#i call this colouring 'not blue not purple but something god awful in between'

[khaotunq]

I heard someone wanted to join the debate club. ⇢ Aou Thanaboon as Jeng (Hidden Agenda, 2023)

[hansensgirl]

put me in a movie.

summary. | He knows you can’t make it on your own, so he’ll put you in his movie.

warnings. | Dubcon (reader doesn’t know what he’s doing but consents to it), smut, drinking, age gap (reader is legal), virginity loss, choking, spanking, dirty talk, degradation, corruption kink, innocence kink, cream pie kink, penetration, teasing, praise, filming, voyeurism, porn (the industry), fluff, yearning, Daddy kink, humiliation, overstimulation, dumbification kink, and more. SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 6.5k.

pairing. | Grey!Pornstar!Helmut Zemo x Innocent!Reader.

a/n. | please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. inspired by wet, written by the talented @thewritingdoll! do not translate or repost my fics at all.

You don’t like the heat, but you love the summer. The way the days are seldom cold and cloudy, with that occasional breeze that your skin gracefully soaks up in the same way your beach towel soaks up the water on your bathing suit. Popsicles of different flavours dripping down your skin and onto the hot sidewalk. The sticky residue makes you cringe, and you’d use the damp side of your towel to wipe it away. It would work for a few seconds, maybe even a minute or two, before the feeling returns.

You hate the heat, but you love to see him. Those swim trunks of his sticking to his wet skin. They’re a blue colour that seems easy to describe at first glance, but you’ll soon realize just how many shades of navy blue there are, and suddenly you don't even know what colour they are. Maybe it’s the colour of the jeans the cameramen wear, or perhaps it’s the colour of the night sky at around six in the evening during the summertime.

They lug heavy equipment, and you just wonder if they’re filming a movie. If your friends and family members got word, they’d probably lose their minds before begging you to get them a part. Vying for fame runs through the family tree branches, and even you would want a small part in it as well. You give them empty promises, forgetting their words after a few minutes until the following text message or phone call.

You don’t spend much time at the beach anymore. Heck, you haven’t been there since June. Your friends have left with their boyfriends and girlfriends on a trip to Bali, and all you have are your family members to keep you company. Your white fence, magazine and lawn chair are all you know of now. You spend your days outdoors, knowing each one will be filled with the same things. The sunlight, bees buzzing, and seagulls having unwarranted ferociousness.

Your parents spend their days at work, and you stay home to hold your small fort down. You don’t water the grass or touch the garden because your father does it better than anyone. You don’t touch the paint meant for the walls or the furniture boxes that are strewn across the floors because your mother knows where to put them and how to paint. You just relax, and you don’t mind it at all.

That was until you saw him.

Curiosity is your closest friend other than the blue raspberry flavoured popsicles that take up more space in your freezer than anything else. So when the empty house next door suddenly filled up with around half a dozen people, you just couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing. So you peer over the fence, standing on the small two-step ladder that your dad stole from his previous job. Women and a few men are laughing, dressed down in both swimsuits and t-shirts. Their bodies are lovely, the pinnacle of beauty that you sometimes envy. Other times, you’d feel as though you’re the prettiest girl in the world, and that’s not far from the truth. They’ve got different brands of alcohol in their hands, White Claw cans littered on the ground, and you cringe at the mess.

They must be mentally younger than you’ll ever be again because no person older than you can act like this. Heavy, black cameras are resting nearby briefcases, and you hope to god that nothing illegal is going on. The last thing you need is the police questioning you at 1 in the morning. Some of the men ogle at the younger ladies, and they bask in the attention. You watch as their eyes rake up and down their shiny, sweaty bodies.

“Oh, please, the least you all can do is wait for me before you start the party,” a man snickers, stepping out of the house. You look over to him, and your breath is taken away. Water drips down his face, cascading down to his neck and onto his slightly hairy chest—a navy bluish-purple robe and those blue swim shorts that peek through underneath the cloth. The colour of the fabric goes oh so well with the blue of his eyes. They all laugh until they’re sighing and already cracking open another bottle of beer.

You admire him from afar, and you can’t help but be mesmerized by the way he moves: such grace, such elusiveness. The glass in his hand isn’t cheap beer or tequila; it’s whiskey that looks rich as fuck, and he swigs it back like it’s water. You remember the first time your father and mother brought whiskey home from the local liquor store. Your father didn’t enjoy it, and neither did your mother. It sat in a random cupboard until a year ago when your mother decided to throw it out.

He lets out an exhale as the amber liquid flows down his throat, and you watch in awe as he handles the burn like a champion. God, you can’t even handle beer if you try hard enough. He gently places the glass onto the table, far away from the men’s feet, as he knows that they can be quite clumsy. There must be a proper name for all feelings; you believe. Like that feeling when it dawns on you that you’ll never experience something like this ever again.

Or maybe the feeling that Helmut has right now. Not the excitement of finishing this film, and not the tiredness that is a result of working too hard. No, the feeling that he knows you’re watching him from over the fence. He sans his hand towards you, and you quickly duck down, letting out a whimper. You nearly fall from the small ladder, but it wouldn’t be so graceful if it did happen. “What’s wrong, Baron?” one of his co-stars teasingly asks.

“Nothing... Must’ve been the whiskey…”

You don’t hate the summer; you just don’t like the boredom. Even relaxation is something you can tire of, believe it or not. You’ve got nothing to do. Your friends are still out of town, and your parents are at work. You’ve cleaned the house not once, not twice, but three times. Your closet is as clean as it’ll ever be, and the pantry is now organized by most used to least used. The plants have been properly watered, even though it wasn’t necessary since the forecast said there’d be light rain.

You love the rain, especially during the summertime. The sky makes the surrounding world have an almost orange tone to it. The after smell––an earthy, oceanic scent that is so unique––is something you’ll forever look forward to. You’re excited for the day it’ll rain, but even meteorologists tend to be wrong, and Mother Nature has a thing for keeping her children on their toes. It’s one of the many reasons why you love her. So with your little red dress on, you spin around in the backyard.

You’re sensible. You know what creepy crawlers lie underneath the dirt, between the fluffy grass. So instead of being barefoot (just like in those Sofia Loren movies) and playing around, you grab that little latter once again. You’ve scrubbed the grooves and cleaned them of their plant stains––sloppily, of course. Your oversized slippers belong to your dad, and they struggle to stay on your feet, but it doesn’t matter.

You’re not going to be moving around much, anyway. You move the latter closer to where you last saw the group of men and women. You truly hope you don’t get caught and get into any trouble; the last thing you want is your parents scolding you and embarrassing you. You step up on the ladder carefully, grasping onto the wooden fence for support. The surface is hot to the touch, and you really want to let go, but you really shouldn’t. You whisper affirmations along the lines of ‘I won’t fall…’ over and over again, under your breath.

And you hope to God they work.

Admittedly, you also hope he’s wearing those blue swim shorts of his again. The look (and he) resides in your heart, amongst other tubes and canals that have learned to make room for friends, family and passions. But he’s not a friend, he’s not family, and he’s most certainly not a passion. ...He’s something else, that’s for sure. An enigma, really. He reminds you of that feeling––the one that has a name, temptation. Someone tells you not to do something you weren’t going to do in the first place, and now you want to do it.

Except the case is different. You shouldn’t be perving on strangers like this––sneaking up on them, spying on them––all because you just can’t help it. Your mind tells you to stop, but it’s just giving you all the more reason to continue doing it. So, until you nearly get caught one more time, you’ll continue to watch him. Desperate to figure out who he is and what he’s doing.

The cameras are no longer on the ground; a smart decision, given that there’s a pool that takes up more space than anything. The blue water of pools has always fooled you. You grew up believing that it was the true colour of water, not even knowing that it was, in fact, the tiles and not the water. There’s no mess there either, clean and tidy. Maybe professionally done, because the concrete has but not one dark spot or crease where grass grows out of it.

Laid perfectly, you know your mother and father would admire it for a few minutes. You squint your eyes and gaze at the glass sliding door. Inside is him. You let out one of those dreamy, love-filled sighs that only main characters do in romance movies. You watch him as he pours himself a cup of coffee, two spoonfuls of sugar, and a dash of what seems to be almond milk.

You wonder if he likes iced coffees, as they can be so nice during the summertime. He wears those lovely blue swim shorts once again, hair slightly damp (with a pretty curliness to a few strands) and a navy bathrobe. It’s that same outfit as the other time you saw him, and you realize that they’re probably filming a movie. He moves around the counter, putting away certain little ingredients and whatnot.

The most mundane actions ever, ones that even you did just this morning. But god, he just makes it all seem so unique. He cards his fingers through his brown, almost dirty blond hair. There are clumps of strands that stick together, wetness that’ll dry probably as soon as he steps outside. He faces the window, staring out towards the fence that has been freshly painted, and sighs.

His head lulls back, and his neck is exposed. He’s probably both an actor and a model, you think to yourself. His chest hair has grown a bit more, and you can’t find yourself complaining. Tingles run through your body and even down to your pussy. You rub your thighs together, trying to make the feeling go away, while still being careful about holding onto the fence. You hope that he doesn’t know you’re watching him because you’ll never be able to live that down.

And it’s just so unfortunate that Helmut is such a clever man. Heightened senses from when he used to camp a lot when he was younger; he just knows practically everything. He knows you’re watching him, squinting your eyes until they’re nearly shut close. The skin around them wrinkles in the most adorable way, just like the way your nose scrunches up out of instinct. God, he could kiss every crevice of your body, even if you don’t know who he is.

“Hey, Helmut, we have a few re-shoots to do. Do you want to start now?” one of the cameramen asks him, holding a microphone in his hand. “No… I’m tired; we’ll do it all tomorrow,” Helmut says, waving his hand. He’s no longer looking outside and instead at the man who he’s addressing. He nods and walks off before Helmut follows him. Common courtesy is to always escort your guests out, and Helmut was raised with manners. With a hand on the man’s lower back, and a smile on his face, Helmut gently pushes him out the door and locks it.

You watch him as he disappears, seemingly leading someone out of his home, and you think all is fine. That is until that little voice in your mind decides to be obnoxious. The slight possibility that you’ve been caught and he’s mad haunts you, and your breath hitches. Your eyeballs are wide open, as big as the eyes of an owl, and your hands shake a bit out of fear. They dampen up a bit, not enough to the point where you’d be disgusted, but they’re clammy nonetheless.

You make a move to jump off the latter, not caring about the possible risk of falling and scraping your pretty legs. Your hands begin to let go of the fence, but they’re stopped by someone grabbing you by your wrists. You let out a squeal of shock as they hold you tightly from over the barrier, and you’re screwed. “I’m sorry!” you quickly yell, squinting your eyes out of fear. You’re not sure what to expect, whether he would yell at you or threaten to call the cops.

“No, it’s okay. Calm down, I’m not mad. Come back,” Helmut tells you, and you calm down. Yet you’re still nervous, scared that he’s a liar and that you’ll be in deep shit with the law. You step back onto the latter and are wary of looking over the wood. His eyes meet yours, and you swallow thickly. “I’m not mad, okay? I think it’s kind of cute. You’re like a curious little bunny,” he smiles, and you giggle.

“Never been called that before, usually just a curious cat,” you share with him, and he laughs. “Well, that’s not wrong,” he adds. A brief silence intrudes, and you just stare at one another. Helmut’s eyes jump from feature to feature on your face, relishing in that unique gorgeousness of yours. Someone like you will never be found amongst models because you’re an absolute angel. You’re like a pretty rose amongst other flowers; all are beautiful in their own ways, but you always manage to stand out.

You wonder if Helmut is the wolf to your bunny. That dark look in his eyes that compliments his features and overall attitude. He carries himself in such a way that old Hollywood actors wish they were so graceful. He’s the polar opposite of you––seemingly. But from the few words you’ve exchanged with each other, he just might be a bunny friend to yours. “I- I saw that there were cameras and I heard people talking… Are you filming a movie?” you ask him.

“...Yes, we are, bunny. I apologize for being so loud. Do you forgive me?” Helmut questions with a smile on his face. You nod your head and bite on your bottom lip, watching as his eyes brighten up a bit. “What’s it about? Can I know? Are you the main protagonist? Or the antagonist? What genre is it?” you interrogate, flooding him with questions. “Shh, one at a time, bunny. It’s very, very special and secretive. I can’t tell you much. But I’m the main protagonist, and it’s a bit of a naughty movie, so I don’t think a little girl like you should know much,” he whispers to you.

You nod your head as you listen to him, so intrigued about the work of art being filmed next door. “I’ve always wanted to be in a movie! Especially in one of those old Hollywood ones, they’re so good,” you admit to him shyly, with a coy smirk on your face. “Really? I think you’d be an amazing actress. You’d be even more popular than Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe,” Helmut praises, and you giggle once again.

“T- Thank you so much! ...Can I be in your movie?” you politely request him, but he shakes his head. You frown, your bottom lip jutted out. “You wouldn’t want to be in this movie, bunny. Remember what I said? It’s a naughty movie, and you’re just a little girl,” he reminds you, but you’re still pouting. “Is it a violent movie? One with curse words and lots of scary stuff?” you innocently ask, not sure as to what he means.

Helmut laughs quite loudly. “No,” he stifles a chuckle, “but one day I’ll shoot a movie with you, and I’ll show you how it’s all done.” He promises, and you can just tell he’s honest. You’re elated, hoping that the day he’s talking about will come soon. “What is your name, bunny?” Helmut asks, and you tell him. He nods before repeating it, giving you a smile. He brings both of your hands close to his face. You go on the tip of your toes to properly watch him once more. He presses his lips to the back of your hands, kisses them one by one.

“Go get some rest, bunny, and come by my place tomorrow,” he tells you before letting go of your wrists. He walks off before you do anything else. Sliding the glass door behind him, he disappears somewhere, and you’re left all by yourself. You’re still standing there, sighing dreamily as you replay the moments that will surely turn into a broken record. You hope that he’ll wear those blue swim shorts again, even though he’s already worn them twice.

There’s a skip in your step—nothing new and nothing unusual. Your shoes scratch against the concrete of the sidewalk that connects to Helmut’s front door. The sun only rose an hour and a half ago. The sky is a bright blue, filled with a few clouds that compliment the colour. The sun beats down onto your skin, and you haven’t forgotten to put on sunscreen once you finish twirling around in your little sundress.

You’ve got a miniature backpack that is slung over both of your shoulders. It’s orange, a bright one, in fact. It reminds you of the tangerines you love to peel, and those creamsicle treats that can be quite rare to find at this time of the year. You climb up the two steps that lead to his grey door, and you rap the wood a few times. There’s a doorbell too, one of those high-tech ones that record everything in its view.

Nothing but silence echoes back. No cars driving by, no birds chirping, no insects buzzing. Nothing. You wonder if he’s woken up yet, or if he’s even home. But as the door suddenly swings open––without a squeak, mind you––you’re met with the smiling face that belongs to Helmut. “Good morning, early-bird, is everything alright?” he questions, not one ounce of sleep tainting his look.

“Good morning! Everything is alright… D- Do you remember what you told me yesterday? About coming by?” you ask him, almost thinking to yourself that you’re just insane and that conversation never really happened. “Oh, right! Sorry, I've been a bit forgetful lately. But come in, have you eaten already?” Helmut asks as he moves to the side for you to enter.

Hesitatingly, you step inside his home. You kick off your shoes and look around. It seems sleek and modern at first, quite… different from the familiar feel of your house. Now, there are no wild polygons or geometric shapes that make you feel like you’ve been placed on a spaceship. No, it’s something that even your mind can’t come up with. The walls are a cream colour, engraved with different patterns that make it resemble marble. The chairs and couches have clear plastic legs on them, adding to that newfound era feel.

The floors are a light brown colour; wood in the shape of long, skinny parallelograms fitting against each other perfectly. The lights hang down a bit, high ceilings that you can’t even fathom reaching. You spin around and look up at them as they shine down brightly on you. They stem down from a pretty grey bronze appliqué that is attached to the ceiling. It’s practically art, just like the portraits of half-naked ladies that hang on his walls. There’s a specific piece that is above the fireplace.

It’s a mirror, and your reflection is in it. So is Helmut’s. You’re in front of him, looking at him through the mirror. He’s behind you, staring at your reflection. You both stay like that for a bit before you look away and admire the windows. He has such a lovely view; you can’t help but envy him for it. “Now, bunny, I have to be honest with you. We wrapped the movie up last night, and it was very late. I didn’t call you over because of that, and I’m really sorry about that. Do you forgive me?” Helmut questions.

You nod your head eagerly, just sensing that he’ll lead on with some sort of good news. Your parents have done that far too many times for you not to know better. “But, if you want, I’ll put you in a movie. It’ll be just between you and me because it won’t be too professional, okay?” Helmut grabs your hands and looks you in the eyes, waiting for your answer. “Oh, yes, please! That sounds amazing. Thank you so much!” you cheer, wrapping your arms around him.

You hug him tightly, and he eventually hugs you back. “Now, I want to finish it as soon as possible. So set your bag right on this couch, and go sit on that one,” Helmut instructs, pointing at the biggest couch in the living room. You nod and do exactly as he tells you. He walks away, possibly to set something up or to get ready, but either way, you still sit on his couch, filled with pure excitement. You cross one leg over the other, your pretty white dress covering the upper half of your thighs.

Lace that is on top of the cotton, both the same colour, and you realize how much you love this dress. Helmut saunters back into the living room, holding a giant tripod in one hand and a small camera in the other. You gasp at the sight, and he chuckles. Setting them up from the other side of the small coffee table, you watch him in awe. “This is going to be… a big girl movie, okay? Just like the one I was in. But I don't think it will be visible to the public eye, might just be between you and I,” Helmut tells you.

You nod in understanding. “Are you fine with that, little bunny?” he asks you just for reassurance. “Mhm, you can do anything you want; I don’t mind!” you reassure him, with a giant smile on your face. He swallows thickly as blood rushes downwards to his cock from your words. You still grin gleefully, such innocence on your features that he almost feels bad for having feelings for you.

He presses the little power button on the camera and waits for a green light to come on. With a smirk, Helmut walks around the table and stands in front of you. You look up at him, waiting for him to do something. He bends down and grabs both sides of your face––gently, of course––and he makes you stand up. He tilts his head and leans forward, slotting his lips against yours.

Now, you’ve kissed someone before. His name started with something along the lines of ‘J’ or ‘L,’ but that doesn’t matter. But that kiss was nothing like Helmut’s kiss. His kiss is soft and passionate, something you struggle to match. His lips stay locked with yours before moving to push his tongue into your mouth. You’re not sure what to do, so you just give up and let him kiss you until you both run out of breath. His tongue runs against the wet skin of your mouth, and you gasp at the feeling.

He eventually pulls away, and he looks at you with his eyes blown out. Helmut sighs and smiles at you. “You gotta trust me, okay?” he tells you once more, and you nod. “Ok…” you trail off, not knowing what to follow up with. “You gotta call me by a nickname, bunny… Hmm, how about Daddy?” he exclaims, his accent becoming more prominent. You love it and how unique it is. “Okay! I like that one a lot, my friend calls her boyfriend that sometimes,” you share with him, and he laughs.

He sits you down on the couch again, and his hand inches up your dress, making you giddy. He smiles at you, and you can see from the corner of your eye how the camera is filming you both. Helmut just knows you’re wet already, but you probably don’t know it. And he’s not wrong. You feel slightly tingly, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Your panties slide down your legs, a wet patch on them, and Helmut throws them to the side. He lifts your dress over your head and tosses the fabric away, too.

He takes a step back and admires you. You still have your ankle socks on, but God, you’re so gorgeous he thinks he’s in heaven. “You’re so pretty, bunny. The prettiest bunny I’ve ever seen,” he compliments. You grow shy and smile before whispering a thank you. You smile at the camera, and he begins to undress. The first thing that goes is the robe, and his chest is now exposed.

Helmut hasn’t shaved his chest hair, and you’re glad. It looks nice on him––but to be fair––anything does. All he has on is those swim shorts. God, you love those shorts so much. They’re no longer wet, and yet they still cling to his thighs. He slowly pulls them down––and you feel as though you should look away and give him privacy––but you just can’t. His cock is hard, and it shows through the fabric, but you’re too busy staring at his hands to notice it.

His Adonis belt is slowly exposed, along with his pelvic bone, as he pulls down his boxers as well. There’s a small bush of hair right above his cock, and you find yourself wanting to tangle your fingers between the strands. Helmut’s cock bounces up––hard, red, and leaking––and the tip slaps right below his belly button. You let out a gasp, and he chuckles. His swim shorts lie on the floor, and you’re suddenly being urged to lay back.

Helmut climbs on top of you, caging you beneath his well-built body. Soft abs that are just perfect enough for you, and big hands that hold you so lovingly. He wants to feel his rough palms against your delicate skin, falling into every groove and curve there is. Like an artist admiring their artwork, he runs his hands along your body. From your thighs to your hips, over your stomach, between your breasts, all the way up to your neck. His hard cock is between your legs, nearly touching your sensitive little pussy.

You swallow nervously at the feeling. Helmut’s left hand wraps around your throat, and his right hand moves downwards to your legs. Gripping your calf, he places your right leg on the head of the couch and moves to position your left leg so that it hangs off the edge of the seat. You’re spread wide open for Helmut, not able to hide your naked body or close your legs. Your hands rest above your head, almost as though you’re pathetically shielding your hair from the rain.

Helmut’s hand still rests on your neck, but he doesn’t squeeze your throat or anything like that. You’re not sure if he’s playing the antagonist or not, but you decide to just go along with what he does. “You’re okay, right, bunny? You’re fine, I’m gonna treat you so good,” he promises, and you give him your best superstar smile. You have to admit that you’re nervous, but you trust him completely. Helmut would never do anything wrong to you.

“Has anyone ever touched you down here, bunny? Have you ever touched down here?” he questions you, walking his fingers up to your soaking wet pussy. “Hmm, uh, I touched it once, but I didn’t know what was happening, so I stopped,” you shyly explain to him, and he nods. “That’s okay, bunny. Can I touch you here? I won’t hurt you too badly, I promise,” Helmut assures you, and you nod. His index finger sticks out, and he watches as slick drips from your hole and coats the silky skin around it.

The digit becomes a bit shiny and quite sticky, and he traces your slit lightly. You shiver lightly from his touch, and sensitivity blooms in your core. “Uhm… Daddy?” you call out to him, a bit worried. “What’s wrong, bunny?” he asks, bringing his finger up to your clit. It throbs with want, just like the veins on his cock. “It feels very sensitive, almost too sensitive…” you admit to him, even though he continues to touch your clit.

“That’s okay, bunny, that’s how it’s supposed to feel. But if you want to stop, just tell me,” Helmut urges you. “Okay, Daddy.” He rubs your little nub in small, light circles. The muscles in your legs twitch, and you bite down on your bottom lip. He continues to touch your clit, and you begin to writhe from the overwhelming feeling. You let out a few whines, and Helmut watches as your cunt just gets wetter and wetter.

You try to shift his hands away from you in your weird position. It’s just too much at once, and you’re scared of what will happen next. The pornstar’s finger slips off your cunt, and he lets out a small gasp. The sound is mixed with displeasure, and you look him in the eyes with innocence. “Don’t do that again, bunny,” he warns, squeezing your neck a bit just to add to his threat. His index finger returns to your clit, and this time, he rubs your little pearl even harder. You see stars, ones that are dark and would be hidden in the blackness of outer space. Your eyes roll back into your skull, and you’ve never felt such pleasure in your life. Helmut’s digit touches the most sensitive part of your clit, and you jerk in response. Your legs try to shut close, but his body stops you from doing so.

When you open your eyes, you’re faced with a displeased superstar. Helmut lets out a shaky exhale, trying to compose himself. He knows he shouldn’t get mad at you, but he just doesn’t like it when he doesn’t have his way. His hand leaves your cunt and moves downwards. Suddenly, a harsh slap lands on your ass, making you cry out in pain. The skin stings and prickles, and you can feel slight tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Instead of staring at your pretty little face, Helmut squeezes your neck even tighter and watches as your little hole begins to leak with even more wetness. “Aww, bunny, did you enjoy Daddy hitting you? Hm? I bet you did; that’s you’re so wet,” he chuckles, and you grow shy. He’s not wrong, though. You enjoyed the pain quite a bit, even though you tend to avoid any and all activities that could leave you with a minor injury.

“Such a little slut for pain. But I bet you don’t like it when Daddy gets mean with you, right? Yeah, because you’re just a sensitive little bunny,” he coos, and you smile. You nod to him, and he grins down at you. Helmut’s cock is a furious red, almost purple if you really look closely. Beads of precum run down the sides of his cock, all the way to his thick base. He slaps your ass once more, enjoying the way you flinch and then smile from delight.

“I guess I’ve been a bit mean, just touching your little button without even letting you come…” he sighs before shifting onto his knees. Helmut looks over to the camera, just to make sure it’s still recording. And it is, so he smiles. He towers over you even more now, a few strands on his hair dangling downwards, and you find yourself wanting to play with them. The hand that was on your ass grasps the base of his cock, and he runs the head through your folds.

A quiet squelching sound echoes between the both of you, and you giggle. Your laughter is cut short when he bumps up against your clit, and you let out a moan. The sound is unexpected on your behalf, but Helmut just smirks. Your moans turn into a string of shallow pants, and he curses under his breath at the feeling. Dragging his head away from your clit, he brings himself down to your hole, and you let out an even louder gasp.

“Shh, just let Daddy in, okay? I know it’s your first time, but it’s okay. You’re fine, don’t worry,” Helmut reassures. You nod your head and let out a pained cry as he pushes into you slowly. You feel as though you’re being torn apart, split into two. He grips your throat even tighter, and you wrap your hand around his wrist in a panicked, fleeting moment.

Helmut sheathes himself inside you, with your mouth parted open in a silent scream and his eyebrows knitted together. He eventually bottoms out, and the stretch of his cock goes from a harsh burn to a pleasurable feeling. His swollen balls touch your aching ass, and he bends down to kiss your forehead lightly. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he questions. “Y- Yes, it feels really good, Daddy. Just a li’l uncomfortable, but it feels really good,” you tell him.

Your cunt squeezes him in a tight hug, your silky wet walls welcoming him in hesitantly. He wishes to stay inside you his whole life, and he would if he could convince you. Helmut pulls out until his head is the only thing inside you before roughly thrusting back inside. You cry out, and his hand loosens around your throat. “Such a good girl, letting me use your pussy for my pleasure. You like being recorded while I fuck you, right? Say it,” he demands, fucking into you roughly.

Your tits bounce with each and every movement. Helmut’s cock gets closer and closer to your sweet spot, and you moan loudly. “I- I like being recorded while you fuck me, Daddy,” you repeat to him. Helmut groans loudly, and you clench down on his cock tightly. “You feel so good, bunny, better than anyone else,” he compliments, feeling slick sweat beginning to build upon his back. “Uhm, Daddy? S- Something’s happening,” you whisper to him through your desperate cries of pleasure.

Searing heat grows hotter and hotter in your stomach, right above your pussy. You’ve never felt like this before, other than when Helmut was touching your pussy a few moments ago. “Let it happen, bunny, it’s okay, come all over Daddy’s big cock. I know you can do it, squeeze me, bunny,” Helmut urges, and you listen to him. The powerful feeling grows and grows, and so do your moans. And the elastic cord breaks eventually. It always does.

You cry out ‘Daddy’ as you come undone around his cock for the very first time. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, even though you’re gripping him so tightly. You gush all over him, wetness coating his cock, and it makes him fuck you even quicker. The sound of skin on skin and loud moans fill the room, and Helmut hopes to God that the microphone is picking up on it all. The feeling in your body makes you lose all sense of reality, and you’re babbling like a little baby.

“Daddy- It’s too much,” you sob to him, digging your nails into your palms. “Shh, it’s okay, bunny,” he shushes gently, keeping his hand wrapped lazily around your neck. Helmut’s cock slams into your cunt, pounding into you ruthlessly, yet he’s somehow oh so gentle. Your eyes roll into the back of your head again, and you moan gently as you feel another climax being built up. Back to back, and you’re not sure how your body is going to handle it.

He’s close, too. He’s never had this happen before, and he’s not sure what to think of it.

“Awe, you’re going to come again, bunny? That’s okay, shh, Daddy’s here, bunny. We’ll do it together, and it’ll b- be good,” he tells you, and you nod. Helmut bends down and places his shiny forehead against yours. He stares you into your glassy eyes––they’re hazy––and he can tell you’re gone. You’ve gotten all stupid and dumb for his cock, and he loves the idea so much.

You both pant as he sloppily fucks into your cunt, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill up your tight little pussy with my cum. Gonna watch it leak out, and I’m just gonna fill you up over and over again. Make you all mine because you belong to me. Right? Say it,” he growls, fucking you even faster. “I’m all yours, Daddy, I’m all yours,” you say to him, and you’re both pushed off the edge after one specific thrust.

“O- Oh my…” you choke out, squeezing your eyes shut. Helmut curses loudly, saying all kinds of sinful things that a nun would faint if she hears him. His cock twitches as he comes inside you, and your pussy squeezes him as you let go. Streaks of cum shoot out his tip and paint your inner walls, and it all begins to leak out already. Your cum mixes with his, and he can’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy the sight of it.

He presses a kiss on your nose before slowly pulling out. Helmut’s cock is still hard, and he just knows the afternoon won’t end until he says so. You wince loudly at the feeling of emptiness and overwhelming sensitivity. “Sorry, bunny,” he frowns, reaching over for the camera. You watch him through droopy eyelids as he focuses it on your cunt, then to your body, and then to your face.

“Did I do good, Daddy?” you ask him excitedly.

“So good, bunny. You’re going to be sweeping up at the awards next year.”

[tteokdoroki]

assistance please! | e.kirishima.

♡ pairing: eijirou kirishima x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 6.6K

♡ rating: mature, 18+, mdni.

♡ genre: workplace!au, internship!au, fluff + smut.

♡ summary: eijirou kirishima loved being an intern, he had great co-workers, had a shot at his dream job, his boss had taken quite liking to him and of course, being the favourite intern had many, many perks.

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut,  ( kirishima is in his twenties ), power dynamics, sub top!kirishima + power bottom!reader,   heavy!praise kink, heavy!miss + mommy kink, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, kids ), oral ( female receiving ), squirting, tummy bulges, cumplay, creampie.

♡ author’s note(s): hihi everyone!! today i present to you my contribution to the bnharem on the job collab! i had a lot of fun playing with different dyanimics in this fic, i hope you enjoy it nonetheless!! make sure you chek out the other works from the other amazing creators!! <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

“oi! ‘shima! you’re needed in the boss’ office right away, she’s got important business for ya!, wants t’have a word. now.”

eijirou ducks his head politely in a sign of gratitude, thanking his co-worker and superior, keigo— for the heads up. keigo, or better known as hawks around the office ( for his fast speeds in completing work and luring lonely interns into his bed ), was a nice guy— second to the lady in charge and way too chatty. he was a bit of an air head, got the job done when it needed to be but that’s what kirishima was for, the replacement while keigo took his vacation time in the middle of the year like an idiot.

he wasn’t too sure why you kept the blonde around, he supposed it was because he was pretty but eijirou wouldn’t dare question you— he needed this internship if he was going to make it big in the sports news reporting scene. he’d been majoring in sports and healthcare at college, two years away from graduating when the opportunity to work for yn ln, one of the biggest sports journalists in japan had landed right in his lap. of course he was going to take it, of course he was going to do everything he could not to fuck it up.

in the cubicles beside him, the other interns try to muffle their giggles and titters of curious laughter as the red head gathers himself for the meeting.

“oooo, i wonder what you did this time,” kaminari teases from the right, leaning over his side of the cubicle to fiddle with the odd bits on kirishima’s desk. denki kaminari was another person kirishima wondered how the hell he got into the programme, but then again he was pretty to look at and brought a lighter air to boring office days.

“nothing! i’m innocent!” eijirou defends, hands releasing his files to fly up in defence.

the other interns, going by the names of mina ashido, kyouka jirou and hanta sero snicker amongst themselves at the interaction.

“don’t believe it, s’obviously more than nothin’ if you’re always getting called down’ta the boss lady’s office.” bakugou, another intern, grunts out with his nose deep buried in files for upcoming reports. he was a little too rough for the journalism lifestyle but got the job done. his attitude wasn’t for everyone. “they’re probably fuckin’.”

mina giggles and kirishima steps out into the paths between desks. “don’t be such a sourpuss ‘suki, just ‘cause you’re not her favourite.”

a lose ‘shut up’ is huffed, before katsuki turns to face his taller, buffer companion. “just don’t be late, bunch of us are goin’ for lunch later.” he adds and turns back to his paperwork.

“affirmative, catch ya later!”

the group waves the red head off as he heads to the elevator directing him to the main floor— this is where all the higher ups worked. the journey wasn’t unfamiliar to the intern, he wasn’t like the others and had the steps to your office memorised by heart. sometimes it was like walking home, to his comfort and sanctuary away from the stressors of work and the outside world— he knew that was bad, but you were so kind, such a sweet and understanding boss he couldn’t help but develop some level of comfort towards you.

to most, it seemed like eijirou kirishima was just unbelievably close to his boss, that you’d taken him under your wing.

he however, knew what you had, meant more.

a fluttering warmth spreads across the intern’s chest as he approaches the door to your main office and he knocks. behind it lay mountains of secrets upon secrets, things that kirishima knows about you that no one else does. the walls have hidden words, written across them in fonts of passion and admiration and it’s all that he can think about. you’re all that he can think about, and it’s still wrong. there’s a shuffling deep in the room and some flitters of paper here and there before your soft, velveteen voice breaks through the barrier between you. the one thing keeping you apart.

“come in,” you call smoothly and kirishima follows your orders swiftly, if not eagerly, entering the four walls of your office. ruby eyes dart across the room to locate your position and his heart skips a beat when he finds you, body leaning over your dark oak desk, papers scattered across it while you frantically sift through numbers and stocks and nonsense way above the level of a journalism intern. but even amongst the chaos, you’re beautiful— eyes sparkling with productivity, lined in little flecks across the colour of your orbs. the way you dress never fails to steal away eijirou’s breath— a tight fitting leather skirt that hugs your mature curves and a white blouse with the bottoms popped open— just enough for him to get a peek at your cleavage.

the poor intern has to hold himself back from blurring the lines of work and pleasure to shove himself deep into your chest, suck and lick at your plush breasts until he was high off the taste of your skin. but he wouldn’t do that, yet. not without your permission. “oh eiji baby, there you are!” you coo to the red head, bright smile stretching across blood diamond painted lips. you cross the room in three short strides, tall black heels clacking against the smooth white marble until you’re standing in front of and looking up at kirishima. “was starting to think keigo had ditzed like a pretty boy and had forgotten to send you my way, darling.”

eijirou’s cheeks flame at the smoothness in your syrupy voice, like sweet honey to his hears, the pet name striking a familiar heat deep within him. you always had a way with your words— enticing, almost like a siren calling out to him despite the taboo aura that surrounded what you had. whatever it was— he just knew it was more than your typical boss-intern relationship.

“even if he had, ‘m more than happy to be of service to you ma’am,” he responds almost a little too quickly, large hand rubbing the back of his neck and tugging at his baby hairs to ground himself.

you cock your head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “always such a helpful, good boy eijirou,” you hum, lips pulling into a devilish red smile and the praise causing a new spark of lustful electricity to crackle through the air. “i could use a little assistance, please, i have this awful meeting with the board today, spent all night preparing and couldn’t go home, i could use some stress relief,”

kirishima’s gaze becomes hooded as he looks down at you, a familiar and bright desire burning in the pits of his stomach. “oh yeah? sucks that the paperwork kept you up all night ma’am…” he trails off, choosing to let his fingers dance up and down your sides— snaking an arm around your waist to pull you into him. you couldn’t or you wouldn’t go home. he’s not sure if he cares about the answer right now— not when you tremble in his grip, itching for something, anything from him. “how long do you reckon we have ms. ln?”

“ten to fifteen minutes sweetheart, give or take,”

you grin widens, taking an impossibly closer step to your intern— pressing the swell of your breasts against his hard chest. he can feel your nipples pebbling through your blouse, almost visible behind the white fabric and god the way you look up at him— he can no longer wait, he needs you. right here and right now.

“will you be needing my assistance throughout, ma’am?” kirishima asks, voice dropping a few octaves until it falls into a low growl.

“i expect it. you are my intern after all.”

the words laced with deep huskiness, the proximity of your bodies and the rising heat in the room is what leads you both to tumble into the next series of events. before he can’t register it, your mouths are slotted together in a fast paced and sloppy kiss, kirishima’s body manoeuvres you around the office, marking out a familiar pathway to your desk—his tongue remains sliding over yours in rapid movements as he commits your taste to memory, refreshing those from the last time he had you like this. yet every time you kiss and his tongue glides over yours, you taste sweeter than before; like peaches and morning coffee— you feel softer in his grip, every dip and curve to your body like it was built for him.

eijirou can't stop thinking of that last time, tucked away in your office after dark when your dainty hands pawed desperately at his hips to bring him closer or scratched at his back from sheer pleasure— kirishima wants to see you like that against, using his own hands to tear through your shirt and send buttons flying across the room. something in him just wants to do good for you, have you ache for him and earn himself some of your sweet praise. even as you step and stumble towards your work desk, the red-head lets his lips break away from yours, connected by a string of your own saliva before he drops to your neck, lapping tracks over your skin with the temptation to bite down and paint it shades of deep purple and blue.

but there are rules that you both have in place; ways to keep what you have a secret and hidden away from the public eye so that you don’t lose all that you’ve worked for and so kirishima can keep being your precious little intern.

“jump for me, please ma’am,” he whispers heavily into the junction between your neck and your shoulders, breath laboured and warm against your skin that begins to shine with light perspiration. mindlessly, you follow his orders, jumping up while your fingers curl into the mass of red on kirishima’s head and ankles lock around his waist—his hands meet the backs of your doughy thighs, squeezing the flesh between calloused digits while you toe off your heels.

“eiji, you’re so good,” you manage between feather light breaths as they clatter to the floor as the pair of you somehow make your way to the desk chair, pushing and tearing the clothes from one another’s bodies— including your crisp shirt. now seated and left in nothing but your bra, you tug harshly at your intern’s locks and bring his mouth down to yours, allowing them to move together in a dirty, messy kiss. there’s barely any time for you both to mess around, for him to tease you until your limit and you’re crying out for any type of touch from him, so eijirou quickly

flips down your bra, exposing your chest to cool, air conditioned air—not even bothering to unclip the material as his fingers descend on your nipple, pulling and twisting them until your back arches from the stimulation. “hurry, please eijirou,”

obedient as ever, your favourite boy drops to his knees in front of the chair you stay slumped in and with his height, he still manages to tower over you, practically at eye level with hunger framing the ruby of his own. large hands knead at your plush thighs, hiking your skirt up and up to give you room to spread your thighs, cunt growing sticky from anticipation— all from a few measly touches in familiar places. but this is kirishima, and he knows how your body works from countless hours spent after the office closes up— using one another to blow off extra steam. he knows just what makes you tick and moan his name.

logically, eijirou knows that your meeting could start at any minute and even though you’re both in a stickler for time, he still wants to get a taste at your skin before devouring your most intimate parts. he’ll make time to explore every part of you, to assist you in your stress relief. “‘m sorry miss, yn,” he whines needily, watching your chest rise and fall with want, feeling your body heat up and twitch from the ghost of his fingertips across your blemished skin. “gotta have a taste of you before the real deal, hope’ya don’t mind…”

latching onto the left mound of flesh at your exposed chest, kirishima sinks the point of his teeth into the area around your nipple— just enough to graze your skin and pull a sweet mewl from your mouth. you’re both lucky for the soundproof walls, your head thrown back in a lewd moan he lets his pink tongue roll over your bud in vicious circles. heavy, fat globs of saliva pool over the pink muscle, pouring down kirishima’s chin and painting your skin with a slick shine. “h-how...how could i mind angel, not when you treat me s’good,” you heave, vision fading in and out due to the overwhelming amount of pleasure flashing through your body in waves of hotness. “always doin’ so well for me eiji, aren’t you such a good boy?”

“yes ma’am,” the intern confirms with a erogenous slur, pacified and content on his knees for you— sucking, licking and biting at your chest to his heart’s content. “‘m your good boy,” he corrects you, however. eijirou feels most happy when grazing his tongue over the swell of your breasts, watching your face carefully for any twitches of delirium, it lets him know how hot aroused he makes you feel— that knowledge shoots straight to his cock, rock hard in his slacks while the redhead watches his boss writhe in her seat all for his eyes only.

such a dazzling view, and it’s all for fucking him.

your perfectly manicured nails run through red hair, scratching deliciously at his scalp until you’re forcing his head back and pulling kirishima off of your breast with a pop. “as much as i love seeing a pretty boy suck on my tits like a baby, we’re pressed for time angel, gonna need you to speed it up a little,” despite the softness to your face and the sudden evenness to the tone of your voice, the words that you speak to eijirou are vulgar, nasty, and turn him on to his wits end. “want you to eat me out eiji, can you do that for me?”

shaking his head, yes, beautiful claret eyes shining with acquiescence, kirishima wipes the spit from his chin with the back of his hand— like the tainted, dirty intern he is. you sigh down at him salaciously, ready to tear his innocence apart all over again. eijirou was always so willing to please, both in his work and behind closed doors— you would be a fool to not take advantage of that. with brute force, your intern forces your legs apart, eyes rolling back in his skull from the scent of your sex, dripping with your juices right through your underwear and stockings. overexcited, he rips through the flimsy material at your cunt, exposing your panties for him to see.

“you’re so...so wet ms.ln,” kirishima comments observantly, not even bothering to pull your stockings the rest of the way down your legs, instead opting to pull on the whole until it’s wide enough for his mouth to fit. “smell s’good, bet you taste even better,” there’s a patch on the crotch of your panties, darker than the rest of the material from where you leak and without a second thought, the red head instantly surges forward to lick a stripe over it, letting out a choked gripe as the taste of your cream from over the fabric invades his tongue.

you let out a shrill cry, hips jumping up at the first brush of his tongue against your untouched, clothed pussy. you wriggle even as kirishima holds you down, needing the heat of his mouth against you before your meeting starts. but he’s so good, so well trained, reaching up to your hips to yank your panties down in one fluid motion. leaning forward, kirishima savagely buries his face between your doughy thighs, hiking them over his shoulders from beneath the desk. his nose bumps against your clit, swollen from the lack of touch as he greedily inhales your scent once more— without warning, the intern kicks a stripe up the length of your pussy, sucking your juices into his mouth and smiling against your heat.

“d-don’t tease baby, be good for me,” you remind kirishima, your body trembles with anticipation, craving an orgasm to expel the stress of your work days out. the boy between your legs only hums, the sound running straight though cunt and vibrating against it, causing you to gush and spill your arousal out onto the leather seat beneath your cheeks. eijirou feasts on the slick that seeps from your fluttering hole, gliding his tongue up and down your sex, allowing the occasional pressure from his nose to stimulate your bundle of nerves.

the pads of his thighs burn marks into your legs, using them as leverage to pull your heated core further into his mouth, “can’t help it ma’am, y’got such a pretty pussy...s’only right that i worship you…” eijirou breaths right against your puffy folds, eyes trained on the way your hole clenches around nothing. a primal urge flares in his chest, a desire— no, a need— to see you filled with something, any part of him that can make you see stars and fuck you dumb. “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry you jus look s’fucking pretty miss…”

attaching his lips to your clit, the redhead pushes the spit gathered on his tongue right over your sloppy sit, hazy ruby stare watching as his saliva mixes with your juices and slides over your empty hole. he follows the oozing trail with his tongue, lapping it up and spewing it back into your sex until the pink muscle slips past your entrance— slipping inside of you with no prior warnings. your knuckles that grasp the arms of the chair as you’re spoiled between your legs by your top intern, his hands snaking their way around the tops of your thighs to spread your sticky pussy lips apart in order to bring more of you to the cool air of the office.

“you like this don’cha? dirty little boy,” you tease the poor boy, watching as his cheeks flame with embarrassment. “being a naughty little intern between your boss’ thighs all to keep on pleasing  her, keep your position at her company, huh? fuck eiji, you just love miss riding your naughty tongue—ohmygod—“

the way you sound, voice smooth like chocolate over the obscene slurping that fills the thats air heavy with the scent of sex and, makes eijirou’s cock jump up, precum oozing from his tip as he begins to rut against the hard floor beneath your desk. he makes an attempt to respond, but your thighs lock his head in place and his words come out muffled against your core. “mph, luh it, you’re s’sexy, please ma’am—“ he mumbles sordidly against you, practically humping the ground at your feet as you pick on him.

for a brief moment, kirishima pulls away to watch you roll your hips into nothing, hot tears beginning to brew into our hooded eyes from the satisfaction he brings you with every flick and flit of his tongue against where you need him most. written in your eyes is the command to keep going, your hands twistingly sharply in red roots to bring the intern back to your sluice, spasming cunt. so he does as he’s told, shoving his tongue deep inside your ribbed, iron hot walls and dragging tip along them to collect and taste strings of your viscous juices.

biting your lip, you do your best to hold back a voracious howl, bucking your hips feverishly into your intern’s face and staining his cheeks with everything that you have— he thrusts his tongue into you to the pace of your own hips, moaning against your slippery slit until your eyes are rolling. “gonna cum from this eiji, from you eatin’ me out like this...jus need a little more— need your fingers pretty boy,” you can feel the twist of the knot in your lower tummy starting to unravel, signifying your oncoming high, and the room starts to spin while kirishima eats you out with new vigour.

“yeah? miss? you’re gonna cum for me?” the intern practically whines and pulls his tongue from your hear, almost crying as his hips thump against the floor desperate for friction. “wanna see you come undone s’bad, please cum for me, please, please—“ eijirou chants, replacing his tongue with two of his thick digits, watching as your slick cunt stretches around them accommodatingly. he jackhammers them inside of you, grunting lowly underneath the slaps of his palm against the meat of your ass, as he returns to your clit to suckle on it hungrily. his fingers curl instantly in search for the spongy spot inside of you— bearing down hard against it once it’s located.

“oh—hah, right there baby— right fuckin’ there—!” you squeal, only egging him on as white starts to cloud your vision, everything sounds so nasty and wet, while eijirou stimulates both of your pleasure spots. it becomes hard to breath, legs wobbling around his broad shoulders, but your intern doesn’t let up, determined to bring you to cloud nine.

“that’s it ma’am, right there—you’re almost there, can feel you clenching around my fingers...please cum, fuck i want your cum, wanna taste you so bad, cum. cum. cum!” and that’s all it takes, eijirou’s pleading voice between your thick thighs to make the coil inside you snap and for your orgasm to wash over you. you convulse in your chair, nectar gushing freely from your raw and overstimulated cunt, spewing all over the redheads face as he continued to lap at your clit to ride out your high.

but he doesn’t stop there, scissoring his fingers deep within your velvet walls as you continue to cum, making you shake your head and wail from the high levels of ecstasy.

“please eiji—n’more, can’t, no—“

“you can miss, i know you can—fuck you look so pretty when you’re about to squirt for me, please…”

as quickly as your first high ended, another one comes crashing over you in harsh waves— rocking your world as clear liquid floods from your pussy— the sheer force of you squirting, pushing kirishima’s fingers out from your tight, sappy hole. your release hits the floor with a crude slap, both of you moaning loudly almost for the whole world to hear. he doesn’t stop sucking, clearing up your pretty cunt even as you fade in and out of consciousness from pleasure— he stays lapping at you with burning, languid strokes of his tongue between your folds even as you weakly attempt to answer the phone now ringing from your desk.

clearing your throat, you muster up the strength to sound professional over the line before picking up the phone and bringing it towards your ear. “good afternoon, this is yn ln of shinku sports reports, bringing you the latest sporting news, how may i help you?”

‘this is the board, we need to discuss this month's stocks and reports.’

from the corner of your eye, you can see kirishima rise from his place underneath your desk— standing tall over you once more while you converse with the directors on the other end of the phone. as quietly as he can, the redhead tears through the buttons on his shirt in a similar way to you, prior to you fucking and unbuckles his slacks. he pulls down his boxers and pants in one go, revealing his thick, hard girth that stands tall and slaps against his stomach— tip an angry shade of red as precum smears across his lower belly.

you nod into the phone, forgetting that the board can’t see you as kirishima lifts you from the chair and lays you on your back across the desk littered with unread papers. “ah yes, i’ve been expecting a call from you…” you whisper so quietly instead, not caring if they’ve missed what you said. you’re hardly paying attention, choosing to wrap a fist around eijirou’s cock, slickly pumping him to prepare him to take you— he parts your thighs, eyes closing and body shuddering above you while you continue to converse with the board.

spreading the droplets of precum across his slit and iron hot tip, kirishima takes his cock from your grasp— heavily slapping it against your sensitive and swollen clit to see you jolt up the desk. “gonna fuck you so good miss, jus’ be good ‘n stay quiet for me okay?” he says, a whimper catching in the tail end of his words. you nod to him, rushed and way too eager, laying your head back on the hard wood your swimming gaze settles on kirishima as he taps the head of his cock against your hole, teasingly pushing it just past your entrance before withdrawing again.

‘ms. ln, are you still there? we really are pressed for time so we would love to start by discussing interviews for the next issue—‘

you forget that you’re still connected on the line, settling for wriggling impatiently underneath your intern, who’s caramel tinted skin glistens with sweat and his cheeks begin to flush with unadulterated desire— all from watching the way your puffy folds lube up his shaft with every push through them. you can see him losing his resolve, just as sensitive as you since he’s been holding back an orgasm and without the hint of a warning, eijirou’s hips jump forward and drive his cock into the deepest parts of your sex— brushing against your cervix. you gasp out in surprise, finally losing focus and barely manage a more comprehensive response to the board you have waiting on the line. “y-yes!— yes, yes, i’m still here… you may proceed with the meeting.”

he’s big, bigger than anyone you’ve ever had— and you’d seen a lot being a woman of your caliber this high up in the industry...but no one could compare to the way your sweet, doe eyed gentlemanly little intern filled you up, fat cock stretching your walls even with the shallow thrusts into your cunt he gives you to adjust. the weight of his girth sits heavily inside you, twitching as kirishima slides into you easily due to the stickiness lining your gummy walls, breath shaky and uneven as he holds out for you during this time. you can tell the poor boy isn’t going to last long, fingers sinking into your thighs with a harsh grip while he tries to hold himself back.

such a good boy, always waiting for your every command.

‘so we’d like to talk about the main feature for next month’s issue, do you have anyone in mind?’

the monotone voice of the board member is drowned about by kirishima’s shaky breaths above you, his pleading puppy dog eyes while he stills himself inside your spasming, puckered hole— he waits for permission, following orders like a trained pet even though he can hardly stand it, overwhelmed by the flutter of your sex around him and heat from your body despite thrown over the desk. “y-you’re s’warm...god ma’am...need to—need to move,” the redhead huffs weakly in order to keep himself quiet, a line of sweat dotting his brow. “please,”

you sit up on the desk, legs locking around his slender waist to draw him closer, sheathing more of the poor boy inside of you until he’s completely bottomed out and balls deep inside your pretty cunt. he drops his neck to your shoulder, tongue lolling over your salt licked skin before biting down to pacify himself, sharp teeth almost drawing blood while you adjust the cord of the phone. “i was thinking…thinking that we got the hockey player— the oylmpic champion…” your eyes drift to kirishima’s complacent face, giving him a nod to start moving while he sucks another bruise further down his onto your collarbone. “t-touya...touya todoroki—!”

you hiccup but play it off with a cough when kirishima pulls back his hips, so far that his girth completely leaves you, before he drives himself forward with one powerful thrust and fills you right up again. looking down, you see him bulge in your tummy, the line of his girth prominent against your body— slightly dwarfed in kirishima’s arms. you rock your hips, coaxing your intern into your warmth to help him build up a momentum of thrusts.

‘sounds like a good choice, do we have anyone who could interview him? i believe we can have PR set up an interview this week.’

the desk creaks below you, hard wood groaning along with the red head who hides himself in your neck, squeaking pathetically as he moves inside of you— precum smearing along your gummy walls that welcome his hardened shaft. your pussy opens up for eijirou like it’s welcoming him home, still growing used to the pleasure-filled burn and stretch of him pushing in and out of you. the nerves on his head catch amongst your inner ridges, making his toned body shake in ecstasy.

“m-ma’am, feel s’fucking good, so fucking good...” your intern hums against your salty skin mawkishly, large palms dropping to the flesh of your ass— kneading it to bring you closer to his body— cock barely leaving you due to your proximity. with slow strokes, eijirou fills you up, painting you with what leaks from his tip— prodding at your cervix and brushing up against your sweet spot in ways that make sweet nectar dribble from your hole.

your digits curl in his hair once more, the phone slipping from between your neck and creating rustling on your end. “eijirou,” you sigh breathily, humping back his cock while you squeeze around him selfishly, keeping your intern inside of you. “i-i mean eijirou kirishima, he’s an intern— such a… a good one at that…”

a immodest whimper brews in the base of eijirou’s throat, bubbling against his bruised lips  while you shower him with praise, indirect to him, hand snaking up to the back of your neck— tangling in your baby hairs as he pulls you up to a sloppy kiss, slotting your mouths together and running his tongue over yours. “f-fuck mommy, ‘m i your good boy? please tell me yes, fuck, yn— ma’am,”

kirishima’s voice rises in octave as it does devoir and pathos, vulnerability stays written across his handsome features as he succumbs to the mind break the heat of your damp, creamy core as he fucks into you. you throb at his use of mommy, shakily pulling the phone away from your ear to reach up to his own, nipping the earlobe and tugging on it gently. “you’re my good boy baby, keep being good eiji, be quiet...you gotta stay quiet if you want to keep fucking mommy okay? you wanna cum inside me right?” you say, words aberrant and low toned  on your tongue, your intern hisses and whines in response— nodding his head again and letting out a barely coherent ‘yes’. “then shh, baby, let mommy talk yeah?”

“hm’kay,” he babbles, dropping his ruby framed gaze to where your bodies meet, hiking your skirt further up your thighs to get a better view of your cunt staining his heavy balls with a layer of your slick.

‘ms. ln, are you sure that you want an intern to cover this case—’ the board begins to ask you, muffled from the distance away from you both.

picking up the phone again, you pull the line towards you again— mindful of capturing eijirou’s weak little mewls over the device as he languidly pumps himself in and out of you. “i know what i—fuck, what i want. eijirou, will be—oh— on the case. that's final.” you huff, watching your intern fall into a pussyhaze, his precious mind fogging with thoughts of only painting you white inside and out as a reward for helping relieve you of stress. the slow roll of his hips into yours are accompanied by the soft slaps of his skin against your own, wet and sticky— determination to make you feel good crackling across his mind.

‘there’s no need to curse, ma’am, do you need a moment to recollect yourself before we proceed with discussing the other features.’

“i’m fucking fine,” you growl, in anger or need you don’t know. but kirishima frowns, you can feel it as he start nosing up your cheek— swiping his tongue over areas of skin he hasn’t touched just yet— he grunts possessively , unhappy with the use of your title coming from anyone other than him. to prove his point, he pushes your thighs wider apart, letting you drip all over the documents sitting below your ass and ruining the ink— important or not he starts a brutal pace into your cunt and presses down on your tummy so you can feel exactly where eijirou is inside you and know that only he can make you feel this way.

‘ms.ln—‘

“i’m fine. keep going.” you grit your teeth, biting your lip to hold down your panting— again you don’t know who you’re speaking to. your intern who slows the movement of his hips, postponing in and out of your tightened hole, clamping down on him eagerly or the stupid board member giving you grief on the phone.

they proceed to talk, barking out suggestions to your sports magazine, that you hate— even considering bringing in good for nothing athletes who’d treated you like shit in the past, and you’d sworn to never work for them again.

but it’s almost silly, how kirishima lets out small moans of mommy and ma’am, trying to keep your attention on him like you would give up grinding down on your intern’s dick for some prissy member of the board over the phone— but you love the slight possession eijirou has over you, moulding your iron hot walls into the shape of his fat dick that presses up against your pleasure spots, makes you convulse and drawl and become addicted to everything that is him. eijirou kirishima.

“takin’ me so good, so well ma’am...don’t think i can hold on anymore…please,” eijirou warns you, losing control of his body as he takes you for his own like he’s done many times before after hours— your gazes lock, you can see his desperation to ruin you, moan for you despite the people on the phone and the people outside your office.

if he grows too loud, he could give you away— they could be listening in to your poor needy little intern humping you like a feral dog and whining your name. and as much as that thought makes your hole spasm around his fat cock, make his thrusts stutter and eyes screw shut while you moan in sweet, almost silent harmony, you love your job and so weakly, you take two of your fingers, shoving them deep into eijirou’s mouth as it hangs open in heavy pants of warm air. you press down on his wet tongue, fucking into his mouth in tune with the pace of his hips plunging deep within your walls, churning up your syrupy and sticky insides.

“keep quiet, baby,”  you hiss to the redhead, who’s eyes start to brim with fresh hot tears from the overwhelming pleasure. “let mommy take care of this, yeah? finish up so you can let it all out on me.”

he sucks on your fingers to calm himself down, shallow breathing while he paws at the flesh on your sides and circles his hips into yours— letting his leaky tip bare down on your sweet spot and forcing the air out of your body. white hot pleasure flashes through your bloodstream, replacing any air of professionalism flooding through them. you can’t, you physically cannot hold back either of your orgasms— you can’t concentrate as your mind starts to fall away with the world and your gaze hones in on the way kirishima takes your fingers in his hot mouth so deep in an attempt to hush himself.

the coil in your tummy begins to unwind and the room swims once more. ‘ms.ln is everything okay over there— we need to progress with his meeting if we’re—‘ the annoying board member sounds underneath kirishima’s sloppy groans, saliva dribbling down the sides of his mouth. your dirty, good boy.

“i’m going to need to take a rain—hah— a rain check on this meeting. you’ll hear from me when my interns and i are ready—“ you huff, cutting the staff off and quickly throwing the phone onto the hook, you’ll have keigo deal with the consequences later but for now you focus on kirishima who picks you up by the ass, lifting you up and down on his cock in frantic movements as he finally loses all connections to his control. “ohmygod—eiji baby, slow—fuck, down—“

he shakes his head, latching onto your collar bone as he revels in the way you leak down his shaft and drip between his balls, lewd squelching sounds fluttering through the air hot, sex scented air at full volume. “‘m sorry ma’am— i can’t… i’m really close, i really need’ta cum...please ma’am...mommy, i’ve been good—please let me cum...“ eijirou groans heartily, from deep in his chest as if he’s finally releasing what he’s been holding back— arms flexing and the sweat from his body slicking up your own.

limbs shaking you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your foreheads against one another, while you nod. he worked so hard to make you feel good, all day long to do the best job that he can— pressing small kisses to his lips encouragingly. “you can do it baby, one last thing for me— fill me up eiji, cum for me.” you whisper between bites and sucks on his lower lip, lined with a vibrant shade of red.

“cummin’, cummin’...miss yn, mommy—!” and then his hips come to a halt, his dick pulsing as waves of his cream line your insides with an opaque white, thick and seeping down your thighs. his fingers drop to your sensitive cunt, slipping quick circles over your swollen clit to bring you to your high. his cock never stops pumping in and out of you, pushing his seed further into your sex while you writhe and fall over the edge into your orgasm— gushing so hard you force him out of plugged and full hole.

losing his strength, kirishima collapses on top of you, pressing out both to the hard wood seat which you’re surprised  is still standing, his lips pressing fleeting kisses across your face and neck while you both come back down to earth.

and then he looks up at you with a weak smile, “did i do good?” he asks you lazily and almost sleepily— refusing to budge from laying atop you and almost crushing you with his weight.

pushing back his hair to soothe him. “always eiji, you’re not my favourite intern for nothing,” you coo at him, pulling him up to press your lips to him in a soft kiss.

“i sure hope you don’t have any other favourites, i want to be the only one who assists you like this,” kirishima says, remaining tangled with you for a moment more in your office, content with snuggling into your exposed and bruised side.

you share a sleepy giggle, intending to clean up later— eijirou completely forgetting about the lunch he’d promised the other interns after your meeting.

oh well, assisting you was a much better treat than spending time with any one else.

[wincore]

field day | jung sungchan

pairing: sungchan x fem!reader

synopsis: when you, as cheer captain, are best friends with the pride and joy of the soccer team, rumors are bound to fly around.

genre: high school au, soccer au, bff2l, fluff

words: 7.5k

warnings: language, jung “the risk i took was calculated but man am i bad at math” sungchan

request: sungchan + ball + “ everyone is looking at us. is that a good or a bad thing? ” (from the first option) ^__^

song recs: after school - weeekly / pleaser - wallows / some - bol4 / sweet talk - saint motel / love so sweet - cherry bullet

a/n: i tried recalling some hs memories for this and im hoping i wasnt the only one that went through the “shipped with a random dude” ordeal LOL. i haven’t written shorter fics in a while so i’m glad i got to. tq for requesting, lovepie <33

In high school, peer pressure tends to come in different forms. For you, it’s taken the shape of this.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” 

You look around your classmates, scanning each and every face chanting with glee like you’re a star player scoring the winning point. The tall figure shifts beside you, glancing at you like a blinking idiot. You’re not even on the losing team but it feels just as frustrating.

You glare at the boy beside you. The trouble is Jung Sungchan. The trouble has always been Jung Sungchan. 

“Come on!” Chenle calls with a teasing grin from the buzzing crowd. The little shit. It’s getting hotter with each minute you spend by the green soccer field and its dusty chalked lines, just at the tip of the bleachers. You didn’t even get enough time to breathe before you were surrounded, the soccer team pushing a stumbling Sungchan onto you. It’s too sunny for this today.

“The star soccer player gets a kiss from the lead cheerleader after a winning game! That’s the rule.” Chenle announces.

Sungchan looks at you and you turn to him, the both of you looking at each other like fish out of water. Even though you’ve clarified at least a hundred times that you’re just friends, your peers don’t seem to be satisfied. (“Famous last words,” they say.)

“No,” you say, firmly. 

“No,” Sungchan agrees, nodding his head wisely.

“Don’t copy me,” you say, smacking his chest, and a quiet ‘oof’ escapes his mouth.

The fact that you’ve been best friends since Sungchan offered you a light green crayon in elementary school just fuels the idea that you have to date. There’s this difference between elementary school kids teasing and high school kids teasing—it was so much easier back when boys were afraid of cooties from girls. It was innocent too. Now, it’s more of nudges and sly grins, teasing with unnecessary innuendo. (What else do you expect from teenagers experiencing puberty?) It doesn’t stop you from being best friends though. Sungchan still visits on Fridays to get on your mom’s nerves and help you with homework (or try to). You still have all the little trinkets he’s gifted you over the years and the lock to his phone is still your birthday. You’re best friends and strictly that. 

When you got into the same middle school though is when it started going downhill. Holding his hand was awkward, touching him in any way was awkward and god forbid you compliment him on something. The kids around you would run across the halls saying “(name) likes Sungchan!” or the other way around sometimes. Heathens, the lot of them. But at the very least, he wasn’t too fazed and you wonder how he could be that even-tempered. If it was just you feeling that way, then maybe you did like him more than he did you. 

You shake it off. 

Sungchan’s much more grown now and at least a foot taller since his awkward adolescent years; he looks handsomer too but you wouldn’t be caught dead saying it out loud. After all, it’s only going to spark another debate on the anonymous school forum. (“(name) finds Jung Sungchan attractive, they’re totally dating.” “I knew it. A boy and a girl can’t be friends, especially if they’re both good looking.”) If you’re being honest, you hate the rumours so much—it’s one of the reasons, apart from puberty, stopping you from being as close as before. However, you do understand that this is how the passage of time works. You’re not going to be spending all of your time with each other, yes, but you still regard him as important. Your life is too busy now, with exams and practice—and you’d think a busy bee would get some honey as reward.

Sungchan’s curls stick to his forehead, unruly after he wiped at them with a towel. The sunlight plays with his eyes when he looks at you intently and you shrug. The smell of sweat is starting to make you nauseous. You remember that you too need to take a shower.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you mumble.

“Not today?” He asks.

You shake your head. “The girls have a plan.”

It’s not just the sweat. Or the crowds. You don’t like being here at all. There’s one more problem with this place.

You hate soccer. 

And by hate, you mean you despise it. Like you’ll throw up at the sight of it. What’s so riveting about a bunch of smelly, sweaty guys excited about chasing a patterned ball? You’ve tried to understand it but every time your dad explains the rules, you find yourself zoning out of whatever alien language he speaks. 

Sungchan has been the closest to getting you to understand the game and even then, you refused to learn. It’s not like you’re society’s definition of girly—but you’re not a tomboy either. The school has granted you the “ice queen with a warm interior” stereotype so you’ll just go with that. To be honest, you’re just a little more awkward at open affection than your friends. (And Sungchan has the “friendly beagle” stereotype which you’ll agree is partly true. He’s more of a retriever though, with that size.) It’s just funny how you can never seem to know who you are but other people see so clearly.

You hurry up to the locker rooms and hope for a better evening than this afternoon.

-

The sky burns blue and you wipe the sweat off your brow once you step out of the changing room. Cooling off from your shower has gone to waste. Adjusting your school skirt, you take your usual strides to the school gates. 

Ryujin seems to be showing Yuna a very flamboyant dance move while the latter hypes her up. Ryujin is in her gym uniform because she has no care for her reputation apparently, but she makes it work. Yuna’s about to show her own move when she notices you and waves at you vigorously enough to make you jog towards her and stop embarrassing herself in front of the after school crowd. But then again, she’s too cute for that.

“We got bored waiting for you,” Yuna explains, voice hoarse from her cold. Poor thing wasn’t let into performing because of it. “Do you wanna see our cool new move? Ryujin came up with it!”

Ryujin rolls her eyes. “You’re trying to advertise me to (name) so she can recruit me into cheerleading, aren’t you?”

You smile and cross your arms, facing Yuna who’s been caught mid-act. She smiles sheepishly and pats your shoulder like she just said a funny joke.

“Actually…” You begin and Ryujin holds up her arms in a cross.

“No. Never. I’m already part of the hip-hop dance club.”

“I was going to say that I’ll join you instead.”

Yuna gasps in betrayal, big eyes widening, and Ryujin grins before sticking her tongue out and potentially ruining her image with that expression. She doesn’t care, however.

“Anyway, I can’t wait to get to college and join a dance club.” Ryujin looks at the two of you excitedly. “I keep getting snaps from Yeji and feel so jealous.”

Yuna pouts. “Don’t be so happy about leaving me.”

“Aw, is the baby afraid of not getting any more sisterly doting?” Ryujin teases and you laugh at the disgruntled expression on Yuna’s face. 

“Don’t worry,” Ryujin continues with a sly grin. “Taehyun’s here to keep you company for another year.”

Yuna turns red in the face, a high pitched complaint emitting from her throat. “I told you to keep quiet about that!”

“Oh, what’s this?” You wiggle your eyebrows. “We’re starting boy talk early today.”

Yuna huffs. “At least, mine’s just a crush. I don’t know what relationship status: complicated you have going on with Mr. Soccer Captain.”

You flush hotly. “There’s no relationship status to be complicated about! Seriously, why does everyone think we’re a thing?”

“You’re cheer captain and he’s soccer captain,” Ryujin answers logically. “Plus, you’re best friends.”

“You have a lot of sexual tension,” Yuna answers honestly.

You make a face, slipping your arms into theirs and pulling them along the sidewalk. You better get something to drink before the sky starts to turn purple from pink tinged blue. 

“Ooh, another desperate attempt from (name) to not get teased,” Ryujin leans back to whisper to Yuna.

You stop walking. “Wait. Where are we going?”

Yuna shakes her head. “I’ll lead the way.”

Skipping over the concrete sidewalk, you laugh at your friends and their stories (read: Ryujin gushing over Yeji’s college dance club and Yuna’s newfound crush on Taehyun). The blue sky has tinged orange by now but it’s the sort of colour that sits in between more significant timeframes, like night and evening. Passing by a city square, you eye the people with wonder. A girl in a pink skirt skateboards smoothly over the concrete, her boyfriend filming her with a loving smile. 

“We’re here!” Yuna announces.

You look around the large open plaza, with people of all ages and in different attires trying out skateboarding and rollerblading over the grey concrete. It’s been getting popular lately, with idol pop stars taking to it too but you never knew there was this big a community. There seems to be a few stalls renting out skateboards too. The wind caresses your hair, evening cool settling in nicely on your skin. The sky is purple but it’s lit up with the city buildings and street lamps flickering on. It’s not a bad day at all.

Someone catches your attention. A boy that sticks out like a sore thumb everywhere he goes. 

“Sungchan?!” 

Your eyes somehow always settle on his figure, tall and standing out in the crowd of teenagers. He clutches his blue bag, the one he’s had since third grade, close to his chest and looks more like a tourist in this place than a frequent visitor. He’s not the only one in school uniform now that you’re here.

“(name)!” 

You hate how you love the way his face lights up when he sees you. You’re not actually into him. It’s your friends brainwashing you.

“I was going to invite you,” Sungchan says, a sorry smile on his face. 

Ryujin and Yuna frown at each other but you can’t exactly ask the reason for it.

“Isn’t it great we had the same plans?” he beams at the three of you.

Yuna suppresses a smile and you wonder why. It’s not like your friends would know he’d be here—you’d know first as best friend.

"How did you guys come across this place?" He asks, eyes round with curiosity. 

"Somi's Tiktok," Yuna answers, smiling. "We thought she works here but if she really was, guys would be swarming this place."

Ryujin raises her eyebrows. "Speaking of which, I can clearly see why there are so many girls here."

Sungchan beams, turning to you for affirmation and when you don't give him any, he drops his grin to a more polite smile.

“I don’t work at the stalls though,” he answers. “I’ve just been here a few times.”

“You’re trying to learn, aren’t you?” Ryujin asks, raising an eyebrow.

He nods. However, you furrow your eyebrows at her. How does she know? Eyes widening, you realize it must be the school forum. You remember reading a post about a student wanting to learn skateboarding and the wording felt familiar but you didn’t think much. How they figured it out, you will never know.

“Oh! Oh, I think my nose is bleeding. Oh god.” Yuna sniffs vehemently, her finger at her nose. “I think I’m going to need Ryujin to get me to a clinic.” 

Linking her arm through Ryujin’s, Yuna makes an apologetic expression and runs off into a particularly crowded area.

You blink. The realization dawns. 

"They just left me," you tell him, exasperated. "How could they just leave me?"

He shrugs. "My team left me at a rival school's field once."

Great. Your last outing before midterms and your friends have abandoned you. If this is the case, you wonder why they complain about you spending so much time with Sungchan and allegedly ignoring them.

You regain a sense of your surroundings and turn to him. "Wait. They really left you?"

He nods diligently, eyes trained upwards as he tries to recall the memory. "I told you, didn’t I? On the plus side though, I made friends with the opposite team."

"That's so… cute."

Your cheeks heat up at saying it out loud. If Sungchan is affected by it in any way, he doesn't show it. Instead, he has his usual smile on. 

“Do you wanna try?” he asks. “Skateboarding. Or rollerblading but I personally don’t recommend that.”

He curls his lips, shaking his head slightly. You laugh. Of course this beanpole has trouble balancing on skates.

"I- I figured you'd be good at skateboarding. Since, you know, you're so balanced and all."

You raise an eyebrow. "You wanna add skateboarding to your resume or something?"

"Yeah, that and the ability to imitate dog sounds. Wanna see?"

"No, thanks. I’ll pray this weekend to cure your furry behaviour."

Before he can respond, you’re interrupted by a whirlwind of colours and excited calls. A few girls run up to the two of you, younger and probably in middle school, flocking to Sungchan like bees to honey. Never in your life have you felt so ignored as in this singular moment.

You blink, turning to Sungchan who looks like a rather helpless, flustered eye of the hurricane. The winds don't seem to be stopping any time soon.

You clear your throat trying to get their attention. 

"Wow, you brought your girlfriend?" One of the girls exclaims, sounding disappointed.

The other girls make similar whines of disappointment and you have half the heart to whack them over the head and tell them to focus on their academics instead of boys. 

"You're so lucky to have him as your boyfriend," a girl comments, round eyes brimming with jealousy. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you declare sharply.

Sungchan looks at you with his doe eyes, blinking cartoonishly. You nudge him with your elbow.

“Yeah!” He agrees, with far too much gusto to be believable. “I’m not (name)’s boyfriend. I have no idea why everyone keeps saying that.”

“Let’s go, babe,” you say, resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at the girls. They’re younger than you and you have high school dignity, you remind yourself.

Slipping your hand into his, you take a few long strides away from them before you realize what you said.

“I- I did- I didn’t mean to call you babe,” you sputter, pulling your hand from his to look at him with wide eyes. 

“It’s okay though?”

Sungchan raises an eyebrow and slips his hand back into yours, smiling. 

“I don’t mind the rumours, you know?” He says honestly but his smile feels all too teasing. “Maybe we should go out for real.”

You huff, separating yourself from him again. “Maybe you just love attention. Disgusting.”

You point an accusatory finger at him and he bites at it playfully.

“While you're here, wanna see a cool trick I learned?" He straightens only having to tilt his head to look at you.

"If it's you falling on your face, then yes."

"I mean, hey, I could totally do that. Done that several times actually."

You smile despite trying your hardest not to. You like this about him—that he’s easygoing enough to make you look at life less seriously. If it’s with him, you could quit everything that makes you unhappy and start everything you love. 

“So where is your skateboard?” you ask, walking side by side with him, who has finally learned to match your pace.

“It’s with one of my friends,” he answers, and points to a tall girl with long brown hair, wearing a pair of tomboyish shorts and T-shirt. Another girl with short hair and a bucket hat accompanies her, wearing a long hoodie and shorts, but she leaves before you reach them. They must be from a different school because you’ve never seen them before. The first thing that pops into your head is that they’d be good replacements for your cheerleading position if you were ever to leave. You shake your head. Now is not the time.

“That’s Jimin!” he introduces, and you wonder how he’s this way—how he makes friends so easily.

Jimin waves at Sungchan and then proceeds to ask if you’re his girlfriend with a big smile, like a script being followed everywhere you go.

She seems a little disappointed at the answer. “Well, I was going to suggest one of the couples skateboards.”

You flash her an awkward smile. 

“But those are pretty difficult! I’ve been here for a month and my idea of skateboarding is still sitting on it while Soeun pushes me around. That’s my friend, by the way.”

“Ah.” You nod. “This is my first time skateboarding, actually. The only ‘sport’ I’ve ever done is cheerleading.”

Jimin furrows her eyebrows before her eyes widen. “Wait a minute. You’re the cheerleader best friend that Sungchan wouldn’t shut up about!”

Sungchan flusters, in the subtle way he usually does, and waves his hands robotically trying to explain. “I was just saying- that- that you’d be good at skateboarding. Because of the cheerleading.”

A boxy grin accompanies his explanation. 

“Right.” Jimin covers her face and sends an obvious wink your way. “Anyway, you can have my skateboard for the day.”

She hands over a smooth black skateboard with white wheels, but on closer inspection you find that they’re light-up wheels instead. It’s oddly fitting for someone like Jimin even if you’ve known her the entirety of ten minutes. Sungchan is good at finding friends, rather. Soon enough, she runs off after making Sungchan promise he’ll deliver the skateboard home.

The trick Sungchan wanted to show you was a failed kickflip. At the very least, it made you laugh so hard you almost spit out the strawberry milk he’d bought you. Sipping his own banana milk, he sulked for a moment or two, telling you to try it out and see how difficult it is.

On the contrary, Sungchan was right. You are good at balancing on skateboards. But that’s where it ends. You don’t think you’ll be naturally good at kickflips, though being able to glide through the plaza while Sungchan runs after you with the drinks puts a big smile on your face. It’s the most fun you’ve had in a while.  

Accompanied by Sungchan’s panicked “oh no”s and “oh we messed up”s, the two of you try the couple skateboarding move too; no one’s watching you here. It’s fun to see him stress over a skateboard because frankly, you’ve never met anyone as easy-going as Sungchan. (“I’ll figure it out along the way,” he says when you ask if he’s studying for finals, and proceeds to get a decent enough score). Suddenly the wandering gap is closed again. You’re not going to worry about stupid rumours from now on. 

But for some reason, ‘you like him as a friend’ doesn’t sound right either. Despite having said it so many times, you might not believe in it. You shake off the thought. This evening, at least, you’re going to enjoy with Sungchan without thinking of teenage drama and hormones. 

"You still don't think you and Sungchan make the perfect pair?" Yuna pouts. 

You narrow your eyes. "I don't take opinions from traitors."

Chaeryoung leans back on her chair, and whispers to you asking if you’re okay. At least someone is concerned about you.

“It hurts to be left by my own friends but—”

“No, I meant, are you okay? Why aren’t you dating Sungchan already? You’re so cute together! And you’re best friends—Netflix writers literally daydream of this.”

You groan, throwing up your hands in defeat.

“And,” Yuna adds, knocking her chair closer. “Who’s really the traitor here? Us who ditched you with the love of your life—or you, who runs off every time she gets a call from her boyfriend?”

“Sungchan is not my boyfriend.” You cross your arms.

“She even shares her lunch with him more,” Ryujin complains from the side. “And they’re not even in the same class. Unlike me, by the way. Class 1 Shin Ryujin. Same class as you, (name).”

You slump, resting your forehead against the desk. At this point, you wish the teacher would walk in and start the class already. Unfortunately, lunch break isn’t over for another ten minutes and lady luck clearly isn’t smiling upon you. 

“Speak of the devil!” Ryujin announces monotonously, leaning against her desk.

Sungchan and a few of his friends from the soccer team wave at you and the girls from the classroom door. Noticing Taehyun, Yuna quickly fixes her hair and you would tease her if Sungchan hadn’t casually strolled up to your desk and sat down on the chair in front of you. Long legs barely contained in the space, he adjusts himself by resting his arm on the headrest and his chin upon it. It’s all normal. However, when he leans down to match your eye level, you hear the sudden pit-a-pat of your pulse in your ear. At this proximity, you can even see the mole on his lip that he’s pointed out before. The sunlight from the open windows is pulling golden strings over his eyelashes and his lips aren’t dry as a desert like you expected. You know he uses the watermelon flavoured lip balm. 

“Too close,” you croak. Embarrassed at your own voice, you rise sharply and glare at him.

“Is your heart fluttering?” Sungchan asks, smiling as he looks up at you.

You roll your eyes. 

You can hear Yuna’s giggling and before you can shoot her a glare, Sungchan calls. 

"Do you have any bandaids?" 

He points to a rough scratch at the base of his palm, fingers slender and less calloused than what you'd pictured. Then again, soccer players don't use their hands much, do they?

You blink. "You came all the way here for bandaids?"

"Well… I remembered you keep band-aids in your phone case. And the nurse hates me."

You giggle.

Yujin mouths from behind Sungchan, “He just wanted to see her.” 

You would feel flattered if you didn't know these people and their shenanigans. They'd do anything for some drama (and to get two innocent people into the dating trap).

“Why would I waste my cute band aids on you?” you mutter under your breath. “They’re limited edition, you know?”

No way are you sticking Ice Bear on your urban hazard of a best friend. A tall, cute, surprisingly polite hazard but he still annoys you nonetheless.

However, Sungchan's pleading smile has grown on you.

You reluctantly take the band-aid out of your clear phone case, the pink panda doll attached to it swaying with the movement. Proceeding, you take Sungchan's hand and lay it on your desk. With careful focus, you place the band-aid, admiring the size difference of your hands before snapping to reality.

Enough with the pink cloud of thoughts, you scold yourself.

When you look up, the proximity makes your heart skip a beat despite the logical part of you saying you shouldn't. Your faces are too close and this time, you don't even have the energy to croak it out.

"Thanks, (name)," Sungchan smiles at you. 

Right then, the sound of a chair sliding harshly against the floor makes the two of you jolt away from each other. All of your friends and his friends seem to be sporting Cheshire cat grins and you don't like it one bit. You don't like not being in on the gag.

"Anybody up for gaming after this? My treat." Chenle looks around. “Sungchan is banned from the arcade soccer game though.”

"'Ey," Sungchan complains.

"Hey, Jisung and Ryujin are banned from DDR too but that's because they almost broke the handles off last time."

The memory makes you smile. Sungchan was there too, and you don’t know why you’re only just recalling all the memories with him in it, carefully and in detail. Every one of them seems to have been amplified, the little interactions suddenly coming to mind. 

“(name)? You’re coming?”

You take one look at Sungchan and give up. Even if this is another childish ploy by your peers, you don't mind spending some more time at the arcade with infuriatingly addictive games. A tiny part of you is even willing to go along with them and see if it turns out the way they want it to.

“I’ll go,” you mumble, and the rest of the group cheers. 

“But I have cleaning duty today.”

The group groans. 

“Just get someone else to do it. Like a junior.”

“Isn’t that bullying?” You ask, frowning.

“Ask nicely. Anyone would be willing to do your bidding, (name).”

“Chenle, will you do it?” You give him a sickly sweet smile. “You’re class president after all.”

Chenle wrinkles his nose. “You’re getting stupider every day, (name).”

You sigh. “Fine. I’ll ask one of Yuna’s classmates then.”

“By the way,” Chenle announces. “Only twelfth graders are invited—”

A bunch of groans interrupt him. 

“Quit whining.” He crosses his arms, glaring at them. “What do you even have to worry about? We’re preparing for the exam of our lives. Oh, and Jisung is an exception.”

“We’re only two years apart,” Yuna mutters under her breath.

“Oh, and from class 5, only Sungchan is invited.”

Another round of complaints pass and Chenle breaks into laughter. “Just kidding.”

Your friends are and will always be an odd bunch. Sungchan has previously proved to be the weirdest (several times) and it makes him the most lovable too. But then again, you don’t have free space in your timetable to put in teenage crushes, much less falling for your best friend. What you do have time for this afternoon, however, is relaxing at the arcade. 

-

“Let’s go! I am so good at this. Think I’d impress your Steve Curry?” Ryujun gloats, after having scored three hoops in a row at the arcade basketball game.

“It’s Stephen Curry,” Chenle corrects. “And no, let’s focus here. Our goals are—”

He points to the two figures by the DDR machine, looking like a real couple. He’s been acting as damage control for the rumours and making sure you don’t drift apart because of it. They really don’t make guys like him anymore, Chenle sighs. He should get a friendship award or something.

“—those two.”

Really, Sungchan better be thanking him by the end of this. He’s never met anyone quite like Jung Sungchan, especially because Chenle cannot picture himself liking the same person since elementary school.

“Man, now I wish I had a girlfriend,” Chenle mutters.

Ryujin snorts. “Who’s going to date you?”

“You don’t have a boyfriend either,” Chenle reminds and gets a basketball to the shoulder.

“Why are you playing that when you don’t even know how to use it?” Your voice rings through to them.

“I said I’ll figure it out!” Sungchan reasons.

Chenle and Ryujin stare at the two of you blankly, as you bicker over a claw machine game and they share a look.

“Do they need our help?” Ryujin whispers.

Chenle shakes his head. “I think they’ll figure it out from here.”

Soon enough, you were laughing at Sungchan’s failed attempts and trying to outplay him. Your friends have already given you the shove. Chenle and Ryujin share a high five and that’s where the new story begins.

You finally know the thrill of a teenage crush. It makes you so damn infuriated that it had to be Jung Sungchan. 

Now every time he waves at you from the field or hands you a bottle of strawberry milk or explains the calc notes you missed or does the bare minimum, you need to deal with the quickening of your pulse and a few butterflies loose from their cage in your stomach. It doesn’t help that you’re almost always together.

The two of you currently sit by the school field, Sungchan tying his shoelaces while you cool off with the water bottle he offered you. Practice ended a while ago for you and the girls have receded into the air conditioned indoor gym. The indoor gym is apparently occupied by the gymnast club and you couldn’t be more disappointed that you didn’t join them instead. 

If anything, however, you’d rather leave this whole thing and focus on your academics. Hobbies shouldn’t be draining you—they should feel like skateboarding on a lilac evening with the wind in your hair.

With a friend you like very, very much.

“Sungchan,” you call quietly. 

“Hm?” 

When he looks up, you can’t hold in the urge to fix the hair out of his eyes. You’ve never been very physically affectionate so it might have come off strange. Sungchan looks at you quietly, stars in his eyes and you clear your throat.

“How long have you been playing soccer? It was before we met, right?”

He hums, eyes traveling up and then back to you when he remembers. “Since I was six. You were there at my first soccer match actually.”

“I was? Oh my god, was it the one you lost horribly and the whole team started crying?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

You giggle. “Six year old you would be so in awe now.”

Sungchan beams at that. 

“Who knows?” he smiles, looking into your eyes with firm determination. “Maybe I’ll be the next Son Heungmin.”

“Even I know who that is so… no.”

Sungchan pouts and you make a face in disgust. “Don’t act cute, it gives me hives.”

“Okay, maybe not Son Heungmin. I could definitely be the next Park Jisung—and I don’t mean him.”

Sungchan points to a boy passed out on the benches, his exhaustion typical of any high schooler while another boy sits beside him, fanning him with a bunch of assignment papers. Jisung and Chenle really are more entertaining than any game on this field. 

You turn to look at Sungchan, who’s moving his head around trying to catch their attention. When he finally does, he waves at them and gets big grins in response. He’s not all that bad, you think. In fact, he’s quite possibly the most amiable boy in senior year.

“Just be Jung Sungchan,” you mutter. “Not Son Heungmin or Park Jisung.”

Sungchan turns to you, smiling wide. “Advice taken.”

You scoff. “Whatever.”

Maybe it’s just you but Sungchan has been glancing at your lips very frequently today and mentally thank Chaeryoung for letting you borrow her lip tint. You didn’t know something so subtle could get you this giddy.

“Are you… going to give the CSAT?” You ask, glancing at him nervously. Part of you is sad you only developed your first high school crush in the very last semester. Or if it’s comforting, you could believe you’ve liked him all this time.

“Nah. Sports scholarship,” he says nonchalantly. “I was going to tell you but… I’ve been scouted already.”

You gasp. ��That’s… great. Your future’s all settled.”

Sungchan seems to dislike the idea, lips pursing. “I don’t think anything’s settled except for the next step.”

You nod, somewhat understanding. 

“What about you?” He asks. “Any university in mind? SKY? I’ve seen you study extra hours at the library.”

You look away, not feeling ready for the conversation.

“I don’t know,” you say quietly. “I don’t know what I like and what I want. I don’t even like cheer anymore.”

Sungchan gazes at you wordlessly but it’s the most comfortable you’ve felt talking about this.

“Maybe I should quit,” you mumble.

You don’t want to commit to something you no longer have passion for. But then again, you’ve spent so much time on it that it’s hard to leave. 

“You should,” he responds, honest. 

You scoff, shaking yourself from that moment of vulnerability. “But why would I quit something I’m good at?”

“If you don’t like it. If it hurts to leave but isn’t any better when you stay, you should leave.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re quite the philosopher.”

“I’m smart, right?”

You smile. 

“Oy, you two!” Chenle calls, making his way to you two with Jisung trailing behind. “I don’t mean to interrupt your flirting but you got a spare water bottle?”

“Are you two going out now?” Jisung asks as a follow-up, and you feel a hot flush for some reason, unlike the previous times you’ve been asked this question.

“No,” you answer. You don’t mind the idea though now.

“Don’t lie,” Chenle complains. “I saw that picture of Sungchan teaching you how to kick a ball. You? And soccer? Something’s up.”

You throw up your hands in exasperation. “Seriously, who keeps up posting to the school page? And where do they get the time?”

"Two people with this much compatibility will always be a hot topic."

"We're not compatible," you retort quickly.

"Wait," Jisung says. "I know how to resolve this."

You raise an eyebrow.

"How do you have your cereal?" He asks, looking from you to Sungchan.

"Cereal first, obviously," you answer.

Sungchan looks up, finger below his chin as he thinks. "I drink the milk first, then eat the cereal and then breakdance to mix it all together."

You pinch your nose. "I swear I question your sanity all the time."

"Hah! That means you're thinking about me all the time."

You look away, rolling your eyes. He responds with an open-mouthed smile and finger guns.

"See?" Jisung grins. "Compatible."

The gruff voice of Coach Lee startles the four of you and Sungchan leaves with a sigh and a promise of meeting after practice. Jisung leaves with Sungchan and Chenle gives you one last teasing smirk before sitting down and going through the assignment papers he was using as a fan previously. You will never understand his miraculous ways of performing his presidential duties.

You don’t have a good feeling about the next match. The only reason you’re even sticking around anymore—as embarrassing as it—is to spend more time with Sungchan. Being with him puts you at ease, even if the school tries to wrap the two of you in a rope of uneasiness. This is your very last practice, for the next match is the final one of this year and then you’ll be back to spending even longer hours at the library with a stack of textbooks. It’s supposed to be a carefree age. At least, adults say that. Your high school life seems to be riddled with worries, and with that thought, you head into the air conditioned room to take a breather off your anxieties. 

Only one more match, you remind yourself. 

The pre-match buzz is driving you to the edge.

Your form is off, you can feel it already and Coach Kim isn’t as sunshine-as-rainbows as she usually is, courtesy to it being the last match of your life. She’ll never know though, how much you don’t want to do this. 

Sungchan waves at you as he usually does before a match, disappointing a third of his fangirls, but it helps you ease. One last time, (name).

Watching the crowd of people, parents and siblings and friends, all excited and talking makes you take a deep breath. You practiced but it wasn’t good enough. You can never do well at something you don’t like anymore. This time, you feel guilty for committing to things half-heartedly. You want to start that fresh new college chapter already, with all of this behind.

There’s ten minutes left. You go back to the empty hall outside the lockers only to pace. This isn’t helping.

“(name)!”

You turn around abruptly to find Sungchan’s tall figure, and you must be looking miserable because his smile falls.

He doesn’t even ask what’s wrong, only takes careful steps towards you. “Do you need water? Medicine?”

His hands hover over your shoulder but he doesn’t burden you with them. You put your face in your palms and sigh, sinking down to the floor in a crouch.

“I want to quit,” you whisper. Your voice comes off more brittle than you’d like, and you realize that Sungchan hasn’t seen you cry since seventh grade when you failed a math test. You didn’t tell him then but you appreciated him studying extra hours for math just to teach you.

“You don’t have to go out there if you don’t want to,” he says quietly, dropping to the floor beside you. “I’ll stay with you.”

You stare at him dumbfounded. “Don’t be ridiculous! They’ll lose without you—you’re the ace, Sungchan!”

“There will always be an ace,” he retorts. “Maybe Jisung will finally get to shine. Or anyone else. I don’t mind spending an hour with you alone.”

You feel a hot flush spread over your cheeks. Looking away to the side, you mumble an ‘alright’ and only glance from the corner of your eye to see him smiling. Jung Sungchan is the most unreasonable boy you’ve ever met. Perhaps it makes him somewhat loveable too.

“It’s your last match,” you whisper helplessly.

“I’ll join the college soccer club and get to play more matches.”

You sigh, giving in. If he’s so adamant, you think that perhaps there is something in you worth sacrificing his game over. It makes an oddly warm feeling bloom in your chest. Sungchan is so damn convincing with his words. You wonder if it’s really okay.

With shoulders touching, an awkward silence takes over in the next second. You turn to him and open your mouth, watch him do the same and close it at the same time he does.

“You know,” he begins, “I was kind of lying about not worrying because I get the feeling coach will evaporate me tomorrow but—I can handle it. Mostly.”

You stare at him with wide, worried eyes. “You don’t have to do this, Sungchan. I’m the one running away.”

You slouch, pulling your knees closer to your chest and burying your face in them. The urge to scream is boiling within you but you can’t get caught. Not now.

“Sometimes to run is the brave thing,” he responds, insightful. “If you’re not up for it, it’s better to quit early than to regret it in the long run.”

You don’t know if it’s the fact that he just quoted Taylor Swift or spoke like your old school counselor—but you find yourself laughing. He makes sense. Sungchan, in his weird, oddball ways, always makes sense. And in that same way, he feels like home.

“You’re so good to me,” you say, looking up at him and at a proximity you’ve never been before.

It’s his turn to fluster, though he doesn’t do so as visibly as you do. He clears his throat, shifting his eyes around before meeting yours. “I- This is bad timing but… I like you. I really do. Since third grade when you drew that birthday card for me. I have it in my bedside drawer, by the way.”

He looks away and makes a face, probably wondering why he said that out loud.

You press your lips tight to prevent the smile that tugs at them. He looks at you with a wobbly smile, trying his hardest to resume his usual dignity—but he’s just a boy, after all. 

“My type is dumb and pretty, though?” You tease, the smile escaping. “You said it yourself.”

He blinks. “Well, I am pretty but if you want me to be stu—”

You shake your head. “I like you too. You don’t have to act cute.”

He pauses, thinking. “I have never acted cute in my life ever. I was born cu—”

You hold his face between your thumb and forefinger. “You do that again and you die.”

He breaks into a smile. 

“I’ve never met someone quite like you,” you whisper, embarrassed of your own feelings bubbling up from the bottle you had kept them in.

He laughs, open-mouthed and pretty. 

“Actually, hey, I didn’t like you all this time from fifth. I liked you and then I didn’t like you and then I liked you again—”

“Okay, I get it.”

His shoulders relax and he smiles at you. You look up at the clock on the wall by the entrance to the field and bite your lip. You don’t love performing anymore but you know all the girls do, even the stand-bys. Jisung might not have to take over Sungchan’s position but you bet one of those tenth graders would love to take yours, the same way you did back then. They’ve practiced harder than you too and it’s only a matter of deserving.

You take a deep breath and get up, pulling up Sungchan by the hand. He raises an eyebrow, inquisitive eyes scanning over your face and you smile at him, strengthening your resolve. You should have done this way sooner.

-

Sungchan plays. You don’t let him sit it out with you. 

Halfway through, you cheer the hardest you ever have, plastic decorative gemstones stuck by your eyes borrowed from the other girls cheering. It’s much more fun, you think. You’ve never experienced soccer like this. You’d love to sit at stadiums and join in victory chants. There’s enough weight off your chest to yell your lungs out.

Sungchan scores a goal almost immediately after and sends a thumbs up over to you. You laugh. This is the best break you’ve ever taken from cheerleading. 

“Ooh, is this perhaps the (name) effect?” Chenle’s voice rings through the speakers and you feel yourself shrink slightly under the eyes. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see your homeroom teacher signal very angrily to the commentator box. You shake yourself off it. So what if everyone’s looking?

Sungchan places his hands on his hips, chest heaving and sends another signal to you before beelining for a straight goal. You whoop and the girl with a notebook beside you is visibly annoyed at this point but you don’t care. 

Without doubt, your school wins and you watch as Sungchan runs to his team, a big smile on his face. The second he’s done getting pet by the team, however, he rushes to the bleachers, skipping over the steps to you, panting when he stops. The risk he took was definitely not calculated. He holds up one finger while he heaves.

“My cheering worked best this time, it seems,” you say to him, laughing.

His face is flushed from the exertion but he laughs heartily. “You could be yelling profanity at me and it’d still encourage me.”

You shake your head at the cheesy line. He takes a step forward, well inside your space but you don’t mind. He leans in.

“Everyone is looking at us,” he says under his breath. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

You look behind him to find the whole team, along with your girls sharing furtive glances and giggling at the sight of the two of you. A few of the junior girls slap each other’s arms, bouncing on the balls of their feet in excitement. You’re not a celebrity. But everyone wants to cheer things on once in a while, don’t they?

“Good,” you answer, before pulling him by the shirt into a chaste kiss. When you pull apart, Sungchan’s face is so struck with awe that you want to look away but instead you bite back an obvious smile. It’s about damn time, someone from the soccer team yells.

“Woah. I think I scored a goal either way,” he says, an offbeat smile on his face.

“Oh come on, we didn’t even get to chant ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’ yet—oh shit, the mic’s on.”

Chenle is definitely getting an earful from your teacher after this. The two of you wave at him at the box and end up laughing at him trying to hide behind the desk. 

As expected, the whole crowd surrounds the two of you in less than a minute’s worth of time, with several congratulations and “good score” offered to the two of you. The boys mess up Sungchan’s hair while the girls compliment you on how cute a couple you are. There’s also the question of when you started dating that pauses the buzz and makes everyone look to the two of you for an answer. Sungchan turns to you and you turn to him, and there’s no way you’ll tell half the school that your confession came in a private hallway outside the field—teenage imaginations run wild. 

Instead, you slip your hand into Sungchan’s and run down the bleachers and towards the exit, laughter spilling from your lips. There’s only one place you can think of going to spend a cool blue late afternoon with.

“Skate plaza?” He asks.

“Skate plaza,” you answer.

[widthofmytongue]

Ages ago I was tagged by @lesbiansandgayssupporttheminers​ (February) and @legasovas​ (September!) in posts that were very similar but had slight variations, and I’ve had replies to both saved in my drafts since. I don’t know why I didn’t post them at the time, but now I’m going to merge them.

Favourite colour: I don’t think I’ve got a ‘favourite’; I tend to prefer colour combinations to individual colours: Egyptian blue/olive green; Rebecca purple/cyan; tobacco/burnt orange, etc.

Currently reading: [Sep.] I never really read anything in full anymore. I've read some Gramsci and some Ho Chi Minh recently. I also tried to read The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton not long ago, but didn’t get very far. [Feb.] I guess I have to admit that I’ve been reading The Necronomicon by H.P. Lovecraft, which is even more racist than I remembered. [now (Apr.)] I recently started The Gods Of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, and The Master And Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov, but who knows if I’ll stick to either (I’ve started both several times before).

Last song: [Sep.] As I started writing this post, The Empty Foxhole was playing. But then I felt like Montreal, so after failing to find SS Cardiacs' 'Mersault Saw Sun', now 'In My Next Life, A Workhorse'. [Feb.] 'Future Interior' by Rockets Red Glare. Or was it 'Across Yer Ocean' by Mercury Rev? (it's so dark in here...) [now (Apr.)] In The Land Of Grey And Pink by Caravan.

Last series: [Sep.] Roadkill (which is a Beeb production starring Hugh Laurie and featuring the late, great Helen McCrory in I think her final role). [Feb.] Dead To Me (now on Star Trek: Picard) [now (Apr.)] Just finished The Good Place (which was actually really good, and I may write something about it for my pop culture for leftists thread). I also watched Hanyo No Yashahime or Princess Half-Demon or whatever it’s called not so long ago, which prompted me to dip into various animes from my youth, including The Vision Of Escaflowne (which is absolutely rad, but I worry has really grotesque transphobic elements?) and Mobile Suit Gundam Wing (which is babbling and incoherent, like just dumb af, but has redeeming qualities, namely anti-imperialist giant robots foregrounded corporatisation of geopolitics).

Last Movie: Billion Dollar Brain (starring My Cocaine as Harry Palmer) [this answer is from Sep.]. More recently I watched Escape Room: Tournament Of Champions (extended cut) and Godzilla: King Of The Monsters, both of which were uhhh pretty awful.

Sweet/savoury/spicy: I refuse the imperative to decide between just one of these. I want all of these in a single dish and I will riot and/or strike if this basic right is denied me.

Currently working on: I’m trying to get more fit again and walk more, with healthier workout habits (been doing measured breathing exercises with some half-assed yoga) as well as going on longer country walks again. Was also pitching ideas around with @boomonster-rawr for a hypothetical collaborative article, but I think she’s got her hands full with her PhD and stuff at the mo’. Also I wanna get back to drawing again, of course. I have lots of half-(or more like quarter-)finished art I wanna address. And honestly kinda wanna get back to posting on here more regularly again, do some writing, etc.

Currently Craving: Community; interconnectivity.

And on that note, I suppose I'm to tag others here to pass this on. @boomonster-rawr ; @brrrujaja ; @rotting-charm ; @glaxacitica ; @drunkwingtip ; @m0nicaish3re ; @uhq-tranimation ; @polykinkprincess ; @salamanderinspace ; @punkofsunshine ; @frustratedasatruar ; @otterorder

...And of course anyone else who fancies joining in!

[penguinwithitsarseonfire]

Sparks Fly (Whenever You Smile)

Pairing: 13th Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 3,170

Warnings: None

Summary: The Doctor takes you to the planet Erinda; famous for its pink snow. After exploring the local fauna of the place, you finally see the snow. Things end in a snowball fight, and perhaps, something more. (This is technically a sequel to Gave Me the Blues and then Purple-Pink Skies but can also be read as a standalone)

A/N: I mostly wrote this because of the tags @fabulouspotatosister​ wrote on gmbpps (that's the first time I wrote that title out as an acronym and oh my I have so many regrets) so this is for you hon! Congratulations on getting through all your exams! You deserve a well earned rest m’love ❤️

As the Doctor bounded towards the TARDIS door, you watched the projection on the wall, trying to make sense of the different circles and lines that made up the coordinates of where ever she had landed you.

“And you’re sure this is Erinda?” You asked, turning around to face her.

You had left your jacket draped on the banister and had decided to just throw a jumper on over your t-shirt in case you got cold. You didn’t want to be stuck wearing layers of winter clothes in a hot environment, there was no way you were doing that again.

The Doctor peeked her head out of the door, leaned back, closed it, then turned to you with a grin. “I can safely say that we’re successfully on Erinda – oh! Wait.”

She stuck out her head out of the TARDIS door again, sticking her tongue out. “Yep,” she called out. “This is most definitely Erinda!”

You smiled and rolled your eyes at her antics, picking up your jacket as you walked towards her. She grinned back and popped out, so you jogged to catch up. You were bouncing slightly as you went, trying to contain your excitement.

You were going to see pink snow, pink!

The thought was completely astounding and you couldn’t help the giddy childlike glee build up as you crossed the threshold of the TARDIS-

-Only to be met with an average park.

It really was just a normal, boring park, exactly like the ones you would see back home. It had all the stereotypical identifying factors. There was green grass and a collection of flowers in garden beds, which were in neat little rows by gravel set pathways. There were people walking dogs, eating food on park benches, and lazing in the sun; either studying or sleeping. There was even a large fountain that sat in the centre, with children throwing pennies into it and making wishes.

What wasn’t there, however, was pink snow.

Your heart dropped and you absentmindedly felt that childlike anticipation shatter. You turned to face the Doctor, at a loss. “There’s no pink snow.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor drew out the word, scratching the back of her ear. The chain from her earring cuff dangled slightly as she did so, and it caught against the sunlight. “I could have sworn the snowstorm was supposed to happen about now… Dunno what I did wrong.”

“About now?”

“Planned it for the moment you’d step out of the TARDIS,” she said, and she sounded completely disheartened. “Wanted it to be a bit special.”

Your heart softened at that statement. “Oh Doc, that’s really sweet,” you stared back out to the park in front of you. “Even if it didn’t exactly work out.”

Above you the sky was dark, with heavy, angry clouds slowly rolling across. The Doctor followed your gaze and looked up at them, sticking her tongue out slightly in deep thought – or, well, you assumed she was in deep thought. She also pulled that face when she was considering what sort of biscuit she wanted to eat, so the face could mean practically anything.

“Might’ve gotten the time wrong,” she said absently. “Could be another couple of minutes,” she turned to look at you. “Shall we go for a walk? There’s other really interesting stuff I can show you!.”

You blinked and unhelpfully repeated her, like a confused parrot. “Interesting stuff?”

The Doctor gave you a cheeky smirk. “Super interesting stuff,” she stuck out her hand. “C’mon.”

You clasped your hand in hers and the two of you walked side by side. Your boots crunched against the gravel path, and a slight chill nipped against your ears, your nose, and one of your hands. The other was tucked comfortably in the Doctor’s warm palm, acting like a mini heater against the cold around you.

It seemed though that no matter where you went, there were droves of people, each filling their own little spaces, but, in doing so, left you with no privacy. It made you feel a bit awkward, it wasn’t that you didn’t like it per-say, it was just, well, you had been expecting pink snow, not a park that could be mistaken for one on Earth.

The Doctor seemed just as dispirited as you, and stopped suddenly, surveying the area. She let go of your hand to clasp both of hers together, patting her thumbs against each other.

Your hand felt colder, but you chose not to think about it.

The Doctor rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of her feet, as if building up the energy to shoot herself into the sky. She eyed the tourists for a moment, then stuck out her hand again, taking yours wordlessly. She motioned towards an area that seemed to lead to a vast, empty green field. “Let’s go this way.”

You followed along after her, grateful that you still got to hold her.

Fewer and fewer people dotted the park as you continued on your path, and tall gangly trees sprouted in their place. They towered above you, shielding you from the sky and basking you in their orange leaves.

“Are they like this all year round?” You asked the Doctor, nodding towards the trees. “Or is it just because of the cold, like back on Earth.”

The Doctor hummed, following your gaze. “Oh these? Well they’re Argail trees, so it’s quite odd that they’re orange, actually. They should have bright yellow leaves.”

“Yellow leaves?” You gawked, your mind rewriting the colour of their leaves to a bright neon yellow, like the colour of a high-vis jacket.  “All year round?”

The Doctor hummed. “Well, it’s not that different than orange, is it?”

You contemplated it for a moment. “No, I supposed not,” you thought of bright yellow leaves again, and wondered if they would reflect the streetlights at night. “Still though,” you continued. “I suppose orange is just more familiar, and now the only thing I’m thinking of is super bright yellow leaves.”

The Doctor chuckled. “Well if you think that’s odd,” she nodded to a tree to your side. “Go ahead and touch it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Well that’s not vague at all.”

“C’mon,” she insisted. “They’re really cool.” She scrunched up her face for a moment. “Huh, cool. Haven’t said that a while.”

You eyed the tree thoughtfully then dragged the Doctor along with you, not yet willing to let go of her hand. At the base of the tree you stretched out your other hand to touch the bark. Under your fingers, a collection of blue flowers suddenly unfolded themselves, pushing the bark back and poking out their little, soft petals. You gasped in delight as more unfurled themselves, showing a pattern that twisted up the trunk.

They pulsed softly, alternating between a rich Navy and soft periwinkle, like there was a little light inside each one of them. It was rhythmic and slow, reminding you of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Your heartbeat,” the Doctor said softly, and your spine tingled. She was closer to you than you had realised. “They respond to a heartbeat.”

You blinked, looking at her for a moment before your attention was drawn back to the flowers. Your heartbeat, you were watching your very own heartbeat in the flowers.

Okay, so really cool was an understatement.

“Wow,” you breathed, not really having the words to express the awe you felt, looking at these flowers reflecting your actual, honest to god heartbeat.

An MRI machine would never compare now, not after this.

“There’s more,” she said. “Do you wanna see?”

You nodded, still not tearing your eyes away from the flowers.

Before you knew it the Doctor was marching along the path, dragging you along with her, the gravel crunching under your shoes. Behind you, you watched as the flowers folded back into the tree, as though they had never appeared at all.

You crashed into the Doctor and let out a small cry. She had stopped right in front of you, and, as you turned around around to see where she had stopped, you instead found her toppling over.

You didn’t even think. You pulled her up from the hand that was still held in yours, and wrapped your other arm around her waist, doing your best to steady her. Gravity, apparently, had other plans, and, twisting dramatically, you both collapsed into the grass.

You let out a startled laugh, rolling over slightly so the grass was underneath you, cold and soft. The Doctor, who was curled in your side, let out a soft groan, and let her head fall into the grass, knocking against your waist lightly.

You looked down at her. “Well, that was something.”

She returned your gaze, grinning. “Yeah, I didn’t mean to fall for you,” her face dropped, and your heart leapt into your throat.

Surely she understood what she had said.

“I- I mean off the path,” The Doctor stammered.

“Yeah,” You laughed awkwardly. “Of course.”

You looked at the Doctor and she looked at you, and in this light, it took you a moment to work out what colour her eyes were.  You often never seemed to know, it was as if the Doctor’s eyes changed colour.  Sometimes they were green, other times they looked more brown, almost as if they were mimicking hazel, but couldn’t quite get it right. Today however, they were almost golden, and they glittered in the sunlight.

The Doctor opened her mouth, as if she were about to say something, but a lone snowflake fell slowly and landed delicately on the tip of her nose. She scrunched up her face, crossing her eyes and trying to look at her own nose.

You cocked your head to the side, studying it, and also trying not to giggle at the Doctor’s expression. She looked like she was pulling a face for a child.

Wait – snow.

You turned your head skywards, and scurried up so you were standing. All around you, tiny pink snowflakes were softly falling from the heavens. They twirled around each other, as if they were dancing. They collected over the ground, over the trees, and into your hair, like a fine dusting of pink powder.

You stuck your hand out, and a collection of pink snowflakes landed in the palm of your hand. You poked at it, it didn’t feel cold, and it was almost as if instead of moulding it, the snow was just moving along with you.

The Doctor completely forgotten, you laughed in delight, wandering through the field as the snow continued to fall. It came down heavier than when it started, but still, it wasn’t cold. It was unlike anything you had ever seen before, unlike anything you could even begin to describe.

It crunched under your boots, and, was you inspected the way it fell on some of the plants, you noticed it had almost knitted itself into their fibres, reminding you of unwoven pink silk.

“This is amazing,” you breathed, and you weren’t sure if the Doctor had heard you, but you loved it all the same.  

You turned back to the Doctor to find her looking at you with a grin, her eyes sparkling in delight – no, wait, not her delight, yours. She was happy because you were.

“Thank you for this,” you said, speaking louder so she could hear you. “This,” you gestured around you. “Is incredible.”

Then her grin turned into a cheeky smirk, and, before you knew it, she had thrown a snowball at you. It hit you square in the face, the snow scattering over your skin and leaving a wet, blotchy mark that went cold in the breeze. You tumbled backwards, flailing your arms to keep you upright. With an oof you landed into the snow, butt first.

The Doctor laughed in delight, and you cocked your head to the side. Oh.

It was on.

You dragged your hand through the growing layer of snow, forming a snowball in your hands. The Doctor let out a squeak and started to run, but there was no where for her to hide, you were both in an empty field .

You stood and began chasing her, throwing the snowball at her as you neared her. You watched it fly in the air, completely off target, before it swerved and hit her on the elbow.

Ah. Okay. So the snow could move.

Right.  

The Doctor tripped slightly, and turned to face you, her arms filled with at least 3 more snowballs – and when had she had the time to make them anyway?

You didn’t have the chance to contemplate the where’s, when’s, or how’s, because suddenly a volley of them were after you. Your dropped downwards towards the ground, narrowly missing the snowballs but getting a face full of the snow instead. It tasted interesting, sweet, like artificial strawberries.

You clawed at the snow and watched as it formed into a snowball on its own accord, then broke apart to create a duplicate.

Well, that answered that, then.

The two of you chased each other in the empty field, the kinetic snow forming and shifting itself to create the most dynamic snowballs you had ever encountered. The snowballs burst whenever they made a hit, and you weren’t sure if it was because of just the way the snow was, or if it was because it was freshly fallen.

The imitation artificial strawberry smell permeated the air, and you knew there was probably a stupid grin plastered on your face. You couldn’t remember the last time you had had this much joyful, reckless fun.

You had lost the Doctor, and had taken the opportunity to stack a supply of snowballs. The lower ones were more compact, harder and icier, but still, they weren’t cold. You had managed to stack a sort of makeshift tower, a supply that would surely cause you to topple the Doctor.

Around you the breeze sung and birds chirped. There was barely any noise, not from other people, or from certain Time Lords. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you would even argue that it was silent.

Then, you heard a twig snap.

You turned, your pile forgotten as the Doctor lunged at you, pelting you with snow and landing straight on top of you. You both fell into your snowball pile, and you felt the snow sludge into your clothes, down your boots, and into your hair. The snow had even found itself through a hole in your jumper, which you hadn’t even realised was there until that every moment.

You laughed, loud and bright, the Doctor’s weight warm on top of you. “How did you even manage that?” You cried out, still laughing.

The Doctor pulled herself off of you, holding out her hand and pulling you up so you were both sitting in the remains of your fallen tower. “I’m the reigning champion of the Intergalactic Snowball Championships,” she said as she laughed. “Have been for 100 years. My secrets have secrets.”

You weren’t even surprised by that. Nothing about the Doctor fazed you anymore.

The laughter died down, until your stomach was sore and you were hiccupping slightly. The air was now still. As your adrenaline passed you by, it felt colder by the second, and yet, neither of you moved.

The two of you sat there, wordless, breathing heavy, and plumes from your breath danced in the air between you.

Little pink clouds of snow settled into the Doctor's hair, dusted the bridge of her nose and lay to rest across her coat. She was flushed, you noticed, whether from the game, or the cold, you weren't sure, but the rose of her cheeks rather complimented the snow.

From where your jumper had ripped, you thought your arm would be cold, but it wasn't, it was warm, warmer than the rest of you, at least. Your eyes trailed the length of the Doctors figure, and you found that she had rested her hand against your arm, right over the tear in your jumper.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Oh.

You looked back to her face and the Doctor licked her lips. They were chapped slightly –  from the wind, you thought, but otherwise they looked completely soft. You couldn't look away. If you had, you would have noticed that her own eyes were flitting from your eyes to your lips, as if the Doctor was entranced.

Suddenly, the Doctor’s forehead was on yours, her breath matching yours, shaking slightly. Her hand went from your arm, exposing it to the cold, and trailed upwards, resting against your jaw. “Is this okay?” She asked, and there was a rasp in her voice you hadn’t ever heard before. It made you feel warm.

“Yeah.”

Later, the Doctor would say you were the one to lean in first, that it gave her the courage to do the same, but, in this moment, you really couldn't tell.

Because her lips brushed against yours.

The first thing you thought was that her lips were warm, they were soft.

Then you weren't thinking at all.

The kiss was hesitant at first, as if the Doctor were testing it out, then, it grew. Even still, it stole the breath from your body, all you knew was her.

She drew back, whispering your name, as if it were a song. You chased after her, your heart fluttering, or at least, it felt like it did. Your name had never felt so wonderful before, as if it were like its own chorus.

Then she met your lips again, and, for a second time, your brain short circuited.

Your hand trailed upwards, brushing against her earring chain, your fingers tangling in her hair. You gripped tight, pulling yourself into her. You wanted to touch her, to feel her soft skin against yours, to memorise the way it felt under your hands.

You felt like you were walking on air, like you were one of these pink snowflakes, dancing and swaying amongst the breeze.

All too soon, you had to pull away, because breathing was, unfortunately, a thing you had to do. You gasped as you parted, dropping your head onto her shoulder.

“I really like Erinda,” you said, your voice breathy.

The Doctor let out a winded laugh. You watched the rise and fall of her chest as she did so. “Oh good,” she said. “Yeah, I think the snow is the highlight here.”

You nodded into her neck, humming in agreement. “Yeah, I don’t think anything else noteworthy has happened.”

You looked up at her and saw her giving you a delighted, almost dazed expression, as if she couldn’t quite believe that had happened.

“An amazing place for a first date,” you amended. “No seriously Doctor, I love this.”

The Doctor’s eyes sparkled and the smile she gave you was so warm, so soft, it was as if you held out the stars for her. “Good. You deserve to be happy.”

A/N^2: Yes! I know! I wrote a kissing scene! Please don’t let the heavens strike me down if it was awful, an attempt was made.

[littlemisslol-fic]

44 (Puppy love) and 20 (Breaking the rules) for Varian and Hugo? I just want dumb boys doing dumb things together,,,, UggHhHH

Hey anon!! Thanks for the ask! I merged both of these into one story, but it’s basically a full fledged oneshot by now so oops. Have some modern-day-au-varigo!!

44 (Puppy love) and 20 (Breaking the rules)

“We’re going to get into so much trouble…” 

Hugo looks at him like he’s lost his mind.

“What’s wrong, goggles?” The blond laughs, “Scared?”

Varian bristles at the taunt, scowling. He shifts awkwardly- his shoes scuff the dirt in a way that only accents how stressed out he feels. The forest around them sings with birdsong, the rustle of trees in the wind, and the gentle snip-snip of Hugo’s wire cutters. The moon shines down on them, full and bright, a hole punched in the middle of the sky surrounded with starry shrapnel. 

Varian’s hoodie- Hugo’s hoodie that he’d stolen, actually, not that he’d admit it- is soft and warm around him, the green fabric surrounding him like a hug. Hugo grins like an animal, and turns back to the fence in front of them. Varian watches with apprehension as Hugo snips away at it, chopping an ugly, but functional entrance.

“I’m not scared.” Varian finally mutters, shifting his weight again. The late August air is still warm, but starting to cool the closer they get to midnight. “I’m just… concerned.” 

“Sure, Var,” Hugo laughs, sticking out his tongue as he snips at the last of the fence. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

Varian scowls again, flushing. The woods around them are dark, but Varian isn’t concerned about that- he grew up here in the small town of Old Corona, after all, he knew these woods like the back of his hand- no, what scares him is the idea of getting caught. 

“Seriously, Hugo, if we get caught my dad’s gunna-”

“Flip out?” Hugo blows a lock of blond hair out of his face as he snips at the last of the wire. “Yeah, I know. That’s why we’re not going to get caught.”

Varian grits his teeth. Hugo, content with snipping the final chunk of fence, stands back up and shoves the wire cutters in his backpack. With a rough kick- Varian cringes at the noise, blue eyes scanning the treeline frantically- Hugo’s perfectly cut square goes flying away from the fence, leaving a doorway chopped out of the wire.

“See, easy.” Hugo grins. Varian scoffs, but when the blond offers him a hand he takes it. Hugo leads him through the hole in the fence and Varian follows with a grumble; as much as he’s bitching he’s curious about what exactly his boyfriend is up to. Hugo was nothing if not spontaneous, showing up at Varian’s house at nearly eleven at night and dragging him through the woods towards one of the only dangerous places in Old Corona.

The old fairgrounds, while only recently abandoned, had been locked tight for two years. Varian can’t help but look around in awe, seeing the way that the rusting metal and cracked concrete are slowly being overtaken by nature once again. It’s dark, the kind of inky black you can’t see inside the city, the kind that makes the milky way above so vibrant and bright in comparison- like a river of stars snaking across the night sky.

Varian can’t help but stop, just looking up and into the sky. Hugo pauses, grinning and letting him stare. Varian doesn’t get out much- not with his usual obligations as the mayor’s son- and these are the kinds of things he missed while growing up… the kind of things that Hugo is nothing but glad to show him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Varian hears Hugo ask him. He nods, dumbstruck, but when he looks at his boyfriend- Hugo isn’t looking at the sky. He’s staring Varian dead in the eye. He feels his face grow hot- he must be a shocking colour of red by now- but Hugo doesn’t make mention of it. Instead he holds out an arm, an offering that Varian gladly takes. He worms his way into Hugo’s side, delighting as a strong arm wraps around his shoulders and pulls him close. 

The old fairgrounds are the kind of quiet that sinks deep in your chest. Not that they’re silent- Varian can hear the chirping of crickets and the creaky whine of metal swings as they pass a swing ride- a large tower with a round disk at the top, nearly a hundred swings hanging from rusty chains. When the wind blows they swing along in soft, meandering arcs. Out here, nearly in the country, the quiet is something that seems sacred. The kind of silence reserved for graveyards and churches, shrines and memorials. It feels immoral to break it, so they don’t.

Hugo leads Varian up to a large roller coaster, the wooden frame still nearly perfect. Varian looks at it with apprehension, digging the heels of his hightops into the cracked concrete as Hugo begins to tug him forward.

“We’re not going up there.” Varian declares, “I don’t have a deathwish, and neither did you last time I checked.” 

“Relax goggles.” Hugo grins, “I was up there earlier this afternoon, checked it myself. It’s sturdy. We gotta hurry though, or we’re going to miss it!”

Hugo spins on his heel and hops the metal turnstile, not looking back. Varian scowls, following despite himself. Hugo knows him too well- knows that Varian would follow him to the ends of the earth if Hugo asked it of him. They draw close to the base of the coaster, shuffling up on top of a series of boxes left behind by previous explorers- or maybe Hugo himself that afternoon, apparently. Varian can’t help but scowl… what did his boyfriend even get up to while Varian wasn’t keeping track of him? Risking life and limb to climb unstable ruins, apparently. 

Hugo begins to scale the main hill of the coaster, the path easy as on the left side is a set of metal stairs for maintenance. Varian follows, his hand firmly planted on the railing as they climb higher. 

“Are you just leading me up there to murder me?” Varian calls, shuddering as the wind picks up a little as they reach about halfway up. The hill’s nearly five stories high, easily the tallest attraction in the abandoned park. Varian can almost see the tops of the trees from here. 

“Why would I take you all the way up here?” Hugo asks, turning around and smirking at him. “If I wanted you dead I would have killed you on ground level.” 

“I… that’s not assuring!” Varian gripes, “If anything that makes this worse!” 

Hugo, the bastard, laughs.

“You don’t like bullshit.” Hugo says, and Varian can’t help but melt. Hugo turns around and keeps climbing, his boots making little thunk-thunks on the aging metal. Varian scrambles up after him, breathing in the wind as they finally reach the top. Hugo had been telling the truth, it seems, as there’s already a small setup at the very peak of the arch.

Two small camp chairs, a blue cooler in between, all precariously balanced on a small flat space at the very top. Varian assumes it was once for maintenance, like the stairs; a cluster of blankets hanging from two long flagpoles attached to the safety rails make a little roof, and when Hugo hits a little battery back a series of string lights flick on in a rainbow glow. Hugo crawls down into the little fort, looking back and smiling. Not his usual smirk, but an honest-to-god smile.

Varian can’t help but fall a little more in love. 

He crawls in after Hugo, laughing as they get tangled up for a second. For a second they become a flailing cluster of arms and legs, giggling like children as they trip over each other. Varian gets an elbow to the gut and grunts- Hugo’s arms are suddenly wrapping around his waist. 

“Sorry, sorry,” The blond snickers, “Didn’t account for your stupid legs-”

“What, you just want me to leave them behind next time?” Varian groans, resting up against Hugo’s side with a sigh. Hugo’s warm and solid as Varian leans into him- settles under Hugo’s arm like he belongs there, sinks into the heat of the other’s body, curls into the embrace like he was made for it.

Hugo’s chin settles on his head, and Varian smiles softly to himself. 

With Hugo’s back propped up against the pole, they both face out over the forest. In the distance, Old Corona glows with street lamps and houses and cars. Above them, the stars shine just as brightly, if not moreso. Varian smells pine and something distinctly Hugo- breathes it in and lets it settle deep in his chest like a balm. 

Hugo’s arms tighten around his waist, the two of them looking out towards the distant light of home. Varian feels at peace, the gentle waves of tranquil silence and soft lights from their little makeshift tent soothing the ails of day.

And then, just as Varian’s getting used to the relaxation-

Pop-pop, pop pop pop-pop-pop-

Fireworks scatter across the sky in a rainbow of light and colour, vivid oranges and blues and purples glowing across the inky sky like a scattering of magic. Varian’s eyes go wide, watching with a childlike glee as they fizzle and spark. Hugo’s hold on him gets a little closer as Varian shifts, as if the blond’s scared he’s going to pull away-

“Did you know about this?” Varian asks him, turning in his arms. He can see the reflection of colour in the lenses of Hugo’s glasses- and in the warm look in those green eyes.

“Sure I did.” Hugo says, “I know a guy who knew a guy.” 

Varian snorts, refusing to look away. Hugo’s trying to play this off- of course he is- but Varian knows that he’d probably been planning this for a while. He feels his heart start to thump at the thought, that Hugo had set all this up, had thought of doing all of this for Varian-

He grabs Hugo by the strings of his hoodie and pulls him into a kiss. Hugo smiles into it, leaning into it and pulling Varian close. They kiss for what feels like hours and seconds, Varian can’t tell, before they break. They both breathe a little heavily, gasping for air a mere few inches from another kiss.

“I love you, goggles.” Hugo whispers, like a prayer.

“I love you too,” Varian murmurs, lost to the moment. 

When they meet again, Varian can’t help but smile.  

[jae-daddy]

Chubby (15)

Jaebum AU Series 

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen / sixteen

pairing: im jaebum x reader  genre: angst, romance, drama, mature  plot: you are getting bullied and jaebum decides to fake date you  a/n: this chapter is sponsered by sour skittles lmao <3 not edited, i hope y’all like it :) 

“Yah, are you stupid?” She glared at you. You groaned as you tried getting up from the nurse’s bed. She gently pushed you back down, and let out a loud and heavy sigh. 

“Y/n, I’m not saying this to be funny, or to sound strong, or whatever,” she looked into your eyes. You noticed the new wound on her bottom lip, and the bruise of her left cheek. You felt tears prickle your eyes as the image of those girls crowding around her flashed through your mind. 

“You are my friend, y/n,” Nora says, as she takes your cold hands into her warm ones. “I know you want to protect me. I want to protect you too. But jumping into those kind of situations, against seven other girls, is just stupidity.” 

You looked away from her soft gaze. 

You felt embarrased. Embarrased that you shared this horrible memory, that this was your reality, that you couldn’t even protect her properly and probably made it worse for her. 

“Next time, help me by getting help,” she told you softly, as she touched your chin making you face her. “Get help. Call someone. Don’t jump in.”

She held your collarbone where a purple bruise darkened. 

“You jumping in doesn’t help. All it does is make it the both of us instead one. Okay?”

You nodded, as your chin began trembling, as tears began streaming down your face. “Okay.”

                ______________________________________________

The fluffy white clouds in the blue skies would’ve tricked anyone into believing it was a beautiful cool spring day, but the bitter chill that seeped through the old windows of the building reminded you otherwise. 

Winter had slowly creeped up, and it was getting colder with every passing day. You were surprised it hadn’t snowed so far into the season. However, the weather always so nice. The past few months had been ridden with storms and endless downpours of rain making the early winter colder. 

You stuffed your hands into your pocket of your winter jacket, as you let out a sigh. You wished for something hot and warm right now, but you didn’t want to go out of the old music room. 

You knew leaving this sanctuary would leave you exposed to the judging eyes of everyone, and you didn’t want to risk the chance of running into Jenny. 

The bullying had easied miraciously. Maybe pretending to go out with Jaebum did really help, but it didn’t deter everyone. Some still continued to treat you like trash as you passed the hallways alone. But never when you were with Jaebum, and that seemed to be often. 

Jaebum never left your side in school. At first, it made you nervous. You didn’t like the attention, you didn’t like the stares. And most of all, you hated being a burden on Jaebum. You hated that he carried you around everywhere to protect you from their harsh words. 

But as time has passed, you didn’t mind Jaebum next to you. 

You didn’t feel like a burden as much anymore. 

Not when Jaebum would sometimes forget the watching eyes and let out a laugh as you both joked. Not when Jaebum would hold your hands through the halls, or open doors for you. Not when Jaebum would smile at you and look at you as if you were the only good thing in the world. 

Im Jaebum was nothing like you thought he would be. He was all the good parts you expected him to be. You knew he was kind, nice and caring. But you had also thought he was a sex obessed succubus. 

Atleast that’s what the rumours painted him to be. They painted him like a sex god. As the boy who would only pay attention to anyone as long as he could gain something from them. 

But that wasn’t true. 

Jaebum was a dork. Jaebum was a good friend. Jaebum didn’t need anything in return for all that he was doing for you. Jaebum was a good person with a heart of gold. 

It bothered you that Jaebum wasn’t being sexual with you, because that’s what his nature was made out to be. But Jaebum never touched you more than he needed to. And even when he did, he did it cautiously. His eyes always looking into yours, searching for permission. His hands were always warm, large and gentle. 

Even in moments when you were so near that you could feel his minty breath dance on your lips. Even in moments when you wanted nothing more than Jaebum, his body, his lips, his hands all over you. Even in moments, where all Jaebum needed to do was breath the word and you’d snap and fall into him. Jaebum always managed to pull back, always stopped it before it went to far. 

You sighed as you slid down the wall, and sunk onto the floor. Your knees pressed against your chest, your head leaning against it. The music gently carried from your earphones, and you let it loosen you up a bit. 

You hummed lightly, closing your eyes, as your wrapped your arms around your knees. 

“I can’t wait to hear you sing,” his voice spoke over the music, resting in my chest feeling golden. He sat down two cups of hot chocolate and a bag of snacks. 

He sat down next to you, his shoulders pressed against yours. You tummy flipped, and your cheeks tinted pink. Jaebum didn’t notice and continued, “I always hear you hum, but never sing. I’m sure you’ll sound good.” 

Your cheeks got warmer at his compliment. You avoided his gaze, not sure how to reply.

“Maybe someday,” you replied, trying to sound cool about it, despite your racing heart. He thought you sounded good. 

Instead you searched through the back, and picked out the packet of sour skittles. You squealed happily as you turned towards Jaebum. 

“How did you know?!” You had been craving it for a whole week now, but never got around to buying it. You gave him a wide grin as you carefully opened the packet and held it out to Jaebum. “Hand.”

You took them out on Jaebum’s hand picking out the green ones, and putting them into your mouth. 

Jaebum hated any artifical food that was coloured green. 

“Thanks,” Jaebum mumbled before stuffing the lot in his palm into his mouth. His face contured as the sourness for the candy sharply assaulted his tastebuds. You laughed, as he shivered before chewing furiously. 

“Have the hot chocolate before it gets cold,” Jaebum gestured to the two cups between you two. You picked yours cup, sipping it slowly, letting the warm chocolate sink into your body. 

You smiled, as you thought of how much the drink reminded you of Jaebum. It was warm and sweet just like him. The darkness of eyes stealing the colour of the hot drink. His eyes were like hot chocolate; warm and soothing. He was hot chocolate. 

You looked over to Jaebum who was looking at you intently. Your cheeks tainted pink as you bit your lip. 

“What?” You whispered after a moment when he continued to look at you. 

Jaebum couldn’t help but think back to the first time you both were in this room together. He couldn’t help but compare you to the timid, shy girl who didn’t want to eat because she thought she deserved to. He couldn’t help but feel joy and find humour at how you stared at him, asking him questions, instead of stealing your gaze away from him.

He smiled to himself as he looked at you, making you frown in return. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, as making his smile get wider. 

“Jaebum, stop,” you pouted. “What is it? Why are you smiling at me like that?” 

You stared as the light from the heaven shown into the little room on the fourth floor of the old building. 

Jaebum threw his head back, his locks falling back. His throat long, his skin soft begging you to place a kiss on it. His voice bounced of the walls, his shoulders shaking as he barked out a laugh. 

You couldn’t even be upset anymore. 

You couldn’t even remember anything, as Jaebum laughed. 

The light radiating of him, his skin glittering emitting the sunlight. His dark locks glistening, the darkness breathing in the light, as swayed gently with his movement. His red lips open and turned upwards, his eyes squeezed shit, making his long lashes graze his high cheekbones. 

He was beautiful. 

He was breathtaking. 

You stared at him in awe, as he slowly settled down. He peeked at you from the corner of his eyes, as he coughed out the remaining laughter. 

He didn’t say anything. He reached over and patted your head before rubbing your hair. 

Your lips parted, as you stared at him in shock. You were sure your cheeks were as red as tomatoes, as you peered at him through your lashes. 

Jaebum smiled, and sat back down.

You stared at him. He was playing with you. 

You reached over and rubbed his black hair; you couldn’t help but notice the silkiness of it. It’s touch just as it looked like it would be. 

Jaebum gaped at you, taken aback. His long hair lay over his eyes, covering it slightly. But you could see enough to see the surprise in them, slowly turning into mischieve. 

“Jae, no-” Your yelp was cut off as Jaebum leaned in towards you. He was so close you could feel his warm breath fall over your lips. His eyes darkened, as they rested on your parted lips before meeting your wide eyes. 

Your heart shivered, as excitment and the urge to kiss him ran over you like an electric wave. 

His hands placed beside you on either side, caging you in. It made him surround you. It made him take over your mind completely, so all you could think about was him. 

“Jae,” you whispered, your chest heaving. You leaned back slightly, but Jaebum followed you. He came in closer like you were a magnet pulling him towards you. 

He was closer now; much, much closer now.��So close that the slightest movement would make your lips brush against his soft ones. 

He lifted one of his and placed them on your waist. The slightest thought of Jaebum feeling the curves of your plump waist crossed your mind, but instantly they vanished, as Jaebum parted his lips. 

You wanted to lean in closer. You wanted nothing more than to press your lips against him, and pull his body onto you. You wanted nothing more than to kiss Im Jaebum. 

But, you didn’t. You couldn’t. You couldn’t move even if your wanted to. Your whole body stilled with anticipation as your blood ran hotter with every passing second. 

Kiss me. You thought, as if Jaebum could magically read your mind. 

But maybe he could. 

Jaebum’s eyes darted from your lips to your eyes; searching, reading. He smiled lightly, before looking back at your lips. His hands on your waist tightened, as he swallowed nervously. 

You closed your eyes, your hands moving from your skirt onto Jaebum’s jacket. Your fists clutching it, tightly. 

You felt Jaebum move for a second, the warmth of his breath moving for a spilt second. But then he was back. His one hand still on your waist, the other now on your cheeks. 

Your chest rose and fell. Your sweaty palms holding onto Jaebum’s jacket. Your eyes closed tightly. Your lips waiting for Jaebum’s.

After what felt like eternity, you felt the slightest brush of lips pressing against yours, when a loud shrill ran through the room. 

He jerked away from you. 

Your eyes snapping open, your arms outstretched from holding Jaebum’s jacket. 

Jaebum stared at you, and you felt yourself burn up. You were sure your whole face was on fire, as you looked away from Jaebum. 

Oh my god. 

Before Jaebum could say anything, you quickly grabbed your hot chocolate and ran out the classroom mortified. 

Jaebum walked into the room fifteen minutes after you. The lesson had started, but the teacher didn’t address Jaebum as he strudded into class and settled in his seat beside you. 

You felt his gaze remain on you the whole time, and lowered your head. You let your hair fall and become a curtain between Jaebum and your burning beetroot face. 

After a minute, you saw a green box slide onto your desk. It was the sour skittles packet. Upon closer look you saw a white note peeking out. You pulled it out, and could tell Jaebum was watching. 

Sorry you couldn’t resist my charm. 

You looked over at Jaebum, letting out a little snort. 

Someone snickered from in front of you, under their breath, “pig.”

Jaebum’s eyes darkened, his fist clenched, but he kept his gaze on you, watching you. 

You reached out and touched his hand, before giving him a small smile. 

This time Jaebum snorted, loudly, obnixiously. Even the teacher froze, but he didn’t turn around. He remained facing the board, his pen stopped midstroke. The whole class froze over, and no one let out a peep. 

Until from infront of the room, a girlish snort came. 

You looked over, and you couldn’t believe. 

She remained facing the front of the room, as the whole room erupted into a quiet roar of commotion. 

Jenny. It was Jenny. 

[mischiefandi]

A Shitty Love Song (Part 2) - Stiles Stilinski

Altered State Of Mind

A/N: hi guys!! im super happy im posting part 2 of this series :)) I really hope you like it and once again, huge thank u to @duskholland​ for all your help <33

Summary: Y/N is a 17 year old girl who struggles in an epic battle against herself. Whether it is amor’s icy grasp or life’s unexpected course that forces her to finally open up, only one thing is certain. The truth cannot be long hidden.

Warnings: panic attack, mentions of underage drinking, swearing

Word Count: 5,2K

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader (Y/N)

Series Masterlist

(picture is not mine -> credits to @ elevantarts on unsplash)

A blaring sound resonated in Y/N’s ears and she groaned, her fingers curling around the blanket she lay beneath. A throbbing sensation in her head forced her to pry her eyes open, sunlight seeping through the gaps in her eyelids.

Reaching up to rub her eyes, Y/N tried to sit up, the throbs against her forehead staggeringly more painful. When her eyes finally accustomed themselves to the light, Y/N glanced around, looking for the source of the insufferable noise. The blaring seemed to come from far away and nearby at the same time; Y/N was simply too tired to make any sense.

“Oh my god, my head,” she moaned, falling back against the soft pillow with a grunt.

“Would someone please shut that off,” a voice mumbled from underneath a heap of pillows and messed up sheets.

“Y/N, it’s your phone,” another voice groaned.

Passing a shaking hand over her face, Y/N forced herself to fully open her eyes and focused on the sound of the alarm, still shrieking in sync with her god awful headache. Reaching over her head, she grabbed her phone and put it on silent, thanking the universe for the sudden alleviating silence.

“Well last night was-“

“-crazy.”

Y/N shot a glance at Lydia’s bed where the strawberry blonde was propped up against her pillows, wiping off the smudged mascara beneath her big green eyes.

“I can’t even focus right now. What happened last night?” she asked, rubbing her forehead.

“You don’t remember?”

“I mean, bits and pieces, why?”

Allison and Lydia exchanged a look.

“Uh, Y/N you went wild yesterday.”

“I did?” asked Y/N, worry seeping through her oily pores.

“We had to get a cab home cause neither one of us was fit to drive, and…you definitely threw up in the cab.”

Y/N groaned, a hand flying up to her forehead. “That explains the taste in my mouth.” She thought to herself.

“Yea, you got pretty drunk. Thank god, Stiles and Scott were there or you’d have passed out right on the dancefloor.”

“Wait, they were there?”

Allison sent Y/N a confused look, biting her lip.

“Well yeah, they got there about thirty minutes after we did. Did you not hang out with them at all?” she asked.

A sudden flash of colour appeared in Y/N’s head, the feeling of skin against skin, lips hungrily claiming each other, the smell of sweat and leather. She gasped, a hand reaching up to cover her mouth. Jumping up to her feet in a burst, ignoring the violent throb in her head, she rushed over to the mirror and turned her neck towards the right, her eyes widening at her sorry reflection.

“Are those-“

“Hickeys?” exclaimed Allison, leaping off of her mattress and onto the floor.

“Oh my god…”

“No way! Who are those from?” inquired Lydia, shock painted across her face.

“I’m not sure…” answered Y/N, her voice but a quiet murmur, her eyes still fixated on the deep purple marks scattered across her neckline.

In the back of her head, amber eyes bored into hers, and she couldn’t help but notice the dark pit forming in her stomach.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Y/N stepped out of her bath, all of the dried up paint and sweat cleansed from her body. Stepping up to her bathroom mirror, she wiped the hot steam off the glass, the purple stains on her neck still very visible. She sighed, her fingers lightly tracing the mark by her collarbone, her mind elsewhere. She was at a loss.

Had it been him? Had it been Stiles? Maybe she had him confused with someone else, maybe she really had shared this moment with Jeremy. Maybe.

Y/N’s frown deepened. All that was left from that moment on the dancefloor was these purple love bites and blurriness. So much blurriness. Hundreds of questions and voices overlapped in Y/N’s head.

“What does this mean? Was it really him? What’s next?” She shook her head anxiously, quietly tapping against the steam covered sink.

Grabbing her phone with shaking fingers, Y/N typed in a message and sent it to the person she had had stuck in her brain all day long.

Y/N: did u ever show up at the rave?

Y/N: cause my drunk ass can’t remember a thing :/

Minutes seemed to last longer than hours as she waited by her phone. She sat impatiently on her bed, furiously tearing off the tips of her fingernails, occasionally drawing out a tiny spot of blood accompanied by a soft hiss. Finally, the buzzing sound of her phone snapped her back to reality and she unlocked it in a flash.

Stiles: yea I stopped by

Y/N stared down at her phone screen, puzzled.

Y/N: did you have fun?

A few minutes passed before his short answer came.

Stiles: yea it was alright

Stiles: I was just glad to get out of the rain

Y/N: the rain?

Stiles: yea it was raining when Scott and I got there

Y/N’s fingers trembled as she started typing in a new message, her hands abruptly pausing when her phone buzzed again.

(Y/N: did we hang out at all last night?)

Stiles: my dad’s asking me to help him out with dinner

Stiles: gotta go

Deleting her previous and thankfully unsent text, Y/N quickly typed in something else, her heart almost leaping out of her chest.

Y/N: oh okay, np

Y/N’s wet hair cascaded down her shoulder as she removed the towel from her head, letting her body gently plop down onto her bed.

Had she truly imagined it all? Something was off, but somehow, she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. The girl braided her damp hair and slipped under her toasty covers. Exhaustion soon took over her body and pushed her into a deep slumber, her dreamless sleep a tranquil break from her precipitating thoughts.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Amor loves to have one’s undivided attention. It slips through the thinnest of cracks and likes to hide behind your thoughts, carefully creeping around your mind, giggling at your confusion. Without even knowing it, you consume amor, you breathe it in, you bathe in it.

Amor is sneaky. Which is precisely how Y/N went about her day, ate, showered, studied, breathed without ever discerning her bewitchment.

Monday’s sunrays broke over the horizon, the song of gleeful robins piercing through the cool morning air. Lazily, Y/N slipped her clothes on and decided to walk to school, enjoying the crisp breeze. Autumn trees coasted along the route as she slowly carried herself to school, her tired eyes carefully observing the orange and brown leaves twirl down in timeless waltzes onto the cold concrete ground.

When she finally got to school, Y/N walked over to her locker, unlocking the padlock with her designated combination. As she placed the contents of her bag on top of the metal shelves and retrieved her chem notes, Y/N readjusted the wine-red turtleneck she had meticulously picked out from her wardrobe the day before.

“Uncomfortable but necessary.” She thought to herself as she turned around.

Her heart suddenly leapt into her chest, her eyes landing on Stiles’ dark blue flannel shirt. Taking a step forward, she was about to call out his name, when his eyes met hers. Time paused yet again, Stiles’ furtive gaze avoiding hers, his amber irises quickly looking down at his feet as he resumed his conversation with Scott.

A brief glimpse of the undeniable tension between the pair, a sight covered by amor’s thick layer of fog.

A wave of hurt washed over Y/N’s entire body, but she bit her lip and hurried off to class, choosing to ignore the feeling rather than dwell on it.

Class seemed to last even longer than usual, the constant tick-tick-tick of the clock rocking Y/N into a state of pure passiveness. The words spoken by her teacher floated around her head, seeping out through her ears almost as rapidly as they had penetrated her mind.

When the lunch bell rang, Y/N couldn’t help but exhale softly, releasing some of the tension stacked atop her weary shoulders since earlier that day. No matter how much she tried to focus on her notes, a chaotic whirlwind slowly formed inside of her, preventing her from following the teacher’s train of thought.

Her fingers furiously tapping against her thigh, Y/N stood up hurriedly and grabbed her bag, sliding its handles onto her shoulder. Pushing her way through the crowd of students, she walked out of the building and onto the school field, making her way towards the walnut tree.

“Hey, Y/N!” shouted Allison, waving her over with her gentle hands.

Y/N rushed over and plopped down by the brunette, breathing in the cool air.

“Where are the others?” she asked, noticing how empty the table was.

“Why are you so impatient? The bell only just rang,” Allison said, her light laughter filling the atmosphere surrounding them.

Y/N watched as the group slowly reunited, Scott and Kira walking over nonchalantly, arms linked together, followed by Isaac, unmistakingly blushing at the sight of Allison. Finally, Lydia joined the table and sat across from Y/N, her beautiful hair wrapped into a low bun.

“I am so hungry,” said Scott as he hurriedly took out his sandwich, eagerly taking a large bite out of it with a moan.

“I thought I was gonna pass out in calculus. I am so tired!” exclaimed Allison, burying her face in her delicate hands.

“Yeah, I still haven’t recovered from Friday,” agreed Lydia.

Y/N’s mind flashed right back to the sweaty dance floor, bursts of colour flooding her memory, and she bit down on her lip, shutting her eyes.

“Y/N, you okay?” asked Isaac. The group looked over at her, puzzled faces staring at her own.

“Yeah, everything’s fine!” she replied, her fingers dramatically twisting around the fabric of her coat.

“So, uh, where’s Stiles?” she asked, quickly but not subtly changing the subject.

Scott’s head slightly tilted to the right, a confused expression on his face.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Didn’t tell me what?”

Scott nonchalantly pointed at a table a few feet away from the walnut tree where the gang was seated, Y/N’s eyes following his lead. Her puzzled gaze landed on the dark blue flannel shirt from that morning, wrapped around a boy sitting across from a tall brown-haired girl, their heads buried in books, but their eyes fixated on each other.

“There’s this new girl, Malia Tate. He offered to help her with her math,” explained Scott, unaware of the pit deepening in Y/N’s gut.

As Y/N observed the pair sitting far away from the group’s table, the pumping muscle lodged between her lungs tightened with affliction, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

The voices surrounding her melted into each other, the sound of her friends’ chatter fading into the background as she kept on staring, the ache in her abdomen persisting.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Several interminable weeks had passed since this particular lunch break. November was slowly coming to an end, along with Y/N’s withering patience. The air had become cooler, and not just the one blowing through the leafless trees.

Stiles and Y/N’s friendship had started to abate, its previous progression suddenly coming to a strange halt, much to Y/N’s dismay. Her phone occasionally buzzed, the screen revealing only a brief answer on his part, or a funny picture or joke every once in a while. However, the long phone calls and texts until 2 am had seemingly come to an end.

Y/N couldn’t exactly pinpoint how it made her feel, but it didn’t feel good, that much was clear. Stiles hadn’t disappeared from the face of the earth, but his texts were spread much further apart, and when he was around, at lunch or in class, he wasn’t truly there, always focused on something else.

She couldn’t help but feel as though there was a void in her day, a gap only replenishable by the mole-speckled boy. She tried to distract herself from the looming feeling of loneliness by hanging out with Allison and Lydia, their light hearted conversations usually effective. Only, her attempts fell short as soon as she was alone again. It had come to a point where Y/N would count the hours between each message, trying to come up with reasons why he wouldn’t just text her back sooner. None of this helped of course.

Constantly thinking about the source of your pain can only do one thing: vivify it.

One rainy Tuesday, Y/N sat down at a table in the school cafeteria, dropping her lunch tray onto the cool surface with a soft thud. Squeezing in between Lydia and Allison, across from Scott and Isaac, she reached for her apple and bit into it with a satisfying crunch as the chatter surrounding her slowly increased.

The girls chatted as the boys focused on Scott’s phone, their eyes glued to the screen.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at them and leaned forward, snapping her fingers just a few inches away from their faces. Scott’s head snapped upwards and Isaac startled, the pair releasing a breath as she chuckled.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” she asked.

Isaac handed her the phone before grabbing his turkey sandwich.

“Our English teacher showed us this website with a bunch of riddles and we’re trying to figure some of them out,” Scott replied, pointing at the screen as Y/N slowly scrolled down.

“You guys are studying riddles?” Allison gasped. “Why do we always get stuck with the boring English teacher?”

“The more you take, the more you leave behind.” Y/N read one of the riddles aloud.

“Footsteps,” replied Lydia with ease, nibbling on her carrot sticks.

“Okay genius, what about this. What is easy to get into but harder to get out of?” Allison asked, peering over Y/N’s shoulder.

Lydia paused, reflecting quietly as the group observed her furrowed brow with amusement.

“Can I give it a go?” asked Isaac, hand raised.

“Go ahead.”

“Trouble?”

“That’s it!” replied Allison.

“Of course you’d get that one right,” Y/N joked, shaking her head.

“Oh okay, try this one. Who has married hundreds but still stays single?”

Suddenly, Stiles’ voice resonated in Y/N’s ears as he sat down next to Scott, his lips curled into a grin.

“A priest,” he said, accompanied by a soft click of his tongue.

“Correct,” replied Y/N, pointedly staring down at her apple.

“Speaking of weddings…when’s yours Stiles? We’re all invited right? And is it an open bar or have you not yet discussed your opti-“

“That’s funny, Isaac, that’s very funny,” answered Stiles. “Yeah, I’ll make sure your invitation gets lost in the mail.”

“Seriously though...Malia?” asked Scott, a sly smile drawn on his lips, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards.

Stiles blushed a little, avoiding everyone’s gazes as he watched his fingers repeatedly tap against the table, his lips pursing together.

“Malia, the girl from your math class?” inquired Lydia.

“Yep, and they’ve been talking…a lot…” Scott teased, his voice higher than usual. Stiles shot him a glare and shook his head in disbelief.

“You can’t keep a thing to yourself can you?” he laughed.

“Wait, so are you guys…?” Allison asked, her chin resting in the palm of her hand.

Y/N shot a glance at Stiles, her heart picking up its pace as she waited for a response.

Was something going on between them? Were they just friends? Was Malia the reason why Stiles and her weren’t talking as much?

“We’re talking. She’s fun. It’s fun. Talking, is- fun,” Stiles said, fumbling his words in embarrassment, his cheeks flooding with red.

“Wow, you’re smitten aren’t you?”

“Okay! Guys, let’s give him a break from the interrogation. He looks like he’s about to explode,” exclaimed Y/N, desperately trying to change the subject, for both their sakes.

Stiles sent her a grateful look and chuckled, the group moving onto another topic, enjoying their lunch together before classes started anew.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Later, after the busy day had winded down and the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, Y/N lay on her bed, the tiny fairy lights hanging on her wall catching her eye as she quietly hummed along to Peach Pit. As the leader singer gave way to the guitarist’s blissful riff, her phone buzzed, and her quiet bubble burst.

She sighed as she reached for it, her fingers connecting with the cool screen. Her tired eyes adjusting to the sudden blue light, she focused on the screen, her lips curling into a soft smile as she read the words she had just received.

Stiles: what comes in hard but comes out soft?

Stiles: tip: you can blow it

Y/N: you’re disgusting

Stiles: excuse me

Stiles: I don’t know what you’re talking about

Y/N: what is it?

Stiles: it’s gum

Y/N shook her head, rolling her eyes at the pervy connotation.

Y/N: ha ha ha

Stiles: it’s not my fault you have a dirty mind

Y/N: yea yea, I was completely innocent before meeting you guys

Stiles: please

Stiles: there’s nothing innocent about you

She stopped, rereading the words carefully, her memories from the Halloween rave flooding back. Those god awful colours just couldn’t stop dancing in the back of her mind.

Hesitantly, she typed in her answer.

Y/N: so what’s up?

She patiently waited, her hands still holding onto her phone, the soft music in the background rocking her peacefully.

Stiles: well

Stiles: I’ve been talking to Malia a lot

Y/N: how’s it going with her?

Stiles: actually we’re hanging out tomorrow

Stiles: in the woods

Y/N felt a pang of hurt in her abdomen but she swiftly ignored it.

Y/N: wow

Y/N: is this a date?

Time stopped for a few seconds before his painful answer showed up on the screen.

Stiles: I think so yea

Y/N: damn

Y/N: so you really like her huh?

Stiles: yea she’s great

Stiles: she’s kind of dominant too?

Stiles: very assertive

Stiles: it’s

Stiles: interesting

Y/N: you like that?

Stiles: it’s definitely not something I’m used to

Stiles: but yea it’s nice

Stiles: I haven’t really talked to anyone about this besides Scott so don’t tell anyone please

Y/N: ofc not

Stiles: thanks

Stiles: quick question

Stiles: might sound weird so don’t judge me

Y/N: go ahead lmao

Stiles: what do you do before you kiss a girl

Stiles: do you ask for permission or do you just do it?

Y/N’s heart momentarily stopped beating and she gulped, her eyes fixated on the surprisingly hurtful words. Her mind completely blank, she paused the music from her computer and passed a hand through her hair, trying to think of an answer. Finally, she drew a deep breath and replied, her hands steady as stone.

Y/N: there’s no answer to that haha

Y/N: you have to do what feels natural

Stiles: yea, you’re probably right

Stiles: just don’t want to mess it up

Y/N: you won’t

Stiles: thanks

Y/N: tell me how it goes!

Stiles: will do

Stiles: and thanks again

Y/N: npp

Y/N shut her phone off and plugged her charger in, placing it on her bedside table. Turning off all of the lights, and drawing her bedroom curtains to a close, she settled beneath her comforter, spreading her limbs with a wide stretch. As she shifted onto her side, placing her hands underneath her cool pillow, she let her eyes roam around her bedroom, thoughts churning in her head.

He had feelings for this girl. Stiles actually liked Malia. And not only was he going on a date with her, but he had talked to Y/N about it. Had she really just imagined it was Stiles on that dance floor? Had she really just mistaken the person kissing her, sliding his lips up and down her neck as she held onto him? And if so, if all of this was purely just her mind playing tricks on her, what did that mean? Did she want it to have been Stiles?

Amor was lingering around her head but she couldn’t see it. All of these questions bustling in her mind soon blended into silence as she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

The next day flew by in a blur of classes and scribbles on sheets of paper, a bland and monotone school day. Only one event stood out.

Stiles: well it’s official

Stiles: Stiles Stilinski is a bachelor no more

She congratulated him and heard all of the details surrounding Stiles’ date with Malia. The brunette had laughed at his jokes, she’d held his hand, they’d walked down the stream in the woods, talking endlessly, and then he had leaned in and kissed her.

And she had kissed him back.

What the group had originally thought to be a fling had turned into something more, it had become a real serious relationship.

More absent than ever, Stiles spent most of his time with his new girlfriend, enjoying the feeling of her lips against his own when they kissed each other and the complicity between them. Everyone could tell he was beyond excited about the thrilling sensations that came with young love, though no one other than Y/N knew just how much.

Every day, her phone buzzed, the notifications reminding her that her friend loved making Malia laugh, or that Malia liked the same band he did. Reminding her that he was happy.

And Y/N was unbelievably happy for him as well. She tried to focus on the positives, mainly the fact that the pair had started talking again. Things had gone back to normal, their inside jokes rekindled and their conversations more frequent. But still, something just didn’t sit right.

Y/N pushed this feeling away, diving into new hobbies and hanging out with her friends. As a child, she had always loved drawing and painting. As a matter of fact, she had even followed lessons in an atelier not far from her house, in her hometown. She’d always loved painting but as she had grown older, her extra time had become much slimmer and with life getting in the way, she had had to let it go.

Then one fateful December afternoon, Lydia forced the girls to paint with her in the art room at school. Much to Y/N’s surprise, the tranquility she had felt as a child while holding a brush came back unbelievably naturally.

It was like the brush had never left the palm of her hand. So she started painting again.

When she wasn’t studying or spending time with the pack, creating timeless memories with them, she was hidden away in her room by the window, her fingers curling around her paintbrush, her hair wrapped into a loose bun.

The simple act of turning thin stripes of colour into shapes and scenes was so beautifully appeasing to her. With every flick of her hand, with every twist and turn of blues and yellows onto the white canvas, she felt herself come alive again. Every worry, every disappointment, and every doubt poured out of her hands and blended into the mythical paradises she painted.

Sometimes we live without something, and we don’t realize just how much we miss it until we let it back in. She had missed this terribly.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

As the early mornings became darker and darker with every passing day, Y/N spent hours watching the sky and the leafless trees, observing time and its slow and tantalizing movement. She memorized the scenes before her as she got dressed for school, her eyes lingering on the dark blue sky outside and the yellow halos of light emitted from the streetlamps.

Sometimes simple things like the way your eye catches the light can be astoundingly beautiful. Y/N paid attention to details in order to paint them later. Every trace, every shadow, every speck of light was equally important.

One morning, finally ready for school, Y/N walked out of her home, adjusting the red beanie on her head, her bag swung over her shoulder. The frosty morning air greeted her and she thanked herself for having decided to wear her dark grey wool sweater. Turning on the ignition (and the heat) of her dad’s car, Y/N left the driveway, and made her way to the high school, the sun slowly but surely peaking above the horizon.

Y/N’s fingers furiously tapped against the steering wheel of the car, the school coming into eyeshot. Classes were becoming more and more exhausting with winter exams right around the corner. The air was tense inside the school, students talking about their exam schedules and fears about their upcoming performances.

Y/N was nervous too. She was a good student, but quite often, she would get lost in her thoughts, ignoring her teachers rant about equations and The Scarlet Letter. She studied and she handed in her essays on time, however doubt clouded her mind, and maybe her hard work wouldn’t be enough.

These thoughts played on a loop in her head as Y/N attended her first two classes, time ticking by slowly.

When Y/N entered her classroom for the third period, students shoved past her, quickly exiting the room and heading on to their next lesson. She slumped into her seat, her bag landing on the surface of her desk with a thud. As she waited for her history professor to get to class, her eyes scanned the room.

She watched her fellow classmates enter the room, chatting loudly, groups forming around students seated on their desks or lingering by the windows. She glanced to her right and noticed Stiles, always recognizable due to his colourful flannels, seated a few desks away from her, close to the blackboard.

“Stiles!” she called out his name, puzzled. He didn’t have history class with her. Her eyes lingered on his arched back and she repeated herself. “Stiles?”

His back still turned to her flinched at the sound of her voice and she frowned before standing up and walking over to him. As she inched closer, she glanced down at his fingers, curled around the edge of his desk, the tips white from the pressure of his grip. His knee burst up and down at a furious pace as she placed her hand on his shoulder, the color draining from her face when her gaze fell upon Stiles’ contorted expression.

“Stiles, what’s going on? Are you okay?” she asked with a whisper as she bent down next to him.

He emitted a small whine, his breathing suddenly more audible.

“Sti, talk to me,” she murmured, rubbing his back slowly.

His breathing became more unsteady with every movement of her hand and he gasped, making Y/N’s heart leap in her chest. The room had started to quiet down, and she turned, quickly realizing the scene was starting to draw a lot of attention. Putting her arm around her friend, she stood up and dragged him out of his chair, his legs staggering as he followed her out of the room.

As soon as the pair had gotten out of the classroom and into the hallway, Stiles’ breathing tripled in velocity, his breaths short and intense. Y/N held onto him, treading as quickly as possible through the hall, trying desperately to get to the boy’s locker room, where they’d be alone.

Pushing past the crowd of bustling students, Y/N’s eyes lit up as they approached the blue door she had been looking for. The pair burst into the dim locker room, Stiles rushing over to the back of the room, his legs giving in under the weight of his shaking body. His breathing was erratic and fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he punched the floor, the pain in his knuckles incomparable to the burning sensation in his gut. Y/N ran over to him, her knees hitting the floor with a painful thud, but she didn’t care, instead focusing on Stiles’ pale and tormented face.

“Breathe. Come on, breathe with me,” she said, an undeniable hint of worry in her voice she had difficulty hiding.

“I-I…can’t,” he gasped, a choked sob escaping his throat.

Y/N grabbed his quaking hands and held them in her sweaty palms, her eyes fixated on his.

“Sti, look at me. Look at me,” she insisted and he squinted at her through the thick tears spilling over the barrier of his eyelids. Soothingly caressing his shaking hands, her eyes piercing through his, she spoke, her voice a gentle anchor grounding him into reality.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be fine. I’m here. You’re okay,” she repeated, her voice slightly trembling.

She had never seen him like this. He was a shaking mess, his face wet and twisted in pain, his breathing still highly unsteady.

Stiles held onto her hands with difficulty, his chest heaving as he struggled not to give in to the never-ending waves of panic washing over his quaking body.

Y/N inhaled and exhaled slowly, her eyes never leaving his. Her exaggerated breaths were soon followed by his own weak attempts at controlling his lungs, groans of pain slipping through his gritted teeth.

“Here do this. Press your finger against one of your nostrils and inhale for 5 seconds with the other. You can do this,” she said, acting out her words as carefully as possible.

Stiles struggled to follow her lead but slowly, he pushed the tip of his shaking finger into his skin, blocking the path for oxygen through his left nostril.

“Okay, good. Inhale. 1…2…3…” she counted, and he inhaled with her, his breath occasionally bursting through his mouth.

“Keep going, come on. 4…5…Hold it in!” she cried, her eyes welling up at the sight of Stiles’ pained expression, his chest obviously about to burst.

“Okay, breathe out, with me. 1…2…3…4…5…” Y/N murmured, her gentle fingers caressing his hand. The boy exhaled with her and shook his head, almost as if he couldn’t believe the method was starting to work.

“You’re doing great. Switch nostrils now. There you go. 1…2…3…”

The pair breathed in and out in sync, Y/N’s hands still holding Stiles’. After a few minutes, each breath of his was accompanied by a slightly deeper one, Y/N’s shoulders loosening with relief as a wave of calm washed over her.

As the chaos in the room started to subside, she felt Stiles’ fingers tighten in her palm, his sweaty skin pressed against hers. She looked into his red-rimmed eyes and gave it a reassuring squeeze, her unoccupied hand reaching up to wipe the tears off of his weary face as her body shifted upwards.

Before she could touch his skin, Stiles caught her hand and pulled her into an embrace, his lips quivering tremendously as he broke down, warm tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Don’t leave, please. I need you. I need you,” he repeated like a mantra, his entire body going limp in Y/N’s arms, strangled sobs escaping from his sore throat. The girl closed her eyes as the felt Stiles’ heart thunder furiously against her chest, small tears threatening to spill over her eyelids.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered in his ear, tightening her embrace.

“I need you. I need you.”

A/N: hope u liked this part!! please reblog if u did :) feedback is also always appreciated <3

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[doctors-star]

Oooh directors cut on Two Magicians? (Yes I'm aware I asked about this one for the last ask game, I recently reread it and remembered how good it was sue me)

i'll pop it under a read more and then talk through the whole thing.

the central premise, here, is the strong overlap of early modern magic and religion. this is the hill this fic dies upon. this is why they cast on specific days, and the spells sound like prayers, and it's all a bit churchy. ruth casts for the sheep using agnus dei, which means lamb of god; the whole thing is rather easter-y, what with the palm leaves and lambs and ashes. incidentally, "palm to palm, bless us" is one of my favourite details in the fic, because it's a pun: palm (leaf) to palm (hand), palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss, etc.

ruth says "perhaps we ought to use the english prayer now, though; only i can't remember how it goes," which i imagine must have happened a lot during the reformation. like most people, they are neither fervently catholic nor protestant, but abiding by the rules set out by an enthusiastic government, and bending them where it suits. is this whole fic just my reformation thesis statement? yes.

yan-tan-tethera, an ancient british counting system largely used by shepherds, is absolutely clearly magic. i don't know why, but i know it in my heart. the idea behind tree roots and clay in your wall is to give the wall the sturdy stability of the roots - sympathetic magic. welsh is also clearly a magic language. it just is.

ruth's big book o' spells owes a debt to agnes nutter's prophecies, but also any good family recipe book that's full of newspaper cuttings from the eighties and receipts with instructions scribbled on the back, the collaborative work of at least three generations. at time of writing this fic, i was making up one such recipe book from a tattered file: gluing all these cuttings and scraps and notes into a scrapbook and noting down who wrote what, and when, to keep for years to come.

the parallels between this fic and the lammas hireling by ian duhig should be extremely obvious. i studied the poem at a-level and liked it very much for its magic and menace and weird gay vibes; a lot of details in this fic come from it.

alex isn't magic, he just knows about clouds. but also, a lot of early modern magic had to do with Signs and celestial movements and planets and such, so i couldn't resist tying them in.

the smoke of burning juniper is used in various rites to cleanse and bless a house and its inhabitants. ruth uses it to clean tables.

baptism is extremely important in early modern (and mediaeval and others etc) communities: it makes the new baby a part of the community, it is an excuse to hang about and coo over the child, but most importantly it protects the baby from the fires of hell, which is something of a big deal. it's why people got so up in arms about the anabaptists, who only went for adult baptism - when child mortality is so high, not giving the baby the protection of baptism is seen as neglect to the point of active malice. because birth was so dangerous, midwives were given emergency powers of baptism in case the child was clearly not going to make it; this way, at least, it wouldn't spend very long in the special region of purgatory just for unbaptised babies, and could be buried with a name rather than, as some were, as "creature." this is where i would go off on a tangent about chrysomers, if it were relevant enough to excuse it. can you tell i wrote an essay on baptism, and then a dissertation on death.

There was a preacher, once, that Alex had heard speak on a rare trip to Chichester for the big market there, who had said that the dead were not dead, but waiting; and that someday - and soon - they would rise from the ground and ascend, and that we need not, therefore, grieve. - this was a real attitude from some protestant preachers. i cannot imagine this made anyone feel any better, or grieve any less.

if anyone's been to the weald and downland museum, the maxwells live in pendean cottage.

ruth's baby basket is a reference to out of the bag by seamus heaney, another a-level poem whose imagery haunts me, which is all about birth and healing and sympathetic magic.

telling the bees is an ancient tradition, with practical uses: my mother, who was a beekeeper, tells me that a beehive that is used to the sound of your voice is friendly, less agitated, and less likely to swarm off.

britain has a great tradition of faerie hunts: pwyll, herne, white harts, etc. we used to be all woodland, hurtling about between trees to escape wild boar and ghostly frights, chasing and being chased. why not try waiting for your fae deer to come home to you instead? incidentally, if you've not been on a walk by moonlight along chalk paths in the wood, i would recommend it; it's deliciously ghostly and ethereal, and if you're tremendously lucky a friend will vanish abruptly from sight beside you, having fallen in a ditch. the light changes the colours of the downland, too - everything goes purple and blue in the halfdark. this is rather obviously set on my home turf, huh.

i've discussed the steeleye span-ness of this fic before, but this is the big bit. it entertains me that ruth becomes a cunning fox, having been what would, contemporarily, have been called a cunning woman.

and then, lo, it is all alright in the end. aw. if you still have any questions, let me know!

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Kingdom Collisions IV

This is a fic i’m writing to incorporate more descriptions into my writing. Updates are sporadic as i don’t have chapters written in advance. I hope, however, you enjoy what is here :)

masterlist

P.S. ardor means flame in latin; cielo means sky in spanish

Jason Grace is tired. So so tired. Exhaustion is a weight pressing into his bones. He doesn't know why he snapped at Percy. His patience is usually an infinite string wrapping around his throat and tying a bow against his collarbone. But every part of him feels out of place. He stares at the mirror mounted to the wooden wall, stares at it until his eyes cross. But he doesn't recognize the person staring back.

They have the same blonde hair and blue eyes. The same tall, half-gangly half-lean frame. And the wonky glasses. But they don't have the spark that glitters in his eye. Or the dancing fingers that constantly needed to be entertained. No, those fingers lay limp at his side.

He sighs and moves to collapse onto his bed. At the very least the silk sheets are blissfully cool under his skin. When they had first got to the cabin he had been surprised at the sheer lack of opulence. In all his years of being a Prince and visiting every castle and vacation-home known to man he thought he had a pretty good idea about what royalty was like. But Crown Prince Percy Jackson and Queen Sally Jackson continue to surprise him. When they had insisted on a small wedding, consisting of no more than what was needed to officiate a royal ceremony, or when Queen Sally had pulled him aside after their dinner the night before and hugged him tight enough to stop his air flow.

"I am sorry Jason," She looked at him, her sea blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, "That you have to give up so many of your own choices. I hope one day, you will find peace and happiness despite the circumstances."

He had thanked her but her words, even now, puzzles him to the point of headaches.

Why did she care what happened to him? And why did she think he didn't have any choices?

His kingdom is as much a part of this agreement as theirs. All these questions buzz incessantly in his mind enough that he feels the low throb of a migraine at the base of his skull. Immediately, he pushes himself off the bed and gets into an ice cold shower. On top of everything, he doesn't need to be sick.

The shower beats against his back as he gets lost in his thoughts, remembering the last time time he had been under the relentless spray, in his own castle.

I can't believe you have to get married to some pompous no good jackass.

Aw don't say that. We don't even know him.

Yea but he's taking you away from me so I hate him

Don’t worry my ardor, I will find my way back to you.

A calloused hand, the colour of brass, snaked under his arm, resting against his chest, where his heart beats steadily.

What if you end up falling for each other?

He turned around, looking deep into those coffee eyes.

I don't know how I could possibly fall for anyone when you have already caught me.

I hate you for making me cry.

Jason had leaned in, tilted up that angular face, brushed away the curls.

I love you my ardor.

I love you mi cielo.

The memory fades as he pulls himself back to the present, letting the sound of sleepy birds and rushing water ground him.

Shutting off the shower he dries himself off quickly, glad to find the oncoming migraine gone. Not bothering with anything but a pair of boxers he makes his way into the lounge where the fire is slowly dying. He shoves a few more logs in and settles down on the fleece rug in front of it. Percy, he observes, is still holed up in his room.

He knows he should apologize, should offer some peace treaty after snapping like that, but he can't bring himself to care. He just wants to be at home, surrounded by his people, by his person.

He hasn't stopped thinking about them, about that smile, or the way their ears turn red when they notice Jason staring, or how they can fix literally anything you put in front of them.

He had asked why they never followed their father, take of the family business, why they chose to become a royal guard instead, but his ardor had shrugged and said there were more exciting things in the world than melting metal.

Jason always dragged them closer and tangled his fingers in that messy hair.

Well I guess it was the right choice. Because it brought you to me.

And then words were no longer necessary.

He shakes himself out of it, out of the life he's left so far behind. There is nothing there for him now. Nothing but a coronation and ruling for the rest of his days. The thought makes him queasy. Makes him want to fly into the sky and live amongst the clouds. Life, he thinks, would be much simpler if they could escape to the sky. Instead, he picks up the book he is reading and escapes into another world.

Some time later he dozes off, head lolling to the side. His dreams take him to hands of fire and cheeky smiles. He dreams of comfort.

"Jason," Someone calls him.

He mumbles for them to go away and tries to tuck himself back into bed, only to fall over and slam into a hard something?

"You can't sleep like this," The voice is saying, "You're going to ache tomorrow."

"Don't care." He groans, curling into a ball.

"Come on,"

And then he's being lifted clean of his feet and hoisted over a shoulder.

"What are you doing?" He manages to mutter.

"You can't sleep like that. First of all the floor is not comfortable and second I don't know how much you move in your sleep and I don't want a Jason barbecue."

"I don't want to sleep in my room." His brain is foggy and he trips over every second word.

"Why?"

"Iss cold."

"I'll get you another blanket." Percy's voice is nothing but a raspy breath.

"Have two," He mumbles, "Need to sleep with my—"

He’s cut off by a yawn.

"Your what?"

"My what what?"

He can hear his husband— oh yes his husband, what a silly thought— sigh and he pictures those striking green eyes rolling.

"My room has sun for most of the day, you can sleep there for now. We can discuss your room when you’re less sleep deprived. Sound good?"

"Soundddss dreamy," He sighs, fighting his fast closing eyes.

Just before the world disappears he's placed gently on cotton sheets. He can hear the birds starting to sing and he can feel the sun bathing his usually pale skin.

"This isss ni—" He yawns, "nice."

Jason Grace is fast asleep.

***

The Prince opens his eyes slowly, blinking back into the present. He doesn't recognize his surroundings. There's a small pile of clothes on a maple-wood rocking chair in the corner, and emerald curtains, fastened by glimmering ties, open to reveal huge arched windows. He looks down to see his legs entangled in black sheets and the faintest threads of cerulean blue weaving between the strands.

Percy's room, then.

But why is he in here. He doesn't remember drinking last night and that's the only way he could have possibly slept with his husband. Gods what a sad thought indeed. He decides to just ask the Black-haired Prince, not caring to delve into his memories to try piece together what happened. He thinks briefly about donning more clothes than his current boxers but his room is far and the house is warm, and mostly he just can’t muster up the energy. 

He finds the prince at the kitchen counter typing furiously on his laptop. He takes a single moment to observe the scene. Percy's mussed curls and thin wire framed glasses pushed up his nose. A coffee cup, still steaming sits to his right, and a board of cheese and the bread he had baked is layed out on the other side.

"I can't be that pretty to look at, I haven't even brushed my hair yet." Percy says without looking up.

"Sorry," He's glad the Prince doesn't take his eyes away from the screen because Jason's cheeks are bright red.

He moves to grab some coffee and sits down on the opposite side of the table.

"So uh—" He rubs the back of his neck, "Why was I sleeping in your room."

"Oh," Percy starts, finally looking up. Those green eyes widen as big as saucers as he takes the golden prince in.

"What?" Jason panics, "We didn't do anything did we?"

His husband snorts, "Trust me. If we fuck, you'll remember."

He is ready with a snarky reply but the prince continues, "No you were sleeping in the lounge but the fire was still on and it just seemed like a recipe for disaster. I tried to take you to your room but you said it was cold so I put you in mine because it gets sun for most of the day."

Jason is taken aback. That's sweet... surprisingly sweet.

"Thank you."Percy shrugs and goes back to typing on his laptop. He doesn't know what he should do. They seem to have entered into some sort of civil conversation and he doesn't want to ruin the shred of normality.

So he downs the rest of his coffee, chucks the mug in the sink and disappears into his bedroom. Minutes later he comes out more clothed, jeans hugging his legs and a blue sweater that feels like getting a hug from a panda. If getting a hug from such an animal was warm and soft and cuddly. He wouldn't know.

"I'm going for a walk."

His husband just nods, motioning to the cabin keys distractedly. Jason, fortunately, picks up on the meaning and grabs them, tucking the set into his coat.

This is the first time since they had driven here three days ago that he's stepping outside. Dusk is just starting to settle and the world is awash in oranges and pinks and the faintest strokes of purple. He wants to live in these colours, wants to paint them across his eyes so he always sees the world in their shades. A little sparrow flies down and lands on a branch hanging just over his head. It chirps as he walks past, flurrying it's tail as if to say hello. And then it spreads its wings and soars into the open plains, into those bleeding colours.

He remembers suddenly, a story his nanny had told him.

Why Miss Rosie, does the sky change colours?

Because Little Prince, when artists die they say goodbye by giving us a final painting.

Does that mean when the clouds change shapes sculptors are saying goodbye?

Miss Rosiland Krynn had smiled at those big blue eyes and nodded.

What happens when the artist can't paint or draw or sculpt what about then?

Well when you hear the sounds of wind chimes tinkling in the garden, or the sounds of streams bubbling in the woods, or the whistle of birds as they wake up then you're hearing all the singers who can no longer sing on earth.

And what about the actors?

When you hear someone crying, or lots of people laughing, or when you can feel someone watching over you those are the actors. They're their to bring joy into the world through all the people still here.

And the dancers Miss Rosie?

Have you ever seen flowers in the breeze?

He nodded his head, clutching at her fingers in anticipation.

And have you ever seen reeds in the river?

He nodded again, practically bouncing in excitement.

And what do they look like they're doing?

Dancing Miss Rosie! He had squealed, falling back into the couch as he thought about all she had said.

Jason smiles fondly at those memories, at a time much simpler than this. Where the sky was a canvas and music was stored in the wind. He can almost believe Miss Rosalind as he surveys his surroundings. There is something magical about this place. Like no matter what's going on in the world, this will never be touched by it. He can't help but run his fingers along the bark of a willow tree and sink his feet into the lush grass under it. At least out here he doesn't have to be anyone but Jason Grace. The marigolds dancing in the evening breeze do not care that he is Crown Prince of Caelum. And the blades of grass that hold his weight don't mind that he is human, that he has to function, even when it's inconvenient, inconceivable. Best of all, nothing around here cares that he's anything at all. If he gives his name to the river bed they will tuck it in and let it rest.

So he sits under the willow tree, letting his name drift down the stream, and spins fantasies of a life long lost.

When he makes his way back to the cabin, hours later, he's almost convinced himself that the world has stopped. And he is nothing but a vessel, strong enough to bend time.

It is like a bucket of lava on his skin, then, when Percy meets him at the door and drops the words he doesn't want to hear.

"We leave tomorrow. There was a shootout at your castle."

Jason Grace falls to his knees, and holds down the bile in his throat, as molten eyes and burning hands flash in his mind.

I'm coming for you Leo.

[path-of-my-childhood]

Taylor Swift: ‘I was literally about to break’

By: Laura Snapes for The Guardian Date: August 24th 2019

Taylor Swift’s Nashville apartment is an Etsy fever dream, a 365-days-a-year Christmas shop, pure teenage girl id. You enter through a vestibule clad in blue velvet and covered in gilt frames bursting with fake flowers. The ceiling is painted like the night sky. Above a koi pond in the living area, a narrow staircase spirals six feet up towards a giant, pillow-lagged birdcage that probably has the best view in the city. Later, Swift will tell me she needs metaphors “to understand anything that happens to me”, and the birdcage defies you not to interpret it as a pointed comment on the contradictions of stardom.

Swift, wearing pale jeans and dip-dyed shirt, her sandy hair tied in a blue scrunchie, leads the way up the staircase to show me the view. The decor hasn’t changed since she bought this place in 2009, when she was 19. “All of these high rises are new since then,” she says, gesturing at the squat glass structures and cranes. Meanwhile her oven is still covered in stickers, more teenage diary than adult appliance.

Now 29, she has spent much of the past three years living quietly in London with her boyfriend, actor Joe Alwyn, making the penthouse a kind of time capsule, a monument to youthful naivety given an unlimited budget – the years when she sang about Romeo and Juliet and wore ballgowns to awards shows; before she moved to New York and honed her slick, self-mythologising pop.

It is mid-August. This is Swift’s first UK interview in more than three years, and she seems nervous: neither presidential nor goofy (her usual defaults), but quick with a tongue-out “ugh” of regret or frustration as she picks at her glittery purple nails. We climb down from the birdcage to sit by the pond, and when the conversation turns to 2016, the year the wheels came off for her, Swift stiffens as if driving over a mile of speed bumps. After a series of bruising public spats (with Katy Perry, Nicki Minaj) in 2015, there was a high-profile standoff with Kanye West. The news that she was in a relationship with actor Tom Hiddleston, which leaked soon after, was widely dismissed as a diversionary tactic. Meanwhile, Swift went to court to prosecute a sexual assault claim, and faced a furious backlash when she failed to endorse a candidate in the 2016 presidential election, allowing the alt-right to adopt her as their “Aryan princess”.

Her critics assumed she cared only about the bottom line. The reality, Swift says, is that she was totally broken. “Every domino fell,” she says bitterly. “It became really terrifying for anyone to even know where I was. And I felt completely incapable of doing or saying anything publicly, at all. Even about my music. I always said I wouldn’t talk about what was happening personally, because that was a personal time.” She won’t get into specifics. “I just need some things that are mine,” she despairs. “Just some things.”

A year later, in 2017, Swift released her album Reputation, half high-camp heel turn, drawing on hip-hop and vaudeville (the brilliantly hammy Look What You Made Me Do), half stunned appreciation that her nascent relationship with Alwyn had weathered the storm (the soft, sensual pop of songs Delicate and Dress).

Her new album, Lover, her seventh, was released yesterday. It’s much lighter than Reputation: Swift likens writing it to feeling like “I could take a full deep breath again”. Much of it is about Alwyn: the Galway Girl-ish track London Boy lists their favourite city haunts and her newfound appreciation of watching rugby in the pub with his uni mates; on the ruminative Afterglow, she asks him to forgive her anxious tendency to assume the worst.

While she has always written about relationships, they were either teenage fantasy or a postmortem on a high-profile breakup, with exes such as Jake Gyllenhaal and Harry Styles. But she and Alwyn have seldom been pictured together, and their relationship is the only other thing she won’t talk about. “I’ve learned that if I do, people think it’s up for discussion, and our relationship isn’t up for discussion,” she says, laughing after I attempt a stealthy angle. “If you and I were having a glass of wine right now, we’d be talking about it – but it’s just that it goes out into the world. That’s where the boundary is, and that’s where my life has become manageable. I really want to keep it feeling manageable.”

Instead, she has swapped personal disclosure for activism. Last August, Swift broke her political silence to endorse Democratic Tennessee candidate Phil Bredesen in the November 2018 senate race. Vote.org reported an unprecedented spike in voting registration after Swift’s Instagram post, while Donald Trump responded that he liked her music “about 25% less now”.

Meanwhile, her recent single You Need To Calm Down admonished homophobes and namechecked US LGBTQ rights organisation Glaad (which then saw increased donations). Swift filled her video with cameos from queer stars such as Ellen DeGeneres and Queen singer Adam Lambert, and capped it with a call to sign her petition in support of the Equality Act, which if passed would prohibit gender- and sexuality-based discrimination in the US. A video of Polish LGBTQ fans miming the track in defiance of their government’s homophobic agenda went viral. But Swift was accused of “queerbaiting” and bandwagon-jumping. You can see how she might find it hard to work out what, exactly, people want from her.

***

It was girlhood that made Swift a multimillionaire. When country music’s gatekeepers swore that housewives were the only women interested in the genre, she proved them wrong. Her self-titled debut marked the longest stay on the Billboard 200 by any album released in the decade. A potentially cloying image – corkscrew curls, lyrics thick on “daddy” and down-home values – were undercut by the fact she was evidently, endearingly, a bit of a freak, an unusual combination of intensity and artlessness. Also, she was really, really good at what she did, and not just for a teenager: her entirely self-written third album, 2010’s Speak Now, is unmatched in its devastatingly withering dismissals of awful men.

As a teenager, Swift was obsessed with VH1’s Behind The Music, the series devoted to the rise and fall of great musicians. She would forensically rewatch episodes, trying to pinpoint the moment a career went wrong. I ask her to imagine she’s watching the episode about herself and do the same thing: where was her misstep? “Oh my God,” she says, drawing a deep breath and letting her lips vibrate as she exhales. “I mean, that’s so depressing!” She thinks back and tries to deflect. “What I remember is that [the show] was always like, ‘Then we started fighting in the tour bus and then the drummer quit and the guitarist was like, “You’re not paying me enough.”’’’

But that’s not what she used to say. In interviews into her early 20s, Swift often observed that an artist fails when they lose their self-awareness, as if repeating the fact would work like an insurance against succumbing to the same fate. But did she make that mistake herself? She squeezes her nose and blows to clear a ringing in her ears before answering. “I definitely think that sometimes you don’t realise how you’re being perceived,” she says. “Pop music can feel like it’s The Hunger Games, and like we’re gladiators. And you can really lose focus of the fact that that’s how it feels because that’s how a lot of stan [fan] Twitter and tabloids and blogs make it seem – the overanalysing of everything makes it feel really intense.”

She describes the way she burned bridges in 2016 as a kind of obliviousness. “I didn’t realise it was like a classic overthrow of someone in power – where you didn’t realise the whispers behind your back, you didn’t realise the chain reaction of events that was going to make everything fall apart at the exact, perfect time for it to fall apart.”

Here’s that chain reaction in full. With her 2014 album 1989 (the year she was born), Swift transcended country stardom, becoming as ubiquitous as Beyoncé. For the first time she vocally embraced feminism, something she had rejected in her teens; but, after a while, it seemed to amount to not much more than a lot of pictures of her hanging out with her “squad”, a bevy of supermodels, musicians and Lena Dunham. The squad very much did not include her former friend Katy Perry, whom Swift targeted in her song Bad Blood, as part of what seemed like a painfully overblown dispute about some backing dancers. Then, when Nicki Minaj tweeted that MTV’s 2015 Video Music awards had rewarded white women at the expense of women of colour, multiple-nominee Swift took it personally, responding: “Maybe one of the men took your slot.” For someone prone to talking about the haters, she quickly became her own worst enemy.

Her old adversary Kanye West resurfaced in February 2016. In 2009, West had invaded Swift’s stage at the MTV VMAs to protest against her victory over Beyoncé in the female video of the year category. It remains the peak of interest in Swift on Google Trends, and the conflict between them has become such a cornerstone of celebrity journalism that it’s hard to remember it lay dormant for nearly seven years – until West released his song Famous. “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex,” he rapped. “Why? I made that bitch famous.” The video depicted a Swift mannequin naked in bed with men including Trump.

Swift loudly condemned both; although she had discussed the track with West, she said she had never agreed to the “bitch” lyric or the video. West’s wife, Kim Kardashian, released a heavily edited clip that showed Swift at least agreeing to the “sex” line on the phone with West, if not the “bitch” part. Swift pleaded the technicality, but it made no difference: when Kardashian went on Twitter to describe her as a snake, the comparison stuck and the singer found herself very publicly “cancelled” – the incident taken as “proof” of Swift’s insincerity. So she went away.

Swift says she stopped trying to explain herself, even though she “definitely” could have. As she worked on Reputation, she was also writing “a think-piece a day that I knew I would never publish: the stuff I would say, and the different facets of the situation that nobody knew”. If she could exonerate herself, why didn’t she? She leans forward. “Here’s why,” she says conspiratorially. “Because when people are in a hate frenzy and they find something to mutually hate together, it bonds them. And anything you say is in an echo chamber of mockery.”

She compares that year to being hit by a tidal wave. “You can either stand there and let the wave crash into you, and you can try as hard as you can to fight something that’s more powerful and bigger than you,” she says. “Or you can dive under the water, hold your breath, wait for it to pass and while you’re down there, try to learn something. Why was I in that part of the ocean? There were clearly signs that said: Rip tide! Undertow! Don’t swim! There are no lifeguards!” She’s on a roll. “Why was I there? Why was I trusting people I trusted? Why was I letting people into my life the way I was letting them in? What was I doing that caused this?”

After the incident with Minaj, her critics started pointing out a narrative of “white victimhood” in Swift’s career. Speaking slowly and carefully, she says she came to understand “a lot about how my privilege allowed me to not have to learn about white privilege. I didn’t know about it as a kid, and that is privilege itself, you know? And that’s something that I’m still trying to educate myself on every day. How can I see where people are coming from, and understand the pain that comes with the history of our world?”

She also accepts some responsibility for her overexposure, and for some of the tabloid drama. If she didn’t wish a friend happy birthday on Instagram, there would be reports about severed friendships, even if they had celebrated together. “Because we didn’t post about it, it didn’t happen – and I realised I had done that,” she says. “I created an expectation that everything in my life that happened, people would see.”

But she also says she couldn’t win. “I’m kinda used to being gaslit by now,” she drawls wearily. “And I think it happens to women so often that, as we get older and see how the world works, we’re able to see through what is gaslighting. So I’m able to look at 1989 and go – KITTIES!” She breaks off as an assistant walks in with Swift’s three beloved cats, stars of her Instagram feed, back from the vet before they fly to England this week. Benjamin, Olivia and Meredith haughtily circle our feet (they are scared of the koi) as Swift resumes her train of thought, back to the release of 1989 and the subsequent fallout. “Oh my God, they were mad at me for smiling a lot and quote-unquote acting fake. And then they were mad at me that I was upset and bitter and kicking back.” The rules kept changing.

***

Swift’s new album comes with printed excerpts from her diaries. On 29 August 2016, she wrote in her girlish, bubble writing: “This summer is the apocalypse.” As the incident with West and Kardashian unfolded, she was preparing for her court case against radio DJ David Mueller, who was fired in 2013 after Swift reported him for putting his hand up her dress at a meet-and–greet event. He sued her for defamation; she countersued for sexual assault.

“Having dealt with a few of them, narcissists basically subscribe to a belief system that they should be able to do and say whatever the hell they want, whenever the hell they want to,” Swift says now, talking at full pelt. “And if we – as anyone else in the world, but specifically women – react to that, well, we’re not allowed to. We’re not allowed to have a reaction to their actions.”

In summer 2016 she was in legal depositions, practising her testimony. “You’re supposed to be really polite to everyone,” she says. But by the time she got to court in August 2017, “something snapped, I think”. She laughs. Her testimony was sharp and uncompromising. She refused to allow Mueller’s lawyers to blame her or her security guards; when asked if she could see the incident, Swift said no, because “my ass is in the back of my body”. It was a brilliant, rude defence.

“You’re supposed to behave yourself in court and say ‘rear end’,” she says with mock politesse. “The other lawyer was saying, ‘When did he touch your backside?’ And I was like, ‘ASS! Call it what it is!’” She claps between each word. But despite the acclaim for her testimony and eventual victory (she asked for one symbolic dollar), she still felt belittled. It was two months prior to the beginning of the #MeToo movement. “Even this case was literally twisted so hard that people were calling it the ‘butt-grab case’. They were saying I sued him because there’s this narrative that I want to sue everyone. That was one of the reasons why the summer was the apocalypse.”

She never wanted the assault to be made public. Have there been other instances she has dealt with privately? “Actually, no,” she says soberly. “I’m really lucky that it hadn’t happened to me before. But that was one of the reasons it was so traumatising. I just didn’t know that could happen. It was really brazen, in front of seven people.” She has since had security cameras installed at every meet-and-greet she does, deliberately pointed at her lower half. “If something happens again, we can prove it with video footage from every angle,” she says.

The allegations about Harvey Weinstein came out soon after she won her case. The film producer had asked her to write a song for the romantic comedy One Chance, which earned her second Golden Globe nomination. Weinstein also got her a supporting role in the 2014 sci-fi movie The Giver, and attended the launch party for 1989. But she says they were never alone together.

“He’d call my management and be like, ‘Does she have a song for this film?’ And I’d be like, ‘Here it is,’” she says dispassionately. “And then I’d be at the Golden Globes. I absolutely never hung out. And I would get a vibe – I would never vouch for him. I believe women who come forward, I believe victims who come forward, I believe men who come forward.” Swift inhales, flustered. She says Weinstein never propositioned her. “If you listen to the stories, he picked people who were vulnerable, in his opinion. It seemed like it was a power thing. So, to me, that doesn’t say anything – that I wasn’t in that situation.”

Meanwhile, Donald Trump was more than nine months into his presidency, and still Swift had not taken a position. But the idea that a pop star could ever have impeded his path to the White House seemed increasingly naive. In hindsight, the demand that Swift speak up looks less about politics and more about her identity (white, rich, powerful) and a moralistic need for her to redeem herself – as if nobody else had ever acted on a vindictive instinct, or blundered publicly.

But she resisted what might have been an easy return to public favour. Although Reputation contained softer love songs, it was better known for its brittle, vengeful side (see This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things). She describes that side of the album now as a “bit of a persona”, and its hip-hop-influenced production as “a complete defence mechanism”. Personally, I thought she had never been more relatable, trashing the contract of pious relatability that traps young women in the public eye.

***

It was the assault trial, and watching the rights of LGBTQ friends be eroded, that finally politicised her, Swift says. “The things that happen to you in your life are what develop your political opinions. I was living in this Obama eight-year paradise of, you go, you cast your vote, the person you vote for wins, everyone’s happy!” she says. “This whole thing, the last three, four years, it completely blindsided a lot of us, me included.”

She recently said she was “dismayed” when a friend pointed out that her position on gay rights wasn’t obvious (what if she had a gay son, he asked), hence this summer’s course correction with the single You Need To Calm Down (“You’re comin’ at my friends like a missile/Why are you mad?/When you could be GLAAD?”). Didn’t she feel equally dismayed that her politics weren’t clear? “I did,” she insists, “and I hate to admit this, but I felt that I wasn’t educated enough on it. Because I hadn’t actively tried to learn about politics in a way that I felt was necessary for me, making statements that go out to hundreds of millions of people.”

She explains her inner conflict. “I come from country music. The number one thing they absolutely drill into you as a country artist, and you can ask any other country artist this, is ‘Don’t be like the Dixie Chicks!’” In 2003, the Texan country trio denounced the Iraq war, saying they were “ashamed” to share a home state with George W Bush. There was a boycott, and an event where a bulldozer crushed their CDs. “I watched country music snuff that candle out. The most amazing group we had, just because they talked about politics. And they were getting death threats. They were made such an example that basically every country artist that came after that, every label tells you, ‘Just do not get involved, no matter what.’

“And then, you know, if there was a time for me to get involved…” Swift pauses. “The worst part of the timing of what happened in 2016 was I felt completely voiceless. I just felt like, oh God, who would want me? Honestly.” She would otherwise have endorsed Hillary Clinton? “Of course,” she says sincerely. “I just felt completely, ugh, just useless. And maybe even like a hindrance.”

I suggest that, thinking selfishly, her coming out for Clinton might have made people like her. “I wasn’t thinking like that,” she stresses. “I was just trying to protect my mental health – not read the news very much, go cast my vote, tell people to vote. I just knew what I could handle and I knew what I couldn’t. I was literally about to break. For a while.” Did she seek therapy? “That stuff I just really wanna keep personal, if that’s OK,” she says.

She resists blaming anyone else for her political silence. Her emergence as a Democrat came after she left Big Machine, the label she signed to at 15. (They are now at loggerheads after label head Scott Borchetta sold the company, and the rights to Swift’s first six albums, to Kanye West’s manager, Scooter Braun.) Had Borchetta ever advised her against speaking out? She exhales. “It was just me and my life, and also doing a lot of self-reflection about how I did feel really remorseful for not saying anything. I wanted to try and help in any way that I could, the next time I got a chance. I didn’t help, I didn’t feel capable of it – and as soon as I can, I’m going to.”

Swift was once known for throwing extravagant 4 July parties at her Rhode Island mansion. The Instagram posts from these star-studded events – at which guests wore matching stars-and-stripes bikinis and onesies – probably supported a significant chunk of the celebrity news industry GDP. But in 2017, they stopped. “The horror!” wrote Cosmopolitan, citing “reasons that remain a mystery” for their disappearance. It wasn’t “squad” strife or the unavailability of matching cozzies that brought the parties to an end, but Swift’s disillusionment with her country, she says.

There is a smart song about this on the new album – the track that should have been the first single, instead of the cartoonish ME!. Miss Americana And The Heartbreak Prince is a forlorn, gothic ballad in the vein of Lana Del Rey that uses high-school imagery to dismantle American nationalism: “The whole school is rolling fake dice/You play stupid games/You win stupid prizes,” she sings with disdain. “Boys will be boys then/Where are the wise men?”

As an ambitious 11-year-old, she worked out that singing the national anthem at sports games was the quickest way to get in front of a large audience. When did she start feeling conflicted about what America stands for? She gives another emphatic ugh. “It was the fact that all the dirtiest tricks in the book were used and it worked,” she says. “The thing I can’t get over right now is gaslighting the American public into being like” – she adopts a sanctimonious tone – “‘If you hate the president, you hate America.’ We’re a democracy – at least, we’re supposed to be – where you’re allowed to disagree, dissent, debate.” She doesn’t use Trump’s name. “I really think that he thinks this is an autocracy.”

As we speak, Tennessee lawmakers are trying to impose a near-total ban on abortion. Swift has staunchly defended her “Tennessee values” in recent months. What’s her position? “I mean, obviously, I’m pro-choice, and I just can’t believe this is happening,” she says. She looks close to tears. “I can’t believe we’re here. It’s really shocking and awful. And I just wanna do everything I can for 2020. I wanna figure out exactly how I can help, what are the most effective ways to help. ’Cause this is just…” She sighs again. “This is not it.”

***

It is easy to forget that the point of all this is that a teenage Taylor Swiftwanted to write love songs. Nemeses and negativity are now so entrenched in her public persona that it’s hard to know how she can get back to that, though she seems to want to. At the end of Daylight, the new album’s dreamy final song, there’s a spoken-word section: “I want to be defined by the things that I love,” she says as the music fades. “Not the things that I hate, not the things I’m afraid of, the things that haunt me in the middle of the night.” As well as the songs written for Alwyn, there is one for her mother, who recently experienced a cancer relapse: “You make the best of a bad deal/I just pretend it isn’t real,” Swift sings, backed by the Dixie Chicks.

How does writing about her personal life work if she’s setting clearer boundaries? “It actually made me feel more free,” she says. “I’ve always had this habit of never really going into detail about exactly what situation inspired what thing, but even more so now.” This is only half true: in the past, Swift wasn’t shy of a level of detail that invited fans to figure out specific truths about her relationships. And when I tell her that Lover feels a more emotionally guarded album, she bristles. “I know the difference between making art and living your life like a reality star,” she says. “And then even if it’s hard for other people to grasp, my definition is really clear.”

Even so, Swift begins Lover by addressing an adversary, opening with a song called I Forgot That You Existed (“it isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it’s just indifference”), presumably aimed at Kanye West, a track that slightly defeats its premise by existing. But it sweeps aside old dramas to confront Swift’s real nemesis, herself. “I never grew up/It’s getting so old,” she laments on The Archer.

She has had to learn not to pre-empt disaster, nor to run from it. Her life has been defined by relationships, friendships and business relationships that started and ended very publicly (though she and Perry are friends again). At the same time, the rules around celebrity engagement have evolved beyond recognition in her 15 years of fame. Rather than trying to adapt to them, she’s now asking herself: “How do you learn to maintain? How do you learn not to have these phantom disasters in your head that you play out, and how do you stop yourself from sabotage – because the panic mechanism in your brain is telling you that something must go wrong.” For her, this is what growing up is. “You can’t just make cut-and-dry decisions in life. A lot of things are a negotiation and a grey area and a dance of how to figure it out.”

And so this time, Swift is sticking around. In December she will turn 30, marking the point after which more than half her life will have been lived in public. She’ll start her new decade with a stronger self-preservationist streak, and a looser grip (as well as a cameo in Cats). “You can’t micromanage life, it turns out,” she says, drily.

When Swift finally answered my question about the moment she would choose in the VH1 Behind The Music episode about herself, the one where her career turned, she said she hoped it wouldn’t focus on her “apocalypse” summer of 2016. “Maybe this is wishful thinking,” she said, “but I’d like to think it would be in a couple of years.” It’s funny to hear her hope that the worst is still to come while sitting in her fairytale living room, the cats pacing: a pragmatist at odds with her romantic monument to teenage dreams. But it sounds something like perspective.

[fingerguneds]

hi! could I ask for some stozier fluff, like, stan and richie go grocery shopping ( not established relationship but they both like each other a whole lot ) 💞 thanks!

heyy

thank you very much for your ask, i fucking loved working on this, hope you don’t mind my loose interpretation of your prompt..

_

Stanley doesn’t like grocery shopping. He hates it, actually: it’s stressful, it’s always about letting people bother you somehow, and it’s totally not worth it when there’s food delivery.

But newsflash sweetie, it’s New Year’s Eve and all the closest shops are bombarded with orders. He can’t even imagine a worse case of spending the last few hours of 2019th, maybe with an exception of having to be with his parents, but whatever. It’s still bad.

So there he is, with bananas, blueberries and two bottles of white dessert wine in his cart he’s sure gonna suck in all alone in his sitting room later this evening, deciding on whether he needs another head of brie cheese, when he notices a familiar mop of black curly hair by the cereal stand.

There’s no way he wouldn’t recognize Richard Tozier from the communication and design department. He’s one of the loudest, brightest and most charmingly gorgeous people in their company, and if Stan ever tells you he hasn’t been having a huge, fat crush on him for the last few months, he’d be the ugliest, most pathetic liar.

He’s a good liar, though. He’s excellent at ignoring his fluttering heart every time Richie walks in their department to share a word with Eddie Kaspbrak, the most pleasant coworker of Stan’s in his personal opinion, or casting his best cold-eye when at parties they accidentally end up sharing a table and the guy, because he’s actually nice to everyone, tries to start an odd conversation about broken vending machines on the first floor or the fucking weather.

Why? Because Stan’s a pussy. He’s already really, really attracted to this black-haired mess of a person, with his ridiculously dark eyes with stupidly long lashes on a damn weird face one wouldn’t call pretty, because of that big nose, covered in bright specks of freckles that burn on cool paleness of his skin, or large, red and plump-lipped mouth; but would totally still define as beautiful, because those eyes are not just dark — they’re the colour of reddish pine bark after it’s been raining for hours; because that skin is not just pale — it’s like absolutely white marble with rare blue veins in all the rightest places of the man’s slender body; because his features, although weird and uncommon, somehow create a loud and charismatic pattern that attracts an eye, that makes you want to look, to inspect, to...admire.

And that’s what Stan’s been doing. Admiring from afar, because he’s a coward, too sensitive to let someone this loveable, loud and easy-going in. He’s too protective over his heart, he doesn’t take risks, he’s too fragile for his own good, and one more thing — even though Stanley secretly thinks he’s better than everyone, there is no way someone like Richie would want to do anything with him. He’s the most adorable with everyone, that’s in his nature, and thank god Stan smart enough to know that and to be aware that he’s not special — that Richie flirts with anyone, holds the door for every goddamn person in the office, checks up on every other stranger in an elevator, and although this still makes Stan’s dick ridiculously hard, he also almost dies on the spot when Richie turns his head a little bit and after a moment of surprise breaks into a grin. Stan, like a good goddamn liar he is, shoots him a quick nod of recognition, throws the bloody cheese into his cart with a bored expression and decides to get the fuck out of this place before his heart decides to break his ribcage into pieces. As calm and collected Stanley Uris is on the outside, he’s just as chaotic and messy on the inside.

He walks towards the end of an aisle as casual but fast as possible, as if his feet are on fire but he’s used to it (which is true, metaphorically speaking), and just when he’s ready to hide from Richie behind another row, something much, much more terrible than bumping into your big fat crush slash occasional wet dream happens to him.

“Stan!”

His heart drops down to his feet, when he recognizes the voice. He keeps walking forward, hoping for an earthquake, a sudden alien invasion, The Judgment Day — anything to save him from this most unwanted encounter, but of course nothing happens. A big tenacious hand still grabs his forearm, making him stop and turn, and this face Stan’s been successfully avoiding for the past couple years still appears in front of him, unchanged and familiar as ever.

Patrick.

See, he maybe wouldn’t be afraid of talking to Richie and making friends with him and maybe even going for more, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s been in a relationship with one extremely toxic and emotionally abusive man, and although Stan knows all these things, he knows he only terrorized him because he’s an awful person, not Stan, he still—can’t not be affected.

Who in the hell’s gonna love a needy Jewish nerd with a fucked-up brain and a shit ton of insecurities, earned throughout his not-so-bright pathetic faggot life?

Only Patrick, with his huge, kind heart and a perverted kink for losers, lucky for Stan: shaming people for what they are first, than pressing further, and finishing up with messing them up completely.

“Oh, hi, Patrick” Stan says casually, shoulders relaxed, body weight kept on one leg, yet one hand clinging the cart’s holder so tight his fingers turn purple, the other one in a fist, nails professionally breaking the delicate skin of Stan’s palm. “Long time no see.”

Leaving your ass all those years ago is still one of my biggest accomplishments, asshole.

Patrick’s eyes sparkle wickedly and his lips break into a wolfish smirk. Stanley finally notices he’s not alone: to the right there stands a blond man, not tall, seemingly muscular, small blue piggish eyes squinting at him with an alarming amount of hatred. Just what the fuck.

“How rude of me, this is Dean, by the way,” he says, showing up their intertwined fingers. Stan doesn’t feel jealous or envious, to his own pleasure, but he does feel this wholesome wave of bitterness. Assholes shouldn’t get away with all the nasty things they do and then proceed to live their nasty lives like nothing happened, while people they leave crippled and broken still suffer with their demons.

Stan won’t give him the satisfaction. He breaths in and smiles politely.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he says, totally aware that although he’s the lonely one here, he’s still prettier and, dare he say, smarter than that Dean guy. His mug...his mug is for sure a God’s creation, but boy, did he decide to go off with this one? Yes. And absolutely nothing says mind in those little dirty-blue pools of anger he has for eyes. He looks like someone who would tattoo their first lover’s name on their bicep. And make tik-toks in their truck.

“Nice set,” Patrick, the fucker, senses Stanley’s dominating vibe and makes another elegant attempt to ruin everything he’s been building up. “Here alone?”

Okay, alright, it’s gonna be tough at the beginning, but at least he’s not holding some Dean’s sweaty stupid hand—

“Love, I only found buckwheat pasta, it all must be taken already,” and now it’s time for the third thing to make Stanley discover a lot of new white hairs tomorrow in front of the mirror. Thank God he’s not dark-haired.

Like Richie fucking Tozier, who appears literally out of nowhere, with a pack of fucking buckwheat pasta in his hand, the kindest, warmest look in his eyes behind huge coke-bottle glasses he (of course) rocks the shit out, and a smile Stan’s sure gonna jerk off to for days.

“We could drive to Tesco if you wanna—“ he starts in another attempt to silently offer Stanley a helping hand, but cuts himself off. “Oh, I’m sorry, do I know you?” he turns to face Patrick and Dean with a ridiculous replica of Stanley’s own polite smile, and if Stan wouldn’t be this honest-to-god shocked, he’d definitely laugh at the sight of it.

Patrick looks...scandalized in the most precious way.

“It’s Patrick,” Stan says, thankfully without a tremble in his voice. “We used to date a long time ago. And this is...um, Dean, right?”

“Yeah,” Patrick nods, seemingly taken aback. “My current boyfriend.”

“Oh, my pleasure!” Richie exclaims, grinning widely. “Honoured to meet my man’s old friends,” Stan almost chokes at this, but suddenly there’s someone’s strong hand sliding on his waist, and a solid body, pressing against his side. “I’m Richie by the way, Stanley’s current boyfriend.”

An uncomfortable silence hangs then between the four of them, until Patrick licks his lips in a predatory way, and nods again.

“Alright, we better keep going. It was nice to see you, Stan, have fun,” he almost spits out the last words, and him and Dean quickly leave, just like a mirage Stanley would rather forget forever.

But not the hand, still holding him tight.

“You okay?” Richie murmurs then quietly into Stan’s ear, sending warm shivers down his body. Stan hopes his coat is thick enough for Richie to not hear how embarrassingly rapid his heartbeat currently is.

“Yeah,” he answers, nodding. As much as he hates to do this, he takes a step back, which allows him to look at Richie closely for the first time in his life.

And God he’s handsome.

“I’m—“ Stanley asks, but Richie cuts him off.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and although his eyes are still pleasantly concerned, his lips curve into a small guilty smile. “I didn’t want to spy on you, I just overheard that asshole—shit, sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“No, he is an asshole,” Stanley shrugs, still lying to Richie and himself. Lying that his body’s not still on fire, his brains are not melting into disgustingly sweet puddles of adoration, his palms are not sweaty and his throat is not drier than Sahara. “And thank you for...helping me out, I guess? You really didn’t have to do that.”

Richie looks at him with something Stanley can’t really understand in his eyes, and his smile widens, revealing two big front teeth one would call funny, but Stan honest to god finds them adorable. Like the rest of Richie, really. There’s no point in denying this, he’s gone.

“I know,” he says, and his voice is low, with a slight edge. “I just, I thought there’s no better time than the present, you know, and instead of making another New Year resolution I’m going to ignore, I could give myself a chance right here and right now,” the apples of his cheeks turn an impossibly lovely shade of pink, and Stanley wants to slap himself for being such a slut for this man. He collects himself without a flinch and finally pays attention to Richie’s words and frowns.

“I beg your pardon?”

Richie keeps blushing deeper and deeper in shade.

“Well, you see, there’s that adorable Hebrew in my friend Eddie’s department that I’ve been trying to court for months, but he’s either too dense to notice it, or it’s me who’s dense and is just too preoccupied to take “no” as an answer, you know? So I’ve decided to go off in 2020 and...basically crack my ass to make that boy be more clear, yeah? Because I’m crushing like crazy stupid, you have no idea,” by the end of his ramble, his face is fully red, and fortunately for him, he’s not the only one looking like a basic white tourist after seven hours under Egyptian sun without a hat.

“Did you,” Stan mewls, voice finally breaking like a bitch, but nevertheless, his chin is up and he’s professionally acting like he doesn’t look as pathetic as Richie. “Did you just call me dense while hitting on me?”

“Yeah,” Richie breathes out, and his smile is so sunny, and warm, and relieved that Stan can’t help but smile back, rolling his eyes nevertheless, because he’s what? Still a good liar. “Did it work?”

***

It definitely did, Stanley thinks two hours later, sitting in Richie’s barstool with a glass of wine in one hand, watching the other man cook that bloody buckwheat pasta and listening to his absolutely endearing unstoppable ramble about his secret passion for cooking and not-so-secret passion for Stanley. He really, really doesn’t give a shit about embarrassing himself, Stan realizes somewhere after the words “I got shitfaced and ugly-cried for hours at that party when you left the table exactly thirty seconds after I tried to initiate a conversation with you.”

It definitely did, Richie thinks in the next morning, waking up with Stanley’s curls in his mouth, his back pressed against Richie’s chest and their bodies wrapped around each other under lazy January sun.

_

i have to say i’m not a huge fan of fake/pretend relationship trope but this specific um turn of events when character a is in an embarrassingly lonely situation against their ex and character b abruptly decides to save the day and then they end up together for real...is the shit

[noyasenpaii]

藤の下 | under the wisteria

gif by me

kuroo tetsuro x f!reader

genre | angst, fluff, nsfr

setting : Ashikaga Flower Park, Tochigi

wordcount : 2.5k

a/n : this took me so long (approx. 2 weeks) to finish so I hope you guys like it! This was really hard to work on since I kept running away from writing for literally no reason?? I'm not sure how to describe it but I guess I was scared that I'd have writers block or something 🙏

Even though it took a long time, I really enjoyed writing their dynamic since Y/n's pretty flirty and Kuroo was a lil bit more awkward than he usually is so it was a lot of fun :))

∘ ❁ ∘

The street lights turned on one by one. A distant but radiant chirp reached his ears. The sunset bled onto the trees, creating a golden hue of warmth. Even so, Ashikaga Flower Park felt lonely. The wind whistled a sad tune in his ears and he frowned due to the sudden chill. It's getting late. He should get home before it rains.

The constant buzz of his phone pulled him away from his thoughts. His heart dropped. It was his father. An awful reminder that he should get back home this instant. But the only reason Kuroo was here in the first place was to escape his father's expectations. Expectations that were impossible to reach.

Nonetheless, the boy smiled at the memories of his childhood that crossed his mind. He remembered the days that were full of happiness, with his mom by his side. He remembered when mom had her beautiful smile after eating the flower park's signature ice cream. She was in love with it. He remembered when he was annoyed at mom's never ending teasing after she found out he had a crush. Coincidentally, his mom was best friends with the girl's mother and happened to know of his confession. It was infuriating. She always had her way of knowing everything that happened in his tiny bubble. As he grew older, she grew even more frustrating with her constant invasion of his personal space. Hugs and kisses and cuddles and piggy backs. He was too old for that. 

Kuroo grimaced at the thought of his mother. Even though it was too much, she was never short of love. She was always his source of happiness, even if he never said it out loud. All he wanted was for her to come back. All he wanted was for her to stay by his side. To never leave him ever again. 

Kuroo felt a familiar stinging on his nose. He pursed his lips just so his mind could focus on a different kind of pain. He held his breath so he could regulate his throbbing heart. Closing his eyes, he scowled at his own pathetic behaviour. It's been years and he's still not used to the pain. He had to stop feeling this way.

Let her go. Stop doing this to yourself.

He tore at his hair while his mind raced with words to stop the pain. He tried so hard to keep his tears in. He hated the way it hurts. It felt like he couldn't breathe. A petal fell onto his face and he bit his lip. He just wanted to be happy. He just wanted her to come back so he would be happy again. Kuroo slapped himself on the forehead, thinking it would keep him from falling apart. It worked.

Thank god there's no one around.

"Kuro?" Y/n approached him, happy to see her childhood friend after all these years. His eyes widened. He recognized her right away. Kuroo opened his mouth in disbelief.

"Y/n," he whispered. Tears escaped without his permission as he turned around. Y/n's heart stopped, covering her mouth at the sight in front of her. Kuroo was a mess. His eyes were red, his eyebags swelling and tear stains everywhere. She had never seen him this vulnerable.

Her hands travelled to the sides of his face, wiping his tears. She opened her arms and pulled the boy into her embrace. 

"I'm not going anywhere," her voice cracked. Kuroo's eyes filled up and he tried his best to hold in his gut wrenching sobs. 

"It j-just hurts so much," he cried onto her shoulder, gripping her shirt. Hearing this caused her to tear up but all she could was pat his back. His pain hurt her too.

"It's gonna be alright. Just- just let it all out." 

"No it's not." She hugged him tighter, keeping in her emotions. 

"I'll take care of you. Don't worry about it okay?"

His sobs subsided and his breathing returned to normal. Y/n took his hand, leading him to the nearest restroom. 

"Kuroo, close your eyes."

"What're you doing?"

"Putting some cotton pads."

"Wait." Kuroo held Y/n's wrists to stop them from going close to his face. "For what?" Y/n rolled her eyes.

"So your eyes stop swelling." She turned on the tap and soaked the cotton pads then proceeded to place them on top of Kuroo's eyes. 

The silence was a bit awkward for Kuroo. He looked around and noticed the way her tight clothes highlighted her figure. She grew up. A lot. Her face was still the same though. He pressed the cotton, releasing some of the water onto his eyes and put them away to start a conversation.

"So… um L/n?" She furrowed her eyebrows. 

"Are we on last name terms now?" Kuroo mentally punched himself. He fidgeted on the toilet seat, thinking that he just made it even more awkward. 

"It's not fair that you call me Kuro and I call you Y/n." He pouted, waiting for her to respond. She was still busy with her purse.

"You want me to call you Tetsuro?" He nodded. "But it sounds so weird I don't wanna," she whined while fixing bits of her hair.

"You'll get used to it right?"

"Tetsuro, Tetsuro," she cringed, "I hate it."

"Then I'm gonna call you L/n." 

"Ew no."

"Why not?"

"I hate it."

"It's just a name, L/n." She gagged at the use of her last name.

"Fine if you hate it that much." Kuroo looked away at the end of their conversation with a slight smile on his face. Even though both of them have grown up and matured, their conversations were still as childish. Kuroo reminisced all the memories they spent at the flower park while Y/n was busy rummaging her bag to find her oil absorbing tissues.

"Do you need help?" Right after he asked, she held up a blue packet in the air with a grin on her face.

"Nope, I found it." She opened it, pulled out a blue sheet of plastic and slapped it onto her nose. She dabbed the blue plastic all around her face while looking in the mirror. Soon enough, the plastic turned a different colour. He raised an eyebrow at her actions. Soon enough she caught him staring and offered him the packet.

"What's that," he asked, eyeing the blue sheets. 

"They absorb the oil on your face so your face won't be oily." Kuroo hesitantly took a piece and dabbed it all over his face just like Y/n did. She scoffed in disbelief as Kuroo's sheet was still blue.

"Nothing's happening?" 

"There's no way your skin is drier than mine, the hell?" She grabbed another sheet and pressed it down on his nose. To her surprise, nothing came out. "Are you serious you literally have baby skin," she sulked, pointing at her sheets, "Look at these?!"

"I guess I was just born with great skin, huh?" he winked while Y/n looked away, muttering something under her breath. She caught a glimpse of something on his arm. She tugged at it and her eyes widened. 

"You have a pimple… on your arm," she said, in shock. She burst into laughter. "You got baby skin but I guess your showers aren't clean enough, pfft." He swatted her hands away and pulled his arms to his chest.

"It's just one pimple goddamnit."

"Oh look there's another one there."

"AAARGJHS." Kuroo huffed as Y/n giggled. Suddenly a gasp emitted from her mouth. 

"Do you remember the ice cream we used to get when we were little?"

"You hungry?"

"It's still early, we should be able to get some, come on." She led him out of the restroom and they walked side by side, a little distance between them. She noticed Kuroo getting further and further away. Y/n grabbed his fingers and held him close. "Why are you so far away, gosh it's not like I have cooties."

"Ew~ cooties," he cried in a high pitched voice, "Y/n let go your palms are so damn sweaty."

"Be grateful that I wanted to hold your hand in the first place."

"What?"

Silence. "You wanted to hold my hand?" She nodded. "Ew! Y/n let go."

"No."

"Just let go for a while."

"No."

"You're being touchy."

"No I'm not." 

"Yes you are. Are you sure you're Y/n?"

"I promised I'd take care of you… right?" Her innocent gaze and her sincerity caused Kuroo to stop in his tracks. He covered his face that was growing red with his free hand.

"You're so not her today." He escaped her grip and put both hands in his pocket, wiping the sweaty palms she gave him.

"So…" she stopped in front of him, "do you wanna talk? About it?"

"No. Not really." He looked away to avoid her eye contact. He didn't want her to know what's going on. Of course he trusted her, he just didn't want to talk about it.

"What about now?" She handed him enough money for 2 ice creams. 

"Are you seriously trying to bribe me?"

"I want you to buy ice cream for the both of us but okay, Tetsuro kun." A glint in his eyes surfaced. He quickly grabbed the money and zoomed to line up for Ashikaga Flower Park's signature ice cream. Y/n smirked at his behaviour. He became so cooperative just because she called him by his first name.

Kuroo returned with his half eaten purple ice cream cone on one hand and Y/n's on the other. She said a small thank you that didn't go unnoticed by Kuroo. He remembered when she was too quiet to say anything, when she wasn't as polite as she was now.

"L/n,"he said as he devoured the cone, "you grew up well."Kuroo flashed his signature sloppy smile while Y/n tilted her head in confusion. 

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Her head spun with questions. 'Grew up well'?!'

"You're no longer the little girl my mom and I found under the wisteria." Heat crept up along her face to her ears and she covered her face. She didn't know why she reacted this way. Was it what he said or was it his smile? "You okay?"

"Brain… brain freeze."

∘ ❁ ∘

She opened her lips and his hot tongue entered her mouth. Kuroo's fingers trailed down Y/n's arm and she shivered. A light moan escaped his lips as he reached under her shirt when Y/n pulled away. Legs shaking, breath quivering, she said wait.

"You want me to stop?" He whispered. Her eyes darted left and right, toes curling at his voice. She could feel the unfamiliar heat of her body and the pounding of her heart in her ears. His breath tickled her neck and she grimaced at the stimulation. She was trying her best to fix her shaky breathing but Y/n felt so excited all she could focus on were his lips.

"It's not… it's not right." She held onto the lamp post.

"What do you mean?" 

"I h-have a boyfriend."

Kuroo's heart plunged. He stood, frozen under the lights with his eyes wide open. "I mean… I had a boyfriend. He broke up with me. Just 2 weeks ago," her voice cracked. "We were together for a really… really long time and it feels so weird without him." Kuroo enveloped her with a hug, tracing circles on her back.

"What's his name?" Y/n didn't respond.

After a few minutes he cheekily slapped her butt. She hit his shoulder lightly and yelled, "What was that for?!"

"Just look at that fat ass," he sniggered, rocking her body back and forth in his arms. 

"You're so weird," she said as her ears turned red and her mouth curved slightly. 

"So… do you wanna talk about it?" 

"No. Not really," she mocked Kuroo and their laughs filled up the silence of the park. He squinted his eyes to see the clock on the other side of the street.

"You know… it's getting really late." He let go of her body and put his hands in his pocket. 

"No," she gripped his waist and pulled him back towards her, "A little bit longer. Please." The desperation in her voice caused him to stop breathing for a moment. He smiled at her honesty. She's just like a little kid. 

Y/n caught a petal in the palm of her hand. "Look! It's so pretty," she cooed as she looked at Kuroo, "just like you."

His breath shortened and heat dominated his face. He retracted his arms from her body and covered his mouth.

"How are you so smooth?!" He croaked while Y/n cackled.

"You're so cute when you blush," she cackled.

"Shut up," he whined.

∘ ❁ ∘

"I'm home," Y/n shouted as she entered her house, taking off her shoes. Her mother appeared in the hallways, saying a small hi before she exited to the kitchen. Y/n took off her coat, smiling endlessly. She had a wonderful time and her heart felt like it would explode.

"What's wrong with you?" Her mother asked, mortified at her daughter's face. 

"What do you mean?!" 

"All your smiling makes me sick," her mother said sarcastically as she made a disgusted face. Y/n could only respond with laughter. 

I was smiling the whole time?

She didn't even realize it. 

Y/n hugged her teddy bear as she closed her eyes to go to sleep. She grinned once again before her mind drifted away because all she could picture was Kuroo's face. 

∘ ❁ ∘

"You smell like Y/n," Kenma said. Kuroo's eyes widened. 

"What does she even smell like?" he asked, suspicious of Kenma's sense of smell. "She doesn't really smell like anything though?"

"So you met her?" 

"Yeah. It was great." Kenma smiled at him. After a few minutes of silence, he turned off the lights. 

"Goodnight."

Kuroo laid down with a grin on his face, as he tossed and turned all night. For some reason, he couldn't sleep. There was an unsettled feeling in his gut but he couldn't figure out what it was. 

He jolted awake and screamed at the top of his lungs.

"KENMAAA! I FORGOT TO ASK HER FOR HER NUMBERRRRR!" Kuroo continued screaming in agony while tearing at his hair. Kenma threw a pillow at him.

"I don't know where she lives or what school she goes to? What the fuck am I gonna do?!" 

"I have her instagram," Kenma yawned.

"WHAT WHERE?" 

"I'll show you tomorrow."

"NO NOW." Kenma frowned, reluctantly pulling his phone out his pocket.

"That's her right?" Kuroo stared at her instagram page. Her full name was her username so it wasn't impossible for Kenma to find her. However, Kuroo couldn't tell if it was her by just her profile picture. He tried scrolling up and down to find more pictures of her but all it did was refresh the page. He tried examining her bio carefully and found four familiar kanji right at the end. 

"Is that Fukurodani?" Kenma and Kuroo locked eyes.

"That's Bokuto san's school," Kenma said while eyeing Kuroo's reaction and noticed the unease in his eyes. "What's wrong?" Kuroo bit his lip.

"Y/n said something about… an ex boyfriend. She didn't say who."

Part 2 coming soon

Taglist

@yunggumii @blobbyx2blobfish @daiseukis @noyapai @letshaikyuu @gulfwanq @blkjackals @heccingdead @baby-boy-taichi @bokutokoutarou @dateko @maple0bwawe @allywritesimagines @chasin-l @1tsnoya

[needyoulikeaheartbeet]

FOLKLORE FIRST THOUGHTS

ft. very little editing LONG SONGS! LONG SONGS! AESTHETIC TITLE! 63 MINUTES!

1. the 1

PIANO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! omg her voice is so soft if you wanted me you really shouldve showed IF YOU NEVER BLEED YOURE NEVER GONNA GROW OMG ALREADY A BANGER LINE OMG HOW SHE SINGS THE BRIDGE YESSSSSS THATS CATCHYYY

2. cardigan*

DEEP VOICE SULTRY OOOOOOOOOO the piano reminds me of jazz the IIIII hand under my sweatshirt baby kiss it better omg this is sexi ? OMGGGGGGGGGGGG wow the chorus and when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone’s bed you put me on and said i was your favourite WOW playing hide and seek part omg her voice the IIIII part is sooooooooo nice omg this is hot but sad but like NICE THE STRINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! JADORE TELLEMENT you drew stars around my scars but now im bleeding THE STRINGS THE CHORUS THIS IS SO GOOOOOOOD IM CRYING PETER LOSING WENDY this is tugging on my heart strings... that bridge... wow... im literally crying tears rolled down my cheeks wow that was so beautiful im still crying LOL

3. the last great american dynasty

oo that twang-y in the distance im still crying from cardigan sorry all her what friends? was that bleeped? LOL [The clean version of the album on Spotify was available for me before the explicit version] omg how she sangboys you can HEAR her smiling i love it so much my precious bean THESE STORYTELLING LYRICS I NEED TO RELISTEN TO IT ALL STARLIGHT VIBES? omg i had a marvelous tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime <3

4. exile (FEAT BON IVER!!!! OMG?!!!)*

i love how much piano there is in this taylor i love it thank u WHAT A RICH VOICE youre not my homeland anymore?? so what am i defending nwo? im baby STRINGS!!!! <3 this reminds me of the last time kinda duet i cri balancing on breaking bridges im not your problem anymore so who am i offending omg wow her voice is so pretty i gave so many <3

5. my tears ricochet

omg the intro is nice is that her voice? or keyboard voices i didnt have it in myself to go with grace that electronic voice during chorus reminded me of getaway car... i c u jack + the beat... in the bridge wait wake? I NEED LYRICS TO FOLLOW ALONG SKFSKDFNS TOO DISTRACTED AND CONSUMED BY THE MUSIC [I was indeed distracted and not following the lyrics so I thought the wake was connected to one of the previous songs gskng I was like who died omg dummy]

6. mirrorball

ooo this sounds pretty from the start this sounds like a gem i find on youtube at 2 am when no one is around my dear! oooo i like AW SHINING JUST FOR YOU! IN HER HIGHEST HEELS, LOVE? That's so cute i can change eerything about me to try to fit in is SO relatable her vocals r so pretti aw this song makes me smile, the bridge was v cute [Little did I know when I’d relisten and read the lyrics that this song is not one to make you smile ma’am]

7. seven

this is different! this doesnt even sound like her omg but its so nice omg the verse hehe cute THE STRINGSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS YES big fan aw is this from kids pov? pirates poor lil bb sweet tea in the summer, cross my heart wont tell no other

this is different but beautiful

8. august

oooo yes another youtube sounding gem with the quality of the music and her voice oh wow how she sang more OMG YES louder THIS IS NICE twisting in bed sheets aw cause u were never mine oh wow after second chorus the MUSIC YES THIS IS SO NICE IM SO HAPPY AND CONSUMED one ting? huh? cancel plans in case you call... omg

MEET ME BEHIND THE MALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! you werent mine to lose aw... this song i like a lot

omg the story telling im crying i missed this so much it reminds me of fearless era this is so wow tat resumed loudly LOL i laff but omg this is like happy but sad at the same time THE STRINGSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS I CANT THIS MUSIC IS SO NICE I WANT IT TO CONSUME ME AND JUST LISTEN TO IT FOREVER like an instrumental version. just driving. even this version. this was so nice. i missed storytelling like this. i adore

9. this is me trying

i like dis so far yes, another youtube gem ORCHESTRA my words shoot to kill when im mad i have a lo of regrets about that sphere omg at least im trying!!! wow ma'am that was so pretty ???? the build up to the bridge wow jack?

10. illicit affairs*

beautiful guitar, wow omg yes those vocals?? lil guys? or is that guitar i like oh wow yeah def an illicit affair huh this is pretty folk dis make me sad but excellent storytelling omg

clandestine meetings ooooo the BRIDGE YES omg !!!! youve shown me colours that you know i cant see with anyone else you taught me a secret language i cant speak with anyone else OWWWWWWW

11. invisible string

this is fun to dance to its so cute bad blood ? *side eye emoji* prechorus is really nice and catchy her voice is so nice ugh i like this bridge <3 is this about joe? chains around my demons one single thread of gold tied me to you!!!! centennial park blues then purple pink skies! lover <3

12. mad woman

nice piano and strings the beat o wow i hate you forever (... is this clean? fuck you forever?) UPDATE IT IS FUCK YOU FOREVER WOO! omg you found something to wrap your noose around w o w, that's so powerful women like hunting witches too; omg wanting me dead has brought you two together wow but when she sang it wow i love watching you climb over people like me wow this is pain :( the vocals in the background are so nice and add to the feeling it makes my tummy sad :(

those back vocals make me think she can still sing safe and sound live one day maybe so tha tmakes me happy though

13. epiphany

the intro feels like an epiphany lemme tell ya i close my eyes thats nice i dont understand whats happening i need lyrics to follow along but it sounds nice strings <3 does this have to do with the wake? the outro is so soothing british accent?

14. betty

country! this is country! COUNTRY! OMG SHES SINGING COUNTRY!!!!!!!!!!!!! TOO!!!!!!! LIKE ACCENT! OMG the classic storytelling... taylors so good at this my god the worst thing that i ever did was what i did to you PARDY music between chorus and bridge UGH YES JAMES! YESSSS THE SOLO BREAKDOWN yes the only thing i wanna do is make it up to you i showed up at your party? aw! (and then you kicked me out LOL) will you have me will you love me will you kiss me on the porch aw shes so talented wtf. man aw standing in your cardigan kissing in my car again stopped at a street light you know i miss you aw [this was the clear trio clue lol]

15. peace

omg that guitar yes sexi rich deep yez thats so nice

that was catchy omg (when she started) OMG IT IS CENSORED...... i talk * with my friends? GIVE US THE UNCENSORED GOODIES CMON!!! oh i just saw the one thats explicit CLOWNS TO THE WEST WEY IT US aw the rains always gonna come when youre standing with me

16. hoax

so simple, vocals and piano wowie omg best laid plan around there the STRINGS are stunning. seriously stunning wow im obsessed this is nice sad feels the guitar added agh yes omg im gonna cry it still hurts beneath my scars when tey pulled me apart im cryin.... that part im cryin!!!!!!!!! THIS WHOLE BIT the background vocals are stunning her voice :( the stirngs :( the piano :( the guitar :( the simplicity :( me saying okay and nodding while crying

Note. The asterisk was me trying to decode which songs were part of the trio, but I kind of lost track and got confused once we hit Betty / I was too distracted by it being country hahaha

[dragon-fics]

DOS: (Spyro Reignited Trilogy) Wyrmhole (Bubba X Reader)

Chapter summary: Another boy has asked you to prom, but you got scared and said “no”. You try to clear your head with a walk, and end up falling into a hole.

Note: This was requested on Wattpad. And I’m going to immediately apologise for not knowing the non-binary term for boy/girl. Please let me know by commenting if I got it wrong and what to change it to and I will as soon as possible.

F/T = Favourite Takeaway (food) (pizza, Chinese, Indian, etc.)

“(Y/N), um could we talk?” Rodger asked nervously.

“Sure, what is it, Rodger?” I reply. He was a good-looking guy, why would he talk to the shy guy/girl/person in the back of the class.

“So, um, as you know prom is next week and um...,” he took in a breath. “I was wondering whether you’d like to be my date?” He asked. Rodger was one of the most easy-going, confident guys in my year. It was odd seeing him like this.

“I—“

My nerves got the best of me. “I’m sorry Rodger, but I can’t...” I found my body walking away without meaning to.

His face dropped completely. “Oh... I get it.” I felt awful. I went to apologise, but my older brother Sam honked his car horn. I slowly walked away feeling awful.

*-*-*-*

“C’mere Gizmo!” I called, putting her dog food in her bowl. The German shepherd came bounding around the corner of our home. As I emptied the can of wet dog food. She ate it with the most awful of sloppy noises. I tossed the can into the recycling bin and looked at the woods in front of me.

The scene kept playing in my head. All I could see was Rodger’s face dropping with disappointment. I really felt awful for turning him down. I just don’t like crowds and the thought of being near the boy I liked in the middle of a dancefloor, it made my palms sweaty and my breathing uneven.

I focused on the wavering branches of the trees to calm myself down. I relaxed a little, breathing calmly. The forest was pretty much in our backyard, with only a picket fence and gate between our lawn and the wall of trees.

Gizmo whined and looked up at me. I looked down at the dog. She was wagging her tail and looking at me longingly.

“Time for a walk, Gizzy?” The German shepherd bowed the lower half of her body, her black tail wagging wildly. I went inside, grabbing Gizmo’s harness and lead. When I came back out she was jumping up and down in excitement.

“Sit,” I commanded. She sat, tail still wagging hard. I put on her harness and attached her lead. I looked up at the trees again.

We were so lucky to live in one of the few houses with access to this forest, yet still live so near to our town. Then again, when your parents are a writer and an artist, and they’re both as introverted as you are, it all fits into place.

I looked at Gizmo again, her tail still wagging as she waited patiently.

“All right, come,” I said excitedly. I jogged toward the wood, Gizmo bound beside me. I stopped to open the gate and Gizmo hopped the fence, as she often did.

As I jogged on, I felt the grass beneath me give way to hard, coarse dirt. As soon as I passed the first few trees, I saw seven colourful lines of string, each one led I various directions through the wood, all leading back to the same starting point. My usual route was the yellow route, it was the one we all usually walked on with Gizmo. But I saw a new colour, a red string with a white string coiling around it—it looked like a string-made candy cane.

The white string meant that we had not completed the route. I let curiosity take over and followed the red-white trail, Gizmo trotting by my side.

We walked for about twenty minutes before the string ended. I saw to the right that there was a sizeable hole. The surrounding ground was cracked and weak. I walked over, Gizmo followed closely behind, ears twitching in all directions, nervously.

The hole was about a meter wide and looked to be a meter deep. I saw something gold twinkle in the dirt, the last rays of sun catching it.

Again, curiosity got the better of me and I lay down Gizmo’s lead. She whined as I sat with my feet dangling into the hole.

“Its all right, Giz, I’ll be right back.” I lowered myself into the hole and got on my hunches as I dug around the gold spot and could finally pull out the gold coin.

I had never seen a coin like this—I’ve only ever seen gold and silver Euro coins, I rarely see cents used nowadays. I held it in my hand, pinching it between thumb and finger, studying it.

“Looks old,” I mused.

The next thing I felt was the ground give way.

*-*-*-*

I opened my eyes to the bright sun hovering above me. And according to it, it was midday. I groaned as the bright light burned my eyes.

“Finally, you’re awake,” said a gruff voice from beside me. I looked toward the voice. An anthropomorphic blue dragon with a blue-grey underbelly lay beside me. He was very muscular and very handsome. He rolled himself into a pushup position, did three pushups and pushed himself onto his feet from the pushup position.

“Impressive,” I thought aloud.

The dragon smirked. “Not really.” He held out his muscular hand. I reached for it and with one swift movement, he pulled me into his arms.

My cheeks flushed red. Keep it together, (Y/N).

The dragon got on one knee and placed me on the ground. “The name’s Bubba, and welcome to Artisans in the Dragon Realm,” he stood up and spread his arms wide to gesture at the lush, grassy area.

I looked around, noticing several dragons that were as tall as Bubba. Some were muscular like him, some of them were stick-thin, some were young, some were old with long beards. I saw sheep leap around in the lush grass—surely they were wary of the surrounding dragons.

“I’m (Y/N),” I said. “And why were you lying on the ground beside me?”

“You were unconscious for a while, so I thought it would look less worrying if it looked like we were both chilling on the grass,” as he spoke he flexed his arms, showing off his biceps.

I shook my head and smiled. “That’s reassuring, wouldn’t want anyone to be worried about me being unconscious in a realm I’ve never been before,” I said, a light air of sarcasm stuck to my words.

Bubba chuckled. “Well, I couldn’t leave a pretty boy/girl/person alone in the middle of Artisans unconscious, just in case other dragon tried to flirt with you,” he eyed a green dragon with a yellow underbelly while he worked in his workshop, chiselling a slab of wood.

My cheeks flushed again. God/Gods, he likes me! I thought in a surprised tone. Two guys in one day—that was odd.

I smiled at him as my cheeks returned to their normal shade. “So, um, could I get a tour from the very muscular, very handsome, Bubba?” I asked, trying to return his compliment.

He bowed at me. “As you wish, the dazzling (Y/N),” he held out his arm in an incomplete link. I completed the link and walked with him.

I met almost all the dragons in Artisans, from the small purple dragon named Spyro, to the tall green dragon carpenter named Nestor. Each time I met a new dragon, and they showed me a trick like Zantor’s floating card trick, Bubba would eye them jealously and sometimes—like when I talked to Nestor—a low growl would escape his pursed lips. And then he’d quickly lead me in another direction, to meet someone else or to show me something different.

Hours later, after a complete tour of Artisans, Bubba brought me to a cliff that overlooked the whole of Artisans. I saw the sun set in the distance, the evening sky adding a warm orange glow to Artisans.

“(Y/N)?” Bubba said, sitting on the smooth rock beneath us.

“Yeah?” I sat beside him.

Bubba took a breath, which was odd because he was all confident and charming. “I really like you,” he said, in a low voice.

I smiled and wrapped my arm around his thick muscular one. “I like you too, Bubba.”

What the hell am I saying?! I would never admit that!

Would I?

Bubba smiled a toothy grin, one I had to smile at.

“Then perhaps you should tell Rodger how you truly feel,” he said, placing a finger on my heart. “After all, you’ve just told me the same thing.”

I thought for a moment.

“Tell him, (Y/N).”

*-*-*-*

Something wet, slobbery and warm ran across my cheek, and all I could smell was canned dog food. I felt a dull throbbing ache around the back of my head. I groaned loudly, and I heard a lively bark after whatever ran its way across my cheek stopped.

My eyes shot open.

“Gizmo!” I gasped and tried to sit up.

“Easy, easy,” came my dad’s voice. He placed his hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me back down. “You hit your head pretty hard. Your mum bandaged it up after Gizmo came to us for help,” he looked back at the dog.

“Thanks, Gizzy. Thanks, Mum,” I said, relaxing a little.

“You can thank Swords and Wielders for pushing me to learn bandaging techniques,” my mum said, referring to her medieval fantasy story of a knight who taught a wannabe-knight how to fence and be a knight and ended up falling in love.

I smiled, amused.

“We still have to take you to A and E, though,” my dad said. My mum nodded in agreement.

“Fine,” I sighed dramatically. Mum and Dad helped me up and walked me home.

I have to take my mind’s advice and talk to Rodger. I decided, walking with my parents and Gizmo towards our house. I have to tell him I feel the same, and that I’m too awkward to bring a dance.

Perhaps he’d be ok with just staying in and having (F/T) instead?