds @hellodecisionparalysis @heartfullofhoney

[nblatinotails]

I really really really wanna talk about sonic and tails individual retelling of their meeting/not meeting, it's driving me crazy ! Ok ! Quickly to clear up first, clearly these don't happen in the same universe, so clearly a lot of major components are different before we even get to see what's going on. In sonics recollection, the sky is blue, the grass is green, all is good :] cause he's there to stop a lot of the industrialization that Robotnik brings, the world isn't suffering yet. Tails flashback includes paved roads and darkned skies,,, no one to stand in the way of Robotnik, so progress trudges forward, bleak and uncaring. Ok, great, that's outta the way :]

I really wanna focus on the language they both use when describing tails, the bullies, and his life after- I think the contrast is just wild and so so so interesting to compare! Like it changes a lot of the context we view these situations in and tells a lot about the character that's speaking

SO

Sonic tells it this way: Tails was a 'happy, brainy fox' till some 'blockhead bullies' started 'picking on him for having an extra tail'. Sonic ran by and the kids 'lost interest in being jerks'. Tails began following sonic and the prime universe we know is set in motion.

So already this is so reflective of sonics personality and how he perceived what was happening to Tails. Clearly he thinks Tails is a smart little kid, he's brainy, he's smart but he's a little guy. It's a nice term but it folds under the weight of what we usually expect tails to be described as, genius, brilliant. But the happy part is something that the story and tails himself argue against. Even in the prime universe, we know that tails was harassed relentlessly until he met sonic, we see in the flashback that this has already escalated to physical violence,, and they were just getting started. Sonic calls them 'blockheads', 'bullies' that 'pick on him', this language is tame and childish, its kinda downplays what we see, tho I don't think he meant it like that. Thats just how he sees it, it's kids teasing eachother,,, which makes sense for how an outsider would see it, no flack to him.. Or how an adult would soften a story as to not scare a kid, I don't think that's the reason, I think sonic just talks like that, but it's an interesting idea to think about how maybe he didn't wanna scare tails, or if he truly just remembers it as some harsh teasing.

But anyways, to Tails,, he's 4, he's scared and can't defend himself just yet, he can't do anything but take it and hope they leave soon. Also quick wanna point out the emphasis on an extra tail, sonic doesn't care, it's an extra, it's cool.. it's glossed over because its unimportant, just something that's included in the things that are happening, rather than being WHY they're taking place. So sonic runs by and the kids 'lose interest' in bothering tails (they get whooped and tails runs away), and Tails follows sonic, eventually becoming best friends and brothers.

A simple, friendly recap, it seems kinda sanitized,,perky. The way sonic recalls events are very straightforward and chill, I truly believe that he didn't look too far into the background of what he saw, just stopped it and carried on, bonus points for gaining a lil bro.

TAILS HOWEVER..

things are a lil different,, clearly in what happens after sonic didn't show up, but also in the way he talks about himself, his feelings, the actions taken against him.

Tails tells it like this: he was a kid, minding his business, but not his surroundings.. some creeps came along and picked on him for having ONE extra tail. He got a beating, a cycle that continued for years until he put his foot down. He used his 'cunning fox brain' to give him a real way to fight back. Now he needs no one. He takes care of himself.

Aauuggwwwh

The emphasis on his youth, he was 4.

He knows he wasn't to blame, he was minding his own business, he didn't DO anything. But that little bit of self blaming language: I wasn't watching my surroundings. Like he's berating himself, like he could have avoided these kids finding him if he was looking out.

These creeps pick on him, cause that's what they are to him. they aren't 'blockheads', they aren't just bullies, these are older, stronger kids. They ARE creeps, they harassed him for YEARS for no reason. Except for the fact that he has ONE extra tail. Specifically 'one extra' not 'an extra', one. Because that's all it takes. So he shows them. He makes more. But before that, he gets beaten. Not picked on, not bullied, BEATEN. it AAUUGHHH it drives me crazy, look at how he perceives his bullies!!

Like fucking monsters, chasing him in the night. I'm am not alright.

This continues for years. Chased and beaten and harassed, over and over and over again, until tails gives and makes something to protect himself, something to level the playing feild. And THIS is how he views himself while creating his augmentations.

Another allusion to something menacing, something otherworldly. He's pulling himself up to their level, using his 'cunning fox brain'. A jab at sonics wording, yeah, but more importantly, a reference to how tails sees himself. He's NOT brainy, he has to be cunning, he had to be tricky and aware at all times. So now, he can fight back.. he's got these tools, he has his brain, he has protection. Now he doesn't need anyone else. He's grown up alone, take care of himself and his own problems.

[lesamis]

If you're up for it could you explain what is making the Germany government stuff so funny? I can find news articles about it (a coalition is dissolving? There's been tension for a while?) but they're all fairly serious. Thx!

ohhh, sure thing! i'll do my best!

i'll say upfront: this is a pretty serious thing to happen. our chancellor fired our minister of finance, Lindner, which definitively breaks up the governing coalition. germany will likely have snap elections at a moment in which far-right parties are polling extremely well. if news coverage about it seems like people are Worried, that's because, well, they are.

however. the reason it's funny is because our minister of finance was fired. ministers aren't really... ever fired. like, it's not a done thing. i'll fully admit i didn't even know it was an option until yesterday. and our minister of finance wasn't just anyone, he was one of the most mocked and hated figures in politics to germans who vote anywhere left of center.

the coalition that governed until yesterday was made up of the green party, the social democrats, and the neoliberal party (FDP). the FDP is infamous (and i mean, my parents already raised me to hate them for that) for playing kingmaker in coalition governments: they never get all that many votes, but they get just enough that whoever they agree to form a government with will probably succeed. they then tend to force extreme concessions from their coalition partners, because hey, if we walk off, you can't govern at all! so you better play along!

for the past three years, this behaviour has been extremely frustrating for germans who voted for greens or social democrats, because policy from their faction was constantly being blocked by the FDP and often by Lindner personally. the FDP received 11,5% of votes in 2021, but to many of us, it felt as if they were the only party who really had any say in the governing coalition. it made the green and social democratic coalition partners look spineless and passive.

and now, i invite you to imagine how on the day of the US election results, the day the whole world rolled their eyes at the sheer fucking stupidity and pointlessness of it all, at NINE IN THE EVENING, just as germans are getting ready to settle in to bed to dream of nightmare global politics -

the news suddenly breaks that our notoriously invisible chancellor just decided to fire Lindner for that exact behaviour. this chancellor comes out and says, on camera, to the entire sleepy nation, that acting the way Lindner did - blocking necessary policies, refusing to approve budgets unless his party's interests were met - was childish, selfish, irresponsible, and unfit for government, so, whoops, he had to go. shame. coalition over, i guess.

so, politically, that was a long-needed but never-expected moment of triumph for those of us who think the FDP is a clown show made up of human TESLA shares, and it came at a hysterically funny moment.

on a personal level, i can barely explain how uniquely hateable Lindner has always been. he's what would happen if a stock index graph came to life. he hates poor people with a relish; he mocks welfare recipients and would ax minimum wages in a second. he's everyone's business major roommate who shows up in boat shoes fresh off a yacht to discuss NFTs with you. throughout the entire time that he's used his rich boy policy blackmail strategy, he's been smug about it, and he was never taken to task for it, and millions of germans have been longing to throw rotten fruit in his face since 2017. and now we finally get to do it. via memes. on the day of trump's election win.

so that's why it's funny.

[freedomfireflies]

Knockout*

Summary: The one where Harry is a handsome stranger who always comes to your diner covered in bruises.

Word Count: 9.4k (jeepers, sorry!)

Content Warning: 18+, smut, slight exhibitionism, very brief violence

Your stranger is here.

He’s sitting in his favorite booth, fifth one down from the first row, directly next to the window.

He’s got his usual hoodie pulled over his head, obscuring any view of his face. His clothes are dark and seem to cover nearly every inch of his skin. His knuckles are wrapped in white gauze, but are stained with streaks of red.

And he’s looking down. Staring at the menu on the table as though he doesn’t order the exact same thing every time.

A cup of coffee – black – and a slice of pie.

He’s like clockwork. He comes in exactly five minutes after midnight, takes a seat in his booth, and orders his usual.

Then, he pays his bill, and he leaves.

You’ve grown used to him. Comfortable with the idea of his face and his voice and the strange, but unsettling presence he brings with him.

You find that it’s more unnerving when he’s not here than when he is. 

“Hi, Cherry.”

Your stranger’s voice cuts through the quiet diner and forces your attention from the mug of coffee you’re pouring. 

You glance up, finally able to see his face now that he’s lifted his head. His skin is littered with deep cuts and vicious scratches. There’s a bruise just by his eye that’s dissolving into an unsettling shade of purple and his bottom lip is split down the middle.

Even still, he’s smiling. A gentle upturn that looks almost painful given the cracked fibers and dried blood.

“Hi,” you reply softly, feeling your heart race beneath your chest as his eyes find yours. “Would you like your usual?”

Somehow, his grin gets a bit brighter. As though he’s touched by the question. “Of course,” he answers calmly, in a voice you imagine you’d recognize anywhere. It’s deep and sultry, but it crackles like lightning. Sensual in a way you can’t exactly explain. “What have you made tonight?”

“Chocolate,” you tell him, glancing back toward the counter where the pies are displayed. “With extra whipped cream.”

“Mm.” His hum is playful, and it matches the glint in his eye. “How much extra?”

“As much as you want.”

He laughs, and you swear fairies are born. “Then I will have a slice of your chocolate pie, with as much whipped cream as you’ll allow.”

You feel your cheeks warm as you nod and turn on your heel to grab his order. Setting the coffee pot down before grabbing a small plate.

Once it’s ready, you return, sliding it across the table beside his mug. “Is that all?”

“No,” he says simply, gesturing now toward the seat across from him.

And just like every other time, you feel your pulse jump. “I’m…I need to get back—”

“You don’t need to go anywhere,” he interrupts with a wry grin. “Please?”

Your lips roll into your mouth, and your heart lands in your throat. Your stranger has always been good at getting you to do what he’d like, and it seems tonight is no different. 

So, with a sigh, you glance back toward the kitchen. Checking to make sure you aren’t needed too direly before you slip off your apron and slide into the booth.

“There,” he hums, placing his arms on the table to learn forward. “S’much better, hm?”

And you can’t help but smile as you nod and glance toward your cuticles. Avoiding that vivid green that always seems to send your stomach into a frenzy. 

“How are you?” he asks next, and his voice is soft, as if attempting to draw your attention back.

Braving a glance, you lift your head, and meet his eye. “I’m all right. How are you?”

“Good. Better now.”

The flirtatious remark sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. But you don’t respond, instead reaching out your hand toward his. Allowing your fingers to dance along the gauze that’s wrapped around his knuckles. 

“It’s bad again,” you whisper, and you feel him study you. 

There’s a gentle pause. And then, “Not by much. It’s been worse.”

You suck in a quiet breath and hold it deep within your lungs. Turning his arm around in order to inspect the wounds painted near his wrist. “You promised.”

Even without seeing the full of his face, you catch his expression fall. 

“I know, Cherry,” he murmurs. “And I’m trying, I promise. S’just…not that easy.”

Your throat constricts, growing dry from the implication. “I know.”

It’s almost inaudible, but your stranger still hears it, and he sighs as he slips his fingers between yours. Pulling your focus back to him. 

“You know you don’t have to worry about me,” he says, squeezing your palm as if to cement the point. “M’gonna be okay.”

“Are you?”

He looks gutted. Ashamed of your disappointment. “It’s just something that I have to do.”

“Why?”

He considers this before shaking his head once. “I don’t know.”

It’s the same answer every time. You ask him who does this to him. Why he does this to himself. Where he goes, why he keeps going back.

But he never offers anything concrete. Just enough to keep you hoping.

He leans closer. Desperate to make you understand. “I’m gonna be all right, Cherry. I promised, didn’t I?”

“But this isn’t ‘all right,’” you argue quietly, once again studying his scars. “You hurt yourself. Or you let somebody else hurt you. And I don’t know why.”

He takes in a breath before setting it free. “I don’t know why, either. But it’s not forever. And I promised you I would be okay. So, I will be.”

You release him and pull yourself from his grasp. Creating a physical distance much like his emotional one. 

“I have to be,” he adds, and that charming smirk reappears. Popping a dimple from his cheek. “I’d miss your pies too much.”

Even if your insides have twisted, you can’t help but laugh. “I suppose they’d miss you, too.”

“Good, I would hope. Might be my second-favorite sweet thing here. Only after you.”

Again, his coy remark leaves you entranced. Hands gathering on your lap as you look out through the large window beside you. “You’re quite forward tonight.”

“M’forward every night. You just don’t notice.”

“Is that right?”

“It is. Can’t really help myself, Cherry.”

The familiar nickname feels like home. It was coined after the first night he’d come in. He’d sat in your section – this very booth – and made small talk while you served him. 

He asked for your recommendation, and you suggested one of the desserts. The pies were your specialty, and you made a new one every evening. He seemed charmed by this and ordered two slices.

That night was cherry. He ate every bite between sips of his coffee and compliments to you. Leaving nothing but crumbs once you came to collect his plate.

He told you he loved cherry pie. It was his absolute favorite. But he’d never had a pie as good as yours.

And from that night on, you became his Cherry.

He never asked for your real name, and you never offered. You supposed this was intentional. A way to protect you from whatever life he led outside the diner doors.

And in the few weeks he’s been coming back for yet another slice of your pie, you’ve learned only three things about him:

He always pays with big bills.

He drives a vintage, black ’69 Mustang.

And his name is Harry.

Anything past that you suppose isn’t yours to know. Yet despite that, you feel drawn to your stranger. Even if he only seems to exist after midnight.

“You weren’t supposed to be working tonight,” he says, calling your attention back. 

You glance away from the window just in time to see his frown. “Joshua asked me to cover a few of his shifts,” you explain. “I’ll be here through the weekend.”

“You covered him last week,” he reminds you, with just a touch of disapproval. “And a few weekends before that.”

Your stranger is right, but you merely lift a shoulder and let it fall. “I don’t mind. The extra money is nice, and the night shift is always quiet.”

“Not always,” he retorts, and you notice the pull of his eyebrows. “Not everybody is as kind as you, Cher. Not in this part of town. Or this late.”

You can’t help but smile at his need to shelter you. “I know. But Owen is here, and he makes sure to check on me from time to time.”

However, Harry’s expression seems to settle into something hard and unnerved. “And what if he gets distracted? What if he doesn’t see some loser trying to grab for you? Or talk to you? Or take advantage of you?”

His voice is rising, a gentle but obvious crescendo that turns the heads of the few patrons scattered about the diner. 

You reach for his hand once more, squeezing it hard to implore him to listen. “Then I will use my extensive training as a waitress and kick their ass.”

You can tell he doesn’t want to, but he smiles. Brushing his thumb along your wrist before looking down. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

“I know,” you whisper, dipping down in order to find his eye. “But I’m not the one who needs protecting.”

The air is charged with a sort of tension you can’t explain. He feels so close and yet so very far away. Your heart aches for your stranger, and for his scars that never heal.

“Hey,” calls a loud voice, ringing through the small diner until you and Harry both turn. You find a man sitting near the counter, wearing a camouflage baseball hat and flannel shirt. His beard is long and scruffy, and his expression is wildly annoyed. “Do you fucking work here or not? Been waiting on a refill for ten goddamn minutes.”

Feeling rather embarrassed of the way you’ve neglected the other customers and deserted your post, you quickly slide out of the booth and stand. Cheeks warm and heart racing. “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry, sir.”

You rush to check on the coffee pot near the counter, making sure that it’s hot and fresh before you approach. Then, you tip the spout into his mug, and refill his drink that’s already three-fourths of the way full.

You can see Harry watching you from his spot. A similarly irritated look behind his eye as he studies the man sitting before you.

Once the coffee has been refilled, you nod an apology, and begin to retreat.

“Not so fast,” the customer grumbles, clearing his throat as he straightens up. Forcing you to hesitate. “I want my check. And a slice of pie on the house. For my troubles.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, but you nod again. The Starlight Diner doesn’t exactly offer free pastries, and anything that a staff member has to comp comes out of the employee’s paycheck. 

Granted, one slice won’t set you back too far, but the shame will. The idea that you left a customer waiting while you chatted with a man you hardly know. It’s unprofessional and not at all how you’d like to be perceived in the workplace. As a mindless girl who merely doddles her day away. Fawning over handsome strangers and daydreaming about a life she can’t have.

“Absolutely,” you tell him, rushing to grab him a fresh piece just as Harry begins to stand from the booth. “Will that be all?”

“Don’t be stingy with the whipped cream,” he instructs. “In fact, I’d like to see you put it on in front of me. So I can make sure you aren’t trying to fuck me over.”

The blood drains from your face. You feel humiliated under the warm hue of lights strung up around the restaurant. Grabbing the can of whipped topping in a desperate attempt to please and end the interaction all together.

“Why don’t you watch your fucking tone,” Harry grits, approaching the man from his left.

But the customer merely scoffs, refusing to offer him even a disinterested glance. “Yeah, and why don’t you mind your own business?”

Suddenly, Harry’s hand smacks down onto the counter beside him, inches from his plate while the coffee inside his mug trembles.

You can’t help but jump, arm recoiling away from the pie while the entire diner grows quiet. Everybody’s attention has turned to your stranger. Watching him closely as he leans forward, and dips down to catch the man’s eye.

“Wasn’t a question,” he murmurs darkly. “You watch your fucking tone when you speak to her. Or I’ll watch it for you.”

And you can tell the older gentleman is a bit off-put by Harry’s distressing demeanor. Yet he remains rather calm, clearing his throat again before leaning back. “And what are you gonna do about it, cupcake?”

Harry’s head cocks to the side. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Harry,” you whisper, just loud enough to force his eyes to yours. “It’s okay. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, she’s fine, buttercup,” the customer snorts, spinning around to face you once more. “Now let’s go, princess. I don’t have all fucking night.”

His fingers snap together before he points toward the pie. Instructing you to continue applying the fluffy cream until you hesitantly continue.

The whipped desert sprays out of the can in a steady stream, piling higher and higher atop the pie until it begins to spill over onto the side.

Yet he doesn’t stop you. He simply nods and mutters for you to keep going. To fill the plate until he’s satisfied. 

And you know exactly why he’s doing it. Not to satiate a sweet tooth but to demean you. To force you under his cruel, sadistic stare until you fold like a house of cards.

Your stranger fumes from his place a few feet away. You can tell he’s desperate to intervene, but he obeys your look of frantic insistence. Remaining quiet while you oblige the customer’s request. 

Soon, the can runs out. The last few drops spewing from the nozzle until you’re left with nothing but air and an empty bottle.

With a hitch in your breath, you begin to withdraw your hand. He’ll have to drop this degradation act now, and you hope that he only demands the rest of his check before going about his night.

However, before you can fully retract your arm, a collection of grimy fingers dart out and curl around your wrist. Keeping you in place while the man’s eyes narrow and he hisses, “Did I say you could stop?”

But the moment his palm touches your skin, Harry is stepping forward, grabbing a fistful of his collar, and hoisting him from his seat. Then, he shoves him back against the tile wall just behind him, the connection so forceful, it knocks the gentleman’s hat askew.

The other customers, including yourself, gasp from the sudden act of violence. Watching as Harry steps up to him and sneers in his face with the vilest look of disdain you imagine you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t ever…” he seethes through deep, even breaths, “…put your fucking hands on her…again.”

And he’s terrifying. So utterly terrifying, with his busted knuckles, his cracked lip, and his bruised jaw. It’s clear he’s a threat, and the man he’s holding goes deathly pale as Harry keeps him trapped against the wall.

All he can do is nod his understanding, choosing to end the fight before it can begin while Harry – after a very long moment – finally lets him go and allows him to flee from the diner.

There’s a stillness in the café that makes your heart race. The few regulars that are left watching on with a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment. It’s not until Harry shoots them their own venomous glare that they quickly turn away and continue on with their meals.

You slump into the counter, letting the can drop to your side while the sound of a door flinging open echoes from somewhere behind you.

“The hell…is going on?” Owen calls, exiting the kitchen in order to get a better look around. He finds you first, raking his stare up and down your frame before looking to Harry. “What happened?”

“You fucking left her out here, alone,” Harry barks. “That’s what fucking happened.”

Owen’s eyebrows raise as he moves his attention to you. But you quickly side-step into Harry’s path, attempting to end another confrontation before it can begin.

“Just…a customer,” you finally answer softly, reaching for the plate in order to clear your regret away. “It’s fine. He left.”

Your boss nods once. “But he paid first, yes?”

Again, your heart sinks into your toes. Lashes fluttering when you realize his bill will be coming out of your paycheck. “He…um, no, he…he left before I could collect it—”

“Darling,” Owen sighs, and it’s heavy with disappointment, “what did we talk about?”

“I…I know. I’ll…I’ll pay for it—"

Harry’s palm suddenly smacks down onto the counter for a second time this evening. Yet now, there’s a wad of cash beneath his hand. From the looks of it, well over a hundred dollars.

“This will cover it,” he mumbles, turning his unforgiving stare to your boss. “And it’ll cover the rest of her shift, too. She’s done.”

With that, his fingers are wrapping around your upper arm before you can even wrap your head around his offering. Blinking wildly while Owen glances from the cash to you in an effort to piece together Harry’s instruction.

 But your stranger leaves you no room for questioning or bargaining. He’s pulling you out the diner door and into the dark parking lot before you can even bid your boss goodbye.

He strides between the cars before hooking a left around the building. Leading you toward the back alleyway where he normally keeps his car, the wet pavement squeaking beneath his sneakers.

 And during this fervent stalking, his fingers slide down from your upper arm and into your hand. Grasping it tightly as if to make sure he won’t lose you.

Perhaps a part of you would like to feel miffed or ashamed of what just took place, but you can’t seem to fault him for his reaction. He’s always been nothing but kind to you – even if he doesn’t always lend that kindness to others. Expressing his desire to protect you, even if he doesn’t know you.

You wonder if this need to defend is part of the reason why you’ve only ever seen him covered in scars and bruises. If he comes to the diner in the dead of night in order to watch over you. Like a guardian angel or vigilante. 

Right now, however, he disappears into the shadows, gently pulling you along with him until you see his car only a few feet away. He releases you at the same time that he releases a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark curls as his hood is pushed down. 

“Harry…” you begin quietly, tentative of startling him.

“I’m sorry,” he says before you can even finish. “M’sorry, I lost my temper. I know.”

You watch the way he turns away from you. Bracing himself against the hood of the Mustang while dropping his head in what you only assume is remorse.

And your heart aches for him. For the gentleman that lives beneath the outlaw. “Harry,” you whisper again, stepping closer in order run your fingers down his back. Feeling the way his muscles tense before melting beneath your touch. “I’m not mad, I promise.”

“I know you don’t like it when I interfere,” he mumbles, and it’s almost swept away by the cold, early morning air. “But he fucking touched you, and I—”

“I know,” you interrupt tenderly. “I know, and I’m not mad. I’m glad you did it. I’m glad you were here.”

He hesitates, face turning toward his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You allow your chest to meet his spine. “Always feel safer with you.”

He exhales deeply, releasing something heavy before he’s turning around, and reaching for your cheeks. The soft, stained gauze slides against your skin, and his touch is firm. Keeping you in his embrace while he gazes at you warmly. 

“Are you all right, Cherry?” he asks now, thumbs sweeping beneath your eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

Your head shakes. “No. Scared me a little, but I’m okay.”

It’s clear he doesn’t like this, that familiar frown reforming as he holds you a bit tighter. “He never should have spoken to you like that. Much less put his fucking hands on you—”

“I know, but it’s okay,” you interject again, hoping to ease his stress. “I’m okay because you were here.”

And this is the only thing that seems to calm him. That familiar smile of his the perfect remedy for such a strange night. You don’t want to tell him how often this happens. Especially during the later shift. But that’s what you get for working at a 24-hour diner, and you’re starting to think this is merely part of the job.

And truth be told…you think he already knows.

His forehead meets yours, and you can’t help but grin yourself. Grateful for the comfort he provides – stranger or not.

“Speaking of which…why are you here?” you ask gingerly. “I thought you didn’t come in on my days off?”

“I don’t. But…I saw your car.”

“Oh…how?”

His smirk transforms into something coy. “I was driving by.”

“Oh, really?” you tease. “On purpose?”

The smile slips now, a more reverent look in his eye as he nods. “I like to check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”

And maybe in any other universe, this would strike you as odd. Perhaps even unsettling or disconcerting. 

But even if you don’t know him, you know him. You know his intentions have only ever been pure, and even without having much more than his name, he has always made you feel safe. 

You choose to believe in him. In the goodness of your stranger and the care he provides. Inside and out.

“You do?” you murmur, allowing your hands to rest on his chest. “How often?”

A beat. Then, “…every night.”

The alley grows quiet. Scattered streetlamps reflect off the pools of water that are sprinkled across the cement, warming the dark night with their sepia-toned beams.

And you stand there, just you and him, while the weight of the world seems to rest on his shoulders.

But instead of chastising him or asking any further questions, you push yourself up onto your tiptoes…and kiss him.

It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, and you know, undoubtedly, that it won’t be your last. Your stranger has been stealing your kisses for weeks now.

And you suppose stealing isn’t exactly a fair comparison. After all, you’ve nearly pleaded with him to kiss you every time he’s come in. 

Not that there’s much need for begging when he’s so willing to offer them to you. Sneaking you away the moment your shift is through. Chasing you through the parking lot…pulling you into the backseat of his car.

It makes you giddy. You feel like a schoolgirl with a crush on the handsome senior. Slipping into the shadows where he waits. Letting him hold you, kiss you, touch you.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t know more than his name or what he does behind closed doors. You choose to share these special – albeit somewhat scandalous – moments with the mysterious gentleman in booth 505.

“My sweet girl,” he breathes against your lips. The wonderfully delicious nickname melting on your tongue. “Missed you.”

You want to remind him that it’s only been about two days, but you can’t. Because you missed him, too.

“And m’so sorry,” he says next, trailing his quick but fervent kisses down your neck. “So fucking sorry for being so bad. Never wanna scare you or make you anxious.”

A soft, delicate noise bleeds from your throat, and you cling to his much stronger frame as though you’re afraid you’ll simply disappear without him.

“Wanna make it up to you,” he whispers. “Will you let me, Cherry? Let me be good again?”

You nod, needing him to keep himself as close to you as he’ll allow. You want to settle him in your lungs, keep him snug inside in your chest. Against your heart.

And a large part of you just wants to keep him…always.

“Let me make it better,” he says, hands dropping to your hips in order to push you toward his car. Placing you against the door in order to trap you and deepen his kiss. “Let me be good, sweet girl. Be good for you.”

And he’s always good. Good to you, good for you. It doesn’t matter how he is with everybody else. 

“Please?” he asks again, leaning back just far enough to catch your eye. “Will you let me?”

He wants your explicit consent. Wants you to say the words before he continues, and you appreciate this stricter habit. 

“Yes,” you manage to answer, exhaling the word with the little strength you still possess. “Yes, please—”

He takes your hand before you can finish, guiding you over toward the backseat before swinging the door open and stepping aside.

“Lay down, baby,” he mumbles gently, pressing a kiss to the side of your head while guiding you in. “On your back, okay? Want you comfy.”

You do as instructed, dipping down into the vehicle before settling into the soft, leather seat. Flipping over until you can find a position you like. 

Harry is quick to follow, landing between your thighs before pulling the door shut. You both maneuver until he can hover his body above yours, keeping you beneath him as he runs a palm up the side of your leg.

His warm hand feels good against your bare skin, the dress you’re required to wear as part of your waitressing uniform bunching just at the top of your knees from the new position. But it’s like ecstasy, heating up your goose bumped skin from the nippy air outside. 

“How’s this, hm?” He squeezes your hip. “You all right, Cher?”

You rest your head against the door and nod, fingers already itching to reach for him again. “Yes, I’m okay.”

“Promise?”

“Mhm. Promise.”

The side of his mouth curls up, and it makes your stomach flutter. “Good girl. Gonna go slow, okay? Earn my forgiveness.”

He continues the lazy strokes to your thigh, falling all the way down to your ankle before going back up. It is slow, and it almost drives you mad. Because he knows what you want. And he knows just how badly you want it.

Things with Harry never go further than you. Something you’re almost tempted to find odd, but he’s a giver. That was made clear from the first time. He derives more pleasure out of your orgasms than he apparently does his own. He only ever wants to touch you, taste you, feel you. It’s never about him. 

You often wonder if there’s a deeper reason for this. If he’s denying himself release on purpose or if he’s merely terrified of getting close. And occasionally you wonder if he simply just doesn’t want to fuck you, but something tells you that’s not the case.

Maybe one day you’ll be brave enough to ask.

Tonight, however, it seems he’s still determined to put the attention on you. Long fingers gently scratching at your leg until you shiver. It makes him grin.

“Can I see you, baby?” he asks softly, letting his eyes trail beneath the hem of your dress. “See how pretty you are?”

Again, you can only whine pitifully as you motion your head up and down quickly. Wanting to succumb to his strong touch. Only feeling grounded if he’s there to hold you.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he breathes, using his scarred hands to push your outfit up a bit higher. Revealing your quivering stomach and the delicate pair of panties around your hips. 

They’re nothing special. In fact, you imagine they’re rather embarrassing. A simple, tan fabric that does absolutely nothing to make your pussy look more desirable. 

Perhaps it’s a little silly, but you like to look nice for him. On the nights you know he might be coming to see you (which has been every night you’ve worked since you met), you tend to pick prettier pairs. 

Some with lace, some with little bows. Sweeter colors, sexier colors. Anything that might make him smile.

But you hadn’t anticipated seeing him tonight, and now, you almost want to shy away. Lashes fluttering as you look up toward the roof of his car.

But he doesn’t seem to notice. Nor does he seem to care about the color around your waist, his eyes growing wide as his attention glues to the mesmeric sight before him. Pink, bruised lips parting with wonder while he moves closer. 

“Cherry,” he exhales, the feel of his breath sweeping against your bent knee, “missed you so much. Been forever, hm?”

You nod again, braving another glance just in time to see his hand lower. And then you feel him. Feel his thumb pressing gently into the front of your underwear, just above where your clit lies.

Your entire body seems to spark to life like the flicker of a flame. And you gasp, subtly bucking up into his touch in search of more. In search of him.

He smiles. “S’it feel good, honey?”

You let out a soft breath, chest nearly caving in as you whisper, “Harry…”

He looks up, eyes flicking to yours as that coy smirk grows. “What, baby? You okay?”

Of course you’re okay. He knows you’re okay, but you’ve noticed he likes to hear you say it. He likes to know he’s making it better for you. That he’s helping, that he’s doing good.

When you don’t answer, he returns to your pussy, fingers strumming up and down your covered cunt like he’s playing an instrument. Tuning your body to his needs. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks now, dipping down to nudge his nose beneath your jaw. Pressing a soft kiss to your throat. “Wanna touch you…be good for you, Cher. Was so bad…just wanna make it better.”

He’s attempting to atone for what he did in the diner. To apologize, offer his remorse.

And even if you know he has nothing to apologize for, you can’t find it in you to deny him. Reaching up to tangle your fingers in his curls as you tug him closer. Kissing him fiercely.

He’s hard on himself. You know he is. You don’t know why. You don’t know what the cause is. But you can see the repercussions. They’re painted all over his body, and he wears them proudly. 

He curses against your mouth, and you’re reminded then of his busted lip. Instantly pulling away while you mumble an apologetic, “I’m sorry. I forgot—”

“No,” he nearly groans, slipping his other hand around the back of your neck to keep you close. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind, I promise. I like it.”

His kisses become hard again. Anxious, desperate, and rushed. As though he needs you in order to survive. His nose knocking into yours from the way he readjusts himself. Wanting to take you deeper, really taste you. 

You’ve never been so happy in your life.

He only pulls away in order to slip your panties down your thighs, pushing them to your ankles until he can really see you.

His entire expression softens the moment his eyes find you. Filled with a certain kind of hope and indulgence as he gazes at you almost tenderly. Unable to resist reaching out and letting his finger brush down your folds. 

You make another noise, but he doesn’t notice this one. Too content to be touching you. Feeling you. Spreading you open just to watch you drip.

“So fucking good to me,” he murmurs. “You know that, sweet girl? So perfect for me. Exactly what I need and far more than I deserve.”

You aren’t sure what he means, but the implication makes you frown. Pulling on his hair a bit harder while he moves to your clit and begins to press down.

The pressure of his thumb against the more sensitive nerves leaves you breathless. Squirming beneath him from the rush of pleasure that only serves in making you needier. 

“Always so warm,” he muses quietly. Almost as if to himself. “So soft. So sweet. Can’t ever get enough of you.”

It makes your head spin the way he seems to adore you. The way he talks about your body as if he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to behold it. To feel it, to get to indulge in it. Worshiping you like you’re his religion.

He begins to rub your clit in slow, teasing circles. Kissing you once more in order to taste your whines and feed off your desperation. Wet noises fill the car. Not just from your pussy, but from his frantic kisses that echo between the foggy windows. 

It makes you shiver, loving the way he nips at your bottom lip just to leave you restless. The way he whispers your nickname before moving to your neck, pulling your skin between his teeth and smoothing over the mark with his tongue.

He goes faster. Chasing after your whimpers and the way you arch your body into his. Loving how excitable you get from only a few flicks of his thumb across your sensitive clit.

Then, he slows down. Exhaling a heavy breath as if bracing himself to edge you. Like it hurts him more than it hurts you.

And you mewl pitifully as you cling to his broader frame and tug him down into your arms. “Harry—”

“I know,” he coos, and it’s gentle the way he speaks. Sympathetic almost. “I know, sweet girl. But m’not done with you yet. Just wanna keep you a little longer. Is that okay?”

You bury your face in his neck and make another noise. Something akin to his name that gets lost in the way he curses.

“It’s okay,” he tries again, allowing you to use his body like a lifeline. “I’ve got you, baby. All right? M’right here, I’ve got you.”

He proves this by resuming his sweet torture. Circling the nerves a time or two more before moving down. Smoothing through your folds and lowering toward the pooling of arousal that waits for him. 

You hear him hum. “So precious. S’this all for me, then? Mine to play with? Mine to taste?”

You whine, “Yes, yes, yes,” as quickly as your mouth will permit, and he chuckles. 

The tip of his finger dips inside, presumably to collect everything you have to offer him before he’s lifting it toward his lips.

And you settle back against the door to watch. Enchanted by the way he places you on his tongue and sucks. His lashes fluttering and cheeks flushing from the taste.

You don’t imagine you’ll ever get used to watching him do that. After all, you’ve never been particularly…unbothered by the idea of somebody tasting you. Not even with past partners. You get too caught up in your own head. Worried about the taste, the feel, the smell.

Truth be told, most of the men you’ve been with before were never interested in you. They wanted what you could give them. And then they wanted out.

By all accounts, Harry is nothing like anyone else you’ve ever known. Not just because of the mystery that follows his persona, but because of his endless attention to you. To what you need, what makes you feel good. 

He devotes every second to making you feel like you’re God’s gift to Earth. A gift to him. Praising you for simply existing. Indulging in your taste as though you're the sweetest dessert he’s ever had.

Like now, while a deep moan reverberates from the depths of his chest. Filling the car and your ears like music, making your thighs clench around his hips.  

“S’why I call you my sweet girl, you know that?” he murmurs, sucking on his fingers until you’re sure there’s nothing left. And even then some. “So fucking sweet for me. Can’t ever get enough. Gonna get me addicted, baby. Might already have.”

The moment he takes his hand back out, you’re lifting up, and pressing your mouth to his. And you don’t even care if you can taste yourself on his tongue because all you really taste is him.

But the mixture of him, and you, and the slight tang of blood from the busted fibers of his lip is euphoric. Strange but lovely in a way you hadn’t anticipated. 

He seems to understand this despondency, growing a bit more frantic in his need to please. No longer focused on edging as he drops his fingers back to your cunt while his other hand moves for the buttons on your chest.

He pops them free one by one until your equally plain bra is revealed to him. But again, he doesn’t take notice of such things. Instead swallowing thickly at the sight of your breasts that swell behind the cups.

He kisses you again. And again, and again. Then he moves to your cheek and down your neck. Trailing his tongue toward your collarbone and along your sternum. 

You feel restless. Waiting for something – for him. You already know how magical his touch is. You already know the kind of pleasure he provides, and it nearly drives you mad to simply sit in anticipation. Stuck on his time.

Eventually he reaches your chest, lips moving for the curve of your tit before he’s making another noise and sucking into the tender flesh. Nipping at it, pulling it between hungry teeth. Smoothing over the marks with the warmth of his mouth while you reel.

Your hands disappear back into his hair. Stroking the curls almost fondly, nails lightly scratching at his scalp.

He’s always seemed to enjoy this. Instructing that you pull on him as hard as you’d like. That you tug and scratch. That you use him to inflict your pain and your pleasure. That you think of him first and foremost.   

Now is no different. He nuzzles himself further into your breasts while simultaneously sighing with contentment at the way your hand feels against his head. The way you keep him close to your heart. 

You’d keep him forever if you could.

You hardly even notice the way his finger has slipped inside. The way it strokes your delicate walls that flutter from the intrusion, tensing before relaxing in order to allow him in.

“There,” he whispers, pleased with the way your body obeys him. “S’okay. Gonna make it better. I promise.”

And you know he will.

“So tight today, baby,” he says, leaving another kiss to the swell of your chest. Open-mouthed and messy. “Has it been that long?”

You don’t know. You can’t remember the last time he touched you, although you’re almost sure it hasn’t been more than a week. The two of you have become rather insatiable for each other. Chasing after a kind of release you only seem to find within the hands of the other.

Those beautiful green eyes flitter up to yours, studying you closely. Benevolently. “Have you not been taking care of yourself, sweet girl?”

You take a moment to consider what he means before you feel your cheeks warm. Offering him nothing more than a quick shake of your head.

He frowns, brows pulling together. “Why not, hm? Thought you promised you’d try for me. Help make things better when I’m not around.”

You shrug, growing a touch embarrassed. “I know, but…it’s not the same. Don’t like it.”

“Is that right?”

Another shake. “Get bored.”

“Bored,’ he repeats, and there’s a certain glint in his eye. But instead of disappointed, he seems empathetic. “Cause it’s not the same, yeah? Your fingers too small?”

Now you nod, making a noise of agreement. 

He nods along with you, beginning to smirk. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Bet it’s just so frustrating, isn’t it? Trying to find all your sweet, little spots, but just not quite being able to reach?”

You cling to him as he stretches you a bit further. Doing everything you can’t do for yourself. Effortlessly curling his finger into that one spot until you begin to shake.

“Just like that, hm?” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to your collarbone. “S’that what you can’t find, baby? S’that what’s so achy?”

And it is. It’s so infuriatingly sore that it almost makes you cry. Wishing you could chase after that feeling until your heart gives out. 

“I bet.” More kisses to your chest. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna fix it, okay? Make it all better again.”

“Please?” you whimper, nails scratching down his broad back. Attempting to pull him closer. 

“Mhm.” He leans forward and brings his lips to yours now. His kiss quick but full of promise. “Always gonna take care of you.”

He begins to thrust the longer digit in and out. Slow enough to work you up but fast enough to leave you wanting more. Coaxing the muscles open before bringing a second finger into play.

The sounds of your wetness being pushed and pulled by his hand are sinful. Sending a chill down your spine and directly into your cunt.

You moan when you feel them, writhing a bit beneath his body until he has to press his leg into yours to keep you still.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he mumbles. Leaving another kiss below your jaw. “Know you can take it, baby. You always do. Don’t you?”

And even if that’s true, you aren’t opposed to the slight sting. Instead invigorated by it and the way he uses great care with you. Wanting to make sure you’re all right so he can please you the way he wants.

Yet somehow, it’s still not enough. Even with the way he curls, and pumps, and thrusts those beautiful digits into your pussy, you feel empty. Barely scratching the surface of that itch as he presses his chest to yours to calm you.

Your noises are becoming more pathetic. Your entire being heaving with the weight of promised pleasure in a way you can’t seem to understand.

His thumb presses into your clit every few minutes, attempting to guide you closer to your release, and it works. The combination making your stomach coil until you nearly see stars. Every cell in your body tightening.

“You close, Cherry?” His free hand moves for your face. Palm pressing into your jaw as the bandage on his knuckles sweeps across your cheek. “Hm? You gonna cum for me?”

And you are. You are, you are. You can almost taste it. Can feel it bubbling up from between your thighs, ready to unravel like the seams on your favorite sweater. 

“Yes,” you gasp, arching from the leather seat. “Yes, please…please don’t stop. Please—”

“Won’t stop,” he promises in a soothing tone, lips ghosting atop yours. “Never stop, I promise. M’gonna be right here until you do, okay? Go ahead. I’ve got you.”

And this is all you need. It happens suddenly and yet far too slowly. Pulling you apart from the inside out. 

You moan so loud, your chest shakes. Eyes rolling back and nails scratching down his spine as it hits you. 

Instantly, he moves his hand from your jaw to your lips. Palm pressing hard against your mouth in order to silence you as he whispers, “Shh, baby. Gotta be quiet for me, okay? It’s okay, you’re all right. Just let go—"

And you do. Allow your body to deplete itself of all energy as he works you through every goddamn second. Dragging it out as far as it’ll go. Increasing the speed of his flicks and thrusts. Pumping your orgasm out of you until it sits in his waiting hand.

“Good,” he breathes before finally removing his hand in order to kiss you quickly. Fingers squeezing the back of your neck as he brings you closer. “So fucking good, there you go. S’okay. Keep going, come on.”

And it’s so good, so wonderful. You feel like you’re floating, high up into the clouds. You decide then that he must be an angel, carrying you in his wings and setting you on a sunset.

But you’re still squirming, seemingly discontented, and he notices far too easily. “You okay, Cher?”

“More,” you whisper faintly. “More…please…”

“More,” he echoes. “My sweet girl wants more. More what, hm? What do you need?”

“More,” is all you say. Once again wiggling your hips down as if to sink his fingers in further. “More, Harry, please.”

“Oh. You want another one. Is that it?”

You nod silently, too strung-out to think in coherent sentences.

He chuckles again, kissing your other cheek before pinching your chin. “All right. Give you as many as you want, baby.”

Feeling incredibly grateful, you allow your trembling limbs to fall slack. Once again settling beneath him as he works to get you to your second.

But even as he resumes the languid but practiced thrusts of his fingers, you feel unsatiated. Eager for something else, but you aren’t sure what.

He realizes before you do. “S’not enough, is it?” he coos. “Need something bigger, don’t you?” 

That’s what it is, and you nod eagerly as your nails scratch down the sleeves of his hoodie. 

“Think you can take something bigger? Think you can take another finger, baby?”

Another nod. Faster, more fervent. Eyes pleading with him to give you anything he has to offer.

He obliges this, glancing down before lining his fingers up, and slowly slipping all three inside.

This stretch is a bit more prominent. He’s deliberately gentle, never giving you more than he assumes you can handle. 

And he watches you closely. Searching for any grimaces or winces of discomfort. 

When he finds none, he seems relieved, kissing up from your chest to your throat once more. “Good girl. There you go.”

You begin to writhe a little more ardently until he has to bring his other hand to your knee in order to press it down into the seat. Keeping you spread and still until you settle.

“Easy,” he coos gently, placing some of his weight onto your thigh. “Gonna have to be good, baby, and relax for me. Let me make you feel good, okay?”

You want to obey. You do, really. But the overstimulation and sensitivity from your first orgasm is almost too much. Making you choke on the heated air until you can hardly breathe.

“Like it when I take care of you, don’t you?” he asks you now. Licking a stripe along your jaw. “Like it when I steal you away from them?”

He’s right, you do. Perhaps you shouldn’t, but there’s something about the way he makes you feel as though you deserve more than this. As though you’re meant for more than the diner. He makes you feel invincible.

“Maybe one day I’ll take you away,” he decides. “Fucking take you from them and make you mine. Forever. For always.”

And you decide you like the sound of that.

Another moment of his strenuous torture passes before he leans back to watch. And you notice something in his face. Utter fascination and lust over the way your body bends to his will. Over the way it stretches around his fingers, the way he pulls it open.

He releases a deep, coarse groan through clenched teeth. Fixated on the way his fingers disappear into your pussy. “Taking me so well, baby. Know you’d take my cock, too, wouldn’t you?”

You whimper miserably, undone by the thought. You can’t deny that you’ve wondered what he’d feel like. All of him, stretching you open. Fucking into you while leaving you a panting mess.

You often imagine what he’s like in bed. In an actual bed and not in the backseat of his car or yours. What he might be like when he’s truly lost himself to the pleasure. Guiding his hips to yours, bending you into a hundred and one positions meant just for his indulgence. 

You wonder if he’d be just as careful as he is now. Just as devoted to you. If he’d be hard and fast or soft and slow. If he has dirty kinks, secret fantasies. If he likes the lights on or off. If he likes the bed or if he likes it up against the wall. 

You hope one day you get to find out. 

“Think you would, yeah?” he continues, sliding his digits all the way to the knuckle. The fibers of the gauze brushing against your clit. “Know you would. Be so good for me. This sweet little pussy would treat me so well, wouldn’t it?”

You nod quickly, pouting at him anxiously.

“I know,” he tuts, finally leaning back over to kiss you again. “Know you’d be such a good girl for me. Let me work you open until you could fit me…let me stretch you just right.”

You reach out for his wrist in search of something to squeeze, and it makes him chuckle. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip until you moan.

“Might take a while,” he muses. “Might take hours. Days. I’ll have to just keep you in my bed until you can fit me, hm?”

He attempts to pull away, but you chase after him. Looping an arm around his neck in order to yank him back to you. 

His smirk feels good against your lips. “M’not going anywhere, sweet girl. Just like to watch you. Bet it’d be fun to watch you take my cock, wouldn’t it? Watch it sink right into this tight little hole.”

He’s evil. Absolutely sadistic and it makes you groan against his tongue until he has to soothe you.

“I know, baby. One day,” he breathes. “I promise. M’gonna take you away and do it right. Make it worth it.”

The thrusting of his fingers becomes more poignant. Enough to drive a plethora of desperate moans from your chest as he nuzzles his nose below your jaw and simply breathes.

“Gonna worship you. Give you everything you deserve.” He sucks in a quiet inhale before dancing his lips along your throat. “Have you sit on my face until I can’t breathe.”

The image has your eyes rolling back. Even if you aren’t sure you’d ever feel comfortable doing so, you’re enamored by the idea. Of the thought of him holding onto your thighs, pressing you down to his mouth. Completely controlling you. 

“Can never breathe when I’m with you, anyway,” he whispers, and you almost don’t catch it. You wonder if you were meant to. “M’gonna do it right, sweet girl. I promise.”

And this is the vow that pulls you through to the other side. Large digits curling up into that one spot that makes your legs shake and you’re falling apart for the second time.

But he still doesn’t stop. Stroking, pressing, pumping even after the tears have begun to slip from your eye. 

“Keep going, there you go. Does it feel good? Feel so good, cumming all over my hand?”

And it does, but you can’t exactly answer. Can’t seem to do anything but cry out as you ride the wave and his fingers as though your life depends on it.

“Doing so good,” he murmurs gently, raising up to kiss you once more. Swallowing your pitiful mewling. “So fucking good, baby. M’so proud of you. Took me so well. So beautiful when you cum, Cherry, you know that? Could watch you forever.”

The sentiment makes your entire body grow warm. You’ve always wondered what you might look like when you orgasm, and truth be told, you imagine it’s not very pretty.

But to hear him say it now – so earnestly – makes your stomach wrench. Nails curling into the seat below as you lift off the leather and knock your chest into his.

He holds you as tight as he can before slowly pulling his fingers out. Relieving you from the overstimulation before putting you back in his mouth. Sucking until a string of saliva drips down his into the gauze on his knuckles. Painting it a much prettier picture than the red has.

After swelling every drop of you with a lewd groan, he finally pulls his hand out, and takes you into his arms. Kissing you through the remnants of the blissful rush.

“So good,” he says again, face burying back into your neck while stroking your thigh with his soaked fingers. “Always make me so proud.”

Your limbs tangle with his as you both slouch into the backseat. Allowing your heart beats to synchronize into one, steady rhythm. 

And once they have, you begin to grin. “Harry?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

He exhales a soft laugh before leaning back onto his knees to get a good look at you. “What for, sweet girl?”

“Just for…this, I suppose,” you mumble shyly. “For all of it. Tonight. Standing up for me and…you know, this part.”

His chuckle becomes a bit more smug. “Are you thanking me for making you cum?”

“I’m…trying. I think.”

“Hm.” His grin is playful and so damn charming as he dips back down to hover his lips near yours. “Don’t have to thank me, Cherry. Believe me. It’s my pleasure.”

His teasing remark makes you giggle, and you kiss him hard before he has the chance to leave you again.

You kiss for a while. A long while. Until you can hardly breathe, your muscles beginning to ache and your eyelids beginning to grow heavy from the lack of sleep in this early morning hour. 

It’s not until you actually yawn that Harry finally remembers to pull himself away and reach for the panties around your ankles. “Shit, it’s late, isn’t it? Know I’ve kept you longer than I should have.”

With a quick shake of your head, you push up onto your elbows. “No. I’m fine, I promise. Just…cumming makes me sleepy, I guess. And you’re so warm. It’s nice.”

This makes him smile again, and that dimple of his makes your heart ache. “You know I’d keep you in this car until the sun came up if I could.”

“I know.” Your fingers outstretch for his hoodie, tangling into the material on his stomach while he guides your underwear back up around your hips. “Maybe one day, yeah?”

His expression softens, and you almost swear you see a flash of sadness behind that sage green. “Yeah. Maybe.”

It’s quiet as you rebutton your dress and pull the hem back down. And even quieter as Harry opens the door and slips out of the car, extending his hand toward you in order to help you out as well.

But once you’ve straightened up and turned to face him, you see that something has changed. A look of longing that hadn’t been there before etched between those scarred features.

His thumb brushes just beneath your eye and then down to your lips. Tracing the lines and dips before he sighs and cradles your cheek in his palm. “Are you gonna be all right?”

You place your hand over his and squeeze. “Are you?”

Another deep breath. Heavier and more forlorn. “You know I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

His forehead meets yours, and you both still. “I promise.”

And you choose to believe him.

You say goodbye, and regretfully let him go. Shaky legs carrying you back to your car as his eyes follow you all the way. Making sure you get there safely before you take off down the road and leave him behind.

A few nights later, you’re back for your next shift. And truth be told, you’re almost excited. Because having to go so long without him feels like a form of punishment. Like your days aren’t nearly as bright without him. And neither are your nights.

You can’t help but count the seconds as you go about your evening. Unable to distract yourself with the pastries no matter how hard you try. Thoughts drifting back to those chocolate curls and that devilish smile.

When midnight strikes, you feel relieved. Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you grab your notepad and slip out of the kitchen. Ready to greet him in his favorite booth.

But the moment you slip past the door, you find that the diner is empty. Not a single customer to greet you as you scan the floor in search of that familiar face. Even a glimpse of his shoes or the sound of his voice.

But the booth is empty, the diner is quiet, and it’s 12:06. 

Your stranger isn’t here.

I know not too much has happened yet but we are building up to tons more smut and plot and angst and fluff, I swear!! 😭💞

Next Part:

~ Whiplash*

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @lovebittenbyevans @caynonmoondreams @amberbambridge

[handweavers]

something that comes up for me over and over is a deep frustration with academics who write about and study craft but have little hands-on experience with working with that craft, because it leads to them making mistakes in their analysis and even labelling of objects and techniques incorrectly. i see this from something as simple as textiles on display in museums being labelled with techniques that are very obviously wrong (claiming something is knit when it's clearly crochet, woven when that technique could only be done as embroidery applied to cloth off-loom) to articles and books written about the history of various aspects of textiles making considerable errors when trying to describe basic aspects of textile craft-knowledge (ex. a book i read recently that tried to say that dyeing cotton is far easier than dyeing wool because cotton takes colour more easily than wool, and used that as part of an argument as to why cotton became so prominent in the industrial revolution, which is so blatantly incorrect to any dyer that it seriously harms the argument being made even if the overall point is ultimately correct)

the thing is that craft is a language, an embodied knowledge that crosses the boundaries of spoken communication into a physical understanding. craft has theory, but it is not theoretical: there is a necessary physicality to our work, to our knowledge, that cannot be substituted. two artisans who share a craft share a language, even if that language is not verbal. when you understand how a material functions and behaves without deliberate thought, when the material knowledge becomes instinct, when your hands know these things just as well if not better than your conscious mind does, new avenues of communication are opened. an embodied knowledge of a craft is its own language that is able to be communicated across time, and one easily misunderstood by those without that fluency. an academic whose knowledge is entirely theoretical may look at a piece of metalwork from the 3rd century and struggle to understand the function or intent of it, but if you were to show the same piece to a living blacksmith they would likely be able to tell you with startling accuracy what their ancient colleague was trying to do.

a more elaborate example: when i was in residence at a dye studio on bali, the dyer who mentored me showed me a bowl of shimmering grey mud, and explained in bahasa that they harvest the mud several feet under the roots of certain species of mangroves. once the mud is cleaned and strained, it's mixed with bran water and left to ferment for weeks to months.  he noted that the mud cannot be used until the fermentation process has left a glittering sheen to its surface. when layered over a fermented dye containing the flowers from a tree, the cloth turns grey, and repeated dippings in the flower-liquid and mud vats deepen this colour until it's a warm black. 

he didn't explain why this works, and he did not have to. his methods are different from mine, but the same chemical processes are occurring. tannins always turn grey when they interact with iron and they don't react to other additives the same way, so tannins (polyphenols) and iron must be fundamental parts of this process. many types of earthen clay contain a type of bacteria that creates biogenic iron as a byproduct, and mixing bran water with this mud would give the bacteria sugars to feast upon, multiplying, and producing more of this biogenic iron. when the iron content is high enough that the mud shimmers, applying this fermented mixture to cloth soaked in tannins would cause the iron to react with the tannin and finally, miraculously: a deep, living grey-black cloth.

in my dye studio i have dissolved iron sulphide ii in boiling water and submerged cloth soaked in tannin extract in this iron water, and watched it emerge, chemically altered, now deep and living grey-black just like the cloth my mentor on bali dyed. when i watched him dip cloth in this brown bath of fermented flower-water, and then into the shimmering mud and witness the cloth emerge this same shade of grey, i understand exactly what he was doing and why. embodied craft knowledge is its own language, and if you're going to dedicate your life to writing about a craft it would be of great benefit to actually "speak" that language, or you're likely to make serious errors.

the arrogance is not that different from a historian or anthropologist who tries to study a culture or people without understanding their written or spoken tongue, and then makes mistakes in their analysis because they are fundamentally disconnected from the way the people they are talking about communicate. the voyeuristic academic desire to observe and analyse the world at a distance, without participating in it. how often academics will write about social movements, political theory and philosophy and never actually get involved in any of these movements while they're happening. my issue with the way they interact with craft is less serious than the others i mentioned, but one that constantly bothers me when coming into contact with the divide between "those who make a living writing about a subject" and "those who make a living doing that subject"

[uzurakis]

what about sfw or nsfw if you wanna take it that way of the jjk boys with clingy reader. they secretly love how much she loves/adores them.

BEING CLINGY WITH THEM?

featuring: fushiguro megumi. itadori yuuji. geto suguru. nanami kento.

n. hi lovely, thank you for requesting! i decided to go with sfw and kept it simple n easy to read. enjoy :D

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. you've noticed that he's not accustomed to physical touches. every time you go in for a hug, he tenses up, his body stiffening momentarily before he relaxes into the embrace. but you can feel the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his breath catches for a split second before he surrenders to the warmth of your touch.

you know in your heart that megumi likes it even though he doesn't express it. even though his restrained demeanor often gives the impression that he is far away, the way he leans in closer to you during your embraces says plenty. and you'll know that your affection is felt when you see him glance at you and blush softly after one of your embraces.

you feel the familiar tension in his body as you pull megumi into a gentle hug. "hey, 'gumi," you say softly, "i'm here for you." he stiffens for a moment before relaxing slightly into your embrace. "i know," he replies quietly. you can feel the steady beat of his heart on yours as you hold him close, and you know that one hug at a time, your love is slowly but surely dissolving the barriers he's put up around himself.

ITADORI YUUJI. your boyfriend thrives on physical closeness, and you love how he eagerly wraps his arms around you at every opportunity. whether you're cuddled up on the couch watching movies or simply walking down the street, itadori's hand is always intertwined with yours. his touch is comforting and reassuring, and you find yourself craving it constantly.

what's even better is that itadori adores your clinginess just as much as you love his. he lights up whenever you initiate physical contact, whether it's stealing kisses or wrapping your arms around him from behind. both of you articulate the language of love in your relationship with ease; physical affection is the language. every embrace, every caress, every moment spent curled up in each other's arms deepens your relationship.

as you cuddle up to itadori on the couch, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. "i love it when you're this close to me," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your crown. you smile up at him, feeling content in his embrace. "i just can't help it. being close to you feels so right," you confess. itadori chuckles softly, his steady breath warm against your body. "well, i'm not complaining. i could stay like this forever."

GETO SUGURU. there's an unspoken understanding that he's open to anything, especially your clinginess. he adores it so much that it's become a cherished part of your dynamic. you love how he welcomes your affection with open arms, never hesitating to pull you close or return your tight embraces. there's a comfort in his touch that you can't quite explain, a sense of belonging that washes over you whenever you're in his arms.

and geto? he revels in your clinginess, finding joy in every moment spent wrapped up with you. he loves the way you fit perfectly against him, as if you were made to be intertwined with each other.

he's busy making supper when you put your arms around him from behind, and he falls back into your embrace with a satisfied smile on his lips. "you know, i could get used to this," he says in a warm, gentle voice. savoring the closeness of the moment, you plant a kiss on the nape of his neck. you whisper, "me too," your heart fluttering with romance.

NANAMI KENTO. his reserved nature is evident in everything he does. he's composed, controlled, and rarely shows his emotions openly. however, there's one thing that always catches him off guard—your touch. each time you give him a hug or plant a peck on his cheek, nanami's stoic facade crumbles just a little. his breath catches, and for a fleeting moment, you see a hint of predisposition in his eyes.

it's in those moments that you feel closest to him, when his defenses are down, and he lets you in just a little bit more. and despite his reserved nature, nanami never fails to reciprocate your affection, albeit in his own subtle way.

you extend your hand to embrace nanami, and he tenses up a little at being touched by you. "i wasn't expecting that," he admits, with a trace of shock in his voice. you squeeze him tenderly and say, "i just wanted to show you how much i care." with a softening face, nanami eases into your embrace and wraps his arms around you in response, "thank you, i appreciate it."

@uzurakis

[hoe4hotchner]

helloo can you write a hotch x reader where the reader is very clumsy and bruise easily and always show up to work in bruises which cause them to worry and especially hotch and she have to reassure him that it’s just her that bumps and trip into things and stuff

Discoloration | [A.H]

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘈𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘎𝘯!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘊𝘞: 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘞𝘊: 0.6𝘬

           You were no stranger to clumsiness. Bumping into things, tripping over nothing, catching your arm on the edge of desks or walls - it was just part of your daily routine at this point. Unfortunately, that also meant your skin was often painted with bruises in varying shades of purple, blue, and yellow dotting your arms and legs like some kind of accidental artwork.

           Arriving at work with another fresh set of marks wasn’t uncommon for you. But as the days went on, you noticed more and more concerned glances from your team. You brushed it off, figuring they'd catch on soon enough. Everyone at the BAU had sharp eyes, after all, and it wasn’t long before the questions started.

           It was Hotch, of course, who took the lead. One afternoon, after you’d bumped your shin on a filing cabinet, you saw him watching you, his brows furrowed in a way that showed more than just curiosity. It was worry.

           “Agent, can we talk?” Hotch asked, gesturing to his office with a slight nod. You knew that tone - it was serious, a mixture of concern and authority that he wielded effortlessly.

           You followed him upstairs, your mind already piecing together what this was about. Once inside, he closed the door and turned to you, his dark eyes scanning you like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

           “Are you okay?” he asked, voice soft but direct. "I’ve noticed… the bruises. And I’m not the only one." He gestured to the rest of the team sitting down in the bullpen

           Your heart sank a little, realizing how it must look from his perspective. You smiled nervously, shaking your head. "Oh, no, Hotch, it's not what you're thinking. I’m just really clumsy. I bump into things all the time - honestly, I’m kind of a walking disaster."

           His frown deepened, and he took a step closer. “I’ve seen how often you come in with new bruises. If something else is going on, you can tell me.”

           You could feel the tension between his concern and your own awkwardness at having to explain your constant lack of grace. “Really, it’s just me,” you insisted, your voice steady but gentle. “I trip over my own feet, walk into doors, catch my arms on things. I’ve been like this forever. My skin just bruises really easily.”

           Hotch still didn’t look convinced. He studied you for a moment longer, then let out a small sigh, running a hand over his face. “You’re sure?”

           “I’m sure,” you said, offering him a reassuring smile. “I promise, Hotch, if something was wrong, you’d be the first person I’d tell.”

           He nodded, though the tension hadn’t entirely left his features. He trusted you, but his protective nature wouldn’t let go of the worry that easily. “I just don’t want to see you hurt,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

           You softened at his words. “I appreciate it, Aaron. Really. But I’m okay. Just a little clumsy.”

           Finally, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe we’ll have to wrap you in bubble wrap.”

           You laughed, the tension in the room dissolving at last. “Might not be a bad idea,” you teased. Glad to see him joke around for once.

           He reached out, placing a gentle hand on your arm, his thumb brushing against a bruise there. His touch was careful as if he was trying to protect you from further harm. “Just… be careful, okay?”

           “I will. And thank you for worrying.”

           With one last glance, he nodded, his features relaxing a little more. You left his office, feeling lighter than when you’d walked in. It was nice to know he cared so deeply, even if it was over your clumsiness.

           But next time, maybe you’d make a conscious effort to avoid the corners of furniture.

[grunckle]

On stars, guardians, and Rain World’s cosmology.

One aspect of Rain World lore that’s asked about quite a lot but normally never gets satisfying answers is the topic or Rain World’s space/universe/cosmology. Despite first impressions though, there’s a lot more it than meets the eye, so I thought I would compile most everything we know about it.

For one, to get it out of the way, Rain World isn’t on a planet, and its universe is fundamentally different from our own. This is something Joar has talked about on occasion.

He also said on an earlier dev log how Rain World functions more like a fantasy world where it doesn’t hold much relevance than a real sci-fi like planet.

“Oh, another thing - Rain World isn't a planet lol Cheesy Or I guess it might probably be on a planet, just as Lord of The Rings, Sex And The City, Zelda and Frankenstein's Monster are probably technically on a planet, but just as in those examples the planet aspect isn't really relevant at all. Rain World is more of a fantasy world or a dream world, not somewhere you can go in a space ship ~”

But even if it’s not incredibly relevant, it’s clear a lot of thought was put into Rain Worlds fictional cosmology, this was even mentioned by James.

So, that being said here's what we know about Rain World's cosmology in game.

The biggest indicator of Rain World's unique cosmology is that the Farm Arrays deep pink pearl just mentions celestial spheres, which are aspects of older cosmological models.

"This one is just plain text. I will read it to you. "On regards of the (by spiritual splendor eternally graced) people of the Congregation of Never Dwindling Righteousness, we Wish to congratulate (o so thankfully) this Facility on its Loyal and Relished services, and to Offer our Hopes and Aspirations that the Fruitful and Mutually Satisfactory Cooperation may continue, for as long as the Stars stay fixed on their Celestial Spheres and/or the Cooperation continues to be Fruitful and Mutually Satisfactory." ...May Not as long as the Stars stay fixed on their Celestial Spheres Grey Hand, Impure Blood, Inheritable Corruption, Parasites, or malfunction settle in Your establishment."

More subtly, there's also a mention of the ground colliding with the sky.

"If you leave a stone on the ground, and come back some time later, it's covered in dust. This happens everywhere, and over several lifetimes of creatures such as you, the ground slowly builds upwards. So why doesn't the ground collide with the sky? Because far down, under the very very old layers of the earth, the rock is being dissolved or removed. The entity which does this is known as the Void Sea."

You could chalk this line up to flowery language, but considering the presentation of the rest of the dialogue, it sounds more like an actual aspect of this world.

We know from the Chimney Canopy echo that the sun rises.

"From within my vessel of flesh, I would perch upon this spot to observe the rising of the sun."

And from the top of The Wall we can see the moon and stars (confirmed to be stars by Joar in the previous screenshot, instead of satellites or something else) , which are green!

So, what does this all mean? I think we can entail a few things with what they've given us.

For one, the mention of the ground colliding with the sky implies some sort of firmament, which isn't an unusual concept in the general realm of celestial spheres.

But on the topic of celestial spheres, the pearl actually isn't the only place we see the concept. Guardian halos are very similar to depictions of celestial spheres, and also astrological clocks.

You can make of this as you will, perhaps the astrological references being tied to guardians could hint at the nature of karma, but there isn't much to really delve into that idea.

For what it's worth, celestial spheres are also core concepts in Gnosticism, which Rain World is heavily inspired by. I explain it more in this post about Void Worms, but for a quick synopsis in Gnosticism there are seven planetary spheres, and an eighth above them; the planets and stars are fixed to their spheres. These things just further cement the fact that celestial spheres seem to be a key aspect of Rain World's cosmology, and it would also likely imply it's universe follows a geocentric model.

For a bit of a more out-there theory, people have pointed out how the view atop the wall stretches really far, going far beyond what we could see on a spherical planet like Earth, which has led some to theorize that the world is also flat.

But what is probably the most important aspect of Rain World's cosmology is the nature of dust. Dust builds up, and the bedrock of the world is eaten away at by the Void Sea. Civilizations rise and fall into the sea as new ones are built above it. Many, including myself, believe that the world exists in a sort of state of equilibrium. The world is dissolved from the bottom, then that falls back on the world as dust; even in the final moments of the game we see dust suspended in the void sea depths.

And hey, even void worms are described as being star-like.

"Oh, interesting. This is a diary entry of a pre-Iterator era laborer during the construction of the subterranean transit system south of here. In it they describe restless nights filled with disturbing dreams, where millions glowing stars move menacingly in the distance."

Cyclical, recursive, something else entirely? We can never really pin down the true nature of Rain World's cosmology, but the things we do get hint at something strange and unique. It's such an interesting aspect of the lore, and it seems like Videocult will continue to make mysterious cosmologies in their future projects...

[skalfy]

Misunderstandings pt 2 (aka understandings)

alexia putellas x reader, ~4.9k words, part 2/2

The very long-awaited (by me and maybe no one else) second part to this one!

Ingrid had been shocked, then eventually amused when you finally managed to explain Alexia’s presence in your apartment. You couldn’t help but to share her amusement at the situation, albeit tempered with the frustration at how avoidable the whole situation was. It seemed especially ironic that the crueler Alexia had gotten in defense of her friend, the more it had driven you to rely on Ingrid. Jenni had, of course, found the whole thing hilarious. The dark-haired Spaniard had spared a thought for you in acknowledging that it didn’t make your Barcelona career so far any less hellish, but then immediately dissolved into laughter as she made you recount every detail of the captain’s misguided trip to your apartment. By the time you got off the phone with her, Jenni had brought herself to tears with laughter at least three times, the last as she tried to do her best impression of how awkward Alexia would be as she tried to make up for her behavior.

Jenni had not been wrong. 

Alexia had started by apologizing. It was sincere, and she looked so miserable that you had no doubts that she had been thinking about her behavior. You had wanted to be tough, to make her work for it, but when she came up to you the next morning with bloodshot eyes and an apology that took full responsibility for her actions and acknowledged how hurtful she’d been, with the promise of more to come, you had accepted and told her you just wanted to move on.

For Alexia, “just moving on” apparently meant cautiously hovering at all times. On the field, she had turned from your greatest critic to your (mostly) silent guardian angel. She was the first to check on you at any sign of discomfort, and showered you with an assortment of items. Water bottle? Alexia was already handing it to you. Chance of rain? Alexia saw you didn’t bring your jacket and just grabbed an extra one, it’s here if you need it. It would have been a bit annoying if she hadn’t been so perceptive and thoughtful. As she paid closer and closer attention, she got quite good at predicting your needs.

—

A few weeks after the apology, Alexia’s hovering had died down to a less alarming level. She still seemed to be extra concerned with your wellbeing, but there was a lot less of the awkward lingering that Jenni had anticipated. 

Without Alexia’s poor treatment to contend with, you had also gotten more into the rhythm of the team as well, and you were enjoying time with the team, especially the regular team events. 

At the moment, though, you had been feeling the threat of a cold coming on for the past few days, and that plus a cool, rainy game, had left you feeling even more achy and tired than you expected. It was a bit disappointing to miss out on team bonding, but you hardly hesitated to send a message to Lucy and let her know that you wouldn’t make it to the movie night she and Ona were hosting. You loved the team, but you were certain your head wouldn’t be able to take the laughter and loud chatter, not to mention your shoulders and neck were knotted so tight that anything more active than lounging around on your couch sounded miserable.

A gentle knock on your apartment door roused you from the half-sleep you had fallen into. You were disoriented for a moment, head throbbing angrily as you raised it from the cocoon of blankets you had wrapped yourself in. Pirates of the Caribbean was still playing quietly on the tv, and at first you thought that was what had woken you, then another knock at the door sounded and cut through your confusion.

Dragging one of the blankets along, you crossed over to the door and opened it, revealing Alexia.

Unlike the last time she had appeared at your door, the midfielder didn’t push her way past you. Instead, she stood in place, fingers twisting nervously as she waited for you to acknowledge her. For your part, you just stared as your fuzzy head caught up to the situation.

“Hi,” your voice cracked, so you cleared your throat and tried again with marginally more success, “Hola, Alexia.”

“Hola,” she replied. “You weren’t at the movie.” It didn’t sound like a reprimand, but you felt tears prick at the back of your eyes anyway. You felt so uncomfortable and unwell and the thought that Alexia might be here to tell you off for skipping team bonding was overwhelming.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, tugging the blanket tighter around your shoulders and dropping your gaze to the floor.

“No, not sorry! I mean-- dios mio!” The captain sighed in frustration and your stomach dropped. You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for her to continue. Instead, you were startled by a cool, dry hand gently cupping the side of your head. You couldn’t resist leaning into the soft pressure, and after a second it shifted from your cheekbone to your forehead. “Lo siento, I just came to make sure you are okay. I did not mean to upset you.”

You opened your eyes as Alexia slid her hand from your forehead back into the loose strands of hair escaping your bun, guiding them gently away from your face. The light touch felt good on your aching head, and you fought a shiver at the sensation.

“You feel warm. Let me help, vale?” 

You weren’t expecting the offer, but you also weren’t in a state of mind to ponder it further. Plus, while you weren’t sure how you felt about the captain, you did trust that she meant well this time.

“Vale.” You answered, then turned to walk back to your couch. Behind you, the blonde hesitated for a moment before following you in and shutting the door. 

After removing her shoes, she entered the living room and hovered awkwardly above where you had laid back down. You scrunched your feet up to make room for her at the end of the couch, but she made no move to sit.

“Have you had paracetamol?” 

You shook your head no, then winced at the shot of pain the motion sent from your neck to the base of your skull.

“Is it your head or your neck that hurts?” 

“Both, and my shoulders. Just tight from yesterday.” She nodded slowly.

“Where is the paracetamol?”

“Bathroom. Above the sink.” That was apparently her last question and you listened with closed eyes as she walked away.

You half-drifted off for a few minutes as Alexia made her way around your apartment, eventually setting a few things on the coffee table near you. You heard her knees crack as she crouched down, then felt her fingertips trail along your shoulder softly. 

“Can you sit up, cari?” Her tone was kind and you complied with the request, moving gingerly. “Gracias. Have this first.” She passed you a mostly peeled banana. You shot her a look, but obediently took a small bite. The midfielder waited patiently as you ate the whole thing, then traded the peel for two tablets and a glass of water. You took the pills with a sip of water, then reached out to return the glass to the table. Alexia intercepted you and pushed the water back, a smile tugging at her lips as you gave her another look before drinking the rest.

“Buen trabajo.” The praise might have made you blush if you were feeling better, but as it was you just handed the glass back.

Before you could lie back down, Alexia grabbed the pillow you had been using and sat where it had been. Setting the pillow on her lap, she gestured for you to lay there, guiding you until you were comfortable on your stomach with the pillow under your head. Surprisingly, the position felt much better than when you had arranged yourself on one side before.

“Okay if I rub your shoulders? To help with the pain?” She asked, voice a little uncertain.

“Yes, please,” you breathed out, desperate for anything to ease how tightly the muscles were knotted.

“Vale.” Her fingertips sunk gently into the muscles of your upper back, thumbs working carefully against the tops of your shoulders. The pressure was light, but you could feel her warm, steady hands start to soften the tension. 

You had nearly started to drift off again when the Spaniard moved to slide one hand up to grip the back of your neck. Caught off guard, you surprised yourself with a muffled groan as she dug her fingers in. Her hand stilled, but didn’t move from where it rested.

“Hurts?” Alexia asked in a low voice.

You kept your face tucked in the pillow, but responded, “Only a little. Feels good.

“Good.” You could hear the edge of a smile in her voice.

It didn’t take long after she resumed the massage for you to slip back into sleep.

—

This time when you awoke it wasn’t to the sound of someone at your door. You blinked yourself slowly into full consciousness, realizing as you did so that you weren’t alone. There was a hand cupped protectively against the back of your head, fingers threaded into your hair, and the warm glow of morning light throughout your apartment.

You were surprised to feel only a mild twinge of pain as you tilted your head to look up at the midfielder who was still sitting under you on the couch. You were amazed to see she was fast asleep, tucked into the corner of the couch, but still mostly upright. It couldn’t have been a very comfortable position, but she looked remarkably peaceful. 

After another moment of studying the sleeping blonde, you mentally shook your head and began to slowly extricate yourself from her lap. You felt well rested and far better than the night before, but now your body was reminding you that your dinner last night had only been a banana. Just as you carefully started to sit up, Alexia’s hand moved, stroking softly through your hair as she mumbled sleepily.

“Estás bien, dormirse”

Your heart squeezed at the way she instinctively tried to provide comfort. 

“Gracias, Alexia. I’m okay.” You replied quietly, gently completing your move to sit up out of her grasp. “I’m just going to make some breakfast, you can lie down and sleep.”

The blonde didn’t acknowledge your words, but when you stood up and draped your blanket over her form she did lean deeper into the couch and burrow into it rather adorably.

—-

As you moved through the kitchen, starting the coffee maker and heating up a pan for eggs, you thought about your visitor. It had been clear already from Alexia’s actions that she was trying to make up for the way she had treated you at the beginning, but the concern and care she had shown last night was more than you had expected. It hadn’t felt like an act either, the midfielder had simply seen you feeling poorly and stepped in to help. If this was the Alexia the rest of the team had all along, then you understood why everyone else held her in such high regard.

You were pretty certain, deep down, you had already forgiven the captain, but last night had certainly washed away any last temptation to hold a grudge. Alexia may have been in the wrong, but she had shown that her opinion of you had changed, and that she felt guilty about how cruel she had been. And, not that it excused anything, but you did understand her motivation in a sense– if nothing else she was trying to be a good friend, you’d grant her that.

The midfielder had been one of the players you were most excited to play with and learn from, so finally realizing that you both might be able to put the rocky start behind you was a relief. You felt almost like a weight had been physically lifted from your chest, though maybe that was just another ache that such a good night of sleep apparently fixed.

“Bon dia.” You looked up from the stovetop at the sound of Alexia’s voice. She was standing in the entryway looking somewhere between sleep-mussed and frustratingly model-like.

“Bon dia, Capi” you replied. “Thank you. For checking on me and for staying to help, I feel much better now.”

She ducked her head, but you caught a flash of pink across her cheeks as she did so. “No hay de qué, I’m glad you are better. Thank you for letting me sleep on your sofa.”

Now it was your turn to feel your cheeks heat. Did Alexia not realize you’d spent the whole night half on top of her, or was she just trying to give you a chance to pretend otherwise in case you were embarrassed. You chose your next words intentionally. “You are welcome to it anytime you would like, though I don’t think I gave you much of a choice when I fell asleep on you.”

The blonde’s bright smile told you that you chose correctly.

“Do you want any coffee? Eggs?” You asked, finally remembering the breakfast you were in the middle of making.

“I would, but my sister has already texted me four times to demand I meet her. I just wanted to check to see if you need anything before I go.”

“No, you’ve done more than enough for me already, don’t make your sister text you a fifth time.” You said, sliding the pan off the heat and stepping over toward Alexia. She stood completely still as you approached, but when you reached up to pull her into a hug, she softened into it immediately, wrapping her arms around your back to hold you tight. It reminded you instantly of the comfort of Jenni’s hugs, and you couldn’t help but feel like you’d missed out all these months of not hugging Alexia.

—

In the weeks since she had spent the night, you felt like you had turned a corner with your relationship with Alexia. You weren’t holding onto the memories of her unkindness, and there was no longer any part of you that feared her attitude might change again. The only problem was that it didn’t seem like she had the same confidence you did. You couldn’t help but feel like the captain was still going out of her way to make it up to you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the special attention she was paying you, but what you really wanted was to move on and put the whole thing behind you. Alexia’s guilt over something you’d already let go wasn’t necessary, and there was a not-so-small part of you that feared if you waited too much longer you were going to end up hurt when she inevitably pulled away on her own. Once the Spaniard realized that everything was fine between the two of you, she would go back to being a professional, a teammate and captain and nothing else, and you understood that. It was just that it made your heart sink a little to think about it. You had gotten used to her attention, nothing more than that– but you know that it would be better to cut things off before you got too used to it.

All these thoughts were not far from the front of your mind when you arrived at the last full practice before your first Champions League game. Alexia met you as you stepped out of your car (or, rather, Alexia materialized a foot away from you when you looked up after closing your car door, which startled you the first few times, but now was a normal part of your morning). The midfielder passed you one of the two coffee cups she held, giving you a quick smile in response to your enthusiastic “¡Gracias!”

The coffee thing was a relatively new part of the captain’s arsenal of apology gestures. She had appeared one morning and nearly forced the cup into your hand before walking away quickly. Once you had recovered your wits, you had taken a sip and discovered that it was a dirty chai– your favorite. It had only taken a little wrangling to get the story from Ingrid; Alexia had FaceTimed Mapi from the coffee shop and demanded to be handed over to her girlfriend so that Ingrid could give your order to a highly amused barista. Since then, the morning coffee had become a regular occurrence, and you had managed to get the midfielder to stick around and walk in with you.

You were intent on practicing your Spanish, so the two of you chatted the whole way, Alexia patiently letting you work your way through what you wanted to say without interrupting. She was one of your favorite people to practice with for that reason– so many of your other teammates were quick to finish your thought for you, or just wanted to practice their English instead.

It was exactly this kind of interaction, though, that was troubling you, and you resolved to fix the situation once and for all by the end of the day.

—

Practice had gone well, and you were feeling both nerves and excitement as you walked off the pitch knowing that there was just recovery and a light training session between now and your UWCL debut. The familiar sounds of Patri and Pina’s banter filled your ears as you followed the pair into the changing room, but when they suddenly went silent, you looked up to see both pairs of eyes looking right at you. 

“Someone has an admirer,” Pina said, giving you a pointed smirk. You were confused for a moment, then saw past the two of them to your locker. There was clearly a vase of flowers inside, along with a ribbon-tied white box. You felt your cheeks flush. Unable to come up with a witty response to knock the curiosity out of your nosy teammates, you just shook your head and slid between the two to reach your locker and the gifts inside. 

The flowers were beautiful, and you moved them carefully off of the box and deeper into your locker. Normally, you might have had the good sense to spirit the gift away from the prying eyes of your teammates, but you were certain you recognized it, and you couldn’t wait a moment longer to confirm. You pulled the red ribbon to release the knot, and as it fell loose, you raised the lid to reveal exactly what you suspected. 

Inside were four mouthwatering breads that you knew immediately were from the little bakery near your apartment in Nuevo Leon. It had become a tradition, almost a superstition, for you to stop there on the morning of an important game when you had played for Tigres, and it was a tradition you sorely missed. You felt a sting behind your eyes as you realized what someone had done for you.

You closed the box up carefully, protecting the perfect breads once again before you made your way to shower. As you crossed the locker room, you caught the gaze of your captain already on you. Her cheeks colored, but she didn’t look away immediately, offering you a bashful smile that confirmed what you already knew about the source of your gifts.

—

By the time you finished your shower, everyone but Alexia had filtered out of the changing room. She was quiet as you toweled your hair dry and dressed, eyes glued to a boot that she was holding and… inspecting carefully? You broke the silence as you .

“Someone left beautiful flowers and a very thoughtful gift for me. Maybe someone who did their research and found out one of my old traditions.” At your words, Alexia finally looked up.

“Hmm. A lo mejor.” Her tone was neutral, but the same bashful smile you saw before crept across her face. “They are right? I had to trust Jenni and she likes to… joke.”

“Yes, they’re perfect. Thank you, Alexia.” You crossed the room to pull her into a tight hug, whispering an extra “gracias, capi” as you pulled back.

“You are welcome,” she whispered back, sounding almost breathless. “I just want you to feel happy here like you did there. And I want you to score goals for us in Champions like you scored for Tigres.”

You laughed at her final comment, but even to your own ears your huff of amusement held a dangerous edge of affection for the woman in front of you. A woman who, you reminded yourself, was just trying to be a good captain to you and make up for the weeks of misguided ire.

“Maybe I’ll even score a golazo for you.” You said, cringing inwardly at how much it sounded like a line one of the men’s team players would try on you back in college. You tacked on “As a thank you, of course.” somewhat awkwardly. Alexia’s smile in response was so bright that you couldn’t tell whether she was laughing at you or genuinely pleased by the prospect. Either way, you couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Trato hecho. I will see you tomorrow.” The midfielder gave you one last quick smile as she turned to leave. As you watched her cross the room toward the door, you remembered your resolution from the start of practice. As much as you appreciated Alexia’s kindness, you had to rip off the proverbial band-aid. You called out to the blonde making her way out of the locker room.

“Alexia!” 

She stopped and turned immediately at the sound of your voice, walking back over to where you had both stood a moment ago.

“¿Sí? You are okay?” Her eyes scanned across you quickly as if checking to make sure you hadn’t somehow been injured in the last 30 seconds.

“Yeah, I just needed to tell you, um…” you trailed off, wishing now that you hadn’t called her back quite so impulsively. Her eyes had now settled intently on your face and it caught you off guard when you saw the intense, almost hopeful look in them. “You should know that I already forgave you, Ale. A long time ago. I appreciate how nice and thoughtful you have been, and the gifts and everything you’ve done, but I can’t let you keep doing it out of guilt. You can treat me like everyone else now, I just want to have you as my teammate and captain.”

“You.. que?” She furrowed her brows elegantly, face puzzled for a moment before it smoothed over into neutrality as she seemed to comprehend your words. When she spoke, her voice matched the blankness of her face. “Ah. Vale. Okey. Solo tu capitana.”

Her tone and words surprised you, but before you could react, Alexia mumbled a quiet “adeu,” and made a break for the door.

—

You had puzzled over Alexia’s reaction as you gathered up your belongings, flowers and box of panes included, and headed home. You had expected her to be, maybe not pleased, but at least glad to hear that you had moved past the earlier bad blood. She had clearly cared about fixing things, given the amount of effort she had put in to make it up to you, so why wouldn’t it be good news to her that you wanted to move past it?

The moment her face dropped into impassivity still hung in your mind as you set the beautiful vase of flowers on your kitchen table. As you rotated them slightly to appreciate the bouquet, a folded piece of paper caught your attention. It was nestled unobtrusively between soft petals, tucked away discreetly, probably so that prying eyes like Pina’s wouldn’t notice at a glance. You slipped it out carefully, unfolding and smoothing the creases so you could read the words inside.

Hola Y/N,

I hope you like the flowers. The florist said they mean luck and strength. You are already strong, and I know you don’t need luck, but they are very beautiful and extra luck is always good.

There was a crooked smiley face at the end of the sentence, and the thought of Alexia drawing it made you smile.

I am so happy that you are playing for Barca, and I am excited to watch you play in Champions League for the first time. You will be incredible, like you always are. No matter what happens in the game I am already proud of you, and I want to thank you for letting me earn your trust after how I acted.

If you have forgiven me, would you let me take you out to dinner after the game?

Con cariño,

Ale

The unfiltered kindness made your chest burn warm with affection, and you felt a swell of excitement at the invitation. It sounded almost like the captain was asking you on a date, and the idea filled your stomach with butterflies. Suddenly, your heart dropped. If it was an invitation to go on a date, then your words in the changing room must have sounded like an attempt to let Alexia down easy. You had clearly told her that you only wanted her to be your teammate. Thinking that you were freeing her from the burden of winning your forgiveness, saving your own heart from accidentally being strung along by the well-meaning captain, had you ruined the chance of more? 

Without thinking, you picked up the phone and called Ingrid.

“Hei du! What’s happening?” The norwegian answered after a ring.

“Ingrid. I think I fucked up.”

You explained the situation to her, speaking so quickly she had to ask you to slow down and repeat more than once. You finally finished with a wavery voice. “Do you think there’s a chance she might… have feelings for me?’

“Y/N…” Ingrid drew your name out slowly, then paused. “I think Alexia has been pretty well in love with you since about two days after she found out you weren’t stealing me from Maria. Herregud, you’ve been the only thing she talks or thinks about besides football. Maria’s been complaining for weeks that Alexia is too busy watching you to notice all the pranks she’s pulled on all children.”

You didn’t know what to say, and for a long minute Ingrid didn’t push you. Then, finally, she spoke again.

“Do you have feelings for Alexia?”

Your instinct was to defer, and “I don’t know” was right on the tip of your tongue, but before you said it, it felt wrong in your mouth. You thought about the way being around Alexia felt, the way you felt warm all over when she praised you, and how incredible it felt to be the center of her attention. You also thought about how good she looked on and off the pitch, the way her whole face lit up with a smile, and how she had looked standing in your kitchen, sleep-mussed from a night asleep on your couch. You bit your lip, cheeks rising in a grin.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“I think you better give our capitana a call.” You could just about hear the twinkle in Ingrid’s eye.

“Thank you, Ingrid.” 

You exchanged your goodbyes and ended the call, then after a deep breath, before you could lose your nerve, you called Alexia.

“Y/N?” She answered immediately.

“Alexia, hi. Hola.” You immediately stumbled over your words. “I read your note. I hadn’t read it yet when we talked before.”

“Sí, vale…” She said, imploringly.

“I thought everything you have been doing was to apologize, so that’s why I told you that I had already forgiven you. Because I have, and I like being your friend, and I like when you are sweet to me, and pay attention to me, and ask Jenni and Ingrid what my favorite things are. I was afraid that if you were doing those things because you felt guilty, that one day you would realize you didn’t have to feel guilty anymore, and you would start treating me just like every other teammate. Which would be okay, but it would also break my heart a little. So I wanted to make sure it happened soon, because I thought the later it happened, the more it would hurt.” 

You paused, and the midfielder made no move to interrupt your explanation.

“But after reading your note, it made me think that maybe I misunderstood. And it gave me hope that you might have feelings for me. Like the feelings that I have for you. So when I said I just wanted you to be my teammate and captain, I didn’t know that there could be an option for you to be more. So let me try to give you a better answer to the question you wrote in the note: I have forgiven you, and me gustaría mucho ir a cenar contigo.”

“Really?” Alexia breathed out.

“Really.” You replied. “I like you a lot, Alexia.”

“I like you a lot, too.” The smile in her voice was unmistakable, and you felt the last vestiges of worry drop away. You might have gotten started on the wrong foot, but things were looking pretty good after all.

Not planning for a part 3, but if anyone is really interested, let me know and I could be persuaded :)

tag: @marvelwomen-simp

[beneathashadytree]

FELINE AFFECTION - XAVIER SHEN X READER

Warnings : Xavier absolutely gives off “I’m terrified of my spouse” vibes here because he has 0 financial responsibility, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : tooth-rotting domestic fluff <3

Word count : 1.0K words

Additional notes : My head is simply full of thoughts of that new pose of Xavier in the Glint photobooth, where he’s cuddling a cat… and the brainrot birthed this. I’m so in love with him.

Tip jar!

Masterlist

“Xavier.”

For a few beats there was no reply, and then a very hesitant, “Yes?” came from the couch they were staring at so intently—and for good reason, really. His innocent expression did not erase the truth of what they were seeing.

“What’s that in your arms?” they very patiently asked, as though the calmer they said it, the more inclined he would be to answer honestly. A futile attempt at coaxing, when Xavier knew better than to ignore the signs of an oncoming scolding.

“Nothing,” he quickly replied, sky blue eyes darting away before they could meet theirs. A very telling sign, if anything; Xavier was weak to them and would always give in with a single piercing glance shooting straight for his heart.

They arched their brow as they set their keys down on the coffee table, before crossing their arms against their chest. “So you’re saying I’m seeing things?”

A trick question. He swallowed thickly, carefully contemplating his answer and then quietly saying, “I didn’t say that.”

“A contradictory claim.” Their expression was cool, but the challenge in their eyes was anything but. “Answer this then, are you holding a kitten right now?”

He stayed silent for a few moments. “Well… no.” Not very convincing—especially not when there really was a pudgy tabby cat swaddled into his soft sweater and lazily swatting at the hem’s loose threads, and his own fingers were busy gently trailing across its head.

A strangled noise left them at the sight and his continued denial. Pinching their nose in exasperation, they shut their eyes for a second. “Care to explain, then?”

“Technically, she’s a little over two years old, so she’s a cat, not a kitten,” he mumbled, half to himself, hoping that they would just drop it. It seemed he wasn’t in the mood to be very upfront today. But he certainly looked like he was in the mood to tickle the pink paws of his new feline friend and boop her twitching little nose.

“Err… lovely,” they strained to keep their voice level and absolutely calm, definitely not freaking out over this… fascinating surprise. “And what’s she doing in our apartment?”

“It’s hers now too.” A bold statement to make, from a man who looked like—were he a cat too, that is—his own whiskers were standing on end. “If anything happens to her I’ll jump.”

“Knowing your luck, you’d survive the fall anyways.” A tired sigh, and then their shoulders were drooping, their fight dissolving all at once. They collapsed onto the couch beside him, and thankfully the cat seemed to be twice as lazy as her new owner was, because she made no indication of having gotten startled, save for a slow blink of her eyes (that was admittedly rather adorable). “Fine, have it your way.”

That sweet smile of his graced his soft features, and for a moment their heart thundered in their chest, reminding them that no matter how much they would try to deny it, they really were weak to anything he wanted—as long as he gave them that smile, of course. “She’s very content like this,” they pointed out as the cat in question yawned, leaning into his finger deftly stroking her forehead.

“I know we’re often on missions, and I didn’t want to risk negligence. So I searched for the lowest maintenance kitty to adopt,” he softly said, voice trailing off at the end and an endearingly tender look in his eyes as he continued to pet her. Glancing up at his beloved, he flushed a little at the amusement on their face. “Sorry. She’s just very fluffy.”

At that they chuckled a little, reveling in the way he let himself get carried away. “It’s fine. I was honestly just worried about precisely that. Pets are a huge responsibility, but she’d be perfectly compatible with us.” They looked down and watched as she stretched her fluffy limbs, before curling back up into Xavier’s chest, a content look on her adorable face and her tail swishing a little in her light sleep. The resemblance finally became clear. “She’s… an awful lot like you.”

“Really?” he mused, a thoughtful expression on his face as he furrowed his eyebrows a little. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Kind of hard to ignore once you see it,” they snorted a little, though they lowered their voice after they saw how the slumbering cat twitched in her sleep at the sound. “You got all the stuff she needs, though?”

“I may or may not have used up this month’s salary at the pet store.” Xavier sheepishly gave them a half-smile, though he didn’t look apologetic in the least at the prospect of having wasted a ludicrous amount of money on things that the soon-to-be-spoilt kitty may never even use.

Seriously, had he always wanted a cat this bad?

Well. There was no use in admonishing him when he seemed so enamored by the ball of fluff in his arms. In fact… maybe a small part of them fell a bit more in love with him seeing him so content with the (admittedly rash) decision he’d made, and perfectly happy with staying cuddled up forever on the couch.

“Did you name her?” they asked, curiosity lacing their words as they peered at her tiny face nuzzled against his chest. “It’s only fair you get the chance to when you brought her in.”

Really, it wasn’t such a bad idea after all, now that they thought about it. Cats are rather independent, and they knew without a shadow of a doubt that they’d definitely shower her with unconditional love and all the care that she needs. Kind of hard not to, when she was this sweet-looking and lazy all the time.

Xavier nodded, a small flush on his freckled cheeks. A look akin to pride on his face, he smiled up at his lover, slowly cradling the happily dozing cat, and said—

“Her name’s Meatloaf.”

…

“Absolutely not.”

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[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 263

Once More, we return to Tiamat prompts. 

It was a wonderful idea, really! If one of them couldn’t break the barrier, then surely their combined might would do it! And it had! It had worked, even if their remaining humanity was sacrificed. They’d done it, they’d made it where everyone could escape, could leave!

… Except for them. Someone had to close the portal. And it all would have been fine, if not for the remnants of the GIW. One last hail mary from the imbeciles, they all supposed. Trapping them here within the Zone. 

Separated from their families, from the pair of children they had agreed to raise. At least their siblings would watch over Ellie and Jordan. Kyle could hide them, make sure they were safe. Jazz… Jazz was gone, the final straw in this plan. 

They screamed, they raged, they destroyed in grief for those that didn’t make it, and for those who had but had nowhere to go. No portals opened, even as they tore at the green around them. They fought, any that thought they were weak, that they were merely a beast, an abomination trapped in chains of science and gold. 

There was nothing that could be done, Frostbite had said, sympathy in his voice. No way to turn back the clock with how entwined they had become, Clockwork had explained. The only thing they could do was wait, Pandora had tried to sooth, despite it doing nothing. 

They wrenched open the coffin in a hazy fury, tearing apart armies like it was blades of grass. Their maws devoured dead who had lost themselves and become mere husks and thralls, lashing tails ripping through armour like it was nothing. 

And then as titans, they clashed with the one who had once stolen the city here. There was no desperation from them this time, no armor besides scales unbreakable as flames and storms and ice and thorns ripped islands apart. There was no desperation besides that of their opponent’s. 

There was a pleasure in their victory, before it was wrenched away. What use was a crown when their family wasn’t there? When their daughter, their son, their children were not there by their side? 

Paulina laughed, hysterical as ectoplasm dripped from her maw as Kwan howled. Their body was covered in it, their rampage that had no use, no reason leaving a trail of destruction behind them. Is this what they wanted? 

No. 

Danny raised his head from the dissolving corpses to look towards the obliterated roof of the Keep, once so terrifying now turning to dust like the crown. The crown reforming above their heads, heavy and almost choking. 

They would carry this weight together. Would restructure things, would do what they had wanted to do for Amity before the Barriers. They’d work together to rebuild the Realms, make it safer, make it safe for those newly dead. 

No matter how long it took, no matter how hard it would be to fix the destruction they had wrought in this meaningless battle. (“Danny, you’re the spokesperson,” Sam spoke up, thorn-like scales ruffling. “You’re most familiar with the realms thanks to the Infinimap.” Fair. “We’ll need allies, we’re only nine people.”)

(“Let me talk to the egyptian afterlife,” Tucker sounded exhausted, hood folding back. “I’m most familiar with them… Star, Paulina, you’re both Princess Dora’s favorites-”)

(“We can do it. Just give us time.” “Maybe a to-do list.” “Clockwork. We need to talk to Clockwork, he’d be most familiar with this.” “Rest first, nerds. We’re all… exhausted.”)

(Valerie laughed tiredly, blades melting to heal a broken horn. “Time isn’t linear here Dash. You know that. I know that. For once we’re the ones with time to spare.” It would take years to get things up to snuff. Make things Safe for when they could bring their families here.)

Their eyes opened as the now flimsy chains shattered, a smile stretching across the shared face of their humanoid form. Soon. They could return to the mortal realm soon. Just a little more, and they could see their little ones.  They'd waited a thousand years, they could wait a few days more.

(also have sketch)

@fairy-lights-and-blobs @radiance1 You both seem to enjoy my Tiamat prompts/Aus lol

[ruruvxz]

Can you write like a really really loser minji with like uhh a teasing playful and mean flirting fem! reader basically like a baddie reader 😭😭😭 idk how to explain it man so the thing is I saw this dynamic thing like minji is the taller one but gets teased Reader is the shorter but teases minji!! Just some fluff no angst please 😔

“Apple Cider”

Nerd!Kim Minji x Mean!Reader

↳ synopsis: After being kicked out of a house party you found yourself wondering the streets with a pounding headache. It wasn’t all that bad when you suddenly came across a taller woman, and not letting this opportunity through your hands, you ask to get her a drink.

↳ cw: mentions on intoxication, drunken kiss, prudish reader, mentions of language, reader is an ex-f1 racer, pure fluff

↳ wc: 3k

a/n: I kinda wrote this as a prologue of “10:36” but don’t worry it’s all pure fluff and this is basically how you met Minji… anywayssss it was really difficult to write this as I kept having to redo it since I didn’t like all my other proofreads (and the fact I’m a tall girl myself…)

Stumbling over a traffic cone, your head thumped and pounded as you were suffering a major migraine, which added to your irritation as you were leaving the worst party of your life. Everything was beginning normally, you came early as usual to lend a helping hand to one of your mutual friends, watching the people pool into the cramped apartment. How everyone's shoulders collided as you all tried to fit into this tiny apartment made you more irritable. 

It wasn't until someone poured a drink onto your already drunk state and began to berate you, that you finally took your leave. You bit your tongue, you didn't want to start anything so you swung your f1 academy jacket over your drenched shirt to cover the bright stain plastered all over and took your leave. Everything was so disorienting, walking through the crowded streets, you found yourself stumbling across the business district. You loathed this part because it reminded you of your impending doom of being a corpse slave, but at this point, you were too drunk to care.

All that lugging around trying to find a place to camp out wasn't making anything any better, your only saving grace was hauling your way to the nearest 7-Eleven. Thank the stars that you managed to wobble your way inside and pick up 2 bottles of apple cider, a drink you commonly drank to force your way back to sobriety. As you checked out your items you made yourself comfortable on a concrete diver and chugged the first drink down.

It was extremely sour, so you pushed yourself only to take small sips, whilst admiring the stars above you. A little ashamed that you got kicked out of a party so early on, usually leaving by 3 am, but it was only 9 pm. That was beside the point, as you felt your head stop thumping less and less, and finally, your headache dissolved completely. Sighing in relief, you looked at the spare bottle wondering how much of a waste of money it was to buy 2. Before you could return the bottle for some reward points or something along those lines, your ears picked up a large "Oomf".

Your eyes darted towards the noise as you saw a beautifully dressed woman, trip over a traffic cone, similarly to you. She was stunning, her long black hair falling softly onto her face, and with her tall stature, everything about her was so breathtaking. You even took notice of the dark eye-bags circulating under her gorgeous black eyes, she looked so fatigued it even made your partially sober state worry for her. You thought nothing more of her before she tripped once more dropping her glasses right in front of you.

Picking them up worriedly, you walked over to her and reached your hand up to pick her up. She looked up at you wide-eyed as you dragged her bag up, she immediately started apologizing as you handed her the glasses. Not realizing how tall her stature was until you stood right in front of her. As you examined her face closer as she pushed the glasses up from the bridge of her nose, she couldn't help but blush. You chuckle at her reaction a bit before speaking up.

"Are you alright? I just saw you trip on air right now..." You joked as the woman looked even more sorrowful, the idea of someone as dazzling as you watching her make a fool out of herself was humiliating. She grabbed her hand and rubbed her nape as you continued to laugh at her little accident, finally letting it all out she spoke up.

"I'm sorry. it's just I was so tired I couldn't see where I was going." She responded continuing to run the back of her neck while looking down at your smiling face. She wasn't lying though, after a long 3-hour seminar about economic ethics, she was beyond exhausted, especially since this was being taken out of her weekend.

"Maybe it's true, tall people don't have balance." You laughed at her, a part of you still a little drunken as you giggled at her antics before speaking up once more. "I've got some spare apple... drink, I uh, drink it if I want to energize myself— here take it, it's not like I was gonna drink it anyways." You insisted as you handed her the drink forcefully, her response being to weakly snatch it from your hands.

The drink was still cold and she had no problem drinking it, especially since a strikingly young woman, probably the same as her, was offering it to her. Usually, if it was anyone else the black-haired woman would've meekly declined their offer and moved on with her day, but you were different somehow.

As she cracked the cap off, she took a huge swig before coughing out from the sour taste, her eyes bugging out differently that tasted from her expectation. She looked at the bottle's wrapping as it neatly read "Natural Apple Cider", it wasn't bad but it was most definitely surprising. However, the way she spat out everything made you laugh hysterically even more.

"Hahaha, I'm so— hah... I'm so sorry, it's Apple cider." You laughed as she stared at the bottle for a little bit longer and then pried her eyes back to you as you chuckled loudly. "You looked so hilarious! I can't—" You continue laughing at her before gaining your composure once more, "I'm Y/N, sorry about that."

"Wow, uhm..." She was bewildered at your carefree attitude after practically just meeting her, but she laughed with you, your laugh was far too intoxicating. "I'm Kim Minji." She responded as she pushed a hair behind her ear before reaching out her hand to shake yours. You quickly do so as you ogle her height.

"I'll just call you... Tall girl!" Minji was dumbfounded by the nickname, which wasn't much of a nickname as it was just a plain-out observation. She looked around then back at you confused why you sounded so sure about that name.

"Now come on tall girl, let me get you an actual drink as an apology." You beamed as you offered her an actual drink, it wasn't even an offer actually, more of a subtle demand under the pretext of this being a sweet gesture. Minji, who was so hooked, just agreed while you dragged her by the hand and led her to one of your all-time favorite jazz bars. She couldn't help but chuckle at the circumstances she was facing at this moment, a shorter woman she had no prior knowledge about was offering to get her a drink.

As the both of you pushed through the crowded streets of drunkards and other ripped folks, you would mumble incoherent words that she would only understand bits and pieces. Minji would question why you kept mentioning some party and you'd scowl at her wondering why she wasn't listening, how could she? You were practically slurring your words every single sentence? But oddly enough, she found it so endearing whenever you would laugh it off. She was also still surprised how you could be so clearheaded and strut around in such a stunning outfit while not being the most sober person. Everything about you from your face to your minute details made her heart beat out of her chest.

You didn't notice how her hand tightened just a little bit, while she thought of the idea of you leaving her. Even for this midnight, she'd like to give this thing a try. As you headed inside the jazz club, you indicated sitting near the bar top. Minji, who wasn't a big drinker, (actually didn't drink at all before this situation) was a bit hesitant at first but she swallowed her fears and sat down right beside you. You ordered 2 amber ale beers and the bartender delivered, the drinks decorated with a frothy top as you took a large swig. Minji was stunned at the fact you could just coldly drink the bitter drink without any hesitation, making her believe it wasn't all that bad.

She lifted the drink to her lips, the froth coating attaching itself to her philtrum, as she took a short sip before abruptly sitting it out with a cough. It took you by surprise as she continued to cough out her drink, you patted her back to relieve her, thinking she might just be choking. As you leaned into her to make sure the taller woman was okay, your nose picked up her delicious scent of fruit punch. "Oh my! Are you okay?—Woah you smell nice, but are you good?" You repeated yourself as Minji came down from her coughing spree. As she lifted her head back up to look at you, her cheeks flushed red, not wanting to admit that this was probably the first drink she'd ever had in her life. She flailed her hand around trying to indicate she was fine as she continued to let out hiccuped coughs. 

It took you a few moments as you dissected her reaction before connecting the dots, ah, this was the first time she'd ever tried beer, a trashy one at that. "Oh. Is this your first time trying amber ale?" You questioned, she looked even more flushed as she hid her face with her palms, pretty much summing up your theory, you didn't expect that, after all, she looked like she was your age. Even entering the bar she showed the bouncer her ID and everything was checked out, so how could this possibly be her first-ever drink? As questions pilled up in your mind you couldn't help but let out a loud laugh, catching the attention of a few fellow jazz enthusiasts who were just trying to enjoy the music. Paying no mind to the glares of middle-aged men who had nothing to do but "appreciate" the gentle hums of the musicians, you spoke up a little too loud making Minji a tad bit more embarrassed.

"Your kidding! There's no way this..." You laughed, raising the drink higher up to give her a look before slamming it down on the counter. "...This shit! Is your first drink, tall girl." She sighed as you continued to tease her on the fact, before letting out a very long exasperated sigh whilst taking another sip of the drink. Minji wasn't in the mood to deal with you— a complete stranger— remarks on her visible lack of alcoholism. Truth be told, she hated people who drank since it would always lead to confrontation or messy tears, and she wanted no part of that. The fact that anyone would order an alcoholic beverage on her behalf would've made her scoff in disapproval before sending the drink back, but for some particular reason, she wanted to impress the alluring girl right next to her.

"D-Don't call me that, besides, it isn't," Minji said, trying her best to convince the girl next to her that she was much more bold than she was, despite coughing up her drink. "I was just, uhm, surprised that's all!" Was all she could muster up as you continued to laugh your ass off, you should've probably asked her if she drank or not before dragging her to your favorite Jazz Club, but you were paying for her drink, so really, was it your fault.

As the night went on, you both mutually started to order more and more drinks, as the clock struck 2am, you finally decided to wrap up this get-together and head home. It was kind of refreshing meeting someone new though, in the span of 5 hours, you learned more about her than you knew about your closest friends. Of course, not by your own will as it was her turn to babble her head off, she talked way too much about trivial topics she was into you found your migraine resurge for a bit. Things like her favorite romance novels or manhwa titles and synopses that you could care less about were all engraved into your memory, after all for some reason you couldn't take your eyes off of her. But eventually, everything has to come to an end...

That is what you would've said if she wasn't practically clung onto your arm with her head resting on your head as she loomed over your quite tiny build. If you knew she was a lightweight you probably wouldn't have encouraged her to have more drinks than she could handle, especially since you had to pay for each and every one she got. More than that, you wouldn't have agreed under the pretense that you had to drag this not-so-complete stranger back to her apartment. She was quite heavy as she was pressing all her body weight onto you as you searched and probed for directions to her apartment, her words slurred and giggly as you finally found her residence.

It was quite elegant as she lived in the well-off areas of the city, it made you jealous at the thought of anyone ever living so extravagantly, but it was better than having to drag her up the stairs if she lived in an apartment complex like yours. You fished the wallet out of Minji's back pocket to grab her complex's card key and unlocked the elevator for the both of you. As you hauled her into her apartment, you took in the view, everything was so dimly lit and the only light was being emitted by the city's scrappers and other colossal-sized buildings.

You chucked her onto her leather couch as she spewed more nonsense about her economic homework before finally taking a breather on the couch. She was adorable but you're too prideful to admit that to her face, you decided to just grab some water and sober her up a bit before heading back to your place with your roommate. Walking over to her, you handed her the glass of water before carefully monitoring her like a child, making sure she didn't choke. As she sat up, she swallowed the water in one goofy gulp.

"Hey now, don't drink it like that you might choke like last time, tall girl." You chuckle as she looks up at your standing posture with a pout, fixing the hem of your shirt you prepare yourself for your leave. Turning back from her gaze she weakly and fairly loosely grabbed onto your wrist with a hushed plea. "Please stay, Y/N..." Her voice filled with longing as she croaked out, making your heart soften at her state. You let out a playful scoff before taking a seat on the couch right next to her, Minji's eyes lighting up as you do so. She looked like a total lovesick geek right now, but you found her so endearing as you both sat in silence, taking short glances at one another.

"Your hair, it's really nice Y/N, can I uhm, please touch it." She spoke as you nodded softly, letting her delicate fingers stroke the back of your head, feeling your hair strand by strand under her palm. As she continued she looked more and more entranced by how truly gorgeous you were, her breath hitched once she stopped, leaning down to rest your head on her thighs. If it weren't for how dark her apartment was, you probably could've seen her cheeks radiating red, as her blush plastered her whole face. The way you looked so, unbothered, made her heart sink even further, she had never felt this way about anyone, mainly since she's usually cooped up in her apartment, avoiding any contact with anyone other than her close friends. 

Resting your head gently on top of her, Minji's eyes wandered around your whole body, taking in the sight that was in front of her. Her eyes landed on your scarlet leather race jacket, it was tailored perfectly for you, she let out a nerdy smile as she looked at all the patches that decorated your jacket. "That jacket... it's really cool, I like it." 

"Than I shall wear it more often." You responded, reaching your hand out and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, your knuckles softly caressing her heated cheeks. Despite how much you hated being reminded of your past as a failed driver who was promptly kicked off the grid, her words soothed you enough to encourage you to wear it more often. Looking back at the party that happened, you were glad it didn't work out since it meant that you met her. 

You both sat in silence after your little comment as she only let out a snort, her face still burning red as you laid on her. "Hey, do you mind if I sleep over?" You asked, and she nodded responding with a quiet, "Sleep as long as you want." 

"Great, I don't have anywhere to stay." You lied through your teeth, not wanting to go back home and stay by her side. 

"Hey Y/N, do you like me?" Minji asked boldly, still clearly stuck in her drunken state.

"Yeah, but not that much, Tall girl." You teased as you brought your hand back up and pulled her down to your level, your noses inches apart, threatening to touch. "How about you?"

"I like you a lot..." She drifted off, her answer in part to the fact she was quite dazed, before continuing she leaned closer to you. "But not that much."

You laughed once more as you cupped her face, gently pushing her face closer, interlocking your lips together as you kissed, her face was hot, steaming almost as you released her hands from her face. "You look so out of it, come on', I'll go buy you some apple cider to sober you up."

"I prefer fruit punch, actually!"  

"Then let's drink both."

[ssentimentals]

Hiii! Would like to request for mingyu + 45 pleaseee. Thank you!

hi, love!💜 thanks for the request, hopefully you will like it!

45. kiss out of anger (kim mingyu)

'you're being insufferable.'

'me? who's the one with all the dramatics here?' mingyu throws both of his hands in the air, twirling around like some kind of ballerina to make his point.

you sceptically raise your eyebrow. 'yep. i'm the one with dramatics here.'

mingyu huffs and rolls his eyes, but settles against the couch comfortable, staring you down. honestly, you two've been going over this whole thing for the past two hours and you are very close to simply storming out of this room. the only reason of you staying put is because you know that mingyu won't let you go very far - he'll catch you and bring you back and will make you stay here until we both come to some kind of a conclusion. right now it looks impossible but mingyu is an optimist, so he tries again: 'listen, i'm asking for one thing. can't you just give in once?'

'mingyu, don't make it sound like i'm the tyran who never gives in to you. i said no, can't you just let it be? i'm tired of explaining the same thing over and over again.'

'well then explain once again, because i didn't get anything.' he crosses his arms over the chest and glares, making a whole show of 'i am staying here and not moving'. 'and while you're at it, maybe think that if i'm not getting it because you're not making any sense.'

deep breath. you take a deep breath and close your eyes, because staring at mingyu right now makes your desire to punch him in the face skyrocket. mingyu is such a 'let's solve it right now' guy, while you are 'i need time to think' girl and it's a miracle how you both stay together for such a long time despite this difference. and maybe this is what you need to focus on right now? that you both stayed together despite it and how this is not your first ever fight. there were many fights but you still stayed together and logically you know that this fight will dissolve too, but it's hard to stay calm at this exact moment. 'kim mingyu,' you call out in a tired voice, 'i think it's time we both take a break in this fight. you go to the kitchen, i'll stay here and how about we meet in an hour and come back to this topic again?'

mingyu pouts. 'thirty minutes.'

'one hour, mingyu.' you push strictly, glaring at him. 'is that too much to ask?'

'one hour is way too long,' he comments and god, he's still pouting. why your boyfriend is an overgrown child? why you are so hopelessly in love with him? 'okay, forty minutes. but we both stay here, i'm not going to the kitchen. what if you start crying? i need to be here.'

how mingyu manages to be both heart-wrenchingly endearing and annoying as fuck is beyond you. 'you're either going to the kitchen or i'm leaving this apartment, mingyu.'

'fine!' he stands up from the couch, obviously angry. 'fine! have it your way! i'm going to the kitchen!'

he stomps for dramatic effect and your can't help but smile a little at that. god, what a child. you love him so much. before moving to turn away, mingyu suddenly rushes towards you and kisses you soundly on the mouth, not letting you even take a breath.

'wha-'

'i love you,' he says angrily, frowning. 'you're pissing me off right now, but i love you. don't forget it. got it?' you nod dazedly. 'good. now i'm off to the kitchen. call me if you start crying.'

you weakly push on his shoulders, suddenly feeling like you're about to cry. 'i'm not gonna cry.'

'mhm.' mingyu rolls his eyes and walks away. 'tissues are on your left.'

[its-not-a-pen]

[餘知傳] The 2nd Century Warlord (Part 1)

based on the story by @romanceyourdemons

art by @its-not-a-pen

first day as a second century warlord i have my men tie branches to their horses’ tails to stir up dust and make it look like there’s a lot of us but i forget it just rained so there isn’t any dust and the enemy can clearly see there’s like twenty of us all spread out in a line

second day as a second century warlord i bribe a bunch of kids to start singing a nursery rhyme i carefully crafted to spread misinformation and further my strategic ends but they change the lyrics to be about poop and the enemy isn’t misdirected at all

third day as a second century warlord i lure my enemy into a narrow valley and send a team of archers to shoot them from the high ground but there was a feral hog napping on the trail up to the overlook and they couldn’t decide whether to try and shoot it or just go around and by the time the hog woke up and left on its own the enemy had already passed safely below

fourth day as a second century warlord we attempt to join a battle on the side of the guy we want to ally with but he and the guy he’s fighting have really similar names and it’s finally dusty and i misread the standards and attack the wrong guy. so now we’re stuck with this total loser of a liege lord, because how the fuck do you explain that after a battle?

fifth day as a second century warlord and some sort of wizard wanders into camp, my loser liege lord wants to execute him for being a wizard but i convince him to let the wizard stay, because i want to do more weather-based strategies and i’m pretty sure having a camp wizard can help with that. after the welcome to the team banquet the wizard steals half the treasury and my liege lord’s wife and leaves

sixth day as a second century warlord my loser liege lord sends me to reinforce a city he’s taken, but in the confusion of leaving i forgot to take the token that would have gotten us into the city, so my men have to wait outside the city walls for like eight hours while i ride back to get it

seventh day as a second century warlord and my loser liege lord finally joins me in the city, it turns out he’s actually a pretty cool guy, and he isn’t even that mad at me for letting the wizard steal his wife. i decide to shoot my shot but i’m really nervous and keep on stalling because what if i mess up our relationship and by extension jeopardize the security of my men, and eventually he just says goodnight and goes back to his room, where an assassin is in the process of setting up to kill him

eighth day as a second century warlord and my loser liege lord tells me to fake defect to his rival warlord, the one i originally wanted to ally with, to find out if he was the one who sent the assassin and why. but my whole way over to the rival warlord i’m worried that this has something to do with the wizard thing or how awkward i made it last night

End of Part 1

part 2

This comic was made independently from the creator, I'm just a fan and these are my own interpretations.

Notes under the cut:

the title 餘知傳 [the Story of Yu Zhi], is the styled name of the Second Century Warlord. I translated 餘知 as [plentiful knowledge] since he's defined by a surplus of knowledge but a deficit in luck. It's also great for fish-based puns since it's a homophone. As a nice parallel, Loser Liege Lord's banner is a carp ;))). the art style was inspired by vintage Chinese comics.

The story is set during the Three Kingdoms period, (220 to 280 AD) natural disasters, infighting and civil unrest had dissolved the previous Han Dynasty, leading to a violent free-for-all. I based the clothes on the previous Eastern Han styles, mainly because there just weren't a lot of contemporary references from the 3K period (and it only lasted like, 60 years). I always strive for historical accuracy, however, the Han Dynasty was over 400 years long and some sources don't do a great job separating out the different fashions, so I apologise for any mistakes that occur.

2. there aren't a ton of drawings on what Han children looked like, but in general ancient kids hairstyles are pretty consistent. 9-15 yo boys had shaved heads with two little top knots, girls had natural hair in braids/buns.

3. the crossbow (back left) makes a cameo, it was associated with Zhuge Liang, famous real-life strategist from the 3K era.

4. the LLL and his wife thank the Warlord, (a noblewoman on a battlefield??? scandalous!). it shows the LLL enjoys the unconventional and the wife is not as timid as she appears. I thought it would be funny to make them look as Background Character (tm) as possible.

5. I based the wizard's design on sages from mythology. (Hey, he's not a total fraud, he invented gunpowder 800 years before the Tang dynasty!) Nice little character moment for the LLL who is shielding his wife.

6. What do soldiers do while they're waiting for 8 hours? (<-from the right) playing knucklebones with pebbles, whittling a little horse, feeding sparrows, gossiping with neighbour, drinking from his gourd, napping. A minor warlord can't afford to keep a professional army so they're most likely conscripted farmers who've had to buy their own weapons and armour, hence why they look so unimpressive.

7. LLL offers the Warlord a bitten peach. Inspired by the legend of Mizi Xia who bit into a delicious peach and gave it to the Emperor so he could taste it was well. "Bitten peach" was a byword for homosexuality in ancient China. I thought it would be SO funny if the LLL was actually smooth af and the Warlord was a like a teenaged girl crushing for the first time. He's desperate to taste that peach but is too timid to reach out >;))) man has zero game. negative game, even. truely the PS4 of homosexuals. RIP to the assassin in the back corner who was forced to watch the most awkward, cringe-fail attempt at flirting in the history of china play out.

8. this is what zero peach does to a mf. UnU

[ratsummer]

Shhhhh shhhhhh I'm getting carried away here, but...

Y'all ever think about Phantom being unphased by griminess when he's first summoned?

Or maybe not unphased, but he just doesn't make cleanliness a priority. Like this guy has been roaming the circles as best he can on his own, more concerned with finding food and shelter and the reluctant ally here and there than with personal hygiene.

Summoning as a general rule isn't a very tidy affair, so no one really notices that first day. Omega and Aether give him the typical, cursory wipedown to remove the worst of the summoning... goo... before bundling him up in soft, loose, flowy robes while his skin is still sensitive. And of course, when they show him where his room his, they introduce him to the baths and let him know he has the rest of the day to clean up and settle in.

Well, morning rolls around and Dew arrives to the breakfast table, ushering a very sleepy little quint along in front of him. Cirrus scolds him for so obviously waking him up before he was ready, but Phantom insists it's okay, please, I asked him to make sure I was awake for breakfast! Don't get angry at him!

And while Phantom explains that Dew stayed up late with him to help him find and organize snacks in his room, Cumulus comes to the table, yawning wide and clutching Aether's arm. She was so excited to greet Phantom and Aurora at their summonings, hugging them tight (despite the goo) and welcoming them into the fold. She's just as excited to see them at breakfast, purring and pressing a kiss into Aurora's hair first before shuffling over to do the same for Phantom.

He can't help but flinch a little as she approaches. Old habits die hard, and he immediately rushes to apologize when she stops in her tracks and frowns. But Cumulus is used to skittish ghouls - she typically accepts boundaries gracefully. No, what's caught her off guard is-

"Phantom, sweetheart, didn't Aether show you how the bath works?" Cumulus' voice is soft and warm, but she's got Aether pinned with a disappointed glare.

Phantom curls in on himself a little, squirming and wrapping his tail around his fingers. "He did... why?"

"Little bat, you've still got... goo... clumped in your hair. That can't feel very good."

And while Phantom is squirming and explaining himself, that he was focusing on getting used to his room, Cumulus starts looking him over more carefully.

She notices his claws, broken and jagged in some spots, dirt and goo clumped around them. Little scrapes, scratches, and bruises littering what little bit of his bare skin is exposed. Hair dry and frizzed up, with tangles and knots all around the base of his horns. And his horns... dried out, brittle, chunks missing near the ends.

Well, Cirrus doesn't call her Fussy Lussy for nothing.

"Oh darling, it's okay you didn't have time last night. I'll tell you what, I was going to have a little spa day today, I've got so many new things I want to try out. How about you come along with me and I'll help you figure out all the knobs in the tub and you can try out some of my soaps!"

Phantom looks a little wary and unsure as Cumulus extends her offer, maybe trying to figure out how to say no, until Aurora gasps and starts kicking her feet excitedly.

"Oh! Phantom! Cumulus helped me wash my hair last night and her soaps smell soooooo good! You're gonna love it!"

So, that's how Phantom ends up reclined neck-deep in deliciously warm bathwater not an hour later.

Cumulus is humming quietly, sitting next to him and lighting all the candles she lined up along the edge of the tub. "These candles are always here," she explains, "And the matches live in that jar tucked over there, so you can use these anytime you want if you like them, alright?"

Phantom just hums a little to let her know he's at least kind of listening. He rubs his toes through a little pile of what Cumulus called epsom salts, enjoying the way the grains crunch and swirl around his feet as they slowly dissolve. He can't remember being so comfortably warm and relaxed, maybe ever.

"Alright, sugar, I've got so many good things to try out. Are you ready?"

Phantom loses track of time quickly, but it must be hours that they soak together. Cumulus grooms him meticulously, and it stirs up achingly precious, half-lit memories from his kit days, when he still had his parents to look after him.

She scrubs his hair thoroughly with a sweet, sudsy shampoo. Her claws scratch deliciously over his scalp, sending goosebumps down his back. She works something called conditioner in next, using her fingers and a comb to tug and tease all the knots out of his hair. Not once does she pull hard enough to hurt.

She rubs a creamy, buttery substance between her palms until it melts into a sweet-scented oil. She massages it over his horns, cooing about how it's adding so much depth to their night-blue color. His claws are next, and Cumulus patiently explains what each of her little tools is for as she goes about trimming, filing, and oiling each one. She even rubs a cream into what she tells him are his cuticles, apparently to soften them or something.

She uses the softest cloth he's ever felt in his whole life ever to wash him thoroughly with a mouth-wateringly scented soap. She's thorough, getting behind his ears and between his toes. While she washes him, she tells him they should talk to Rain later about trimming up his hair so it doesn't fall in his eyes so much. She checks in with him constantly, asking if he's still okay with her washing him or if he'd like to take over.

Once they're out and dry, she helps him put on a creamy lotion before handing him big, soft clothes to pull on. She helps him roll the sleeves and cuff the pants, having stolen them from Swiss.

"He won't miss them, sweetie. That ghoul has the comfiest loungewear and he's always happy to share."

Cumulus insists that the most important part of their spa day is to immediately crawl into her nest to snack, snooze, and watch movies. It's called beauty rest for a reason, Phantom!

It's with a full belly and a clean, relaxed body that Phantom snuggles down under Cumulus' fresh, soft blankets and promptly passes out. It's the deepest, most restorative sleep he's had in ages.

And while he sleeps, Cumulus pets his hair, rubs his back, and generally fusses over whether the blankets are covering him properly. Her entire heart has totally melted for this sweet ghoul who's seen too much hardship, and she vows to make him the most rotten, spoiled little brat the ministry has ever seen.

[ivystoryweaver]

Day 24: Danger (Poe Dameron)

Angstember Prompt Post || Word Count: 750

Notes: This is the prompt for day 24 but it's day 26. Still wanted to finish it tho. Fear, mentions of death and dying, hurt/comfort-ish. Poe is afraid he's lost you.

Terror stabbed his thundering heart as dread mounted with every step. The First Order attacked and Commander Poe Dameron raced into action, frantically calling for you over comms.

Fingers trembled as he pulled and yanked his flight suit into place, running full speed as he ordered his droid not to wait for him.

He rounded the corner to the hangar when blistering heat surrounded him as a powerful, concussive force knocked him back.

Although disoriented and partially deafened, Poe struggled to clamber to his feet, but fresh terror reared up within him, choking him as Finn rushed to his side.

Despite his best friend's inquiries, every thought, every emotion - the fear, the war, the whole galaxy narrowed like a laser down to one, most important thing.

You.

"She's in there," Poe croaked, eyes wild and frightened as the realization took hold, weakening every limb.

His bones seemed to liquify as the blast doors closed, sealing you and all your commrades in an inevitable fiery death.

"No," he choked out, crawling forward with his arms, even as Finn tried to pull him back.

Blood frozen in his veins, Poe stretched out his hand, trying to explain. "She's in there. She's trapped in there!"

"It's too late!" Finn jerked him up by his flight vest. "I'm sorry. Come on, it's not safe here."

The fear and the heat and the force of the blast throbbed inside him, suffocating him. He was stricken and lifeless, unable to force his insolent body to respond appropriately to the danger surrounding him.

"Please...she's in there..." He rasped out before everything went black.

Poe floated in an endless dark sky full of stars. Debris drifted all around him and war raged in the distance.

He thought fleetingly, that he must be dead. Either that, or he was blasted out of his X-wing and was now dying in the sky - the death of a warrior. Probably the death he deserved, even craved. A life given in the service of freedom. Like all the rebels and Resistance fighters before him.

Like you.

His gut clenched with anguish at the thought of this war extinguishing your light from the universe. Then a sliver of hope danced through his heart at the thought of somehow seeing you again.

As if he wished himself into your presence, his ears, no longer ringing with the deafening blast's effects, picked up on the sound of your sweet voice.

Calling his name.

'Where are you?' Words he felt deep and limitless in his very soul, as if the most raw, real part of him stretched out to find you, even here.

"Poe."

He felt you then, soft hand on his cheek, leaning so close he could feel your breath ghost his lips.

"I saw your eyes open. I know you can hear me."

Wherever you were, that's where he needed to be. The night sky illuminated itself and dissolved somehow, into a blinding overhead light.

"There you are. Poe? Come back to me, baby, please."

Nothing had ever sounded so compelling, so enchanting. Struggling to open his eyes fully, he clawed his way out of darkened space and into the brightness of your countenance.

"Hey," you tearfully whispered, raking your fingers through his curls as one tear dropped onto his cheek.

"Found you," he murmured, throat parched with thirst.

"Yeah, that's right, you found me," you tenderly encouraged. "Thought I lost you for a bit."

His eyes fluttered closed again, but peacefully, rather than distressed. "At least we're together."

"Of course we're together." You frowned, confused. "Hey, stay with me. Don't go. Don't you dare leave me!"

Forcing his eyes open, he lazily smiled. "You look good."

Gasping out a laugh, you struggled to understand. "I look what? You're crazy."

His eyes darted around him as he eased into full consciousness. "Where are we?"

"Med bay. You almost got incinerated. The blast in the hangar knocked you into a wall. You've got a nasty concussion." Sniffling, you granted him a weak smile. "But you'll live."

Realization seeped into the contours of his handsome face, making his lip tremble and his eyes leak with fresh tears. "You're here? I thought you were - "

"I know, Finn told me," you softly reassured him. "I wasn't in my ship. Not yet."

"You're here," he gasped, relief surging though his frayed nerves and battered body. "You're here."

Gingerly climbing into bed beside him, you pressed your cheek over his beating heart. "That's right. We're here. We're okay."

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