#he’s not those things but I’m so tired of reiterating the same points

[everwalldigan]

“Bruce Wayne did this Bruce Wayne did that” SO WHAT?? SO WHAT IF HES THE DEVIL, RICK? AT LEAST THE DEVIL HAS A JOB. AT LEAST HES ACTIVE IN THE COMMUNITY

[chevelleneech]

See so i think jikook are close def that much i can say, but i dont think they are in a relationship or a serious one at that , i mean we are pretty sure that jk had teh thing with the women (which people for some reason dont agree with or say its a cosplayer , who has teh exact same hairstyle, floorplan, walls, dog, sofa and lights , mannerisms, apartment and very soon after that jk said that "saesangs are still here" , so i dont whats there to disprove over here for those relegious jikook people) and then jm has with the actress who posts his apartment pics, and all of this happened esp with jk at that period when they admitted they werent talking at all, and wouldnt have if they hadnt met, throughout ct it felt that jk was sort of anxious, bored, distracted more like it and felt was upset, all of this also points that maybe they had a fallout a major one perhaps, but now they are better bc hell they went to military together. But all of this factually also puts out that jk and jm are not dating, jk is having his fun, with prob diff people, relationships and same prob with jm. Tae was with jennie, and even rm had a long committed relationship until recently it seems from rpwp songs. so all of this people fighting over taekook vs jikook and how jk seems abusive is redundant , bc they arent in a relationship either of them. what are you thoughts about it.

You including the “Jungkook was anxious and irritated and upset” line tells me you’re a Tkkr trying to hide your hands, lol.

Jungkook may have been nervous at the start of their trip to Connecticut, because Jimin was too, as they both mentioned it’s the first time they’re hanging out after a bit of not seeing each other. But this attempt at highlighting JK only, and saying he seemed uninterested in whatever ways, has been the one thing Tkkrs clung to since the first episode, and it is baseless.

Jungkook is allowed to feel however he felt, but we also all watched the damn show. He was smiling and happy during every single episode thus far, and reiterated his joy many times over. He also said during the first episode that he wanted to keep traveling and filming with Jimin after enlistment. He wants to do it until they’re 50. Was he exaggerating? Most probably, and him being tired at some points was a given due to him being in the middle of promoting his solo work. Outside of that though, he was happy and willing to do the show.

Jungkook and Jimin traveled together because they chose to, because they wanted to. So whatever was going on behind the scenes between them, is something we will never know the full picture of. So if you don’t think they’re together, okay, but I don’t think you ever did, because I’m pretty sure you are a Tkkr anyway.

Regardless of what you ship though, smoke and mirrors are not good indicators that people are dating. Jimin and Jungkook flirt and put their mouths on one another. They choose each other over and over, so no matter the fact that there is a woman claiming to be or trying to insinuate she is Jimin’s girlfriend. Without him ever confirming that, she’s just a weirdo.

Not to mention, why would any of their actual partners post the way she does? If Park Jimin was my man, I do not need to vague post and try to show off bits and pieces of our lives to convince his fans of it. Never mind the fact that it’s his private life. So if they are together, unless Jimin is okay with her stirring shit up in the fandom and posting his house on IG… that’s not something a grown woman, who is famous adjacent herself, dating an incredibly famous person would do.

In comparison, Namjoon and his potential boyfriend situation is the near exact opposite of what that woman is or was doing. We have no idea who the man (or men) is in the pictures Namjoon himself posted. Maybe some people do, idk, but the point is, there is no way to determine who they are nor what they mean to Joon outside of fandom speculation. Yet the speculation makes sense and is believable, because Namjoon himself played into it. He wasn’t deterred by people questioning his sexuality nor relationship status, he posted a heart over a man’s face, and was posting all types of loves songs as he traveled with his family and a man. Yet when he seemingly had his heartbroken, he deleted all photos of the emoji covered man (or men), started talking shit about relationships, and posting sad queer music.

That, imo, is how I believe a relationship between any BTS member would go. Not the heartbreak, but a “quiet launch”. Tae and Jennie were even along similar lines. They unfortunately didn’t post their pictures themselves, but even in the middle of the drama, they kept seeing each other in public spaces. They just didn’t publicize their whereabouts.

So if two members of the group can seemingly date both famous and presumably non famous people, and take pictures and be seen out and about with them, why can’t Jimin? Why is his relationship shrouded in mystery, and only fueled by the woman claiming to live with him all the while he makes no move to imply there’s truth to the rumor?

If he and JK have absolutely nothing going on, why is he out here letting his girlfriend look goofy, all the while biting hickies on a man? While flirting with a man on live and asking him to get naked? While traveling with the same man, getting his ass slapped by him in bed? Enlisting in the military with said man, using a program that keeps them together the entire time?

So again, you don’t have to ship Jikook nor think anything of them, but if you’re going to pull in Taennie and Namjoon’s possible situation to use as examples of the members dating, keep it steady across the board. Jimin and Jungkook’s speculated relationships with women do not match up with Taennie nor Joon’s situation, yet Jikook does.

They travel, sight see, share meals, stay up late, take cute selfies, and cuddle up. So what makes Jikook less likely, aside from them being in the same group for a decade? Which only adds reason to why they may have had some communication issues or whatever, and needed time apart.

[dailyaudiobiblechronological]

5/24/2023 DAB Chronological Transcription

Psalm 108-110

Today's the 24th day of May, welcome to Daily Audio Bible Chronological. I'm Jill, let's just pretend we're walking down the road looking at the villas in Rome. We just had the most amazing pasta. We're going to take a little boat ride through the canal in between the buildings, listening to the music. And now we're back to reality. We're here to read the Bible. This music just makes me all spaghetti happy inside. And yeah, I mean, spaghetti is my like you're on a deserted island, you've got one meal. It's spaghetti. Other than the gluten makes me as puffy as the Michelin tire man, welcome. So glad that you're here. What a joy it is to be here with you. And sorry, this is my brain. It's how she does. Let's jump into our reading. Today we're reading Psalm 108, 109 and 110. Today we're reading the Voice translation this week, Psalm 108. Commentary

I was listening to a podcast last week while doing a chore that I don't love to do. And I was really just trying to pass time and let my mind go somewhere else than thinking about how much I dislike this certain chore. And a father and son both in the world of counseling. And the son was talking about David, and he was talking about David being so relatable to him because he can be any given thing on any given day. So one day he can just praise God for being closer than his right hand to him and then the next day he's lamenting, where are you? Why have you forsaken me? And I laughed out loud because I have thought the very same thing. So relatable, especially thinking the passion that David exudes as an artist. And well, I have let the passion get myself in trouble a time or two. And we think of passion in terms of romance, but passion, you can be passionately angry, you can be passionately against an injustice. So I have had to rein my passion in and still I read the Psalms and I get it. I get how our circumstances can define our view on God. I think I would caution us on two fronts for those of us that are passionate. One, we have to remember that our emotions do not dictate or define our reality. It's really easy to get in that mindset and run with it. And then the next day the emotions sort of simmer down. We've had some time to calm and relax and we're like, oh, it wasn't as bad as I made it out to be yesterday when I lit the town on fire because I thought everybody was mad at me. Well, that might have been a little drastic. And secondly, I think a really important point for us to remember, especially in the story of yesterday and then our reading today, it is easy to get called out for things that we have done wrong and then hide in our shame. We hide out. We isolate, we deem ourselves unworthy, and then we live from that unworthiness. We are never ever, keep saying it, keep reiterating it, we are never too far gone or too far anything to not be able to come into the presence of God. This is the safety net of the presence of God. He does not meet us there with shame, but we allow our shame to prevent us from walking into the very presence of God. And we can then withdraw. And the gap, the distance, the intimacy becomes less and less. The gap becomes larger and larger. And the next thing we know, we are just out of relationship with God because we have done something wrong. But we allowed our unworthiness, we allowed our shame. We allowed the guilt of what we've done to prevent us from coming to the One who has already forgiven us. There is nothing, and I say this from experience there is nothing, no thing, not one thing that we could do that would prevent us from coming in to the presence of God. And this is one thing we should learn clearly from David. It's easy to worship the Lord when things are going right for us. It is easy to give God that which he's asked for us when we are in a season of plenty. It's a different story when we didn't get our way. But it's a much different story when we're in a season of drought or lack or want or just passionate desire wanting that thing. And oftentimes we make the thing, the pursuit instead of the One. So I want to remind us there is nothing, nothing you are going through, nothing you have gone through that would or that should keep you out of the very presence of Almighty God. Repentance. Sure it's available forgiveness? Yep. Already done. Let's not let the shame of what we have done wrong, the guilt of our own actions, prevent us thinking that God is mad, that he's holding a grudge, that he's just ready to lamb based us. We can safely walk and offer Him the praise, the thanksgiving, the honor and the glory, all that which he deserves, just as we hear David do all throughout the Psalms. Prayer

Father, we thank you for this day. We thank you for Your grace, your mercy, your love, your forgiveness. We thank you for you, and we thank you that we can come into Your presence shame free, guilt free, and we can ask forgiveness. We can turn from our ways, but we do not have to hide out because we have done wrong. We don't have to isolate and inflict self pain and harm on ourselves as punishment. We can come freely into Your presence and worship you. And I pray for every person that may be in that place. Now, God, that you would shake free the chains that feel heavy and the shoes that oftentimes feel like cement blocks. That make us feel as if we cannot come to you despite our own selves. Who you set free is free indeed. And I pray every person would feel that freedom even now, wherever they are at right now. And I thank you for that freedom that you give so freely. We complicate it, you give it, and we're grateful. We pray this now in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen. I'm Jill, look forward to turning the page with you together. Tomorrow another day. Until then, love one another. Community Prayer Line

Hello, my wonderful DABC family. This is covered in his blood, and it is winding down. My baby is about to graduate on Friday, May the 19th. And happy birthday to one of the DABbers. Her birthday is May 19. And you guys, I just want to call in and pray. I think the young lady name is Emmy. I might have it wrong, but I know she's battling cancer and they're talking about cutting her leg off and dead K, he is also battling cancer, and his sister is graduating, but she choose to be with him. So I want to lift them up because I feel that we are so selfish sometimes. We're fighting over the school limiting us to ten tickets for our kids graduation when these children are fighting for their lives. So I want to lift them up. Father God, we come to you covered in your blood. Father God, we just want to lift up Emmy and K to you, and we just pray that you heal them from the top of their heads to the sole of their toes. Father God, we just pray that cancer just flee their bodies, and when they do the scans, everything be clear. There's no cancer found. And we also just pray that K family can just all get together and attend his little sister graduation. She have earned it, Father God, and we thank you that she have chosen to stand with her brother and push everything aside that she had worked hard for. And she is a wonderful young lady to do that. And Father God, have a Morning Daily Audio Bible Chronological family, today is day 39. Just one more day to go in my commitment to pray for those who have experienced that by suicide, whether directly or indirectly, whatever the experience is. And so today is a beautiful day here. The sun is shining, and I want to pray specifically once again for those. Who are at risk after hearing a prayer request from the parent Delia De Bible Company channel. So let us pray. Loving God on our Father, we thank you for this absolutely gorgeously, beautiful day. We thank you that we are alive and loving God and our Father. We want to pray for those who have experienced death, who have experienced with death by suicide, directly or indirectly, those who may be struggling themselves to take the next breath, to continue on their journey of life. And so, Lord, I want to pray for deliverance and I want to pray for your presence of your Holy Spirit amongst this vulnerable population. Lord, I also want to pray specifically for those who are at great risk, which are in this day and age or young people, Lord, for whatever reason, Lord, it seems that it is a big challenge, Lord. And so, Lord, may we as older members of society of the Christian faith, be there for the young people to provide them with a solid foundation that will help them in their journey where they may feel safe in Our presence. May they may feel Your love that encompasses them in every possible way. Lord, may we live in a way that will encourage them to live, that will encourage them to get to know You, Lord, because it may sound cliche, but you are the answer to everything. And so, Lord, we just ask for a revelation of you in the lives of the young people, especially those within this community. Through your son's name, I pray. Amen. Good morning, DABC. I hope you all are well. It is Heather in Nashville. Prayer request for myself is for housing circumstances out of my control. My husband doesn't want to work on the relationship anymore and he has filed for divorce. It's still kind of a shock, but I am moving forward and need to find housing. I am from Santa Barbara in California, and as everybody's experienced, the housing costs have been unbearable and I need to start my business when I get home so that I can save up for a house and even a room. And a house right now is $2,000 just to rent a room. And so I do have a four year old standard poodle that is making things more challenging. And he is perfect in every way, but he needs a backyard. He can't be just cooped up in a room, but I'd like to get home and settled instead of going and getting into a hotel and rushing to find a house. So I also applied for a house that was perfect and it turned out to be a scam. And I had to freeze my Social Security with all the credit bureaus and I'm unsettled now. So there would just be the biggest prayer request would be to have a two bedroom home with the backyard for my puppy dog and a washer dryer and place for me to run my business out of right away from somebody that I know that's not going to scam me. And I'll be leaving Nashville for California whenever settlement comes in. So have a little time. But thank you so much for your prayers. I appreciate you. Love you guys.

[yuzukult]

bittersweet. (m) || kmg & reader

title: bittersweet. pairing: kim mingyu x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, established relationship!au word count: 3.1k warnings: dirty deed is done (aka explicit sex if you didn't catch that). profanity. prompt: you're always fighting. he doesn't get you. so why are you even still together? a/n: before any of my friends make fun of me, shaddup. anyways, this is for @/ficscafe dialogue prompt event! i'll be using #14: you make me weak.

He’s so adamant.

The crinkle in between his brows, the scrunch of his nose, and his incessant blinking from all the nerves, despite it all, he still stands firm on his beliefs.

But you’re fighting. Always fighting.

He doesn’t get you—he spends most of the time he's with you arguing about how insensitive you are as a person, how nonchalant you can be when you should be reacting with some type of emotion, and how he wished you’d been more affectionate with him.

But he doesn’t understand you. He thinks you’re selfish (sure, he didn’t outright state this, but you can sense him feeling this way.)

Albeit you’re unsure how you got yourself in this position—back flat against the wall, his hands on your wrists with his crotch pinning yours as your legs wrap around him securely to meet his gaze from the height difference.

“I need you to talk to me,” he rasps, anger filled in his voice. “I’m so tired of making this into some guessing game. Why can’t you just tell me how you feel?”

Although he’s got you cornered, rutting his hips into you once again, it's not persuasive enough. “Talk to me.”

“If you can’t figure me out, maybe we should just break up. I didn’t want to date in the first place.”

Jaw clenched, his eyes continue to melt into yours. He’s looking for anything—a sign, a glimpse, a crack in your exterior to see whatever it is you’re truly feeling inside. “Why do you always use that as a solution? Instead of just communicating?”

“Because—“ you halt, breath hitching when he shifts, the head of his cock rubbing against your bud through your thin material shorts. “—Because it’s an easier solution. What do you expect from me?”

“To tell me and show me if you like me or not. You’re like a fucking boulder. I can’t move you.”

You quirk a brow. “Your fucking holding me down right now. You’ve evidently proved you can move me elsewhere.”

“Emotionally,” he says, exasperated. “The most I can get you to feel something is when we’re fucking. I’m surprised we’re even fucking in the first place. You barely let me hold your hand!”

Rolling your eyes, you pull your arms from his hold and he lets go easily. It’s the type of person Mingyu is—he’s gentle, the complete opposite of you, with a heart of gold that everyone loves and appreciates. He’s lovable, known to many, and desired by them all, and somehow, you got him in your grasp and truthfully… you’re not sure what to do.

He’s fragile, but you have rough hands with toughened skin from years of experience and encounters. There’s this fear that you’ll drop him, shatter him into pieces as brittle as chinaware. So you hold the front, keep yourself strong with a facade tougher than concrete, because you’re afraid if you hold on too tight, he might break. And at the same time, he might break you too.

“You wanna know why?” You finally blurt, words firm and sharp. “Because you make me weak. And I don’t like being weak. I don’t like being known as weak. And you—you do that to me. I hate it.”

He furrows his brows. “I make you weak? The one girl I know to be the most resilient?” Mingyu has to scoff in disbelief because it’s the first time he’s hearing this. “You realize how insane you sound? It’s okay to have feelings for me. It’s why we’re together.”

Nose twitching, you suck in your cheeks. “I hate it. I hate this. I hate that when you turn to look at me in the morning, you give me that fucking… smile. Like I’m your whole world. Like you’re head over heels for me and I’m all that you see.”

“And why do you hate that?”

“Because, some part of me, deep down into the abyss, wants to look at you like that too.”

His jaw loosens, just like the restraints he had over his heart in the past hour of arguing, hands now finding purchase on your thighs to pull you back up closer. “Baby…” he calls out for you softly, the term of endearment nearly bursting your heart, but you keep yourself calm and collected as you normally do. “Then do it. Why are you so scared?”

“I told you.”

“That’s not a good enough reason.”

“Well, it’s good enough for me.”

He heaves a heavy breath. “Baby, I can’t keep doing this. I feel like I’m chasing you but I’m getting nothing out of it.”

Then, you reiterate the same words you’ve said multiple times, but there’s never any genuinity in it because you never actually… meant it. “Then let’s break up.”

“We’re not breaking up.”

“Then what do you want to do? Tell me. If breaking up isn’t the option, then tell me instead of having me up the wall if we’re not gonna fuck.”

“Fucking only happens when you’re pissed or when you’re making up.”

“So, what now?”

It’s Mingyu’s turn to roll his eyes. “We make up. I need you to talk to me. I can barely read you—the only thing I know for sure is that you don’t want this to end because you just admitted to me that you wanna look at me the same way I look at you.”

Frustrated, you let your head drop onto the wall behind you. “This is annoying. I don’t like expressing stuff. You just take what you get or leave. If you can’t figure out what’s going through my mind, what’s the point? Why put in the effort?” Eyes fluttering shut, you feel yourself wanting to crawl into a ball and just… hide. Despite being fully clothed, you feel naked when Mingyu asks for more. And what he’s asking for isn’t even unreasonable—you’re just horrible at telling people what you’re feeling. “I just… why can’t I just let you lay your head on my lap when you get home from work? Or… cook dinner with you. Even have it ready when you have long nights at work. Maybe even fold your laundry—I don’t know. I don’t like PDA but if you asked me, I’d hold your hand under the table. Or… hold it in your pocket on cold days.”

Then, Mingyu stays silent (for the first time).

It finally hits.

You’re not outspoken when it comes to soft things. You’re loving but not in the same way he is. You’re also honest and straightforward about everything except when it comes to admitting feelings for him.

And for once, when you say those words, he… he feels loved by you.

He remembers those days—after spending hours at the gym despite having a long work day, he’d come home and you’re there waiting for him on the couch so you could shower together. You’d help scrub his limp body, even though he moans and groans about how sore he is, but you do it nonetheless because you like him. Or when you stopped by at his apartment, one he shares with all his friends, because he was stuck with helping one of them build their beds and you brought them all, including himself, lunch. And that wasn’t to mention you were already working twelve hour days.

“Can you answer one question for me, then? I won’t force you to tell me again. I just need to hear it once.”

Your eyes open, and it feels like a mistake because your heart drops into your stomach. His gaze is hypnotizing, like he’s got you in a trance, and you respond with a ‘yes’ without much thought because of him.

Mingyu swallows all his anxiety before asking that million dollar question.

“Do you love me?”

Although you feel small being put on the spot like that, the one thing you’ll admit is that you’ve already predetermined the answer to this. And just as much courage as Mingyu puts into asking, you’ll reciprocate and do the same in answering because he’s admirable for even trying.

“Yes.”

Without much thought, he presses his lips against yours. You love him, although you rarely if not never say it, but you finally said those words and all he needs is to hear it just once for assurance. To know that there’s something he’s chasing for, that he’s not running in place like on a treadmill.

Arms snaking around his neck, you keep your hold there as his hands reach to your jaw, leveraging the kiss in an angle he’d prefer. When you kiss, he feels complete. He’s never felt like this with another girl before, this feeling of home, the feeling of comfort. You’re colder than brisk winters, but something about having you in his arms makes him warm.

Your fingers comb through his locks, and although it’s doused in gel and spent hours on doing this morning, he doesn’t mind because he knows he’s yours. When you kiss him back, he’s as anxious as he was when he had to go on stage and perform in front of people for the first time.

Gently pulling away, both your lips are pink and swollen with a string of saliva connecting between. Pants brushing against each other’s face, a soft smile tugs on the edges of your lips as you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“I love you too,” he says, as low as a whisper. “And… I’m okay if you don’t say it again. You know how I show you that I love you… and I should’ve been better at learning what you’re comfortable with in showing how you love. But I still need you to help, too, to make this… better. I need you to talk to me, when you need me. When I need you. I need you to be here for me too.”

“Okay,” you respond, volume matching his. “If that’s the case, I love you. Just… as another reminder since I only said yes the first time.”

He lets out a chuckle, vibrating from his chest and everything about him makes your heart race. “Good. Can I show you how much I love you?”

“No,” you retort quickly and bashfully. But he knows you’re playing because you nod afterwards, allowing him to carry you to the couch. “Maybe.”

“I need a yes, love,” Mingyu says cheekily, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You know I’m not going to go any further until I hear it.”

“Yes,” you reply embitterly, but Mingyu knows better now. He knows what you want, because all he needed was assurance. “Please show me how much you love me.”

And fuck, because he never knew how much he needed to hear those words all his life.

You’re so pretty when he has you stripped down to nothing, laid out on the leather couch of your living room; hair messy, mouth gaped open from all his teasing, and with an arm covering your face because it’s all too much for you. Mingyu is a passionate lover, you’ve come to recognize, and although it’s all an unfamiliar territory, you love him and you’re willing to step into the unknown.

“How am I doing?” He asks, as if he doesn’t have his head in between your legs and a grip on the meat of your thighs. He loves the taste of you, he reminds you plenty of times, but dirty talk coming from such an innocent face makes you slightly embarrassed. “Feels good?”

“Shut up,” you hiss, avoiding his infatuated stare. “Just… just fucking do it, you asshole.”

“What? Show you how much I love you?”

There’s a tornado in the pit of your stomach. He keeps saying things that make you awkward because you’ve never been loved like how Mingyu loves.

You don’t react, and this displeases him. Laying his tongue flat out against your cunt, he gives you another lick that lets a whimper escape from your lips. “Tell me, baby. Am I doing a good job?”

“Yes,” you croak, only because you feel like he’s got you in this position for so long. You’re so exposed, and he at least has his boxers to protect him like a shield, but you’re all out in the open. (Not to mention his fucking built body. He makes you feel so insecure about yours—how is this puppy looking boy so… wide? What the fuck?) “Can you… can you take that off?”

He leans up, tilting his head in confusion and now you can see how hard he is in his undergarments. “My… my boxers?”

“Yeah. I feel like… I’m the only one exposed here.”

He laughs. “Baby, we’ll get to that.”

“Now.”

Mingyu snorts. “Anything my baby wants.” He bumps foreheads with you gingerly, something he's always done playfully, and tugs off his boxers swiftly as requested. “Let me make you cum first and—“

“No,” you interject, eyes closed and biting down on your bottom lip. It's the only way to remain bold—to not look him in the eye because he’ll melt you like a stick of butter left on the kitchen counter. “Show me how you love me.”

Mingyu doesn’t hesitate to shuffle quickly through the little stash hidden on the first shelf underneath your coffee table (he likes to be prepared in every situation even though this is your apartment) and finally spots the condom he hid a week ago. Tearing it open rapidly, he gives himself a couple pumps that have beads of precum building at the top and slips the rubber on with ease. “Ready?”

“For you?” Mingyu gulps, because before today, you’ve rarely said anything that made his heart stutter. “Anything.”

With a push of the head of his cock into your heat, a quiet wince escapes from your lips and his chocolate orbs are saturated in apologies. He doesn’t want you to feel pain, especially not you, but even his efforts to loosen you up beforehand, you still manage to be so tight around him every time. It feels good to have you around him snugly, yet he knows the consequence of the beginning is the ache in between your legs from the first intrusion.

“I’m sorry, bub,” Mingyu presses a tender kiss on your forehead. “Bear with me, yeah?”

“Mm,” you hum dismissively, warming up when he finally slides himself all the way in. He stills, in fear that you’re hurt, but instead, you’re surprisely impatient as you cross your legs behind him and pull him close. Bringing your lips close to his ears, you breathe, “fuck me, baby.”

Mingyu laughs brightly, and your jaw clenches. “What?”

“After today, I’m not going to fuck you.” You quirk a brow. “I’m gonna make love to you.”

“Don’t make me throw up. You’re ruining the moment.”

He grins mischievously before pulling out and shoving himself back in swiftly that earns a groan from you. “Oh? Am I?”

“Stop playing, Mingyu,” you state sternly, but Mingyu is enjoying himself too much. “Or else you're not getting any for the month.”

Well, that does the trick.

He has his hands on your hips, pushed down against the seat cushions of your loveseat couch, hips once flushed against yours now thrusting into your throbbing pussy. God, you’re fucking done for, honestly, because he’s a pro with his hips when he angles it just right that he’s brushing against your swollen clit, hitting so deep into you.

“Fuck—“

“You curse too much, baby,” Mingyu puffs, pecking the side of your lips sloppily. “Everyone thinks I’m such a nice guy and when they meet my—fuck—g-girlfriend and find out how much of a dirty mouth she has, they’re always struck.”

“Too fucking bad,” you spit, fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders. He’s so big, stretching you with each shove, but you’d never tell him that or his ego would inflate. “Stop talking and fuck me harder.”

Mingyu loves. He loves and loves, and although you won’t pretend that he comes to your home often with crumpled pieces of papers with girls’ names and numbers on them that fall into the catch-all bowl by the door with his keys, you don’t forget that besotted daze he falls into the moment he sees you. So when you ask for something, he delivers without fail.

Abiding by your urge, his hips move briskly, pistoning into you as fast as he can. Biceps tense, you can’t help but let your hands slip there, gripping onto the muscle and has you wondering fuck, how did you get so lucky? He’s hot, cute, sweet, loving and geez, he could fuck. He’s so clumsy, so dumb sometimes, but he’s so freaking lovable it makes you sick. Lovesick.

His pretty eyes shut close, you notice, because those two cups of hot chocolate are gone and he’s chewing on his bottom lip as he groans, ends of his hair that brush over his eyes now drenched in sweat. His skin glistens underneath the dim lights, and he reminds you of the stars in the night sky—so gorgeous, so special. Always a sight to see.

“Fuck,” the not-so-innocent boy curses (even though he just said you curse too much) “Baby, you just got so tight. Are you about to cum?”

“Possibly,” you manage to say, still attempting to play games even though Mingyu could very so threaten to steal your orgasm away from the tip of your fingers. But when he slightly shifts in the midst of his pounding, you let out a raspy, “Almost,” because he’s rubbing against your nub incessantly that you’re losing all your focus.

When you finally see those stars, you let go.

Mingyu feels this, grunting when you convulse around his dick, head dropping to watch you tug and tug around him, begging for him to cum. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long because after a couple thrusts, he stills, spilling ropes of cum into the condom and dropping the entirety of his weight onto you, face snug into the crook of your neck once again.

“I—“

“You’re heavy.”

“Fuck, baby, we just had sex and that’s the first thing you say?”

He can’t see you, but there’s a smile on your face. “Yeah. And you got my couch all sticky from your sweat. Not to mention the cum. Are you gonna clean it after?”

Mingyu doesn’t care. He’s blissful. He’s happy. He knows you’re going to toss a damp rag at him later, despite his dick out and still drenched in your arousal, and tell him to ‘wipe down the fucking couch because that’s gross.’

All because he knows that you love him.

[sokkastyles]

Reading ATLA: The Promise - pp94-158

The subplot with Toph and Sokka training her students is cute, but it’s not funny enough to be enjoyable as even comic relief, and Sokka’s character seems to be ONLY comic relief now. I’m really not surprised, because all of the characters have been flanderized, but the mistreatment of Sokka here is particularly egregious, especially since he’s the only brown skinned boy in the main cast.

This is another page that’s been harped on to death already, but I just want to reiterate how tired I am of seeing Katara be made to feel guilty for prioritizing her own feelings. I’m going to choose to believe that Aang did genuinely want to feel closer to his people and that he isn’t just using it to be manipulative, but the thing is, why isn’t Katara allowed to share in this? Even if Katara felt left out because of her own jealousy, why doesn’t it ever occur to Aang to try and include her, especially since they mean so much to each other. Why is she not included in this part of his life (that coincidentally involves Aang being fawned over by tons of girls who are all in love with him)? This scene could have ended with Katara confessing to feeling left out, and Aang offering to teach her how to play the air flute or something. It would have been sweet and emphasized the comic’s theme of cultural exchange, as well as done a lot to portray the KA relationship as an equal relationship.

Zuko visits Ozai again and Ozai reveals the lesson of his story the previous night - it doesn’t matter whether the Fire Lord chooses to help the hawk or the turtle crab, because whatever side he chooses is the right one simply because he chose it. This sounds a lot like what Azula tells Long Feng about power in the series, that those with power are the ones who have the will to exert it. To Ozai, it doesn’t matter whether his decision is right or wrong, and being uncertain is a sign of weakness. Of course this is an immoral stance, and Zuko says he trusts Aang to do what’s right. Ozai asks Zuko if he trusts Aang more than he trusts himself. And then this happens:

This is a good scene, actually, as heartbreaking as it is. Ozai is manipulating Zuko, and Ozai is right about power in one respect. Ozai has power over Zuko psychologically because he’s able to tap into what he knows Zuko’s weaknesses are. Even though Ozai is in prison and Zuko is the Fire Lord, Ozai is still Zuko’s father and Zuko spent sixteen years living under his thumb.

But ultimately, Ozai being able to boss Zuko around like this just shows that the only power Ozai really has is through being a bully.

It’s frustrating to see Zuko backsliding, and yes, the entire comic is frustrating for the way it retreads previously resolved conflicts, but it’s not unrealistic that Zuko, an abused kid, would still have this kind of reaction, no matter how many times he tells Ozai he’s not going to listen to him anymore. That kind of psychological dependence is hard to break. What’s frustrating is that Zuko has to be completely isolated in order to get to that point, which also involves every other character acting in ways that are OOC. Especially Iroh, who knows Ozai more than anyone and how dangerous he can be even when Zuko is out of his reach, should have foreseen the danger here. If only Ozai could have been put in a maximum security prison far away...perhaps in the middle of a boiling lake inside a volcano...I don’t know, I’m just spitballing here...Not just for Zuko’s safety but that also reduces the danger of anyone in the capital who might be sympathetic to Ozai staging an escape attempt. Especially considering that Iroh himself broke out of that prison without firebending at all.

There’s also a subplot where Kori’s boyfriend, Sneers, who was one of the protestors outside Yu Dao, says she has to choose whether she is Fire Nation or Earth Kingdom, but his name is Sneers, so.

Katara and Aang visit the Earth King and, hilariously, both talk at the same time over the other, Aang saying that the Fire Nation people don’t belong in the Earth Kingdom and Katara saying that Zuko is trying to defend the families living there. Literally nobody communicates in this comic, even when they’re trying to communicate!

Kuei apparently has been taking a page from Ozai’s book of How to Become a Fascist Dictator because he decides that this is the moment that he needs to Be a Man (you tell him, Katara!) There’s something here about toxic masculinity and power dynamics. Kuei’s situation is similar to Zuko’s because he’s also been manipulated by his government and feels the need to prove himself as a strong leader, and the Earth Kingdom is also no doubt experiencing some serious political upheaval in the wake of the deposition of the Dai Li. 

But we know that Zuko isn’t his father, because he doesn’t want to rule through fear and intimidation.

So, Mai broke up with Zuko because he didn’t tell her he was going to visit Ozai, but she had a conversation with Suki behind his back about it - after she went behind Zuko’s back to fire his personal guards and put the Kyoshi Warriors in their place - and she’s mad about him keeping secrets?

I’ve also seen some criticism of Zuko here for ordering Mai to stay, but it was obviously something emotional said in the moment that he instantly regrets - and it didn’t work anyway. She also did the same thing to him at the end of ATLA when she told him never to break up with her again so like, turn about is fair play. Zuko doesn’t know why he says this, but like, this is the kind of behavior you learn if the person you’re in a relationship treats you that way. Also we just saw Zuko’s father order him around. It’s the trauma, bud. We won’t address any of this though, we’ll just pretend Zuko is going nuts because this poor kid hasn’t been gaslit enough in his life.

Zuko’s general comes in to tell him that the Earth King is marching against Yu Dao.

The biggest problem with this is that it’s framed as Zuko turning evil instead of “Zuko needs therapy.” Oh, and to not be around his abusive father. 

Zuko wanting to live for his mom, who left to save his life.

I do like the idea of Zuko and Aang having this shared psychic spirit connection.

Aang and Katara go to warn the people of Yu Dao to flee the city before the Earth King’s forces arrive, but get attacked themselves. Aang meets the Yu Dao chapter of his fan club, who have pretty much straight up appropriated Air Nomad culture, and gets really pissed off and then decides to double down on his stance that the nations have to be separate. Because THAT’S the message here folks, rather than “cultural appropriation is bad,” we’re going for “isolationism is good.”

[sepublic]

            I know I wrote a whole bit about having Megatron be frozen in his alt-mode on Earth instead of robot mode, but as I think about it… Does he even need to have been frozen? To have disappeared with the Allspark?

         With a series like Transformers Animated, it really made sense because the writers were actually competent and made the most of this plot point. But for the Bayverse, and by consequence the Nizziverse that is its rewrite…

         It just feels like nothing really happened with Megatron and the Allspark being in the same place? Not to mention, the Nizziverse has left out the bit about modern Earth tech being reverse-engineered from Megatron, as well as the whole glasses subplot because it just made no sense. I feel like the story already makes enough sense for the Autobots and Decepticons to sneak onto Earth, think it’s just another colony slated for Cybertronian harvest, only to find out that it’s special because it has a lost thing that landed on it after all! A second lost thing, Megatron and/or the Allspark, not sure if that’s needed.

         Would it really make a difference, I ask, if Megatron just. Arrived only in the climax because it takes a while to fly from Earth to Cybertron? Think about it this way, the Decepticons scout out Earth as a colony. Decepticon scouts are sent to explore the place, get a feel for its civilizations, etc. Megatron doesn’t bother going there because the main fight is on Cybertron, the very reason for this conflict.

         But then he decides to travel to Earth (by himself, no bodyguards needed) to check up on the scouts there, because Starscream is among them and he doesn’t trust his lieutenant with a potential source of energy and a staging ground to form his own coup from. It takes like, days, weeks, months, something like that, to fly to Earth without a space bridge, but communications are fairly instant. So when the first film begins, the Decepticons are buzzing because their glorious leader will arrive to inspect their progress, meeting on the moon since it’s uninhabited and Megatron doesn’t like taking the disguises of lesser worlds.

         However! Blackout finds a clue suggesting the Allspark may have landed on this planet after all! And suddenly, what becomes a routine inspection, maybe another one of Starscream’s rebellions to put down, is EVERYTHING to Megatron. He of course calls in additional reinforcements to meet him on Earth, but he’s already gone through most of the journey, and as I said, it takes a while to travel, which is why nobody else arrives in time to fight in Mission City.

         Part of the reason I’m considering this change is because I kinda have to justify to myself how the Decepticons stayed together for a while without a proper leader. I guess we always have the Fallen as an answer, to be fair; He preferred to let Megatron lead and mostly acted as a support-role mentor, only stepping in to lead for Megatron’s sake. And maybe the Decepticons DID fracture, but the thing is, I want the war on Cybertron to still be raging, relatively equal on both sides; Hence why neither side just moves completely to Earth to reconvene. And also there’s stubborn personal preference.

         Plus, I guess I have my own reasons to keep Megatron frozen; As I said, I’m a bit fond of my little bit I wrote about humans finding a mysterious spaceship, frozen in the arctic, only to eventually realize it is both ship AND pilot, a Transformer! Likewise, I really adore the theory that Megatron was able to hear the humans around him when he was frozen, hence why his first words upon thawing are “I am Megatron!” He’s sick and tired of being called NBE-1 and wants to reiterate his identity.

         And THAT leads to another interpretation I especially like, being that his offer to make Sam his pet was actually a little bit sincere. Among those disgusting humans, Sam was the only one to call him by his name, recognize him as leader of the Decepticons, and was even miffed for him when he kept trying to correct Simmons. It’s very little, but then you have to remember that Megatron wasn’t THAT insistent on his offer either, and I think being frozen and unable to move, surrounded and prodded by insects who keep misidentifying you, refusing to give you the respect you deserve… I think just that bit of relief meant more than he might’ve expected.

         I guess having the Fallen as my explanation kinda makes sense, but then again I am wondering if I might rewrite his character and history with Megatron a bit more radically, or not. Considering his face is THE Decepticon logo, I have to explain to myself why the Decepticons chose a demonized figure from their mythos to fashion themselves after.

[jiminrings]

Lunchbox lovers request:

So I would love to see a sit down talk between yoongi and mc. Just so like mc can sort her feelings out about everything, and like get advice about forgiving Kook. Idk, I just want those two to have a chat between besties.

-🐞

cold senior!y/n x stem major koo masterlist :D

yoongi will be on y/n’s team — always

“what do you want for dinner?”

yoongi had the best afternoon nap anyone could ever possibly have

it was a mid-afternoon nap actually and something about it just hit different this time

there’s days when it’s extremely warm y’know? not hot, but like uncomfortably warm

it was that uncomfortably warm afternoon when everyone’s collectively feeling sleepy?? turn the airconditioning on to its coolest and sleep without a shirt on and be surrounded by a pillow on both sides......?

yeah that afternoon nap awhile ago really put yoongi on a happy mood

he’s not asking what you want for dinner because he slept good :D

excellent afternoon naps aren’t the only things that make him this way!! lol you could also count days when he receives a random gift out of nowhere and the days when you replace the toothpaste instead of him

but really, whether or not he gets these instances, he genuinely just asks you what you want for dinner so he could either cook it or order it

“what do you want for dinner?” yoongi nudges you from your spot on the couch, about to invade your personal space again and lie down on your lap before you get to cooking

you only hum in response, your best attempt at returning his affection coming in the form of tussling his hair

“we already have dinner, yoongs.”

omg that’s nice then

“you already cooked dinner? even while i was still asleep? wow, look at you,” he praises you abundantly, attempting to pinch your nose when you dodge him

.... that’s the thing though

yoongi watches you visibly freeze when you were doing anything in the first place besides watch your show in a still position

“i didn’t.”

oh

if your dorm was already silent, it became even mORE silent now

if you didn’t cook, then that means-

“jungkook brought dinner.”

yoongi finishes for you and it’s the far worse equivalent of two mothers bringing their own turkeys for thanksgiving

the show you’ve been rewatching is white noise at this point that you can’t recognize anything in this room besides yoongi

it’s been two weeks

that’s literally half a month

two weeks ever since jungkook’s been pouring active effort into working for your forgiveness and normalcy with him out of his own volition

alright maybe you’ll just focus on the gray streaks in yoongi’s new hair <3

and maybe he’ll just focus on the blue stain on your pink pajamas because he put them in the same load when they were newly-purchased <3

yeah but no you can’t do this forever

he can’t do this forever

you and yoongi can’t do this forever

the two of you can’t keep dancing around each other whenever the mention of jungkook pops up because the two of you have two dRASTICALLY different perspectives

right now, yoongi’s just awkwardly laying on your lap and he’s can’t even look up ay the ceiling

“do you wanna talk about it now?”

you end up caving by asking him first, a sigh of relief from holding it in which makes him relieved because he didn’t want to initiate that

“yeah, let’s talk,” he pulls himself up and he’s now looking at you with much embarrassment, “can we even have this conversation while completely sober?”

yoongi’s really rEALLY looking for a distraction to help ease this discomfort in his chest

okay you get where he’s coming from

“you mean you wanna share a joint with me while we have a long-overdue conversation?”

you chuckle at the mental image of yoongi seeing literal stars and freaking out about it, probably crying while he chats to you

“mhmmm. would probably calm our nerves. o-or maybe just mine, atleast.”

to be honest, he doesn’t even have quite a clue on wHY he’s nervous!! it’s the two of you and you’ve always been comfy with each other

that’s the whole foundation of your friendship — you’re fully comfortable with each other and the two of you find it difficult to be this comfy with anyone else

if he really delves deeper into it though, yoongi would know that the reason he’s so nervous for this conversation with you is because he doesn’t want to fight with you

you’d only have occasional tiffs and arguments ever once in a while, but never a fight!!

he’s not assuming that your conversation would turn into a fight, but that possibility scares him still because what if he loses you?

:(((

and if the two of you do fight, it would be over a junior named jungkook who broke your heart and probably insulted you to your core

he doesn’t want to romanticize it either, but if the two of you do fight, yoongi would want it to be something entirely else

he’s willing to have a fight about being messy and how it frustrates you so much

he’d pick a fight over his clingy habits and how it sometimes makes you feel insecure

he’d pick a fight over how he wants to be your number one best friend so bad that it’s beyond unhealthy he’s making it a competition

he’d want a fight over him being a lil insecure of seokjin at times because the two of you get along so well and know much mORE things than he ever could and he can’t always be included in the inside jokes

what yoongi doesn’t want is to fight over jungkook.

“that sounds nice,” you agree because maybe you too are feeling a little antsy, “but we could do that after.”

he nods, his hands curled to his lap that he only meets your eyes now

“okay.”

oh my god

what now

everything’s put out of the way and it’s now the part when you actually tALK

“are you mad at me?”

you take the first approach and it’s already heavy right from the start, the question weighing especially hard in your mind the past few weeks

“what? no. i could never be mad at you,” he answers just as quick and precise, “i’m mad at him.”

“and i understand that.”

you really do know where yoongi’s coming from because after all, you’re the receiving end of all of jungkook’s words at the time

but that’s the thing!!!

that’s tHEE thing that bothers yoongi the most

you have this feeling of guilt because you feel like you’re betraying yoongi in a way

“then why are you letting jungkook in again?”

it’s as if it’s a double-edged sword and merely entertaining jungkook would be a stab in the back to yoongi, even if you don’t owe him anything

“because i understand him too.”

yoongi deadpans at that, a tired sigh falling instinctively from his lips but his mind’s more awake now

“god, seriously?” he shakes his head and outstretches his hands to hold your shoulders in place. “y/n you are the most lovable person i know. you believe him when he told you otherwise-“

“i-i know it isn’t true. it’s not true when it comes from jungkook.”

your voice wavers but it’s not the only thing that’s coming in waves, your resolve blurring even more when you see yoongi fighting back his own tears

“but when it comes from me i-“

“it’s not true either.”

all that yoongi does is take you to his chest the moment your body feels limp with the sigh that escapes you, a knowing body of tears coming next

your parents’ divorce is the furthest thing from fresh but the impact it placed on you renews without warning, the thoughts coming in waves

they were sure to reiterate over and over again that it wasn’t your fault, but god the way that they never even bothered afterwards made you think otherwise

“i-i just feel like a placemarker and neither of them came back for me, y’know? don’t get me wrong, i love my aunt to pieces and she’s family and-“

your faint sobs rack your ribs and yoongi can feel them, a relief that your face is buried to his shoulder so that you wouldn’t see him cry

“jin and i are your family too.”

they are but deep down, you know it’s a whole other ball game

“b-but that’s because you’re unrelated to me. i don’t remind any of you of the other. i’m not your daughter.”

it really wasn’t as harsh as how your words cut out, but it just breaks yoongi’s heart to know how difficult is must have been and is for you

you mumble when you calm down enough, playing with a loose thread on the cardigan you’ve gifted him on his birthday this year

“jungkook didn’t know that sore spot. he couldn’t have, but i’m not defending him either, yoongi.”

you mean it with full sincerity and he’s trying to digest your words as best as he could before his bias gets the best of him

“it’s on him for being horrible to me, but it’s on me for relating what he said to what i felt a long time ago.”

yoongi opens and closes his mouth, but before he does, you’re lifting your head up to interrupt him

god he’s aLSO crying

“use the sleeves to wipe your snot, dumbo. it’s not even that expensive!!” you chuckle when you urge him to do so, making him both frustrated and sheepish because his goddamn snot interrupted you

you lean on his shoulder and stay that way, this time being a rare occurrence in which you cling to him like a koala

“and i know that he shouldn’t have said those things to me either way. i do.”

yoongi nods at that, capturing his point fully

he insists on patting you on the forehead, drawing circles and definitely not a penis as he drawls his words

“he can’t take back what he said, y/n.”

“but that doesn’t mean he can’t redeem himself, yoongs.”

you offer him a timid smile, turning into a bigger one when you know just the right approach to satiate him enough

“jungkook taking accountability is the bare minimum, though,” you chuckle when he nods eagerly to the point he gives himself whiplash, “which is why i’m being smart and haven’t fully forgave him yet.”

…

…..

yoongi sighs when the two of you spend the pause in silence, speaking in all honesty

“i don’t know if i can forgive the little shit.”

“you don’t need to.”

you say just as genuine, a reassuring smile on his face to ease the focused knot on his brows

“you don’t owe it to me, yoongs. i know what you’re thinking.”

you really do

he tends to look at you in high regard even when you tell him that he shouldn’t, and it leads to him with the mindset that he really should appease his best friend at all times

“i eventually will,” he admits quietly. “just not now.”

“that’s okay too.”

it was supposed to be another bout of silence but yoongi actually breaks this time, blurting out words once he felt that the coast was clear

he just needs to get this off his chest before this heart-to-heart moment dwindles

“i don’t want to sound weird, but you’re like, my platonic girlfriend, y’know? my soulmate in a very platonic way, but no one says either that your soulmate has to be in a romantic sense and-…”

you exclaim in relief, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when you jolt him by the shoulders

“god, finally. i’ve always wanted to tell you that i feel the same. you’re my soulmate, i’m pretty sure. my very, very platonic boyfriend i live with.”

yoongi sighs, stares, then fiNALLY heartily laughs in relief

everything’s out of the way :)

“we’re good. we always will be.”

you’re about to get up to fulfill yoongi’s suggestion earlier, being cut short when he gently pulls you by your forearm when you stood

“i’ll always be on your team — you know that right?”

yoongi means it with his whole heart, just one more reminder he wants you to reaffirm in your mind for the night

“i’ll always be on yours too, yoongs.”

[stargaze-sunflower]

Hello! Could you do some Dewey and Louie bonding? Or maybe Dewey protecting his brothers? Your writing is amazing btw.

This ask is from way back when I was taking prompts sajdskj I'm sorry its so late but I dug up something that I wrote for the green beans discord and it sort of fit this so I cleaned it up a bit :]

The context is that Dewey and Louie have been stuck in a magical forest that shows them their worst memories, but it kinda starts near the end of that story so asjdkkjsa anyway I hope you enjoy!! <33

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dewey’s worst nightmare used to be Huey being freakishly tall, but now that he’d been introduced to freakishly tall trees in a disturbingly magical forest, he might be reevaluating that decision.

“We’ll get out of here,” Dewey said, softer than he might’ve, had it not felt like something was watching them. “We always get out.”

“Yeah, sure, we always escape magical forests that trap us and show us our worst memories,” Louie grumbled, sarcastic and defensive; tired and lost.

“You know what I mean,” Dewey said, standing up from where he’d been kneeling in a patch of bright green and glowing moss. He held out a hand for Louie to take. “We’re two-thirds of the Duck Boys, we’ll be fine.”

“It only takes once, you know,” Louie said, taking his hand and rising on slightly shaky legs. “And then always turns into sometimes, and my mental health will somehow get worse.”

“We’ll be fine,” Dewey reiterated, his chest squeezing a bit at Louie’s words, at the fact that he was so scared of sometimes. “I mean, we could probably use some help, sure. Or ideas. Or a miracle.”

“I’m afraid I’m out of stock,” Louie said drily.

Dewey laughed a bit, glad that most of the horrible tension from earlier had dissipated into something more manageable. Running from reruns of their worst memories until Louie collapsed into a panic attack had not been the fun adventure he’d been hoping for.

Still holding Louie’s hand, Dewey turned to take in their surroundings for what had to be the thirtieth time. There were trees as far as he could see, and they were taller than he could even fathom, so much so that he couldn’t see the sky, couldn’t tell if it was night or day. Patches of glowing green moss were spread haphazardly across the forest floor and growing near the bases of the trees. And speaking of trees…

“Do you think we should try climbing?” Dewey asked, his head tilted backwards at an uncomfortable angle as he searched for one worth a try. All the branches were at least twenty feet in the air.

“Nope, no. Absolutely not,” Louie said, tugging on his hand as if to shake the thought of it from his head. “I’d rather you didn’t fall and die, thanks.”

“Maybe one of those giant deer we saw earlier would catch me.”

“I don’t really want to see that either.”

“What? But it’d be so cool!”

“Do it on your own time, then,” Louie said, but a small smile was pulling at the corner of his beak, and Dewey grinned.

“That sounds like a challenge,” he said, teasing.

“That was the opposite of a challenge,” Louie said. “That was a thinly veiled plea to never leap into the arms of a giant deer.”

Dewey pouted playfully. “You’re no fun.”

“No, I just happen to have common sense and a healthy fear of injury.”

Something in the air shifted.

(“Fear, you say?”)

Dewey jumped about a mile in the air, startled, as Louie yelped in poorly concealed surprise. The voice seemed to come from all around them, layered and echoing and amused. Slowly, they turned around, and with wide eyes they took in the figure in front of them.

It was a child, glowing with the same light that had formed imitations of their family members just a few minutes ago. The child looked like a ghost, or a hologram, and despite its youthful appearance, Dewey got the feeling that it was older than anything he’d ever met before; ancient and magic and terrifying, like the trees surrounding them and the creatures they’d encountered throughout their adventure.

But it looked like a child.

The figure smiled, and Dewey blinked, feeling Louie’s grip on his hand tighten as they stared at the entity in front of them.

“Who are you?” Dewey blurted, forgoing a polite hello in favor of getting straight into whatever this was.

(“I am the forest,”) the child said, as if that were a perfectly normal and reasonable response. For their family, it might as well be. (“Why are you here?”)

“Trust me, I’d rather not be,” Louie spoke up, stepping out from where Dewey had subconsciously stepped in front of him. He gave the forest spirit a long, resigned look. “So if you could point us towards the exit, that would be great.”

(“There is no exit,”) the forest said, that amused undertone to its voice again, and then it smiled. (“But there is an escape.”)

“Okay, uh, can you point us to the escape, then?” Dewey asked, already frustrated by the word games the thing was playing.

The forest hummed as if deliberating, and the leaves around them rustled in an echo of it, low and haunting. Dewey felt Louie shiver.

(“It is something you have to find for yourself,”) said the forest spirit, floating forward a bit. (“All I can be is a guide. It is up to you, whether you leave or not.”)

There was a moment of silence, in which Dewey got the impression that the trees were breathing, or something equally as ridiculous.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Louie asked, growing bolder in his irritation. “We want to leave. Let us out.”

(“Freedom is not free, child,”) the forest said, for a moment sounding exactly as ancient as it really was. Sounding sad, almost. (“You have to give me something in return.”)

Dewey glanced back at Louie with a question in his eyes, and Louie just shrugged. Bargaining with the forest. Sure. Now he’d seen everything.

“What do you want?” Dewey asked.

(“An answer,”) said the forest, tilting its head to the side as it examined them. (“An answer to a question.”)

“Great,” Louie said flatly, exhaustion and resignation seeping into his voice. “Ask away.”

What Dewey had expected was some sort of riddle, or trick, or maybe an impossible task. What he got was something completely different.

(“What are you afraid of?”) the forest asked, and Dewey’s breath caught. The child frowned. (“No one ever tells me the truth.”)

“This has happened before?” Dewey asked, and the spirit shrugged.

(“I’ve lived for centuries,”) the forest said, looking around at the trees that were growing tall and proud around them. (“There are always those who wander.”)

“And do you let them leave?” Louie’s voice was careful in the way that meant he was scared. Dewey lightly squeezed his hand.

(“It depends on what they tell me.”)

Dewey swallowed, feeling the pressure begin to press in on him from all sides. He was the older brother here; he had to make sure they made it out.

“Okay,” Dewey said, after a few long seconds of eerie quiet. “I’m sacred of heights, and thunder, and— and rivers.”

He heard Louie’s rushed breath of surprise at his declaration, because there were definitely some things in there that his brother hadn’t known.

(“That is the truth,”) the forest acknowledged, (“but it is not enough.”)

“Why not?” Dewey asked, halfway to being offended.

(“What are you afraid of?”) the forest spirit repeated the question gently. (“More than anything.”)

“More than anything?” Dewey parroted, and the forest nodded. He’d never met a forest who could nod before.

Sighing, Dewey turned to look at Louie, who was staring back at him in resigned bewilderment. The glow from the moss cast him in an eerie sort of lighting, but he supposed it reflected the mood well enough. Eventually, Louie broke eye contact and sighed.

“Okay, sure, if we tell you our greatest fear, then you’ll let us leave?” Louie asked, apparently making sure that if he bared his soul, it would be for a good reason.

(“Yes,”) said the forest, simply. (“You will be free.”)

“Great, not ominous at all.”

“Do you even know what your greatest fear is?” Dewey asked, glancing at Louie over his shoulder. He wasn’t even completely sure if he knew his own.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Louie said absentmindedly, not meeting his eyes, and Dewey’s stomach twisted into anxious knots.

(“Will you tell me the truth?”) asked the forest spirit, and it almost sounded like it was excited. (“It has been a long time since I’ve heard honesty.”)

“It’s been a long time since I’ve practiced it,” said Louie, “but I’ll do my best.”

The forest nodded, something like a wry smile pulling at its lips. (“That is the truth.”)

“Thanks,” Louie said, and then in the same breath: “I’m afraid of being useless. Of having nothing to offer that makes me worth keeping around. I’m afraid of hurting people, of letting them down. I’m afraid that I’ll be left behind because I’m the only one who doesn’t always like where we’re going.”

Dewey stood rigid in the wake of Louie’s confession, his hand gone still and clammy in Louie’s tight, shaking grip. The weight of the words was not lost on Dewey, who suddenly had something new that he was afraid of. He never wanted Louie to feel like any of that was even possible.

“Louie?” Dewey’s voice wavered around his little brother’s name, but Louie ignored him in favor of staring challengingly at the forest spirit.

There was a long pause, in which everything was hauntingly still.

(“That is the truth,”) the forest said eventually, a bit of pride making its way into its voice. (“Thank you.”)

“Yeah,” Louie said, sounding equal parts fragile and relieved. “No problem.”

Big problem.

“Louie,” Dewey said, looking at him with confused, hurt eyes. “Why do you— You know we’d never do any of that stuff, right?”

Louie just shrugged, smiling a bit awkwardly.

“Somedays it seems more rational than others,” he said, and then, “It’s your turn.”

Reluctantly, Dewey turned back to the forest spirit, who was standing there serenely and watching them patiently. Right. His greatest fears.

“I don’t like to think about being scared,” Dewey opened up with, deciding to just wing it. “So I guess I’m afraid of being afraid. I’m afraid of missing out, being ignored. I’m afraid that no one will ever think I’m special or unique. It would really suck to be thought of as boring, you know?”

(“I do not know,”) said the forest spirit, kindness shining through its old eyes as it looked at him. (“But that is the truth. Thank you.”)

“Sure,” Dewey said, feeling slightly sick. “Anytime.”

“Though preferably never again,” Louie added, his voice thin and weak.

Dewey turned to look back at him, and found nothing but sadness and understanding in his gaze.

“You’re special, Dewey,” Louie told him, “and the fact that we’re standing here talking to a forest spirit is testament enough to the fact that you couldn’t be boring even if you tried.”

Despite himself, Dewey started chuckling, and Louie joined in with giggles soon after, all of the tension tumbling out of them in the form of laughter. The forest spirit smiled at them.

(“Laughter is rarer than honesty,”) the forest spirit mused. (“Or at least it is so where I come from.”)

“It depends on the person, I think, more than the place,” Louie said, and how did their lives reach this point? Making casual conversation with the embodiment of a magical forest. “Can we go now?”

(“Of course,”) said the forest, leaning back against a tree, seeming completely at ease. (“I told you the truth. You may go.”)

“Oka—"

“Why did you need to know our greatest fears?” Dewey asked suddenly, overcome with curiosity. “Are you holding them hostage now? Will we not be afraid anymore?”

(“I am a magical being,”) the forest spirit said, smiling up at the leaves above them, (“but even I cannot make you fearless.”)

“Then what was the point?”

(“To make you brave.”)

“Brave?” Louie asked, frowning a bit.

(“Honesty and Bravery are closely connected.”) The forest shrugged. (“To have any of either is to wear your heart on your sleeve.”)

“That’s another thing I’m afraid of,” Louie said softly, a bit wonderingly, and Dewey glanced at him sharply. “Being known.”

(“And yet you are,”) said the forest, glancing at Dewey and smiling softly. (“And you are loved all the same.”)

“I’d call that a miracle,” Louie said, a wry grin growing on his face even as Dewey squeezed his hand in a silent reprimand.

(“You may call it whatever you want.”) The forest around them began to change, the trees shrinking and shifting in the corners of Dewey’s vision. (“But I call it the truth.”)

The glow of the moss began to fade away, leaving behind a depressing normalcy. The trees had molded themselves into a mere shadow of their former glory, sunlight passing through the leaves that hung shortly above them. Before long, the only thing left of the magical forest was the figure in front of them, fainter and more translucent now that its home was back in… whatever realm it had come from; Dewey didn’t really know much about the logistics of magical forests and such.

“Bye,” Dewey said awkwardly, uselessly, and the forest spirit laughed brightly, eyes crinkling.

The laughter lingered even after the childlike figure had disappeared, until even that was carried away on the wind, leaving Dewey and Louie standing in a perfectly average sort of forest, staring at the spot where the last of their adventure had just vanished into thin air. Too much had happened in the past few hours. Too much to even begin to process.

“That was… something,” Louie said faintly, and Dewey snorted.

Understatement of the century.

Dewey opened his mouth to respond, but the harsh sound of the bushes to their right moving around pulled his attention away. Huey and Webby came tumbling through the underbrush moments later, looking wild and worried. Dewey and Louie turned to look at them with wide eyes, and Huey sighed in relief.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Huey said, rushing over to them to pull them into a hug. “Where have you been?”

“And why were you holding hands and staring at a tree?” Webby added, scanning them for injuries.

“It’s a long story,” Dewey managed, finally letting go of Louie’s hand as they shared a look.

“Yeah,” Louie agreed, looking back at their other siblings, “and we’re not telling it until we’re far, far away from anything resembling a forest.”

“The trees have eyes and ears,” Dewey said, nodding seriously, fighting a smile when Huey and Webby looked properly baffled now.

“And the forest talks like a poet from like, 80 centuries ago. I don’t—” Louie cut himself off with a yawn. “I don’t know. I’m tired.”

Hueys face softened into something concerned and caring.

“Okay,” said Huey. “Okay, let’s go home.”

The wind ruffled their hair gently as they were led back towards the Sunchaser, and somehow the rustling of the leaves sounded like a goodbye. Dewey looked towards the sky and smiled.

[woogurl]

(hi, it’s me again pretending as if i didn’t go on an unannounced hiatus).

yes, i’m back...for now. i’m not sure for how long. as i’m too busy these days, but i wanted to specifically make this post because it’s been bothering me for a while now. someone mentioned this in the woosan tag as well, but it’s...

non-atiny’s(and some anti-shipping atiny) who constantly feel the need to expose woosan as some cleverly put together ship that was carefully manufactured by the company. i’ve seen so many titles on youtube and posts on twitter saying how:

“woosan is obvious fanservice” and “woosan; a prime example of queerbating in kpop” 

i’ve never seen a ship be so criticized for being ‘out there’ and ‘in your face’. i’ve made a post on fanservice before but this post will mainly be focused on why i think it’s completely unfair, dishonest, homophobic, and antagonistic to view their relationship as manufactured and fake. and before you go, ‘i’m sure they’re good friends but all that other stuff is clearly done by the company.’ and don’t get me wrong, bc kq is very much aware of the ships and do try to profit off of fanservice...like every other company. but the clearest indicator of this not being MOSTLY all fanservice is something i’ve mentioned many times before.

1. the rest of the ships in ateez not being anywhere near the intimacy and skinship as woosan.

2. body language. 

3. the members THEMSELVES explaining their dynamics.

4. kq not FORCING ships.

ever since predebut and debut there’s ALWAYS been three main ships in ateez. seongjoong, yungi, and ofc woosan. 

as you could see, woosan was definitely thee most popular ship. however, i do believe their popularity grew over time because during the early era i’m sure seongjoong dominated, even on fanfic sites they dominate the amount of fanfics written about them. however, woosan’s clear comfort and intimacy with each other made them more popular among atiny’s and even non atiny’s they even had some taekookers saying their ship was realer and that’s saying something xD. 

something people really, no i mean REALLY need to understand is...doing fanservice does not invalidate an entire relationship. 

there are plenty of celeb couples who enjoy publicly dating and showing affection. 

then comes the argument of well, “if they were real they wouldn’t be so obvious about it.”

this statement bothers me because, people who believe that showing too much skinship is fanservice but then they’ll turn around and say at the same time it’s just culture???

it’s fair to see them doing their fake love dance routine and going THAT’S FANSERVICE. but looking at those moments and going ‘nah, their entire friendship gotta be fanservice.’ is delusional to me, as u like to call us shippers. 

even if you do not ship them romantically, it’s odd to me that people see two same-sex idols expressing comfortability, intimacy and skinship together and feel like if they’re too open about it or if it looks too gay then it’s....fake? even tho fans love to say it’s just apart of their culture. but if it gets too gay, then it’s fanservice. 

i can’t. xD

just because they’re completely comfortable with being intimate doesn’t mean they’re being forced to act that way...it literally just means they ARE that way. 

i constantly put emphasis on being comfortable with skinship and intimacy bc, to me that’s just not something the company can force. body language is a reaction from your true emotions and your inner most thoughts. IT IS THE FOUNDATION TO FIGURING OUT WHAT A PERSON TRULY FEELS INSIDE AS THEIR EMOTIONS WILL ALWAYS TRANSLATE THROUGH THEIR BODY. if u are uncomfortable it will be revealed through body language. and i know a ton of seongjoong shippers are gonna hate me for this, but they are a prime example of this. trust me i’m not here to start a ship war, i am purely just using them as an example of discomfort in body language. 

body language is something a company cannot control.

seongjoong show definite signs of being uncomfortable with intimacy, heck shippers use that one moment seonghwa expressed sadness bc hj hugged the other members and not him as a shipping moment lol. but even when they do hug it looks uncomfortable. my guess is bc hj is not good at expressing his feelings and isn’t a touchy person. and even tho seonghwa is comfortable with skinship, it’s understandable that it can become uncomfortable for him bc of the things i mentioned before as well as the power dynamics and age difference between them.

and here i am going to be stoned bc, i have more to say about seongjoong(don’t kill me). 

bc something the company also can’t control is what OR who the members hang out with OUTSIDE of group activities. so that’s why i’m also mentioning that i also don’t think seongjoong is as close as shippers think they are as...seonghwa mostly hangs out with woosan. and it is almost always mentioned how often woosan hang out together off camera. even early on. woosan hung out so much that it literally came to a point where yeosang felt like his bestfriend was taken from him. 

can we mention again how happy that makes san? and let’s not forget the moment woo said seonghwa was into him, but san was like. ‘you’re into me tho’ and they BOTH tried to gloss over that.

wooyoung: wHaT dO u mEaN? 

lol. people love to say how much san’s whipped for woo, but woo’s probably even more whipped. 

here’s more evidence of woosan enjoying each others company off camera. https://woogurl.tumblr.com/post/614348590729625600/nobody-wooyoung-san-and-i-bass-boosted#notes. 

we can even talk about a more recent moment. the ateez debate about mint chocolate. dunno what’s with these kpop idols debating about mint choco ‘cause bts did it too. lol. anyway, they ended up talking about the group dynamics. and how woosan again are always together. 

i-i’m sorry, but does moment remind y’all of a past moment? LMFAO. seonghwa’s feeling yeosang’s pain. 

seonghwa’s just like woosan says they’re tired of each other but can’t detach themselves. and here’s more evidence that the company isn’t forcing them. for those who thinks kq has some masterplan when it comes to promoting ships.

when they talk about their dynamics, jongho says he feels left out but hj exposes him and says, ‘we’ve tried to pair him with someone but he(jongho) just doesn’t do it’

so this just solidifies my statement from earlier, if the members don’t wanna promote a ship. they ain’t gonna do it. we got one or two vlives from twoho and das it. lmfao. don’t get me wrong. i’m sure jongho get along well with yunho as well as the other members, but promoting any of the other ships in ateez like woosan isn’t gonna work well. ‘cause the rest of the members don’t have the same dynamics. woosan are comfortable with skinship and being intimate with each other and the other members just are not.

another piece of evidence is the members tired reaction whenever woosan is mentioned. lmfao. 

this was so dramatic omg. but the members reactions are very telling of woosan’s relationship off screen. if woosan was just fanservice i do not believe the members would react the way they do, maybe share some knowing glances at each other like. ‘pfft, they think woosan’s real’ but their reactions are always big or very indicative of something bigger happening behind the scenes. lol. 

i’m not gonna go into too much details, bc the members reactions to woosan are an entirely different post(i got so many posts to make. xD).

Lastly Wooyoung’s Tatto. I know right? He’s very committed to fanservice guys. 

Amicus ad Aras is something that woosan made to signify their friendship, and the fact woo got a tattoo on his body of it means a lot. not to mention woo himself taking initiative to find something that represented their relationship. 

i feel like i need to reiterate that the meaning of this tattoo was to define his relationship to san specifically so it applies to san specifically. woo has many MANY friends AS WELL as bestfriends yet he got a tattoo that can only be truly applied to san and no one else. 

u can continue saying theyy’re just good friends doing fanservice, but it’s obv that woo has many good friends. so the next question u gotta answer is what separates san from the others.

[xkaileo]

Oh, well, since you're taking prompts for fluffy sasusaku stuff and I LOVE a fluffy Sasuke, how about this?

I imagine Sakura kept her feelings to herself after the war, thinking it was pointless to keep on confessing to him. So she asumes Sasuke only wants her as a teammate or a friend at most. After his redemption journey, thou, Sasuke attempts to make her understand he loves her, but gets frustrated bc she wouldn't understand (she wouldn't take any chances). Therefore is up to Sasuke to make his feeling known...

Think you can come up with something? 🙃✨

Alllll rightey! It took a couple of iterations for me to get it the way I wanted, but here we are!

Proof

"I'm home, Sakura."

"...Welcome home, Sasuke," Sakura greeted, wishing she didn't feel dead on her feet. And dead on her feet was putting it mildly; she had just finished a twenty-four-hour shift at the hospital and was getting ready for bed. A knock on her door this late at night was the last thing she'd expected; she'd only answered it on the off-chance it was important, possibly Tsunade or Shizune looking for her for something urgent.

This... well, it wasn't urgent, but it was worth answering the door for. It'd been almost two years, and in that time, they hadn't spoken a word to one another. She remembered how he was when he left; he touched her forehead, thanked her, and went on his journey. Sure, they'd exchanged letters, but things had been... Cordial. Friendship was putting it simply. It'd made Sakura begin to wonder what he'd meant that day. Nevertheless, she knew he'd been near when she was up against Kido. It'd touched her to think he came running in such a way when Kido had captured her.

She remembered what she'd said to Kido that day. The real Sasuke's slimmer, his eyes are cooler, his voice is just a little bit lower, and the bridge of his nose is straighter. Looking up at him... She'd been partially correct. Slimmer, definitely. Taller would have been more accurate. Sure, she'd gauged his height based on how much Naruto had grown, but it was still shocking to see it in person! His voice was definitely lower, and his nose... Straighter, for sure. But his gaze felt... warm. His right eye was that same deep obsidian colour, while his left, just barely peeking past his messy, unkempt bangs, still had that icy purple tinge from his Rinnegan.

He almost couldn't believe he was seeing her again after all of these years. He'd noticed she cut her hair again; it'd grown long by the time he'd left, but it was back in a short bob just to her chin. Her hair was straighter, more... feminine, in a way, and she had notable bangs again, worn in a side-swept fashion. She looked... exhausted. Was that a product of Kido's work? He'd heard of the man, and while he wouldn't admit he'd been on his way to give Kido a piece of his mind (along with a well-placed Chidori strike), he was sure of it.

"May I?" Sasuke glanced at the doorway, the threshold which he'd yet to cross. He hoped it wasn't too late at night; he didn't want to burden Sakura in the slightest.

"Oh! Right, of course, come on in." She wasn't going to leave him out in the cold! "I'm sorry, it's been a long day, so I'm a bit tired. You're, um... you're welcome to stay if you'd like." She gestured down the hall. "There's a spare room and a few things I bought just in case you stopped by." A few sets of clothes in colours he liked, as well as some personal hygiene products she thought he might enjoy.

He stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind him and locking it for safety. He then removed his cloak, hanging it by the door. Sakura's place... it felt like home. Maybe it was because of her, but something about it felt homey, even if it wasn't his home. It was difficult to describe. He could see now, upon closer inspection, that she was indeed exhausted. She must have worked a long shift at the hospital.

"Thanks." He was certainly grateful for her hospitality. He stepped forward, studying her for a moment before his hand reached up, fingers gently running through a few locks of her hair. "You should rest. You're exhausted." He wanted to say more, but words seemed to elude him.

"...Right. I should, um... yeah. Good night, Sasuke. I'll see you in the morning." Her heart was pounding, and she knew she needed to get out of there. Ducking in the direction of the hallway, she dipped into her room and closed the door, pressing her back against it in an attempt to catch her breath.

Those impostor's words were ringing through her head.

"I love you, Sakura." She couldn't help but hear them over and over again, wishing they'd been coming out of Sasuke's mouth. The moment he touched her hair, she'd been reminded of that. She'd been reminded of the way her heart had pounded hearing them, the way her chest fluttered at the sight of him. Her own words echoed in her head.

Just me going missing? He won't come back to the village.

Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe that wasn't him. Maybe he hadn't come back to look after her when Kido kidnapped her. Kido wanted to use her as a pawn, a scheme Sasuke wouldn't have fallen for. Maybe she'd been right all along. He hadn't been coming for her. He wouldn't have. He wasn't so foolish and reckless as to engage in that kind of thing.

She wanted to ask him, but that would have to wait until tomorrow if she could find the courage. At this point, she was convinced he wanted nothing more than to be friends. She got dressed in her pyjamas, staring at the door and contemplating before opening the door a crack like she always kept it, then made her way to the bed. She curled up with her back to the door on the furthest side of the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. She was tired and upset, but at least a pillow could muffle her tears.

So she thought, anyway.

Sasuke stood outside the room, a bit dumbfounded by Sakura's sudden reaction. He'd wanted to take things a step further but refrained from her evident exhaustion. Why push her when she was in that kind of state? Instead, he chose to ready himself for bed, a soft smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he saw there was even fresh clothing for him to sleep in. As usual, Sakura thought of everything and had it ready.

He was passing through the hallway when he heard the door to her room crack open, the motion causing him to pause. Something about her behaviour threw him off; he could always sense when she was upset. It reminded him of when they were kids, and she'd been acting strangely before the Chuunin Exams. He'd known something was up then, and he was getting the same feeling. He waited silently until she seemed to have settled down, listening carefully. He could hear... Oh, he knew that sound.

Moving with silent, catlike grace, he pushed the door open and moved to the bed, seeing Sakura laying with her back to him. He was slow and quiet as he lay down on the bed behind her, close enough that he could reach out to touch her. He was worried; if she was like this, it was probably something he said or did. He seemed almost always to be the reason for her tears. Sakura was nearly startled when he laid down on the bed, her muffled sobs stopping as she realized he must have overheard her. The soft hand on her shoulder caused her to jump, though she didn't move away from him.

"Sakura? What's wrong?" His voice was warm, but she could hear his worry.

"Oh, it's-- nothing," she lied, biting her lip. He sighed from behind her, sitting up long enough to gently pry the blanket from her grasp; she didn't resist, feeling too glum and defeated to fight him. He moved the pillow above both of their heads before reaching to encourage her to turn over, awkwardly propped up on the stump of his left arm as he did so. Once she faced him, he settled back down to meet her gaze, never taking his eyes off her. She was too upset to look him in the eye.

"It's not." He brushed her hair away from her face, his expression soft. "What is it?" He wasn't about to take no for an answer, not when she was like this.

"I... I'm sorry, It's just--"

"No," he interrupted, keeping his tone soft. "Don't apologize. Not when you're like this." Sakura wore her heart on her sleeve, and he knew that. If she had a reason to cry, it was probably a good one. She was shocked by his interruption; she found it natural to apologize when she was like this. She never wanted to be like this in front of him.

"I just..." She sighed, knowing she wasn't about to escape his persistence. "You didn't fall for Kido's trap, did you." It was less of a question and more of a statement.

"No." His answer was simple, but he continued to gently stroke her hair, knowing that wasn't all she wanted to ask. She would work her way to it eventually. He just had to be patient with her. "Did you think I would?" Perhaps he was a little offended at the idea that he might have fallen for something like that.

"I.... No, I didn't. And... Of course, you didn't," she mumbled. "And I was a fool to believe that." She couldn't understand him. Here he was, being warm and sweet to her, and yet he mustn't have cared as much as she thought. The mixed signals he was giving her were tiring. "I should have expected you wouldn't have come for me." It was confirmation enough for her.

"I didn't say that," he corrected.

"But you didn't--"

"I didn't fall for Kido's trap," he reiterated. "I never said I wasn't there." He'd come, but he'd come knowing that that roach had set a trap. He knew exactly what he was walking into. He'd been ready to take on whatever Kido had to throw at him; he'd been quite angry that Kido had used Sakura to lure him out. It'd made his blood boil.

"So... You were there?" She wanted to hear him say it.

"Mm." He nodded, shifting a little closer to her.

"...You came?"

"Yeah."

"But... why?" She wanted to know. Was it for her, or was it another reason?

"Shh. Tomorrow." He laid a finger over her lips to silence her. "Come." He shifted to pull the blankets over both of them, adjusting so he was more on his back and she could lean her head against his shoulder. So much for that spare bed; he wasn't going to be sleeping there tonight. At least the perks of not having a left arm--or more accurately, only having the upper half of one--meant it was easy for her to lay like this.

"But--"

"Tomorrow," he scolded, tucking her in closer against his side. "Tomorrow, Sakura. I promise. When you're rested and not overthinking everything." She needed to sleep; he could tell she wasn't thinking straight. He continued to stroke her hair, running his fingers absently through it in an attempt to calm her. Any time she tried to speak, he silenced her, coaxing her back to sleep.

-----------------------------------

He was up early the following day and gone, letting Sakura sleep in from her long night. He left the clothes she'd had for him folded neatly on her bed with a note. Sasuke had written only two words as his message.

Thank you.

Sakura stared down at the note with confusion. She remembered last night, but it was still a blur. She'd been in one of her moods, but he'd come in and comforted her... only to leave. She looked down at the clothes. He was... probably already gone. Parts of the conversation were a blur, but she was too tired and mopey to care.

As she moved about the kitchen to make breakfast, the door opened, and Sasuke stepped through. He had a bag of supplies and was looking at her curiously. She still had that same look from before. He wondered, was this the right time? Was now the time to say it? It had to be.

"Oh... I thought you'd left again."

"Supplies," he said, lifting the bag before setting it aside. "Soon, though." He figured a week, maybe two... he could afford to stay in the village a little longer. He had no pressing matters to attend to. Two weeks seemed like a good time; if he felt like staying longer, then he would. He had Sakura's hospitality to thank for that.

"How long?" She assumed a day or two. Sasuke still hadn't given her the impression he was staying for very long. Although... His actions last night left her with mixed messages.

"A week or two," he confirmed. He could still see that gloominess in her posture, making him soften and contemplate. He had no idea how to tell her what he wanted. Hell, he didn't even know what she would say to him. He hadn't forgotten his promise. It felt like a selfish thing to ask; he wanted her, that was no doubt, but on some level, he still wondered: did he deserve her? Or had she, after all this time, chosen to move on? He wouldn't have blamed her for that. He couldn't have expected her to wait for him, nor could he ask for such a thing.

"Hungry?" He knew he was, and he could see she'd done nothing other than making a pot of tea. It smelled good; he elected to pour himself a glass, lifting the pot so he could refill hers, too.

"No... not really." She had almost no appetite. There were leftover rice balls in the fridge, but she didn't have the energy to eat. She thought back to Tsunade's words: attract a man with your boobs. What boobs, honestly? She thought wryly to herself. Okay, so maybe she wasn't an ironing board or little miss titless like Ino liked to tease her, but it wasn't like anyone could tell with how she dressed. She definitely looked like an ironing board with the way her casual clothing hung loosely.

Sasuke was watching Sakura intently, seeing how her mood seemed to be dipping more and more. As she was too caught up in her thoughts to notice, he moved around the table, standing behind her as she rose and turned to leave her seat. She was so distracted she nearly bumped into him; when had he moved so close?! Her nose was almost in his chest, and looking up, she could see he was staring down at her.

"You should eat," he scolded lightly. He couldn't just let her starve herself; it wasn't healthy. Standing here, seeing her like this, he was beginning to realize... he hadn't the faintest idea how to talk to her. Not when it came to holding a normal conversation; that much he could handle. When it came to his... feelings, he didn't know how he should express them. Everything thus far had been out of impulse, out of instinct; it was uncomfortably unplanned for the Uchiha.

He raised a hand again, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. Sakura couldn't even meet his gaze; she was too afraid of what she might find there. The old look of callous detachment, like he usually had... or a warm, friendly smile? The latter would be better, but it wasn't what she wanted. Hell, she wasn't even sure she'd get what she wanted. Ever.

"I'm not hungry." How could she have an appetite in a mood like this? "Just— never mind. Forget it." She brushed past him, pacing toward the door. She glanced at her jacket, contemplating; a walk would clear her head. It was cold outside, and the forecast had called for snow.

"Sakura—" he grumbled at her, frustration rising and becoming noticeable in his tone. "What's up with you?" He was becoming frustrated because he could tell she was upset, and he hadn't the faintest clue why. Sakura was usually beyond happy to see him, yet he'd barely seen her smile at all since he got back.

He loved her smile. Why wasn't she smiling for him anymore? Had she moved on in his absence? Was his presence causing her agony, knowing she might have to break his heart? He could take it... not that it would be easy, not after she'd spent so long worming her way into his heart through years of pain and anguish.

"What's up with me—?" She turned around, feeling tears well in her eyes as she stood facing him, fists clenched at her sides. "What's up with me—what's wrong with me is that I'm an idiot! Of course, you wouldn't have fallen for Kido's trap... you were just mad he'd dare even try to sully your name, not anything to do with me! Kakashi even sent you messages, and you responded to none of them." She laughed pitifully at herself, shaking her head with a wry smile. "Of course, that wouldn't change your mind. It didn't matter. It never did."

"Sakura..." Ah, there it was. His curt nature, as always, left things unclear. "I was there..."

"Yeah. You were there." She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "I'm a fool. There won't—there isn't anything there, and there never will be. I'm just... I can't keep doing this. I keep thinking you'll give me a straight answer, but it should be obvious, shouldn't it? You can't because the answer's already there. It's already been said. I'm your friend. Your comrade. That's it. That's all it'll ever be, and I'm a stupid, lovesick fool for thinking otherwise." She sniffled and wiped at her eyes, pulling her sandals on. "And here I am, crying again because I just don't get what I want. Just—forget it." She opened the door and slammed it behind her, taking off into the snow without even caring that she'd forgotten her jacket. The cold was the least of her worries.

Sasuke stood there dumbfounded by her words. Sakura was... more sensitive than he was expecting. Well, he should have expected it, but it took him by surprise. Sakura was always so strong, so resilient; he hadn't seen it coming. Yet... standing here, he knew it was his fault. He hadn't been clear to her, had he? He could feel the frustration building, but he knew he had to find her. He reached for his cloak and pulled it on, pulling his hood up to stay warm. It was snowing like mad outside, and it certainly wasn't warm. Add to the fact that Sakura had left without her jacket, and he was beyond worried. Where could she have gone? He leaped up to the rooftops to scan the area, finding nothing. He couldn't sense her chakra nearby, either, and he was no sensor.

But he knew someone who was, and it was someone Sakura might go to if she were upset. Leaping across rooftops, he landed in front of the Yamanaka Flower Shop, bursting through the doorway with a purposeful stride. Ino was working on an arrangement; her blue eyes widened with surprise as he swept in so dramatically.

"Sasuke? When'd you get back?" He was the last person she was expecting to come through the door.

"Is she here?" He demanded, eyes glancing around.

"Who? Sakura? No." Ino frowned at him. "Why? Did you check the ho—"

"No, she won't be there. Can you find her?" Yes, he was impatient, but he couldn't care less at the moment. The longer he took to find her, the worse she'd start to feel, and he couldn't have that.

"Why, what— you know what, I'm not even going to ask." Ino set down her shears and closed her eyes, making a sign with one hand as she focused. She'd find Sakura. Whatever Sasuke's rush was, it had to be important. She knew there was no danger—that much she would have sensed already—but if it was essential to Sasuke and involved Sakura, she was obligated to help.

------------------------------------

Sakura ran as far and as fast as she possibly could, disregarding the rain that pelted against her face and soaked her hair. She paid no attention to where she was going, moving further and further away from her home. She barrelled her way through trees until she found herself on a very familiar path. She could never forget it; somehow, it had managed to stand the test of time through assault after assault on the village.

It was the path that led to the gates. The only way that led out of the Hidden Leaf Village. She let out a pitiful laugh when she realized it. Of course she would end up here of all places. She always seemed to end up here. It was a place of too many memories for her. She took a seat on the bench, staring at the ground as memories flashed across her consciousness.

She remembered waking up on the bench that day. She wasn't sure how long she'd been out, but it was long enough that he was gone. Despite her futile attempts to convince him to stay, or even convince him to bring her along, he'd left her behind. He'd turned her down. When he'd left again after being pardoned, he did the same thing.

Sasuke cared, that much she knew. There was no question about that. He'd proven that point enough times; she meant something to him. It just seemed that what she meant to him wasn't what she wanted. What she wanted was a selfish request, and she knew she couldn't expect it from him. It just made what she'd been through sting even more. The only time she'd ever hear those words out of "Sasuke's" mouth, the only time she'd hear "his" voice saying it would be from a fake.

Sakura sat there with her hands balled into fists in her lap, snow falling all around her. It was snowing hard, enough that she could feel it starting to settle on her head and shoulders as she sat there, still as a statue, struggling to hold back tears. If she cried, they'd freeze on her eyelashes, and that wouldn't be good. No, that could be dangerous, in all honesty. Regardless, she couldn't help it. They made trails down her cheeks and dark marks in her lap, her shoulders shaking.

As soon as Sasuke got word from Ino where she was, he was out of the shop in an instant, sprinting through the snow until he landed nearby with his usual catlike grace. There she was, sitting on the bench, half-covered in snow and shivering. Crying, too, he suspected. His heart broke to see that. Why was it always here? What was so special about this particular place that they seemed drawn to it? Slowly he approached, his sandals crunching in the snow as he came up beside her, sighing. With a single hand, he gently brushed the snow off her shoulders and the top of her head, pulling his cloak off and wrapping it around her.

She was surprised he was even there; how had he managed to find her? She hadn't even known where she was going. She kept her gaze turned down and away from him, refusing to look at him, but when he wrapped his cloak around her, she startled. It was warm, and she welcomed it.

"You're going to catch a cold," he scolded.

"It doesn't matter," she snapped back. "I don't care. Go away."

"No. And you're a terrible liar." Sakura always cared. That much he knew. She cared about everything around her. She did care about herself... even if she put it off a lot of the time, pushing herself further than necessary. He'd seen that a few times in the past.

"I don't care. Take your stupid cloak," she griped, pulling it off her shoulders and shoving it at his chest, "And leave me to be the stupid, lovesick idiot who's infatuated with a guy who never has and never will feel the same wa--" A hand over Sakura's mouth stopped her from continuing. It stayed there briefly before reaching to wipe a thumb under her eyes. Sasuke's hand reached down to his cloak, replacing it on her shoulders and ignoring the cool breeze that blew through his own.

"You're not stupid. You're not a lovesick idiot." He brushed more snow off her head and out of her hair as best he could, reaching back to pull the hood up over it so no more would collect on her damp hair. His hand then reached under her chin, pulling her sad, tear-stained gaze to meet his. She was hesitant at first, but she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

Sasuke leaned down, gently pressing his lips against hers. They were cold, but his touch warmed her; he could see her cheeks tint that familiar red shade, and he was ready to catch her if she felt light-headed. Naruto had told him girls could get like that at times... Or, at least, Hinata did.

"Sakura. In two weeks, I'd like to travel again. I don't want to travel with my teammate or my friend." He pursed his lips momentarily. "I'd like.... to travel with my wife, if... if she'll have me."

Sakura's jaw dropped. The kiss had been one thing; it'd been his way of showing he cared without words, something that was common for him. But... his wife? Was he asking her... to marry him?

Sasuke felt anxious when she said nothing to his request. Was he unclear? Did she think he meant someone else? Was his usual awkwardness causing more problems as it had previously? Maybe he should say something more. Something that was more... direct.

"...Sakura Uchiha... It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He regretted that choice the moment the words came out of his mouth. All he could think was that it was something stupid and corny Naruto would say, and it sounded utterly unnatural coming from him. A bead of sweat formed on his brow as he watched Sakura's reaction. Even she hadn't been expecting him to say that! It... well, she did like the sound of it. Sakura Uchiha... His wife. Sasuke's wife.

"...I'm sorry. That sounded..." Ugh. He couldn't even begin to describe it. Sakura snickered, then giggled a little more, reaching up to wipe at her eyes. Okay, so he sounded lame, and Sakura was laughing at his expense, but at least she was laughing. At least it brought a smile to her face. A slight blow to his ego was worth it if she smiled again.

"Of course, Sasuke, but... There's just one thing..." She wiped at her face again, delicately pulling some of the frozen tears off her eyelashes.

"Hm? What is it?" He kept a hand on her cheek, lightly running his thumb underneath her eye as he looked down at her with a soft, affectionate expression.

"Do... you really think we can plan a whole wedding in two weeks?"

Sasuke chuckled. "I don't know. I think that's something better left to you." He leaned forward, kissing her forehead. "Let's head home first and get you warmed up. We'll figure it out together."

[ladywhistleclown]

Benedict Bridgerton x M!Reader: Valentines Fools

Summary: Benedict does something special. Word Count: 3334 A/N: I read this post about Valentines in Regency England, and found it so interesting that I had to write about it. of course, I made it gay. duh. Also, I wrote the ‘poem’ later myself, but its inspired by many LGBT poets/writers from history who wrote poems like it, about hope for future LGBT folks, just very simplified. This is some of my best work, and I don’t want it to get snubbed just because its not f/m, so like, give it a chance! MLM fic is also fun :) Enjoy! Warnings: Fluff, Drinking, Giggly men doing giggly men things (being stupid) -- Valentines Day, in your mind, was a rather dreadful event. Ladies and Lords spent days agonizing over hand-made letters, writing disgusting poetry about love, or rejection. You had never partaken in the act, partly because you had never had anyone to write to, and partly because even if you had, you had neither the patience nor skill to craft such detailed notes of devotion. You thought it best to leave such things to artists and ladies, of which you were neither. This year was only slightly different. After having met Benedict at Lord Granville's, striking up conversations about art, women, and your places in society, you had developed a rather strange relationship, one that you would almost call a courtship, if it wasn’t so clearly an impossibility. Benedict simply wanted to explore something new, something outside the realm of society and expectations, and you, lovesick fool that you were, happily obliged him. It was nothing more than attraction and curiosity. Second son or not, Benedict could never marry a man. Even if he wanted to.

At least you could drown yourself in booze at Lord Granville's. He was a good listener, with even better advice, and you knew that he understood exactly your pain. It was here you found yourself, a day before Valentines, throwing down your sixth beer and lamenting to Granville, who sat patiently by your side. “Society is not kind to those like us.” You sighed, running the tip of your index finger along the outer edge of your glass, staring blankly at it, as though if you drank enough, the answers would appear in the liquor. “No, it isn’t. But we are kind to each other, and ourselves.” He replied, looking over you with pity. You had never been much of a drinker, not for as long as Granville had known you, but your infatuation with Benedict had brought it out in you, and he wondered if it was a mistake to invite the Bridgerton boy here, if it caused an old friend to suffer in a way that was very familiar and personal to him. He knew the pain of impossible love too well, and saw himself reflected in your morose state. “Of course. You’re too kind to me, Granville. I talk your ear off about my foolish troubles with Bridgerton, but never think to ask of yours.” “I am not nearly as troubled as you are. And as I said, we must look out for each other, as the ton certainly will not.” he lifted up his own drink, pausing just before it reached his lips to glance at you, “Perhaps I should dis-invite Bridgerton from future events?” “Oh hell, Granville, don’t torture the man on my account. He enjoys the art and the company, and besides that,  I’d rather him here than at some brothel.” you grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth, an embarrassing slip revealing just how deeply attached you were. “Apologies. The alcohol has loosened my tongue.” “No bother. I understand that jealousy quite well.” Granville said, his voice still light and amused, and you couldn't help but laugh as he took a sip, winking at you before putting his glass down. “What jealousy?” Came a loud voice from directly behind you. You jumped, Granville almost knocking his drink over in his shock. Of course, he would arrive now, when you were drunk and foolish. You breathed out quickly, praying that you would say nothing incriminating before turning to face Benedict. He looked confused, glancing from Granville's face to yours, before reiterating, “What jealousy, Granville?” “Merely of other artists. I’m sure you know it too.” He recovered, taking another drink before gesturing to the table, “Care to join us?” Benedict sat in the chair closest to you, and you shot Granville a look of pure spite. In your drunken haze, everything seemed too much. His voice was too smooth, his smile too large, and the way he draped an arm across your chair, caging you in, was entirely too casual. You promised to whatever God was listening that you would slaughter Granville for this. “Of course I do. You know better than anyone.” He agreed, sliding easily into the conversation. You remained silent, not trusting yourself in your inebriation to respond beyond a simple hum of agreement or a grunt of displeasure. If you allowed yourself to speak freely, no doubt you would be weeping in Benedict's arms like a little girl within minutes. “What do you think?” You started, retreating from your thoughts to find both Benedict and Granville looking at you. Benedict’s eyes shone with thinly veiled concern, tilting his head and gently shaking you by the shoulder, while Granville simply smiled in amusement. “I..was lost in thought. My apologies.” You said quickly, waving Benedict’s hands away and sitting up completely. You were drunker than you thought, and briefly you wondered if you would even be able to make it to your carriage without help. You figured if you couldn’t, you would force Granville to escort you. He certainly owed you, after pulling this little stunt. “You’re wasted. Perhaps you should head home.” Benedict said gently. You huffed, shaking your head. “Don’t concern yourself with me, I can take care of myself. Now. My opinion on what, exactly?” “Valentines,” Granville supplied, glancing into his empty cup, “we were talking about all the effort that goes into such cards and letters. Artistry, in a way. What do you think of it?” “I find the holiday wholly unnecessary. And it takes far too much time to make such delicate things. A canvas is much more secure.” you huffed. Benedict stiffened beside you, although in your semi-consciousness, you barely noticed, your eyes fluttering between shut and open. “So you wouldn’t make any?” Benedict asked. “No.” “Would you receive them?” “I suppose it would be rude to deny such labors of love. But I have never received one, and I doubt I will this year. Ladies don’t send cards to men like me.” you shrugged, drooping over the table. The longer you sat, the harder it was to hold yourself up. If you passed out, it would be a good escape from such intimate topics with Benedict, so you allowed yourself to slump on the table, sighing. “Alright, that's enough. I’ll help you home.” Benedict declared, standing up and taking you by the arm, heaving you up. You groaned in protest, but didn’t fight as he slung your arm over his shoulder and half dragged you away from the table, Granville following behind. “Apologies, Bridgerton. Next time I won’t allow him to indulge quite so much. You may end up getting more than 10 minutes with him that way.” He said cheerily. “I’m sober enough to know when I’m being mocked, Granville.” you opened your bleary eyes to glare at him, finding his eyes twinkling with amusement. He patted your shoulder. “It’s no trouble. I was about to head home, anyway.” Is all Benedict said as he helped you into the carriage, climbing in after you and seating himself on the same bench. Granville waved you both off as Benedict rapped his knuckles on the carriage, directing your footman to take you home. “Now you have me alone and vulnerable. Not very gentlemanly of you, Bridgerton. What would the ton think?” you teased, leaning lazily against the side of the carriage, away from him. You hoped it was subtle, that he thought you were just drunk and loose and tired. You couldn’t bear the thought of him finding out just how weak you were for him. Then he would leave, and you would be crushed. “They would think nothing, because we’re men.” He pointed out, leaning closer to you. You hummed, acknowledging his words, but didn’t reply beyond that. It was only then that you realized how precarious a situation you were in. Drunk, alone, with a man you loved, who seemed to be moving closer and closer by the minute, although maybe you were imagining that part. Anything was possible when you were this drunk. “They would be wrong, though.” Benedict finished softly. He reached over, brushing his fingers along your jaw, moving downward to loosen your cravat. You sighed, tilting your head back to allow him easier access, cursing yourself but unable to shove him away. You were such a fool. “Are you planning something?” You asked. He finally managed to pull your cravat away, revealing your neck to him. He laughed at your question. “With you this drunk? No. I only wanted you to be more comfortable.” He tossed the cloth onto the other bench, leaning safely away from you to stare out the window after. While you were partly disappointed, you were mostly relieved. You wouldn’t have been able to resist, and only would have brought yourself more shame and confusion in regards to him. But Benedict was a good man, and he would never take advantage of you in your current state. Your heart squeezed. Too good of a man. “I’m sorry to be such a burden tonight.” you blurted suddenly. Benedict looked at you, his head whipping away from the window so quickly it almost made you dizzy. “I shouldn’t have drank so much. It was foolish.” “You’re never a burden to me.” He said, his voice soft and indignant, almost as if he was offended by the mere idea that you had inconvenienced him. “You shouldn’t have to chaperone me home like a weak debutante.” “I’d rather you than a debutante. Trust me.” You chuckled, shaking your head and glancing out the carriage window. You could see the square, and your home, fast approaching. It appeared as though your time with Benedict was over for tonight. Relieved and downtrodden, you sat up and attempted to right your swirling vision as the carriage came to a stop. Benedict stood, helping you up and out of the carriage. After explaining the situation to your housekeeper, he hauled you all the way into your home and bedroom, even being kind enough to help you out of your boots as you lay back in your bed, arm over your eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. “I’ll be going, then.” He said quietly, standing up and brushing his hands together. You lifted your arm, making certain you weren’t going to puke before crooking one finger, beckoning him closer. “Come here.” You breathed. He obeyed, moving dutifully to your side, remaining silent despite the question in his eyes. You sat up slowly, ignoring your dizziness. Placing a hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him closer. Benedict, realizing what you were after, leaned down and forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You flopped back into your bed after he pulled away, grinning, although you couldn’t see it, having already rolled over and buried your face in the covers. “Goodnight. I hope you enjoy tomorrow.” He said ominously, the clicking of his heels against the marble floor the only indication you had that he had left. Before you could even think of the meaning of his strange farewell, you were dragged into rest. -- The first thing you registered after waking was the pounding behind your eyes. Moaning in pain, you lifted your arm over your face, blocking out the light that your butler had let in through the curtains. “My apologies, My Lord. Should we have a cure made?” He asked politely, noticing your haggard state. “Quickly.” You begged. He nodded, bowing before swiftly leaving the room to procure you a bit of relief. Sitting up, you turned away from the windows completely, opting to try and find your balance. After a moment, you were able to make your way to your wardrobe, pulling on your breeches and doublet. Today you had no need to dress formally. Valentines was a day you dedicated to staying completely shuttered away from the rest of the ton, tending to your estate and business ventures. It was easier than being bombarded with reminders of love, and much easier than running into any Bridgerton, although one, of course, you wanted to avoid above all else. It would only pain you to see him giving or receiving such intimate letters, especially with the women of the ton. Once your butler had delivered your cure, and you had thrown down the slimy, disgusting mixture, you were feeling much improved. You made your way to your study, smiling at your maids as they bowed before rushing off, no doubt in a hurry to finish their work and make off with their sweethearts for the day. You felt a twinge of jealousy, smiling sadly as you opened the door to your study. Oh. In your study sat piles and piles of cards, all handmade, some gilded with gold while others were trimmed with lace. You picked one up, in awe at its intricate gold-foil flowers, embossed on the front and lined with sharp swirls and embellishments, all clearly hand done with a calligraphy pen. You opened the card. The script inside was as lovely as the rest of the card, although it was the words that brought tears to your eyes. I sit and I look into your face And I see those before us, Who have loved as we do, And I see those after, And I pray that our impossibility Will become their reality. Yours. You choked on a sob, quickly closing the card and setting it down. The last thing you wanted was to ruin something so perfect with tears. It was not signed, and it didn’t have to be for you to know. Benedict. You looked around the room. There were at least 3 large piles of cards, enough to last an entire year, all handmade and intricate. You wondered how long this had taken him. It would take you days just to read them all. Surely, your servants thought you were either the biggest rake in the ton, with all these notes. You couldn’t care less. You gathered them all, handling them as gently as you would glass, slipping them into your desk cabinet and locking it. They were yours, no one else's. Benedict's words were just for you. Dazed, you leaned back into your office chair, holding the first card, running your fingers over the edges and rereading the lines over and over. It wasn't quite a poem, nor a letter, but a sentiment. A dream, a wish. You would be lying if you said that it wasn’t your dream too. A future where love like yours would be special, not sinful. Love. You jolted. And then laughed. How could you ever have doubted him? Surely, it was only love that would drive him to do this. Only love that would have him escort you home, make sure you were safe and comfortable. That would make him sit for what must have been weeks, if not months, working tirelessly on card after card just to take advantage of the one day where letters between unmarried men and women could be sent freely. Of course, he did so for a cover. But was that not also love? He wanted to protect you from ire, from harm, and so he delivered all the letters he felt he couldn’t today, just to keep from drawing unwanted eyes. Crying and laughing all at once, you pressed the note to your chest. How had you doubted his love for a second? His devotion? You truly were a fool, although not in the way you had expected. It took you half an hour to calm yourself, and by that time, your headache was back and worse than before, thanks to your emotional outburst. But another thing was back, too. Your butler, standing in the doorway with an impassive look on his face, glancing about the room, no doubt looking for the heaps of cards the servants had dropped off. “Do you know what card came from which maiden?” You asked, holding up the first card. It was the only card you had yet to put away, and though you were loathe to show it to him, you thought you should make it try and seem as though you had no idea who they had come from. “The cards were delivered mysteriously early this morning, My Lord. No names, no signatures.” “I see. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. None of them will be receiving a response.” You laughed, setting the card down. “What is it?” “A visitor, sir. The Second Bridgerton. Says he has something to discuss with you, about Lord Granville's gathering last night.” Your heart stuttered. “Send him up. No doubt he wants me to apologize for making such an ass of myself last night.” You joked, and he smiled back, giving a quick nod before rushing off to fetch Benedict. You quickly tucked the last letter into your desk drawer, pulling out a decanter of whiskey and pouring yourself a small glass. “No better cure for a hangover than more drink, right?” Benedict stepped into your study, shutting the door behind him even as he teased you. You laughed, pouring him a glass as well. He took it gratefully, sitting down in the chair across from yours, the desk between you two. “You may mock me if you wish, Benedict, but I am feeling positively delightful.” you said dramatically, lifting your cup in cheers. Benedict touched his glass to yours, and you took a sip. He did not. “Would that have anything to do with any deliveries?” He questioned, a secretive smile spreading across his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “That’s why I asked.” You snorted, shaking your head quickly. “It would, if you must know.” Dropping all pretenses, he leaned forward, smiling even brighter now. “So you’ve got them. Do you like them?” “Of course I do,” you breathed, leaning in as well, dropping your voice to a whisper, “how long did they take you? They’re beautiful. True artistry.” “Much too long, as you said last night. But they were worth it, if you like them.” You nodded once. Smiling, he brought one hand to rest on your desk, palm up and spread open. You took it, intertwining your fingers. “Do you truly...love me? In that way?” you asked nervously, avoiding his gaze in favor of staring at your two hands. “No, I spent hours of my precious time making hand crafted love letters for a man I consider a friend.” He rolled his eyes. “If anyone would do such a thing, it would be you, Benedict.” “Certainly not. It would be Colin.” You laughed, and he grinned. Standing, he quickly rounded your desk and pulled you up by your still connected hands, pulling you against him and kissing you firmly. It was sudden, but not unpleasant, and you wrapped your arms around him, carding your fingers through his hair before resting your hands on the nape of his neck. After a long moment, he pulled away, eyes shining mischievously. “I do love you.” “And I you.” you said quickly, desperate to reciprocate. You had spent so long convinced that Benedict only saw you as good fun, that the revelation of love had left you reeling. But you would be damned if you passed up this opportunity to tell him of the affections you had kept secret since your first meeting. In response, he kissed your jaw once before pulling away, still smirking. “But you taste of garlic and egg. You truly should not have indulged so much. Now I can’t kiss you.” Groaning, you turned away from him, clamping your lips shut even as he wraps his arms around your middle, pressing kisses to your neck and cheek lovingly, cooing affections like a lovesick fool. You smiled at that passing thought, leaning into Benedict and returning his whispers in kind, leading him with purpose to your bed chamber. Perhaps you were both lovesick fools. You could live with that.

[monstersandmaw]

Sleep paralysis demon/nightmare x reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This was begun on a Twitch writing stream, with lots of input from the chat, and while I did say I would post it straight to Tumblr, I ended up adding another 3k words to it, and a tiny bit of plot, so I figured I'd put it up on Patreon first. Since Patreon supporters voted so highly for a ‘nightmare’ on the 'next monsters' poll (thank you!), I thought it should go up there first too.

Our reader has been experiencing anxiety and insomnia lately, and this draws something to us... There's a bit at the start that's got creepy vibes to it, but the creature means us no harm. Because of the sleep paralysis element, I'm going to say watch out for non-con vibes, but nothing really happens without our consent first time round. Just putting it here in case that's a major issue for anyone.

Ft. dapper mothman landlord Reggie, and gnoll best friend too.

“You’re living where now?” Francis practically barked into his whisky as you sat together after work. The gnoll’s enormous, dish-like ears flicked forwards, dark and fuzzy and full of concern. “Seriously, you do know how shitty that part of town is, right?”

“It’s not that bad,” you growled, taking a sip of your own drink and leaning back into the soft leather back of the chair. You stifled a yawn and blinked, the exhaustion of a week’s worth of broken sleep catching up to you in one brutal rush.

Francis flicked an ear and levelled you with a flat look, dark eyes serious for once. “You’re kidding…?”

“Ok, fine, it’s not amazing, but it’s really not the worst bit of town. Anyway, it’s all I can afford right now until I find a new job.” That seemed to shut him up on the subject, at least for now. He couldn't argue with your dwindling bank balance after all.

“When’s your first interview?” he asked, raising the whisky to his lips and sipping it with surprising elegance for someone with such big hands and such a powerful jaw.

Taking a deep breath, you forced the nerves down and muttered, “Monday. I’m not prepared, but at least it’s something.” You tried not to think about the inbox full of rejection letters which, in a mere two sentences and with surgical succinctness, told you that they were not hiring, nor looking to hire, nor to take on any new staff just at the moment. Thank you for your interest.

It wasn’t interest; it was sheer bloody desperation.

“You’re not going to be at all prepared if you get mugged to death on your way home tonight,” Francis grumbled.

“It’ll be fine.”

He looked at you again and took another final drink of his whisky, long tongue lapping out the remaining dregs before he set it down with a clonk on the circle-stained table. “Please text me when you get there?”

With a solemn promise to do just that, you stood and he followed you outside into the cool evening. A scuffle of dry leaves drew your attention to your right, and the fleeting shadow of a cat projected huge along a brick wall made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Francis’ concern had got you jumping at the smallest things, and as you separated from him with a warm hug and the reiterated promise that you’d be fine, you gritted your teeth and told yourself in no uncertain terms not to flinch at the slightest sound.

To be honest, the neighbourhood honestly wasn’t that bad. There had been a few break-ins, and the police had conducted a drug raid a few streets over last month, but other than that, it was mostly just… tired. Perhaps it would be the subject of the city council’s next ‘rejuvenation’ scheme, and some commerce and life could finally be injected back into this wallowing, languishing, crumbling part of town. Still, the mothman who had let you rent one of the apartments in his old, converted town house had been very pleasant when you’d met to discuss rent, and that had gone a long way towards heartening you. Without his offer, you might not have had anywhere at all.

You tried to keep that fact in mind as you passed by the closed grocery store, the lights inside low, the neon sign flickering and drawing moths to it like supplicants to a shrine. For a moment, you caught the rapid drumbeat of footsteps behind you and tensed. In under a minute, they disappeared down a side street, and you let out a shaky breath. “Get a grip,” you breathed, reaching into one pocket for your keys all the same.

After fifteen minutes of striding at a quicker pace than was cardiovascularly comfortable, the old, slightly shabby, turn-of-the-last-century building loomed out of the gathering night. At the pedestal-base of the antique, cast-iron street lamp, a narrow pool of golden light shimmered and flickered intermittently, illuminating cracks in the pavement that seemed larger and more treacherous than they had in full daylight. Your imagination conjured black, coiling shadows creeping up from those dark cracks in the earth like smoke on a stage set, and as you paused a moment beneath it to sort your keys out, a breath of wind stippled goosebumps across the nape of your neck.

Glancing once over your shoulder, half expecting to discover someone standing silently at your back, you found nothing at all out of place, swallowed, and scuttled up the uneven garden path to the main door of the converted apartments.

No sooner had you put the key in the lock than the door rattled and swung open from the other side. Reeling away in surprise, you stumbled half a pace backwards and gasped as your eyes registered nothing but blackness inside the hallway beyond. From within the swath of darkness, two points of crimson glowed, then tilted slightly to the side, and you would have shrieked, had the entity inside not murmured your name at that exact instant in his deep baritone.

“Reginald!” you practically whimpered in relief, body going slack as you encouraged your heart rate back to normal with steadying breaths, and then huffed an embarrassed laugh. “You scared me… sorry. I’m just super jumpy this evening.”

“No, no,” the mothman purred, stepping delicately out onto the path and holding the door open for you with his lower right arm. His black fur rippled and shimmered in the soft night breezes and he buzzed his wings once. The fur around his nose was beginning to turn silver, and on his hands and around his antennae too. “I apologise. I felt you coming and I should have announced myself. How are you settling in?”

“Fine,” you croaked, equilibrium mostly recovered. The cool night wafted across your clammy skin and calmed your racing heart while you stood there making polite conversation with him until you yawned conspicuously.  

“Thank you for indulging an old moth, but I shan’t keep you up any longer. You look as though you could use some sleep,” he said, inclining his head in an old-fashioned bow, antennae dipping too and making you think of a gentleman dipping his hat at you. As you headed inside, fumbling on the wall for the light switch, you heard the distant buzz of his wings, and closed the door with a soft click as Reginald took off into the night.

The decor of the main areas of the building left a bit to be desired, with the odd peeling corner and scuff on the antique dado rail, but it was clean, which had set it well apart in the list of other apartments you'd scouted in the last month or so, and as you traipsed up the stairs to your first floor flat, the boards creaked raucously beneath your feet. No one was sneaking in or out of here without making a huge racket, and that thought provided a little comfort.

The interview on Monday loomed in your mind, ticking your resting heart rate up higher than normal, but after you went through the motions before bed with a strange sense of detachment, you let the weariness building behind the anxiety creep over your limbs and draw your eyelids down. Reginald hadn’t been wrong when he’d remarked on your appearance; it had been a while since you’d slept really well. So, it was with a familiar sense of dread that you let your mind slide away into unconsciousness, praying that the nightmares that had plagued your sleeping mind would stay away that night.

With a jolt, your eyes flew open to find the room dark, the street lamp outside extinguished, and a familiar sense of crushing dread weighing on your chest. Lying there, motionless, you breathed slowly, trying to figure out what had woken you so suddenly. Nothing stirred, and as you strained your ears, you caught no whisper of autumn leaves in the reaching branches of the walnut tree outside.

No sooner had you closed your eyes again, hoping to slide back into dreamless sleep, something touched your hair with a spider-light touch and you tried to scream and flail. Finding yourself utterly unable to move, you could only lie there as adrenaline flooded your whole body, your throat went dry, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, and the sensation returned, stronger now.

Pinprick sharp claws - like a cat’s but much, much larger - raked through your hair, softly stroking your scalp, and you felt a silent scream tear itself from your chest. Something was there in the dark with you and you couldn’t move a muscle.

A shadow in the blackness of the room, a darker blur than the rest of the inky room, shifted along your bed from behind you in a coiling tendril, unfurling across the sheets and over your body like the root of a plant or the limb of an octopus, and your blood began to hammer in your ears. All you could do was lie there and gasp for breath.

Claws, long and glistening and dripping with darkness, scraped almost gently down your temple and as the entity moved into your limited field of vision, you felt another soundless yell rip itself from you. An involuntary trembling began in your limbs as a dark, black, skull-like face loomed over you, a wide maw stretching open to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth.

You were going to die. If this was a nightmare, you’d probably be found a few days later, dead of a heart attack, and if it were real… gods above - the thought of being mugged was abruptly shunted to the bottom of your list of things to fear in this neighbourhood. The last thing you’d said to Francis was ‘I’ll be fine.’

The creature opened its mouth wider and wider as if trying to draw out your soul from your body, teeth glistening, breath completely silent, leaning in close to your face. It looked veiled, somehow, as if a wet, gauzy material had been draped over a skeletal form, which then stuck to the emaciated body beneath. With a jolt, you realised it looked like a shrouded corpse, wrapped in black fabric. The ragged shreds of material that floated eerily, slowly, as if the creature were underwater and the wisps were nothing more than kelp, and the tips constantly dissolved into fine smoke that curled lazily around the figure.

Was this Death itself?

Please… you begged silently. Please… I don’t want to die.

To your surprise, the creature tilted its terrifying head to one side in a motion that reminded you of a cat; as though it was curious.

Oh please don’t be something that toys with your prey first…

Fractionally, the entity drew back a fraction, though its four-inch long, sickle-claws remained at the side of your face. As you stared at it, wide eyed and sweating with fear, you got the fleeting impression of an emaciated torso and two equally skeletal arms beneath the floating veil.

In a moment of oddly detached clarity, you wondered if it could understand you.

It nodded.

The fuck?

That grin stretched wider. It had teeth like an angler fish, and the moment you thought that, all you could imagine was it lunging for you out of the darkness like a sprung trap, teeth sinking in, blood pouring, ending in nothing but pain and fear…

The creature nudged its clawed hand against your lips, and for a horrible moment you thought it was going to slice open the skin of your mouth, but instead, like anaesthetic wearing off, your lips began to tingle. You could move them again. Swallowing, you rasped, “Can… you understand me?”

Again, the entity nodded and retreated a little further from the bed. Like an aura of shifting mist around it, the darkness of the room rippled and moved, and you realised it really was floating beside your bed, one hand tethered to the headboard, the other near your shoulder.

“Can you speak?”

The creature paused, going still, and the air in the room thrummed with a sudden tension. Your lungs squeezed and your ribs creaked under the pressure of it.

Eventually the strain on the atmosphere snapped, and a rasping, polyphonous voice from somewhere to your right hissed, “Yes.”

Stunned, you could only lie there as it remained beside you, suspended and shifting like waterweed in a lazy current.

“What do you want?” you managed to croak. You still couldn’t move anything else but your eyes and your mouth. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Again, the air seemed to vibrate, and a chill ran through you.

“Is that you?” you asked. “Are you doing that?”

This time it took longer for the creature to make a sound, but it nodded slowly first. Its claws returned to your body and you gasped as the muscles unlocked and you found you were able to move again. Scrabbling to sit up, you blinked, and the creature twitched, lurching backwards away from you like a skittish horse.

“You can’t be… You’re afraid of me?” you blurted, almost laughing. It didn’t seem like it wanted to hurt you or scare you any more, but the surreal vision beside your bed was enough to keep your heart pounding. “Are you Death?”

Its wide maw stretched open again, revealing its mouthful of deadly teeth, and you balked, fear leaping into your throat again as you clutched the sheets around you like a child. Those claws could slice a sheet - or a body - to ribbons, and yet you clung to them.

It reached out slowly for your ankle, latching its long fingers around the joint, and you choked out a whimpering yell. Knowing you were alone in the house, with Reginald out on his nightly business and the only other apartment in the building still unoccupied, your fear crescendoed to a peak and your words failed you.

With what appeared to be a gargantuan effort, the entity paused, then inhaled, and then chorused, “Not. Death. You… fear… me…”

No shit, you thought. “What do you want?”

“Fear… is… all I… know… Without it… I am… nothing.”

Was that sadness that tinged its many voices? Was there more than just one entity within those constantly-twisting shadows?

“Just… me,” the creature murmured, half-turning away and releasing its solid grip around your leg.

The emotion in those two words made something crack inside you. “You’re lonely…” you breathed, and the creature began to tremble, glitching like a badly aligned SCART connection.

In that instant, your fear drained out of you to be replaced by a wave of compassion, and the tension left your muscles. Whatever this was, it was alone as well.

The creature’s form continued to flicker, and as you blinked in confusion, the misty veil covering them seemed to boil off, leaving nothing but the emaciated, charred-looking skeletal figure beneath, strangely vulnerable for just a heartbeat before it seemed to evaporate away altogether.

The stillness in the room left your mind reeling as you sat there. Had you dreamed the whole thing?

Scrambling, your fingers found the light switch beside the bed, and you squinted and scowled as harsh, yellow light flooded the room at the click of a button. Nothing was out of place beyond, and no hint of creeping shadows drew your eye.

“Are you still there?” you whispered, but after waiting for what felt like hours, you got no answer.

If you returned to sleep at all that night, it would be a miracle, but still you tried. Lying in the dark a good while later, and curled on your side with your eyes screwed shut, you couldn’t help straining your hearing for the slightest hiss of claws on fabric, but nothing came, and eventually, you must have drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Remarkably, no nightmares plagued you that night, and when you woke the next morning, you felt oddly peaceful and well rested for a change.  

You stretched and yawned, and only remembered about the strange experience from the night before when the soft weave of the cotton sheet snagged across your ankle and a sharp prickle made you frown.

Upon investigation, you discovered a long, thin scratch in your skin, as if a cat had nicked you with its claws in passing.

You froze.

It had not been a dream after all.

For the next two nights, nothing unusual happened, unless you counted the fact that you actually slept well for the first time in weeks. You found it almost physically impossible to make it past midnight, whereas before you’d frequently seen midnight tick by and vanish into the past as you lay there with prickling eyes and an exhausted, restless body, anxiety tingling along your nerves, counting the minutes as time ticked closer to dawn.

Astonishingly, as you faced the interviewer on Monday morning, you felt alert and almost chipper.

The naga smiled and held out a hand to you as she wrapped the interview up. “Thank you so much for your time,” she said. “You’ll hear back from us tomorrow, most likely, but let me say now that I was extremely impressed.”

Your brows rose and she laughed kindly at your evident surprise. “Thank you,” you croaked, and left politely before you ruined anything.

That night, you lay back alone on your bed after celebrating with Francis again, spread-eagled and stared at the ceiling. The old-fashioned plaster moulding made it look like you were underwater, especially if the huge tree outside swayed in the wind and cast shifting, kaleidoscope patterns on it. A cold draft prickled over you and you shivered. “Is that you?” you asked almost hopefully, wondering if the nightmare creature was back.

Nothing.

With a huge sigh, you looked around without moving, nervous in case you spooked it. “Listen, if you’re the one that’s given me such amazing sleep lately, then… well… thank you. I think I might have got the job…”

A movement in the darkest corner of the room caught your attention, but when your gaze landed on it, all was as it should be.

“Seriously, if you’re there, please… let me know.”

Again, you experienced that strange pulling sensation, like some kind of energy was being drawn from the room, and as you sat up, your bedside lamp flickered. In front of the darker form of your dressing gown on the back of the door, something had begun manifesting into a tall, slender figure. Shrouded as before in shadow, the creature glided forwards, every bit like a nightmare, and your heart thudded.

“Afraid…” came a chanting, polyphonic voice, “And yet not…? How?”

“Have you seen yourself lately?” you hissed. “You’re kind of intimidating. What are you?”

“Nightmare…” it hissed.

You blinked. “You’re a literal nightmare?”

Its claws glinted in the half-light of your small bedside lamp as it just hung there, swaying softly like a corpse on a gallows. “Yes.”

“What are you doing here? Does Reginald know you live here?”

It turned away and you saw a ribcage jutting out like a mummy’s fragile body, though every inch of them was a soft, matte black, pock marked like volcanic stone.

It shook its head. “I found you…” it croaked in its struggling, faltering voice. “Your fear… drew me… to you.”

“You vanished when I stopped being afraid,” you said and again, the creature nodded.

“I was using your fear to… manifest. Without it… I could not stay.”

“But you’re not using my fear now, are you?” you were excited, your heart was pattering out a wild rhythm, but you weren’t afraid.

It shook its head.

“How?”

Turning towards you, it brought up one lethally clawed hand and let a tendril of wisping black smoke play through its dead-looking hand. The fingers were longer than a human’s, and tipped in those sickle claws. “You sleep… better now,” it said, as if that explained everything.

Sitting there on the bed, you frowned. “Yeah, the nightmares have gone and — wait, are you… are you feeding on other nightmares?”

Slowly, the creature nodded. “I fought one that night, for you…” it rumbled. “I won. Now… they fear me.”

“And me? Do I have to fear you?”

The nightmare shook its shrouded head, the fabric wafting slowly as it billowed around the skeletal body beneath.

“So why are you here? Why me?”

“May I… come closer?” it asked.

“So long as you’re not going to hurt me,” you said in a reedy, weak voice. “A bit closer is fine…”

Hovering, the nightmare seemed uncertain, but then made up its mind and loomed a fraction nearer. This close, the glow from your lamp gilded the empty sockets of its skull and showed the stretching maw, and while you might not have been terrified any longer, it certainly made you wary.

“Will not hurt you…” the creature snarled. “I swear it.”

“Ok, fine, but you can’t blame me for being a bit… you know… I’ve never met anything like you before, and you are technically in my apartment…”

“Should I leave?”

Probably, but you found you didn’t want that just yet. “No, not yet. Can you answer some more of my questions?”

It shrugged. “I will try. Remaining here is tiring though. I don’t have much time left.”

“Where do you go?”

“There are many realms beside yours… Nightmares exist… in the cracks between, belonging nowhere, lingering only a while…”

“Sounds lonely,” you muttered.

“It is. That is why I stayed. You… You spoke to me, even when you were afraid. I have never had that before.”

The mist moved like snakes between its fingers and you watched, half mesmerised. “Your claws… are they why I couldn’t move?”

It nodded. “Sleep paralysis causes… much fear. I’m sorry I had to… frighten you to show myself.”

You snorted and pulled your legs close to sit cross legged on the bed, staring at the hovering nightmare in your room. It was so surreal, you wondered if you’d hit your head on the way home. “You tried to reassure me at the same time as scaring me shitless didn’t you?”

It flashed its claws again and swung a close to you. “Soft,” it purred, now mere inches from your face.

This close up, you found yourself frightened again. The horror of its empty black eyes, its gaping maw full of black, pointed teeth, the coiling shadows around it, its skeletal hands with tipped with onyx scythes… and yet, they smelled like the very best of winter nights; slightly smoky with a coldness that, as you inhaled, stung the back of your throat.

“Afraid, and yet not,” it repeated.

“Can I touch you?”

The nightmare clearly had not been expecting that, but nodded. Trembling, you brought your fingertip to its cheek. The skin was cool and hard like leather, but a fine mist floated around them, and you realised that the shroud wasn’t cloth at all, but intangible and made simply of smoke and shadow. The creature shuddered and you pressed your whole palm to their face as they leaned into your touch.

A moment later, they began to flicker and let out a broken moan. “I cannot stay.”

“Come back?” you whispered.

The mouth that held the promise of death, with all those teeth, suddenly smiled and they nodded. After that, they vanished.

Another week went by, but as you faced the fears of starting a new job, and the nearer that your starting date drew, the better you slept.

“It’s you again, isn’t it?” you asked the empty, black room on the night before you started work. “Come on, come out. You’ve been trying to manifest all week. I can feel it.”

Rippling out of the darkness, the nightmare swayed towards your bed and hung in the space beside it, drifting.

“Thank you,” you smiled and stood up. The nightmare didn’t move as you walked towards it, and this time when you reached for it, the creature did anticipate it, wafting closer, apparently keen for the contact. “I actually missed you, you know?” you said as the creature’s whole body quivered.

It brought its hand up to your face in a mirror of your gesture and brushed the curved back of its claws against your cheek. It tingled but you were still able to talk.

“You can touch me,” you whispered, drawing it back towards your bed by taking its skeletal fingers in yours.

Having its permission, the nightmare raked those claws through your hair with a tenderness that left you breathless. “Let me take the fear from you…” it murmured.

Examining your feelings, you discovered a small knot of anxiety about tomorrow, and smiled. “Leave me a little bit, ok? Trust me, a bit of nerves helps.”

Nodding, it leaned close and inhaled.

Standing there beside the bed, your body ignited with what could only be described as a deep and yearning lust, and you gasped, knees going weak. The nightmare caught you as you swayed, head spinning, and laid you easily down on the bed, despite the fact that it hardly looked strong enough to withstand a slight draft.

“What…?” you gasped, core burning.

The creature looked at a loss as it hung in the space beside your bed.

“I’m assuming this has never happened to you before?” you snorted, feeling a little recovered. “How lonely do I have to be to get turned on by a literal nightmare?”

A chuffing laugh made you look back at them.

“You find that funny too?” you asked and they nodded. “Well, if I’m honest… now that I know you’re not going to hurt me, I think you’re kind of beautiful.”

A soft, broken, crooning sound escaped them and they floated nearer, hovering over your bed and extending a hand to stroke talon-tips down your cheek again. “You are beautiful,” it murmured in all its numerous, whispering voices.

“Touch me,” you breathed.

“It will paralyse you,” they snarled, leaning backwards. “I can only… control it for so long.”

“But you won’t hurt me, and it’ll wear off, right?”

They nodded.

“Then touch me… please… I… I want your touch,” and you did. In a way you’d never felt with anyone else, human or otherwise, you needed them.

Rearing closer to you, the creature hung in the air above you like a cloud. It raked its claws down your body, but instead of shearing your clothes open, they simply evaporated, reappearing on the floor nearby in a tangled, crumpled heap.

“Neat trick,” you muttered before gasping as their hands landed on your bare torso, spreading their fingers wide and inhaling again. “Magic?”

“In dreams, anything is possible. We are not bound by your laws.”

“Of course not, but you’re —” you cut off sharply as they opened their mouth and a long, black tongue slithered free and coiled around your hardening nipple. You lurched and your back arched before falling back onto the bed. A tingling spread rapidly all down your right side as their hands gripped you more strongly now.

Working steadily first down one side and then the other, the nightmare scraped its teeth over you in a hundred scratching lines that made you want to yelp and buck, but their paralysis had begun to sweep over you. Every almost-bite it chased with its soothing, teasing, paralysing tongue and fingertips until you could do nothing but tremble and twitch beneath its touch.

A voice hissed, “I will know if you want me to stop,” and you let the last of your fears slide away, giving into the intense pleasure that their mouth offered on your body.

Finally, breath heaving, you felt your release crashing towards you. Never before had you been utterly immobile like this. You wanted to thrash and buck, to squirm and writhe - the pleasure was so intense and visceral that you needed to scream, but the nightmare held you in its grasp and wrung your release from you with relentless focus. Before you could recover fully, it demanded a second orgasm hot on the heels of the first and you thought you might shear apart with the force of it.

Gasping for breath, you begged silently to be allowed to move again, and as it sat back, that long, clever tongue lapping up the last of your release, it touched you once again and your body went slack.

“Oh my god,” you panted. “I’ve never come like that…”

“Your… energy,” they whispered, touching their fingers and thumb together as if their skin was tingling too. Something cool and dark slid over your leg and you looked down to find black liquid dripping from their robes, all over your legs from where they were hovering above you.

You had to laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re switching careers to an incubus now?”

The nightmare looked at you. “It’s just you,” they said. “I want only you.”

“If you’re going to make me come like that, I think we could come to an arrangement…”

The creature grinned, showing all its deadly teeth, and you lay back and stared at the ceiling for a long time, drained and tired but deeply satisfied. You didn’t even notice yourself sliding into a blissful sleep.

When you woke with your alarm the next morning, there was no trace of the creature, but on the back of the door as you were preparing to leave, you found the words ‘good luck’ scraped into the surface of the wood.

“You’d better come back and fix that tonight,” you grumbled with a smile on your face as you spotted it. Even as you stared at it, the wood melted back into the shape it had always been before, and in its place, a simple, line-drawn heart appeared.

You snorted. “See you later,” you said as you grabbed your coat and headed out. “And… well… thank you.”

___

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[hopinggforbetter]

“but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans‬ ‭5‬:‭8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

This week was such a struggle. I struggled a lot with my perception of God. If you don’t know me. I struggle A LOT with that 😐

Yesterday I was even on the phone with a friend of mine saying the same thing.

Anyways, I pray about it. Of course. Not expecting much because I’ve been so distracted and I figured God will be like “well when you get it together I’ll step in.”

But YALL.

I’m in church today, or rather this morning- or last night? Bruh idk but God reminded me of His gentleness and how He dealt with me in 2017.

In 2017, I was at my lowest low. Like, I was LOW. Not only was I at my all time low, but I had committed many sins against God so I was sure He was going to kill me. Yes, me lol. I had to let go of someone I cared about and it absolutely shattered me. It confirmed my suspicions and my insecurities about everyone leaving me. It broke me. I remember asking one of my friends if he would have sex with me just so I can feel valued. Yes, it was that bad. So yes, the sins- I looked back and saw how much I’ve offended God. And I couldn’t believe I really did all that against God. I was petrified.

In my mind, this was going to be the end of me. But little did I know that it was God kindly opening my eyes to come back to Him. He is so good y’all. At my lowest He loved me. At my worst, He loved me. He loves me so much. I remember during those times, I would feel like He was so angry and He was going to kill me. And He would do little things to show me that He is a kind God, and He just wanted me to come back to Him. And ya girl was fighting Him too looool. I didn’t want to go back to Him (that’s a story for another day). But He was so kind to me. He was so gentle with me. I remember reading the whole book of Mark in one sitting lol, just trying to see Jesus as a good God. And He showed me He was.

I remember my tires went flat as I was driving this one time. I thought God was trying to kill me LOL. And my spare did not fit. And He sent someone with a spare that fit right into my car. He would give me Bible verses that showed His character. He was just trying to show me that He is a kind and merciful God. And I’m so grateful.

Anyways, so back to this week as I’m struggling with my perception of Him. I’m angry and just seeing Him in all the wrong ways.

And the Holy Spirit reminded me of that time period in 2017. How God came back for me. How He fought for my soul. He fought for my affection. Even at my very lowest, when I was absolutely disgusting and of no worth to Him, He still loved me. He still came back for me. He still wanted me.

So no matter how life gets and no matter how angry I may get at God (which I do sometimes), I cannot let go of Him. He is the only One Who loves me unconditionally, and He is the One Who never leaves me. He is my God. He is my King. He is my Lord. He is my first love. And I will forever hold on to Him.

I want to say something, the only love that will truly satisfy you is God’s love. IDC what you’re filling yourself up with- Netflix, clubs, food, relationships, hookups, etc… there is only ONE man that will fulfill you and that man is Jesus Christ. You may think it’s a lie and I’m exaggerating. But that hole, that empty space inside of you- only God can fill it. He will satisfy you.

And if you’re afraid to come to God because there are certain worldly pleasures/sins you don’t want to let go of, then tell Him. He’s not harsh with us. He is compassionate and gracious. Bring it all to Him. He will help you let go of it. And if you don’t have the desire to let go of it, ask Him to give you that desire.

I’m not saying it will be easy, but I’m saying it will be worth it. So worth it.

So, just to reiterate this very long post lol. The point is that at my worst, God loved me and died for me.

And He feels the same about you. Just come to Him.

“but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

‭‭Romans‬ ‭5‬:‭8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

[kyberphilosopher]

Dᴏꜱᴄᴇɴᴅᴏ Dɪꜱᴄɪᴍᴜꜱ

The reader tries to paint the Colossal Titan from memory, and Bertholdt seems to know more than most people. 

Requested: no.

Word Count: 2092

Docendo Discimus is a Latin proverb meaning "by teaching, we learn." It is perhaps derived from Seneca the Younger, who says in his Letters to Lucilius: Homines dum docent discunt., meaning "Men learn when they teach”.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The human body is home to somewhere between six hundred and eight hundred muscles. There are two hundred and six bones, seventy-eight organs, one hundred thousand miles of veins, and roughly ten pints of blood. Every individual cell has a purpose, important and needed for the body to continue to function. 

Assuming the anatomy of a titan was the same to that of the average person’s, the Colossal Titan should be easier to render than this. You’d sketched the face of muscle and teeth over a hundred times by this point, and each one of them seemed to draw further away from realism than you liked. 

Sure, it was arguable that the Colossal just didn’t have the same anatomy in his face as the average human. But then there should’ve been more factors in his face that shouldn’t have worked. 

For example, the monster didn’t possess a muscle called the orbicularis. You could remember that specifically from the time you and your fellow cadets had gotten a bit too close for comfort. But based on the lack of orbicularis, he shouldn’t have been able to blink. And yet, he had. There was also a strange muscle in his temporal region with horizontal fibers, that couldn’t have simply been his temporal. It doesn't seem to have any particular function, either. 

God damn it. It’s appearance should’ve been the one thing about this bastard to make sense, but instead it had confused you just as much as the rest of it. Never mind how smart you were. If you couldn’t solve this simple turned complex mystery, why hold out hope for studying anatomy when the world would return to normalcy?

In your frustration, you slam the paintbrush back into your cup of water. A stain of red clouds erupts in the liquid at once, angry from how direct the solid hits the surface. In front of you, the canvas shines with the new layer of red paint. Beside it is a coat of salmon, also fresh and lined with the titan’s muscles. 

“So stupid,” you hiss, half to yourself. You grab your cadet corps jacket, shrugging it on swiftly before crossing your arms and stepping back. 

It was supposed to be a gift for Eren. He knew you were something of a painter and had once jokingly asked you to make a dart board for him. The moment you conceived this idea, you knew it had to be a stroke of genius. But you wanted to get it right, and for that, the artist and realist inside of you seemed to be punished for it.

Was it something with the eyes? No, it was definitely the anatomy of the titan overall. “For fucks sake,” you wave off finally, turning on your heel to walk away for a while. But when you turn around, you’re face to chest with one so broad you nearly stumble back. 

The figure tenses up immediately. You tilt your head up to see who it is, recognizing the nervous, kaleidoscope eyes of your comrade. Bertholdt, you’re sure his name is. You haven’t talked too many times, but you’ve seen him in your circle of friends. There’s a memory in your brain of asking your bunkmate, Annie, about why Bertholdt would hang around someone so upstanding and obnoxious as Reiner, but you can’t recall her specific answer. 

“O-oh, Y/N!” Bertholdt nearly wheezes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand so close.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your head as you step away. “What are you doing here?”

Yes, what was he doing here? A little closeted off room by the girl barracks? And aside from that, how does someone as tall as he even sneak his way inside? It’s suspicious, to say the least. 

“I was just-” Bertholdt stares down at you, sweat already beginning to form on his face. Oh, goddess. How is he to get out of this one? If Reiner was with him, he could just lie his way out of it. But now, looking down at your apathetic, borderline tired, frustrated face, he knows he’s never had much luck with girls. Especially not pretty girls like you. 

His gaze shifts to behind you. There, on a perfectly square parchment of thick paper, is a rough sketch of a long face without any skin. It seems to be all muscle, labeled and detailed. Half the sheet is colored in with pinks, browns, and scarlets, with the other half marked with insane little scribbled patterns that remind him of words. 

You’re still waiting for an answer. He sees your steady, patient eyes and your balled fists by your hips, and Bertholdt wonders if you already know. “I saw you bring in those cans of paint, and I guess I got curious.”

“Oh,” you reply flatly. “Yeah. That.”

“It’s um...” Compliment her. Compliment her painting. “It’s a nice painting. What’s it supposed to be of?”

“The Colossal Titan,” you tell him as you rub the back of your neck. Then you turn on your side so you can view your art, immediately narrowing your eyes in disgust at it. “It’s not my best.”

Bertholdt’s words come out a bit louder than he intended. “Actually, I think it’s really, really great, Y/N!”

You turn back to meet Bertholdt’s nervous, almost quivering eyes. You certainly wouldn’t call yourself an expert on the male gender, but this tall bastard was exactly the stereotype of someone who wasn’t an expert on the female gender. It was almost funny. No, it was almost ironic. 

“I just mean that... it’s really good. It’s easy to see that you have heaps of talent,” the brunette reiterates, seemingly calmer this time.

What a nice thing to say to someone. 

“That’s not really my point though,” you borderline sigh. “The point is that no matter what I seem to do to him, it doesn’t seem realistic does it?”

“What do you mean by that?” Bertholdt questions, his eyebrows furrowing. That’s right, he wouldn’t be able to squint without his orbicularis. Something your art model was currently lacking. 

Do you even bother to explain it to him? It’s not like either of you are close, or like he’d exactly understand what you were saying to him anyway. But where was the harm, really?

You walk back towards the parchment, with Bertholdt just a few steps behind. 

“See this area?” you ask, gesturing to the Colossal Titan’s eye area. “There's a muscle here that’s supposed to let people close their eyes. But the colossal titan doesn’t have that.”

“W-why is that?”

You shrug. “Damned if I know. But doesn’t it look wrong on him?”

Bertholdt observes the painting. He sees all the details, all the time you’ve put into it. While you are right about the image and the titan’s strange features, it’s now that Bertholdt realizes just how intelligent you really are. Unlike other people, you actually knew things. If he were an enemy, he might be starting to feel threatened right about now. Ironic indeed. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the boy says shyly. “Why does it have to be perfect, though?”

Good question. 

“No real reason,” you tell him, trying to hide the hint of smile. “I guess it’s just how it is. Eren is the one who asked for this.”

“O-oh... you mean like a...”

Your eyes flit back to Bertholdt. “Like a what?”

Bertholdt can feel the sullen wave of anxiety wash over him. He hadn’t meant to let the stray thoughts fall from his lips, but now he can’t take it back. Now what does he say? “I just mean, is it a gift or something like that?”

“Sure.”

Were you and Eren...?

“I might be able to help you with it,” Bertholdt stutters, again, louder than he’d intended. He’s lucky at least one of you is level headed during this interaction. 

“How so? Do you paint?” 

“No, but I think I might know some things about the Colossal that you don’t,” Bertholdt offers. His right arm reaches behind to rub at his sweaty neck. In that instant, you can see that the boy has an almost identical structure to that of your subject. You’d have to note that the tall boy would make a brilliant model for something like this.

“Like what?” you question. “Could you give me some feedback on my piece then?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were going to find out. 

Bertholdt pretends to be in deep thought for a minute, knitting his dark eyebrows together. His green, blue eyes sweep over the picture, watching the slick settle. “Well, you’re right about the muscle around the eye. I’d take that out, but maybe place the shadow of it?”

“The shadow?”

“The outline. And maybe make his eyes more glossy than this. Titan’s have a second set of eyelids.”

You don’t have time to question him further. Bertholdt continues the onslaught of information. 

“I think you should also make some of these areas here a bit lighter,” he says, pointing to the side of the Colossal’s face. “From the steam and the high body temperature, it would get a bit smoky.”

“Yeah,” you begin slowly, watching the shine in Bertholdt’s previously nervous eyes. “I hadn’t considered that.”

The lanky male in front of you lets his lips curl into a sheepish smile, closing his eyes as his fingers thread themselves between his hair. “I doubt most people do, so you’re not really in the wrong.”

“How do you know so much?” you ask. “You’ve been quiet with everyone up until now. Do the higher ups even know all this?”

“I mean, they’d have to right? I guess I just took a lot of notes in class.”

You hadn’t remembered your professor mentioning most of these things during your Titan Studies period. But maybe it wasn’t really worth questioning him over. Maybe Bertholdt was just more observant than you had ever really considered. It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

Your eyes are fixated on him. Bertholdt was kind of cute, actually. His eyes are both big and slim, with pale green orbs. His skin was always a bit illuminated with a nervous sweat, and he was incredibly mild mannered. But maybe that was actually a good thing compared to all the boys in camp who seemed to lack any conception of manners. Pouty, chapped lips, a gentle smile, messy dark hair. He seems like someone reliable. Kind. Trustworthy.

“Yeah,” you say again, breaking eye contact. “So, are there any other suggestions you have for me?”

Bertholdt is still for a moment, thinking it over. “No, other than don’t think so hard about it, probably.”

“You two sort of have a similar face,” you say, staring at the muscled beast you’d attempted to replicate. “Maybe you should pose for me sometime.”

Bertholdt tenses. 

“I’m only joking,” you assure. Bertholdt’s broad shoulders fall as he relaxes, and a soft exhale leaves from between his lips. “But I would like it if you’d let me model after you.”

“Me?” Bertholdt stutters, shocked. “You mean you’d want to really paint me?”

“‘Course,” you say, nonchalant as always. “You’ve got one of those faces.”

Bertholdt smiles naturally. Soft, but noticeable. You return it after a few seconds, feeling your previous frustration and anger at the piece begin to wander away. 

“I should get back to work,” you say as you turn around. Bertholdt watches you unclip the parchment from your sturdy easel, place it on the stone floor, and grab another paper from a pile. 

“Y-you’re starting again?”

“Of course,” you say. Your dominant hand laces around a piece of charcoal, preparing to drag it across the page. In one swift and scratchy motion, an onyx line appears at the top of the paper. 

Bertholdt’s cheeks dust pink from behind you. He’s about to offer if you want him to pose for you so you can memorize what’s underneath his shy skin, but he stays quiet. Instead, Bertholdt is happy that he even got to speak to you in the first place. He wanders out of the room with butterflies in his stomach, and guilt in his heart. 

And you, with your eyes narrow, basing the monster that ruined your life off the boy who had just helped you. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I didn’t proof read this. I feel like I’ve just been cranking stuff out lately. someone remind me to go back and edit thank you

[vnderoos]

in the stars ✷ draco malfoy

(gif is not mine, credit to the owner) warnings / language, slytherin!reader, half blood prince setting word count / 4.6k

masterlist in bio ↴

Y/N LEANED AGAINST THE STONE wall outside of Professor McGonagall's classroom, like she always did, with her arms crossed over her chest as she waited for Draco to meet her outside. She'd come from her Potions class with Slughorn and she couldn't wait to tell him that she'd actually nailed her brew that day. It wasn't uncommon for her to feel lost in that class, finding herself much more adept when it came to Charms or Transfiguration, but that day was the first time in a while where she'd felt like she hadn't totally fudged everything.

She pushed herself off of the wall with a sense of eagerness when she saw Draco's head of striking, blonde hair sail out of the doors. A bright smile painted itself onto her face, expecting him to head right towards her so she could gush about her accomplishment and maybe, just maybe, get a huff of amusement from him as a congratulations, but he walked right past her. It was like he didn't even see her as he walked by, his blue eyes staring straight through her, and her smile faltered.

Sure, he'd been a little quieter than usual and they hadn't hung out outside of class as much as they used to, but he'd never blatantly ignored her like that.

It stung a little, honestly.

Shaking the confusion off of her face and unfurrowing her brows, Y/N took off after him. "Oi, Malfoy," she called and she shoved her way through the crowd of other students parading through the hallways, shooting off one cold glance after another at those who refused to budge right away. "What the hell was that, you git?" she confronted and he didn't even seem fazed. She knew bloody well that she was in earshot, but he was just shutting her out and she didn't know why. "Draco, please." She reached out and grabbed his wrist in one last attempt, hoping to get something out of him.

Before she could plead with him anymore and make herself seem even more pathetic, Draco whipped around to face her. "Bloody hell, Y/N, don't you understand that I don't want to deal with you right now?" he spat, the words biting into her skin like they had fangs, and he ripped his arm from her grasp. "Just piss off already."

After he delivered the final blow, Y/N's eyebrows lifted in shock and she stopped in her tracks. She watched him as he strode away, his black and green robes billowing behind him, and she stood frozen in the middle of the hallway. The students that she'd fought her way through before passed her by once more, some of their shoulders knocking against hers as they maneuvered themselves around her.

Just piss off already.

The words echoed in her head, even after she'd composed herself well enough to make her way back towards the dungeons.

—

When dinner came around, Y/N found herself picking at the food on her golden plate, separating her mixed vegetables into individual piles almost without thinking. Usually, she'd be sat across from Draco, trying to make him laugh at one of her stupid jokes, which would normally result in him throwing a pea or two at her and rolling his eyes, but he'd been distant lately. Clearly. He hadn't even shown up to the Great Hall that night, and she assumed he was probably off doing something he shouldn't be.

He had told her weeks ago, before he'd started to pull away, that he'd been chosen to help the Dark Lord with one of his plans. He'd been sneaking away a lot, to the Room of Requirement, where he'd been working tirelessly in an attempt to repair the Vanishing Cabinet, but as far as she knew, it was all still a work in progress.

She figured that all of it must've been taking a toll on him—that he must've started to feel the crushing weight of the stress—and she wished he could understand that he didn't have to dissociate from her like he was, but Draco had never been one to seek comfort in others. She learned a long time ago that he tended to deal with things alone, even if that meant pushing away the people around him. She never thought she'd become one of those people, but here she was, going through the first day since their first year where she and Draco hadn't properly spoken, and it sucked.

Y/N still had Pansy and Blaise, both of whom she loved dearly, but talking with them wasn't the same as talking with Draco. They didn't understand her like he did, nor did they listen even half as well.

Plus, she had never spoken it out loud, but she cared for Draco much differently—much more deeply—than she cared for the other two.

A sudden pain in her side brought her out of her swirling thoughts, snapping her back into the hustling and the bustling of the Great Hall, and it took no time at all for her to realize that Pansy had just elbowed her in the ribs. "Watch it, would you, Parkinson?" she grumbled, rubbing her fingers over her side even though it had hardly hurt.

Pansy scoffed and tucked a strand of her shiny, black hair behind her ear. "Wouldn't have to if you weren't in sodding space right now. I don't think I've ever seen you so distracted," she pointed out, leaning against her sweater-clad arms which happened to have been crossed over the tabletop.

Y/N rolled her eyes and she looked over at Blaise, who bore the same nosey expression. He washed the food in his mouth down with a sip of the liquid in his chalice and he nodded his head in agreement. "Pans is right. What happened today?" he pried and he set down his fork, so he could prop one of his elbows up on the table and lean his head into his hand. "You look like a kicked pup," he added.

"Bloody Malfoy is what happened," she confessed, knowing it would be no use to hide anything from the two. They'd have bugged it out of her, either way. "I waited for him to get out of McGonagall's, like usual, and the twit didn't even acknowledge me. He told me to 'piss off', can you believe that?" She asked, rolling a couple of carrots around on her plate.

Blaise shrugged his shoulders at that and Pansy sighed. As they recalled, Draco hadn't seemed all-too-thrilled to see them lately, either. "Don't take it personally, Y/N/N. That's just Draco being Draco," Pansy promised, knocking her with her elbow again, but softer and on her bicep that time.

Blaise nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he's been a bit off with us, as well," he included, backing up the statement of the raven-haired girl. "He's been short with us all day."

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows at them, glancing between the two of them. "Short with you? At least he's willingly spoken to you," she bit back, harsher than she'd intended to, and a look of discomfort crossed onto her friends' faces. She felt a pang of guilt at the severity of her tone, but she pushed it down, knowing they wouldn't hold it against her. "He barely even looked at me after class. I was practically begging for his attention," explained Y/N.

Pansy managed a tight-lipped smile. "Surely, it was just the result of a bad day. I can't imagine he's seriously upset with you," she said, trying to sound reassuring, but she came off like she was trying to sound hopeful herself.

Y/N didn't buy it, though, and she shook her head. "I can't believe he's talked to the both of you today, but he chose to blow me off. He's acting like he hates me, now, but it's fine," she vented, trying to blow off some steam but the anger began to bubble up more in the pits of her stomach. How could Draco ignore her like that when she'd done nothing but walk through the fire with him? How could he be so quick to push her away when all she wanted was to help him do what he thought was best for himself? "It's just Draco being Draco, yeah?" she snapped, reiterating what Pansy had told her earlier, and she threw her silverware down onto the table. It clattered across the wood and a few of the other Slytherins turned their heads towards her to send her a glare. She looked around at the few of them, before she pushed herself into a standing position. "If you two would excuse me, I think I'm done eating," she growled.

She hadn't meant to come off as angry at Pansy or at Blaise, because she wasn't, but as she stormed out of the room, she decided she'd apologize to them both the following morning. Right now, she was too pissed off at Draco for ignoring her, at herself for not trying harder to make sure he knew he wasn't alone, and at the fucking Dark Lord for putting this sort of pressure on him in the first place. The entire situation was mad and Y/N was done with it. She was tired after worrying about Draco all day and she much preferred a night alone in the girl's dormitory to one where she picked at her food and wallowed in her own thoughts the whole time.

Her walk back to her dorm had been quiet, due to almost all of the other students being back at dinner. As she stepped into the room she shared with Pansy and a few of the other girls, she figured she had at least an hour to mope around before they all returned and disturbed the peace and quiet.

A sigh left her lips as she shrugged her robe from her shoulders, folding it neatly and setting it on her bedside table after. She ripped off every other unnecessarily difficult part of her uniform—her green tie, her sweater vest, and her newly-polished shoes—and she untucked her button-down shirt. She dropped her shoes on top of the trunk at the end of her bed, threw everything else over her robe, and when she felt like she could breathe again, she let herself flop onto her mattress.

Y/N sunk into it upon impact, relishing in the immediate comfort that it offered her, but when she rolled over to stare up at the canopy over her bed, something crumpled beneath her. She reached beneath her back and pulled out a piece of neatly-folded parchment—or at least it had been before she laid on it. She turned the paper over in her fingers and ran her thumb over the surface.

If this was another note from Millicent Bulstrode asking her to do her Charms homework, she was going to set the girl's entire mattress on fire.

When she unfolded the piece of parchment, she was surprised that she didn't find Millicent's jumbled, blocky lettering. Instead, the handwriting was long, slanted, and familiar. Considering she'd received dozens of letters from him in the past, it didn't take but a few seconds for her to identify it as Draco's.

Meet me in our spot at midnight.

Y/N's heart fluttered in her chest as her eyes flickered over his message not once, not twice, but three times, just to make sure it was actually there. Part of her wanted to rip the paper to shreds right then and there, but the other part knew that because it was the first time he'd been the one to reach out in a while, it must've been important.

Especially if he'd placed it there after what happened that afternoon.

Deciding that she would meet him when the time came, Y/N tucked the piece of parchment beneath her pillow and laid her head on top of it.

—

Y/N's stomach churned as she walked up the steps to the Astronomy Tower, happy she traded her black shoes for her something with a rubber sole, or she would've been clacking the entire way up. She hugged her robe, which she'd snagged off of her table on her way out of the dorm, tighter against her body, hoping it'd be enough to trap her body heat since she'd left her sweater back in the dungeons.

As she stepped up the winding staircase, she half-hoped that Draco would be running late, so she wouldn't have to be the one to start the conversation, but her hopes dissipated when she saw him already leaning against the railing. His elbows were propped against the wood, his hands were clasped out in front of him, and his head was tilted towards the sky. His blonde hair looked almost silver in the night and the moonlight cast sharp shadows over his face, but he looked almost peaceful as he stared into the stars. She found herself wanting to stand there and admire him just as intently as he admired the night sky, because he was all-too-enchanting, but he was waiting for her.

Instead, she hesitantly walked up behind him. "Hello, Draco," she said softly and he hummed out in greeting, pushing himself off of the railing in order to face her. Despite the rockiness between them lately, she wasted no time in stepping closer to him, slotting her arms through his and wrapping them around his torso.

Usually, when she hugged him, Draco would give her an awkward pat on the back, mutter a 'that's long enough, y/l/n', and push her away, but to her surprise, he hugged her back. His arms closed around her tightly, with an intensity she'd never felt from him, and he pulled her in as close as he could to his chest. "It wasn't your fault—when I snapped at you this morning," he murmured. "A lot's been happening. I've been meaning to— I've..." he started to say something, but his words were lost in her hair.

Y/N only hugged him tighter. She ran her fingertips up and down his spine comfortingly, like his outburst that afternoon hadn't even happened, and she propped her chin up on his shoulder. "S'okay. I've missed you, too," she hummed, her stomach lurching as she did, almost nervous that she'd misinterpreted him, but he sighed against her. He seemed grateful that she knew what he meant without him having to force it out of his throat. After all, he'd never been one for sentiment. "Is everything alright?" She questioned and she softly pulled herself out of his embrace.

Y/N took to the railing, leaning against it, and Draco positioned himself next to her. He shrugged his shoulders and ran one of his hands upwards over his, carding his fingers backwards through his hair and leaving it all disheveled after he had. "Nothing's been alright for a while, now." Draco sounded so tired and dreary, and now that she was up close, she could see the purple curves of the dark circles under his eyes. She'd known that he'd been worried about everything for a while now, that the Dark Lord's task had been getting under his skin, but she hadn't realized how badly it'd been eating away at him. "I'm trying to mend the cabinet, but I can't seem to figure it out. Everyone else is on the outside and it's like I'm doing all of this alone, Y/N/N," he confessed and she fought the urge to scoop him back up in her arms again.

"I know it feels like that, but it doesn't have to. I would help you if you needed me to, you know I would," Y/N told him quietly and Draco did know that.

She was as tough as nails when you looked at her individually, but if you threw him into the mix, she would always be weak when it came to him and he knew that. He'd never admit it, but he'd always taken a sort of pride in being her soft spot. It was in times like this, though, that the title came with a price. She must've seen the conflict on his face, because she placed her hand over his softly in an attempt to comfort him.

It was there for all of a second before he ripped his hand away. "No," he told her.

"Draco, you just said—"

"Merlin, Y/N, I know what I said, but it wasn't a bloody cry for help, don't you get that?" He hissed and she flinched at the sudden change in his tone. "He gave this task to me. Me. I don't need your help, you aren't even in the cards."

"Oh, okay." When Draco saw the look that crossed onto her face, the glossiness in her eyes, and the way that her head fell forward in defeat, he wanted to take it back. He wanted to retract everything he'd said, but the damage had already been done. "I was just trying to make you feel better about it. I didn't mean to upset you," she explained quietly and he could hear the whisper in her voice as tears started to well up in her eyes. It wasn't that she was sad, but the fact that it was starting to seem like he'd only invited her there just to bite her head off again was beyond frustrating. "You really have some nerve, Malfoy," she muttered, turning her head away from him as a tear rolled down her cheek, because she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

"Oh, don't—" he started to snap again as he pushed himself off of the railing for the second time, but he caught himself. He sighed and he held his hand out, as if to offer her comfort with a clap on the shoulder, but as he did it, he hesitated. He settled for a stiff hand on her back, instead. Her eyes were still fixated on anything but him. "Look, I know. I didn't mean it that way, alright?" He told her and his hand slid off of her when she finally looked over at him. "I meant there's no place for you in what the Dark Lord's planning. It's dangerous." He hoped she would be less angry with him after his rewording.

Draco honestly hadn't meant to make it seem like he didn't want her around, but as far as he was concerned, Y/N was pure. She might've been a Slytherin and she might've stepped on a few toes for her own benefit here and there, but she hadn't been tainted in the way that he'd been. She wasn't damaged goods. She was kind, she was intelligent, and she had goals for herself.

She used to tell him all the time how she wanted to grow up to work in the Ministry, somewhere in the third level where she could help with the regulation of magical creatures. He remembered the glint in her eyes when she used to speak of it, and he refused to be the one who took that away from her.

"So, you can put yourself at risk, but I, your best friend, can't even help you?" Y/N called him out and he turned away from her.

Draco crosses his arms over the wooden railing and stared at the dark horizon. "You deserve far better than I do, Y/L/N," he told her, but he hadn't expected her to turn around and swat him on the back of the head. He winced. "Bloody hell, do you mind?" he grumbled, reaching up to rub the spot where it stung.

She scoffed, proud of herself. "Don't speak about yourself like that, Draco," she chastised. "You're so smart and talented. Yeah, you're a prat to everyone sometimes, but I've seen the good in you. And, I know you're oblivious to it, but there's people out there that think the world of you," she told him and from the blank look on his face, she knew he wasn't buying a word that she said. She sighed and patted the railing once, to dispel the nerves that were building up in her. "I know I do."

At her confession, Draco's eyebrows lifted and he tore his eyes off of the horizon like to look at her. The sincerity on her face was so intense and she was looking at him with such ferocity glittering in her eyes. Her eyebrows were knit together, a soft crease having formed between them, and he felt a sudden urge inside of him to step forward and kiss it away, but he didn't.

He didn't, because Y/N was good. Y/N was so good and so good to him, of all people, and he never deserved an ounce of it. When it all came down to it, Draco was a traitor—a traitor to his friends and to his school. Y/N knew that and she still showed him how much faith that she had in him and who he was. Part of him wondered if she'd still believe in him like that when he completed all of the Dark Lord's wishes.

When he let the Deatheaters in.

When he killed Dumbledore.

When he betrayed her, too.

"I do enjoy it when you boost my ego, but you think too highly of me," he told her, his voice quiet.

His words were swimming with emotions—hurt, denial, and others she couldn't quite make out—and her heart ached for him. "Maybe," she admitted, but she'd never considered her opinion of Draco to be too high. In fact, she often wondered if she underestimated him. More hesitantly than she had before, she reached out to touch his hand again, and this time he let her. She smoothed her thumb over his skin. "But I've been told that the heart clouds the mind when it grows fond of someone," she whispered in another quiet confession and she could feel the way that his hand tightened on the railing.

Draco looked over at her and she was surprised to see the painful expression that had torn into his features. She could see the conflict spiraling in his eyes, his head and his heart fighting a war amongst themselves, as he shook his head softly. "What's that supposed to mean?" He questioned and it was almost like a plea, a soft begging for her to not say what they both knew that she felt.

"Well, I—" she stopped, taking his longing look in for a second longer, but she knew that this wasn't something she could keep to herself any longer. "I love you," she said and her words went off like a bomb.

"You can't love me, Y/N, don't you understand?" he all-but-shouted. "Don't you see what I've done? What I'll do?" he went on, images of the cursed necklace he'd given to Katie Bell and the bottle of poisoned mead meant for Dumbledore flashed through his mind, but Y/N seemed unfazed.

Instead of taking back what she'd said, Y/N shook her head and looked up at him. "Love is blind, Draco." She waited for a minute for him to say something, but he seemed set on just sitting in silence, letting her confession hang untended to in the air and his breathing come heavy. She waited a few moments longer, holding onto the sliver of hope that he might actually have something to say to her, but she realized after a while that she was waiting for something that'd never come. Her mood changed after that, her heart sank to her feet, and she made the sudden reconciliation that she no longer wanted to be there. She didn't want to continue to stand there, offering him everything on a silver platter, only to have him pretend like it wasn't even happening at all.

She gave his hand a soft squeeze, like a sort of farewell, and she pulled her hand off of his. She turned and began to walk away with her tail between her legs, taking a few steps towards the staircase that would descend back into the castle, but she didn't get far before Draco caught her.

"Wait," he'd called out to her so quietly that it was almost a whisper, but he practically leapt after her.

One of Draco's hands reached out to grab her by the front of her waist and spin her back around to face him, while his other hand cupped her cheek. Y/N barely had any time to register what the hell was going on before he was smashing his lips against hers, capturing them in a feverish kiss, and she hummed at the feeling of his hand slotting itself into her hair. His fingertips tangled in it and he pressed his lips harder against her own. The way he kissed her was so heavily, so needily, so desperately and his lips seemed to tell her everything that he couldn't say himself, because he wasn't good with words. He'd never been good with words. He'd always been so much better at putting his feelings into actions and she knew that.

Of course, she knew that.

She knew everything about him.

Y/N wasted no time in kissing him back in the same hungry, passionate manner, pulling him closer against her by his robes. She poured every little thought and every little feeling she'd ever ever had about Draco into the kiss and she didn't stop until both of their lips were swollen and their chests were heaving.

Draco had been the one to break the kiss, but to remain in close proximity, he leaned his forehead against her own. "I don't deserve you," he whispered when all was said and done and guilt in his voice didn't go unnoticed.

She took it upon herself to reach up with both of her hands, curving them over his cheeks, and she tilted his head down softly. "Everyone deserves to be loved by someone," she whispered and pressed the softest kiss he'd ever felt to the space between his eyebrows. "No matter what they've done." Draco crinkled his eyebrows—like he could trap the feeling of her lips against his skin there forever—and he pressed his face further into her hands.

If he was being completely honest, Draco wasn't sure what he was doing anymore. He'd already done a few questionable things and he still had a lot more to accomplish before the Dark Lord would fully accept him, but he didn't think he knew what was wrong or what was right to him anymore. He felt as though he'd lost his way, but he knew that didn't matter to Y/N. He knew that she would be there for him always, even if he took a few wrong turns along the way.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a Hufflepuff after that," he hummed, in a half-hearted attempt at a joke, and she laughed softly as he pressed a kiss into her hair.

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy," she chided and she pulled her hands off of his face. "D'you want to look at the stars a little longer?" She asked after that, reaching up to smooth out a wrinkle on his shoulder, and he nodded.

"That'd be nice," he admitted and he walked back over to the railing, part of him hoping that Y/N would stay. He let himself sigh in content when she sidled up beside him once more—her side pressing against his—because it was in these two things that Draco seemed to find his peace: in her and in the stars.

↴

taglist / @umpoedameron​ @pvintbreak​ @babyhoneystvles​ @draconisxcaput​ @glenscapris

[rax-writes]

Love Letters

Fandom:  Stranger Things Pairing:  Steve Harrington x Reader Warnings:  None Notes:  Once again, I thank @mxgyver​ for the inspiration. It appears that we’re both suckers for mutual pining. ♥

As you waved goodbye to your two best friends and left Scoops Ahoy, Robin watched Steve intently. She took note of the goofy, love-struck smile on his face, and the way he blatantly stared at your ass as you walked away, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked, redirecting his attention from you to his coworker – but only after you were completely out of his line of sight, not wanting to miss a second of his opportunity to admire you.

“You’ve got it bad, Harrington,” Robin observed, still chuckling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve said, shrugging with feigned nonchalance as he leaned against the counter.

“Sure you don’t,” Robin responded sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “You need to just ask her out already.”

“Why? Do you think she’d say yes?” Steve asked quickly – a bit too quickly – which caused Robin to start laughing again. “Hey, I’m serious! You’ve been friends with her for way longer than I have. If anybody would know whether or not she likes me, it’d be you. So, come on, spill the beans.”

Steve wasn’t wrong. You and Robin had been best friends since middle school, but you had only recently befriended Steve, after you’d both gotten wrapped up in the Demodogs / Upside Down situation last fall. And yes, she definitely knew how you felt about him – specifically the ginormous crush you’d developed on “King Steve.”

Before now, Robin never would have pictured the two of you together. You used to be more of the nerdy type, preferring to keep to yourself and your few friends, whereas Steve was one of the most popular kids in high school. But now that she knew Steve outside of school, and from seeing how the two of you interact with one another – she thought you were the perfect pair.

“Well, obviously, I would be a terrible best friend if I were to, as you say, ‘spill the beans,’” Robin began, using air quotes to reference his previous comment.

“So there are beans to spill,” he noted, sounding excited.

Ignoring him, Robin continued, “However, I will say this: You remember that teddy bear you gave her earlier this year? That tiny, little red one?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, smiling warmly at the memory. “She wouldn’t admit it, but she was kind of sad because nobody sent her one of those dumb, anonymous carnations on Valentine’s Day at school, and everybody else had gotten at least one. So I ditched last period to run to the store and get her something, and that bear was pretty much all they had left. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but she seemed to like it. She’s probably thrown it away by now, though.”

“She sleeps with it every single night.” Robin watched as Steve’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. “And the carnation you got? With the little note that said “I think you’re perfect”? That was from her.”

“What?!” he exclaimed, his jaw dropping. “There’s no way! I thought – I hoped it was her, so I compared her handwriting to the note, but it didn’t match!”

“That’s because she had me write it for her, so you wouldn’t know it was her.”

“Why didn’t she want me to know?” Steve asked, sadness tinting his voice. “I’d have asked her out on the spot.”

“I asked her the same thing, but she was adamant that you didn’t see her that way at all. She was worried that things between you would get weird if you knew the note was from her, but she still wanted to get it off her chest in some way, even if it was in secret.”

“Wow,” he murmured, staring at the ground in shock. “She’s the smartest girl I know, but she’s somehow so clueless…. I’ve been in love with her for months.”

“Well, I’ve said too much already, but I’ll reiterate: you need to ask her out already,” Robin stated, and Steve just nodded, lost in thought as he continued to stare blankly at the tile floor. After a couple seconds, he abruptly looked up at her, and she could practically see the lightbulb going off in his head.

“I know just the thing.”

Steve called you right when his shift ended at 4:00 PM, and asked you to come pick him up, claiming that his car wasn’t running and he needed a ride home. When you got there, he was waiting for you outside the mall, having changed out of his work uniform into a sweater and jeans (and touched up his hair, of course). He jogged over to your car just as you parked, and waved for you to roll down your window.

“Hey, before we go, would you mind coming in with me? There’s something I want to show you.”

If it had been anyone else, you might have said no, that you're tired and you'd rather just go home. But this was Steve, and he was looking at you with those big, brown puppy-dog eyes. So, you smiled and nodded at him, then got out of your car to follow him. He took a second to double-check the mall map just inside the front doors, then grabbed your hand, saying, “Come on, it’s this way.” You were really glad that he was busy navigating to wherever the hell it was he was taking you, because that meant he didn’t notice how red your face got.

The fact that Steve fucking Harrington was holding your hand dazed you to the point that you weren’t paying attention in the slightest as he led you through the mall. Eventually, he stopped in front of a store, which was evidently your destination. You looked up to see a sign saying ‘Build-A-Bear’ atop the doorway. Steve just grinned at you, excitement written all over his face, as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Uh… are we at the right place?”

“Yep!” he answered simply, before pulling you inside. You tried to hide your frown as he let go of your hand, before he placed his hands on your shoulders and spun you to face the wall of... what appeared to be empty stuffed animal carcases. “Alright, pick one.”

It finally clicked then: he took you here to have you make one as a gift. You turned to him with a bright smile, “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he answered, mirroring your smile. “Whichever one you want.”

You spent a good ten minutes figuring out which you liked best, before deciding on a soft, dark brown bear. You told Steve that you just thought this one was the cutest, but really, it was the fact that its color reminded you of Steve’s eyes, and its fluffy fur reminded you of Steve’s hair. (And yes, you’re well aware that that’s super cheesy.) The employee smiled kindly at the two of you as you brought the bear over to her for stuffing. She gave you the same spiel that she’d have given a child – such as instructing you to place a kiss on the tiny felt heart before she put it in the bear’s chest, so “she’ll always know how much you love her!” Steve watched you with adoration as you followed along with all the steps, before the lady asked if you’d like to record something on their little gadget and place it in the bear’s paw, so that whenever you squeezed that spot, it would play.

“Yes, yes we do,” Steve interjected, and you glanced at him. He ignored your confusion, asking the woman, “Is it okay if I borrow it for a minute? I want to record something, but I don’t want my friend here to hear it just yet.”

The lady handed him the device, and he shot you a grin before holding up a finger to signal that he’d be back in one moment, then jogged outside the store. After about a minute, Steve jogged back in and returned it to the lady. You continued to look at him with a raised brow, but he ignored you, standing silently next to you as he watched the employee. She was careful to not press on the device, which would ruin Steve’s little surprise, as she placed it in the bear’s paw, then added your desired amount of stuffing to the bear with their fancy machine, sewed it up, and handed it back to you. She guided the two of you over to the register, where Steve paid for your bear, then walked with you out of the store, heading back to the parking lot.

“So when exactly am I allowed to listen to this super secret message?” you inquired, glancing up at Steve, who just smiled slightly. Wordlessly, he took your free hand, just as he had on the way to Build-A-Bear, and you held the bear tightly to your chest with your other arm. The same blush from before crawled its way up your neck and onto your face.

“You can in just a minute, when we get outside.”

You nodded, then cleared your throat and started speaking about the first thing that came to mind, to try and distract yourself so that the blush would fade. Unfortunately for you, what you ended up rambling about only caused you more embarrassment, and the blush worsened.

“I forgot to say it earlier, but thank you so much for getting this for me. It was an awesome surprise. This is probably kind of dumb, but I, uh… I’ve still got that one you gave me on Valentine’s Day. It’s getting kind of worn out, so –” you cut yourself off, realizing that you almost admitted to sleeping with the damn thing, which would probably sound super weird to him. “Well, I mean, it’s just sitting up on a shelf or whatever, so it’s not getting worn out, just… dusty. Yeah, it’s getting dusty. Um, anyway, this is a nice upgrade from that one, and I appreciate it.”

Steve chuckled as he nodded, then responded sincerely, “It’s no problem. I’m glad you like it – and I’m glad you kept the one from Valentine’s Day.”

He held the door open for you as you exited the mall, and headed back over to your car. The anticipation began to bubble up inside you, as you started to seriously wonder what in the world he would have said on the recording. Steve remained silent as you maneuvered through the parking lot, and both times you glanced at him, he looked almost… nervous? Must have been worrying about what’s wrong with his vehicle or something, you thought. Before you could ask, you’d arrived at your car, so you quickly leaned against the hood and faced him.

“Can I listen to it now?”

Steve took a deep breath, then gave you a worry-laced smile and said, “Yeah, go for it.”

You practically squealed with excitement as you held the bear in front of you and squeezed his paw, then you heard Steve’s voice through the tiny speaker.

“A little birdie told me that you’re the one who sent me that carnation on Valentine’s Day senior year. And I just wanted to say… I think you’re perfect, too. And I love you. Will you be my girlfriend?”

You felt your heart stop and your breath catch in your throat. You stared at the bear for a few moments, before you determined that yes, the recording had actually said that. It wasn’t a figment of your imagination. Steve Harrington just said that he loves you and asked you to be his girlfriend. Holy shit. Holy shit.

“So, um…” Steve began, snapping you out of your stupor. He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “If you don’t feel the same way, that’s totally fine. I mean, Valentine’s Day was months ago, so I get it if your feelings have changed or whatever. I just… I don’t know, I wanted to give it a shot, but you don’t –”

Without even thinking, you lunged at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. You poured as much warmth and passion and love into the kiss as you could, and relished in the feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest. It felt like the kiss lasted for an eternity, but it still wasn’t long enough before you pulled away slightly to catch your breath, and respond how you should have responded a few minutes ago, if you hadn’t been stunned to silence.

“Nothing has changed, Steve. I definitely still think you’re perfect. I love you too, and I want nothing more than to be your girlfriend.”

“Oh, thank God,” he muttered, then let out a loud exhale. “You got so quiet after you played the recording, I was scared shitless.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, chuckling at how visibly terrified he was. He just smiled at you.

“It’s okay. The most amazing, beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted woman I’ve ever met is my girlfriend now, so I’d say I’m doing alright,” Steve quipped, then kissed you again, slower and sweeter this time. He abruptly pulled back a bit, “Oh yeah, by the way, my car is fine.”

“So this was all just a clever ruse to get me here, to Build-A-Bear?” you asked, grinning. Then a realization dawned on you. “Wait, Robin told you about the note?!”

Steve burst into laughter, then nodded. “Don’t be mad at her, though! She only told me about it to convince me to ask you out. Just like you with the carnation, I’ve been terrified to tell you how I feel, because I was scared to make things weird – or worse, lose you as a friend.”

“Hate to break it to ya, but you’re stuck with me, Stevie,” you stated, giving him another quick kiss. Steve smiled down at you, his eyes full of adoration.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”