#it should change color like a mood ring

[wound-licking]

Give me one with a magnetic tip like a screwdriver

i think tguys should be allowed to get freaky with their bottom surgery. when are they adding knots to phalloplasty.

[sugarverse]

𝕞𝕪 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣

word count: 4.8k

dilf!tenya iida x babysitter!reader

warning: dilf! iida, praise!kink, size!kink, pet names, smut like almost immediately, iida is 43 yummy. reader is 22 and in school :) listen headcanons are headcanons if you don't like it, scram 👵🏾🤜🏾

It was almost 8pm on a Wednesday. Not that you minded, but your boss wasn’t the type for such late plans. What could be the reason he’s leaving? Does he have a date? You question, a small frown coming to your face as you packed some things to study over at his house. His daughter was probably one of the coolest 4 year olds you had ever babysat, well mannered and just a world of silly. There would be times you had to remind Ingenium there was still pink paint on his nails, or that he had glitter all over one of his ties because Melody thought “dad needed some fairy magic!”. You knock on the door to their home, fumbling with your rings. It was still very nerve racking to stand in front of such a big house. You weren't used to it, but the pay was something you could get used to.

"Good evening y/n, Sorry I needed you on such short notice. They told me there are some after action reviews that hadn't been updated..." He grumbled, a vein from stress in his forehead as he forced a smile through the annoyance. He pushed his glasses up, shaking his head to himself before pulling out his wallet and counting a few 20s in front of you. He handed it to you with a more sincere smile. “Thank you for always being there when I need you, y/n.”

Before you could answer, you hear a pair of small footsteps running down the hall towards you. “Y/nnnn!!” Melody comes running up to you, fake fries in one hand while a barbie was dragged in the other. She put her arms up to the best of her abilities, offering her fries out to you. 

You smile wide at the little girl, quickly folding the money and sliding it into the pocket of your bag and taking the fries. “These look so good! Do you have anything else for me?” The little girl nodded, running away to go find more.

"Take your time, I brought stuff to catch up on while me and Melody hang out!” You begin to set up in the dining room, sliding your shoes off at the door. It was spotless aside from the dollhouse next to the television, there were all kinds of toys hanging around it but what else could you expect?

He let out a deep chuckle before his wrist caught his attention. He huffed, poking around on the new Apple Watch he bought not too long ago. "I'll be back as soon as I can, it's just to refill out reports from lord knows how long ago." He was clearly irritated, mood changing as his daughter came running down the hall once more. 

He kneeled down to kiss Melody on the forehead, giving her a big hug. She hugged back, giggling and handing him the fake food as well. “Are you gonna play too?”

He frowned for a moment, shaking his head no. “Daddy has to go to work for a little bit. He'll be right back, But Miss l/n is going to have the best time with you.” He smiled, watching his daughter cheer and hug you next. He stood, wiping his knees off and leaning in to talk to you. “There's money on the table to order anything you're hungry for, I should be back in two hours.” And with that, he left.

It didn't take long for the toddler to get tired, only about an hour in and she was letting you tuck her in. You turned on her nightlight for her, watching stars cover the ceiling from the pillowpet she had. Her room was so colorful, you could just tell he'd do anything for her. It was incredibly sweet. You leave her door cracked upon her request, walking back into the living room to get started on your work. You put your hair up and out of your face, making sure everything was put away before you sat cross-legged in front of the glass coffee table before you.

The main reason you had been babysitting for The Turbo Hero, Ingenium, was to pay off the hell that is college. He paid you almost a thousand a week for watching his daughter. It wasn't like you didn't love her! She was easy to take care of. Never cried a lot, says funny stuff, lets you do her hair instead of running.. But the first reason had always been the money. Now? It might have been seeing her father come home with ruffled hair from combing his hands through it so much throughout the day.  Always in such an unresting state, irritated from the world just to come home and be so loving towards his daughter.. and quite frankly, you. There would be times you cooked for him as well as his daughter,  those were the nights he said he'd be home by a certain time and couldn't be.. which happened more than once a month. He always repaid you with more than just money, not that it was a big deal. You repeatedly told him it wasn't. But he was raised better than that. Other nights when he'd come home earlier, he'd ask you to stay for dinner.  Melody loved when you stayed longer so why wouldn't he?

Maybe he felt the same way I did?  You thought to yourself. Who am I kidding, Hes a Pro-Hero, he seems so engrossed with being perfect and keeping an outstanding reputation.. There was no way! He was older anyway, what would he want with his 22 year old babysitter.. You bit the sides of your mouth subconsciously, trying to focus rather than doodling in the margins and thinking of your boss. It was unprofessional. But that still didn't stop you from showing up in shorter clothes, wearing lip gloss from time to time to see if anything in the air changed. A man with money was the dream. But a man with money, a sweet heart, and towers over you? That's a different kind of blessing.

Tenya sat at his desk, groaning quietly as he slid a rough hand over the tip of his cock to cover it in his own precum. It helped the friction and helped him distress.. plus there was hardly time to unwind except in the comfort of his office. It was almost embarrassing. He let out a low groan, bucking his hips into his hand as he threw his head back. Teeth bit harshly on a navy blue tie, letting his mind wander. He had met hundreds of people throughout his life.. but no one as gorgeous.. As heavenly as his babysitter. Now that was embarrassing. The way he'd have to hide his erection when you wear that specific skirt, or the way he couldn't help but stare when your tits were out. 

Did you care that he could see? Did you just need someone to put you in your place? He thought about how he wouldn't mind.. bending that pretty little ass over his lap until you'd had trouble sitting for days. Maybe it would knock the common sense right back into that little brain of yours.There was no way you dressed like that by accident. The more he genuinely thought about it, the faster his hand moved.

Shuttering at the thought of you, he shut his eyes tightly. Thinking about the times you wore those too short shorts, Or being bent over to grab the remote that mysteriously fell as soon as he got there and had been ‘too far’ under the couch. Seeing you in those pretty blue panties you wore. It was on fucking purpose wasn't it? God. Why has it taken so long to put it together? He sees the looks you give him but he just thinks its in admiration and he could be confusing it but.. now he's sure that's not all behind your eyes.

He bit harder onto his tie, feeling his cock twitch as he came onto the bottom of his desk. His head began to spin, Having held in that orgasm a bit too long. He gave a small huff as he spit out his tie, looking down at his mess. He groaned, going to clean his mess with a tissue as he tucked himself back into his boxers. He was going to have a talk with you when he came home. He couldn't help bouncing his leg impatiently after cleaning up his mess. He just couldn't stop thinking about you. The little things.. like touching more than his hand to get his attention, touching his thigh to lean over and grab the remote. You had to have known you were being such a tease.. how could he be so blinded to see it.

By the time he was on the way home, You had gotten some studying done… Along with ordering food, washed some clothes for his daughter, emptied the dishwasher, and vacuumed. After counting what he had given you? You felt the extra things were almost necessary. You heard the keys jingle from the other side of the door as the lock finally clicked, watching the door open. And there was Ingenium, disheveled with eyes glossed over from under those sharp square glasses.. Tie already loose and the top buttons of his dress shirt undone. 

“I'm sorry I didn't think it'd take..” He started before you cut him off, smiling and starting to close your notebook for school. 

“You don't have to apologize, Mr. Ii-..Tenya.” He had corrected you on it before, using first names was fine to make you feel more comfortable around him. It just wasn't often that you needed to say a name at all. You could hear him sliding his shoes off at the door, setting the keys in a bowl. He locked it after him as always, setting his tie against the couch as he undid his sleeve buttons.

"Do you mind staying a bit longer? I need to talk to you." He shined a smile at you as he watched you nod, you had just begun to get up but your butt landed right back in the spot you'd been in. He walked past the couch and to his daughter's room, shutting it slowly so it didn't wake her. He then went across the hall to his own room to change into something comfier than a suit and tie.

It didn't take him long to change into an old white t-shirt, gray and black checkered pajama pants hanging onto his long legs. He walked into the living room, pulling his glasses off and wiping his face with his hand. "Y/n.?" He put his glasses back on to focus on your pretty grin, watching your thighs press themselves together as you sat up to prove he had every ounce of your attention.

"Your clothes are always very.." He huffed, looking up at the ceiling fan before right back at you. In your eyes, this time. "Your clothes are often too short for appropriate attire. It seems like every week or so your clothes get shorter and shorter. Are you trying to get my attention? Because now you have it." He couldn't believe the last few words coming from his mouth. Did he sound like a pervert talking to you like this? He wasn't trying to jump so far. He was just trying to let you know you really do have his attention. It's hard to focus as the day goes on, he thinks about you so much.. he thinks about what you'd say in certain situations, what kinda things you'd like when he stops for lunch. There have been plenty of times where you needed to accompany his pretty girl for the beginning of a field trip and he met in the middle of the day. You both would stay and Melody would have a ball.. He really couldn't stand when you weren't around.

You could feel your face flush, looking down at your outfit and tugging your shirt up slightly to cover your chest better.  "I.. I wasn't meaning to- It's just been very.. hot." That had some truth to it but your voice still cracked. Although it was hot, it didn't take away from the fact you were trying to at least see if he was into you.  Maybe he's not into-

"Come here, y/n." He stood with his arms crossed, his chest puffed out slightly. His ruby eyes followed your body until you stopped in front of him, watching you nervously fidgeting with your fingers.

"Do you think I don't notice when you bend over?" He grabbed your jaw with a large calloused hand, attempting to be gentle with firmness to his words. "How you look at me?" He could feel the blood rush to your face, not letting his eyes leave yours at this point. He leaned down a bit, not wanting to tower over and intimidate you too much. He wasn't actually upset. In fact…

"Do you think I could have you?" The Pro-Hero leaned down even more, rubbing his index finger across your bottom lip. He let his thumb and middle finger pucker your lips from gripping your face just a bit harder, feeling you nod in his hand as response. 

“p..please..” Was all you really could muster out before he slid his index finger into your mouth. You could hear him mumble some sort of praise, giving your temple a small kiss.

He didn't care about the small whimper you let out, loosening his grip on your face to slide in his middle finger. "Suck, sweetheart.." Letting the pads of his fingertips brush over your tongue sloppily. He watched as you involuntarily drooled all over your chin and his hand. "Good girl. You're so obedient for me already.." Tenya grazed his fingers over your teeth before shoving them deeper into your mouth, seeing you gag a bit with a smirk. 

You didn't mind the feeling, staring up at him as he began to stand up straight. He watched your pretty eyes fill with a few tears, starting to gag once again. You could feel him pull the digits from your mouth and replace them with his thumb. He cupped the side of your face and gave you a kiss on the opposite temple. "You're just so gorgeous." You shivered at the thought of him, Letting a few tears spill as you attempted to blink them away before trying to pull away from his hand. 

"I.. I wanna kiss.." You spoke quietly, feeling him tap the side of your face with his index finger. He let his 6'5 frame tower over you for a few extra seconds, leaning back down to press his lips against yours. You whimpered into his mouth before wrapping your arms around his neck since you were still having trouble reaching him. He lifted you into his arms, his hands holding your under thighs as he walked towards his bedroom. You slid your tongue into his mouth first, before he followed suit. 

You let out soft moans, squeezing him between your legs even tighter. You tried not to bite his tongue, sucking and swirling around it as you felt him sit onto his bed, pulling away only for a moment to leave room for words. "Are you okay with this y/n? Do you want this to go any further?" He cupped your face softly once more, breathing uneven and heavy but you knew by his tone that he meant it. "We can always stop my darling, I'd never wanna make you uncomfortable.."

You nod, scrambling to speak instead so he knew you were for certain. "Yes sir.. I want you.” You gave him a smile, watching as he kissed down your neck. You let out a happy sigh, squirming impatiently. He got the message, stripping your curves of the thin clothing that clung onto you.

His face burned at the sight of you, holding you closer to him by your hips. You could see him twitch inside of his pants, hands going to massage his scalp. He leaned into your touch for a moment, sighing in mostly relief as you slid to your knees and helped him out of his pajamas. 

“You're so sweet to me Tenya.. I'm so glad I can finally show you how much it means..” You teased, eyes focused on the navy blue trail with sprinkles of gray led down toward his cock. You started to feel nervous, looking at his length and then back up to his face. which was bright red, his mouth covered by his hand as his glasses hung from the edge of his nose. It sure was a sight to see. 

“Look at what you do to me, y/n..” He teased, his cock visibly twitching from the cold air in his home. You stared at him for a moment, feeling your legs press together tightly before sitting up on your knees.

You started closer to the base, licking upward to his tip before trying to fit him into your mouth. He rested a hand behind your head, massaging your scalp as you took as much as you could down your throat. He didn't want to force you, but he couldn't stand not watching you struggle. 

You started slow, bobbing your head and using your hand to make up for what couldn't fit in your mouth.  He let out a drawn out sigh,  head tilted back in enjoyment as he took a fistful of your hair. “You take me so w..well..” He laughed nervously, breathing starting to get uneven as you sped up. he didn't expect it, but gladly enjoyed it. He started shoving your head down gently, not pushing with much force but definitely pushing. 

You gag, rushing to move away from his cock before he told your head still. “Breathe- Breathe through your nose, pretty girl. ..That's it. Look up at me, hm?” He pulled your hair, tilting your head back enough that he could see those pretty brown eyes.

You blinked the tears out of your eyes, doing as asked. Your head spun from the lack of oxygen, but it was worth it to see him moan and buck at your touch. Especially when he talked so.. properly. And here you were, watching him crumble.

His mind was fuzzy. Thoughts everywhere as he let out noises of pleasure. Rocking his hips against his bed slightly to reach deeper in your throat. Once he reached where he wanted, he let out a sharp gasp. You watched his face contort, shoving your head down roughly as he chased his own orgasm selfishly. 

You moved your hands onto his legs, nails digging into muscled thighs as he abused your throat. You shut your eyes tightly, slobbering as gags and gulps came from you. He came quickly after speeding up, letting you go as you pushed away from his length. You cough, swallowing what you could as your tears fell onto the floor. It was a lot more than you thought, but definitely worth it.

Your nose scrunched at the taste, wiping your droll from your bottom lip with the back of your hand. You stared up at him, watching his cock twitch and stay hard even after all that. You whined at the sight, thinking about how sore your jaw is going to be. Before you can continue, he moved to sit up. He wiped the fucked look from his face, “Get on top of me, sweetheart.”

You got up slowly, feeling your legs shaking from sitting on them for so long. You ignored the ache, climbing over him and hovering over him carefully. Your eyes drifted to the detailing in his room, trying not to be too nervous. He held your hips to steady you, kissing your collarbone and leaning in to inhale your scent. 

He felt like it was almost addictive, nibbling and leaving small red kisses over your breasts. “Are you okay?” He asked, pulling away and looking up at you. His glasses were still tilted, trying to see you through the little bits he could.

You nod, hiding in his shoulder with a nervous laugh. “It's just a um.. a lot. is all..” You muster out, feeling his tip rub against your slit and against your entrance. He chuckled nervously,  rubbing your waist and ass slowly.

“You can do it my pretty girl. Come on, Try..” He pulled away from your chest, looking up at you to let you know how serious he was. If you couldn't do it, he'd stop and just eat you out. He gave you time to get used to it as he pushed in, watching your back arch and you squirm in his arms. He mumbled praises against your skin before bottoming out inside of you.

Your mouth hung open, whining at the friction. “O..Oh fuck- ohmygod..” You dig your nails into his shoulders until you feel comfortable enough to move, moans coming from both of you as you readjusted yourself. He rubbed your back in circles, letting you sit as long as you needed.

“That's it, like that..” He kissed your temple, feeling you slowly raise yourself and lower back onto him. His eyes fluttered, trying to concentrate on you. He hugged your waist tightly, grinding you down against him so your clit was simulated too. After a moment he decided you were moving too slow, bucking his hips up into you. “Come on y/n, Don't give up on me now. You can take it,” He encouraged, watching your face contort with pleasure. 

You could feel his skin under your nails as you drug them upwards against his shoulders. It was truly a lot. “I..Im trying sir..” You stutter out, biting your bottom lip and moving faster. He adored how gorgeous you were in his arms, wincing at your sharp nails and practically drooling as he pushed his face into your tits. You could feel his cold glasses smoosh against your skin, tangling manicured hands into his hair and holding him close.

It was definitely more intimate than you imagined, listening to the sounds your body made as you held each other so close. It was different from any other time you had had sex, besides what.. Maybe your first time? It felt nice for someone to be so loving behind it. He looked up at you, leaving small amateur hickeys for someone older than you. He moved his hands down to the curve of your ass, Big hands grip your ass, helping you take it just a bit more by moving into you at the same time. You were almost seeing stars.

“Does that..” He panted out, head moving back slightly so words could escape.  “Feel better?” He soaked in your facial expressions, watching you nod slowly and lay your head on his shoulder. He'll take care of you from here, you didn't have to overdo it. 

He made sure to stay steady, moving from your tits to stare into your eyes. He listened to your cunt squelch, looking down at your sexes before back at you. Your puffy lips tried to stay locked with his but you couldn't help but be loud. You hid your face into his shoulder to muffle yourself before he pushed you to sit down fully. “Let me see you angel, Just C..Cover your mouth..” He gave your temple another soft kiss, feeling you slowly sit back up to cover your mouth. 

Tenya stared at you with lust clouded eyes and a smirk. He groaned, tilting your hips upwards. He began doing all the work to fuck into you, wanting to watch come undone as he abused that poor sensitive spot so you could finally finish.  You covered your mouth with both hands, feeling as if the room was spinning as he held onto you. You tried your hardest to stay quiet, thighs already aching from the vast difference between your laps. 

You get louder behind your own hands, eyes rolling back as you came hard against his cock. Your body began to shake, laying your head onto his shoulder and staying in his touch. He stayed inside of you, letting out a deep chuckle. He stood with you in his arms slowly, turning to lay you on the bed instead. “Look at that pretty face.. I knew you'd make such expressive faces..” He held your legs against his chest as he slammed into you once more.

You raised your back off of the mattress, nails gripping onto the soft blue sheets. Your knuckles turned white, moaning into the pillow beside you. He held your ankle with his hand for a moment, kissing your legs softly as he slowly thrusted in and out of you. “Faster– ah sh..shit- harder..” You whine softly, trying to hold him closer with your legs. 

Iida was obviously close for a second time, his brow twitching as he concentrated on reaching deeper inside of you. He hugged your legs at your knees and slid your hips up towards his own. He moaned against your soft brown skin, kissing your calf. He began snaking a hand down your thigh, rubbing your clit so the two of you could cum together this time. You shut your eyes tightly, moaning into your hand or into his shoulder whichever was closest when you needed it. He sped up like you asked, watching you squirm under him with a very satisfied look in his eyes.

"Don't close your eyes, baby. Look at me..” He stopped moving, holding your hips to stay still against his. He lightly touched your clit as he spoke, watching your eyes struggle to look up at him. “I want you to cum, y/n.. Watch you come undone for me..” He leaned forward and kissed your forehead softly before continuing his movements once more.

He let out low groans and grunts into your skin, hips moving desperately against yours. He stared into your eyes, strong hands keeping your knees pinned to damn near your shoulders. Your hands found their way to his back, tapping it slightly to let him know you were close like he wanted. Shoving his lips against yours, you could feel him slam into that spot before coming to a halt. You could feel him twitch inside of you, earning a whine as you came against his cock as well.

You clung to him as tight as you could, shaking from the stimulation as he slowly pulled your legs down. He chuckled, making sure to be slow when pulling out. “I..” He stuttered, ears turning pink as he stared down at the mess you two had made. “I couldn't help myself.. Apologies..” He said nervously, looking up at your face and holding it in his hands gently.

“Are you alright, angel?” He asked with genuine concern. You nodded, arms loosely hanging around his neck. He smiled, kissing your cheek and pulling away to stand. He lifted you into his arms, resting you against his abdomen as he walked down the hall. “Let's get you cleaned up..”

“My thighs are sore..” You mumble from his shoulder, giggling quietly and drawing swirls onto his soft skin. He frowned slightly, turning to kiss your cheek as he stared into the tub. He gave you a quick kiss, turning the hot water on and resting you on the side of the tub. 

“I'm sorry– Is that a good thing or bad?” He asked as he searched for towels in the linen closet. Once he found one, he wiped off his fogging glasses and grabbed some soap to pour into the tub. He wanted you to be as relaxed as possible, especially since none of this was planned and normally he is much more gentlemanly about wanting to have sex. Maybe he was overthinking it.

You shook your head no, giggling once more and leaning up to give his arm a kiss. “I prefer to be left that way..” You tease, watching his face turn all pink again. He set his glasses down on the counter next to the towels and continued to make the water juuuuust right. 

You spun your legs around, the smell of lavender filled the room. He stopped the water, kissing your temple and rubbing your back. You felt the warmth cover your body, sinking down into the big bathtub. You let your head stay above water, giggling and watching him get in as well.

This was something you could get used to.

thank you @thecutestgrotto for the bomb ass art boarders! will def be using them more :)

and thank you @fizziedoodle for the moodboard !!

[s6lars]

dress.

a harmless prank leaves jamal acting unexpectedly and you're determind to find out why — even if it forces you to get dangerously close. (wc: 7.5k)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. jm42 x reader, ft. mathys tel

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. smut — mdni! with a good chunk of plot, jealous brother’s bsf jamal.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. cursing, drinking, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering + more

𝐀/𝐍. requested here, thank you for waiting patiently anon !! this is also my first time writing in months, i'm so terribly sorry that i'm rusty and it might not be my greatest work. but i hope you enjoy ! (also this is not proofread lol)

“Fuck!” you groan, examining the plastic bag in your hands.

“What? What’s wrong?” You chew on on your bottom lip, setting the bag on your thighs where you kneeled on the floor. You pick up your phone, flipping the camera so your friend could see on Facetime.

“They sent me the wrong one.”

Nothing destresses you quite as much as online shopping, and with your finals finished a few days ago, you’d gone crazy on the internet — fitting as much as your cart would allow it. The stack of boxes in your room began to pile as the orders came in one by one, and once they all did, you treated yourself to your own version of Christmas.

“Which one did you get originally?” your friend, Andrea, asks. You’ve been giving her an unboxing of everything you’d bought for yourself, opening packages on your bedroom floor with your speaker blasting Drake in the back.

“I ordered this in green, they gave it to me in black.” 

“Oh. Well, at least it’s the same dress right?” Andrea takes a bite out of the donut she’s eating. “I still think it looks nice.” “Yeah, me too. But I already have, like, 3 other black dresses,” you sigh.

“I think you should still try it on.” “You think?” “Yeah, why not? It’s just in a different color anyway.” Andrea’s right. You’re not really in the mood to go through the hassle of online returns and back-and-forth conversations with the seller. 

You leave your phone on your bedroom floor to get changed off-camera, standing in front of your mirror. The dress feels promising as you pull it out of the bag — it’s strapless, jet black in color with a few cutouts on the side joined by metal rings, exposing your sides. It feels smooth as you slide it on, the stretchy material hugging your curves and the hem stopping on your mid thighs.

“So…” You pick up your phone, showing the dress off to Andrea. “How does it look?”

Andrea gasps in awe, making you giggle at her reaction. “Oh my god, I think I’m liking this one the most so far,” she raves, and you look to the pile of the other dresses you’d bought on your floor.

You adjust the dress, smoothing it out, pulling the hem lower. The dress is gorgeous, hugging you in all the right places. You check yourself out in the mirror, feeling more confident the longer you have it on.

“This is so nice, actually. Who even cares about the color anymore, I’m obsessed,” you gush.

“Mhm. And you can wear it with that purse you bought, and with the gold jewelry as well,” Andrea suggests, and you hum in agreement. As she’s talking, you reach for your water bottle on your nightstand, disappointed when you realize it’s empty. “Hey, I’m gonna fill up my water, give me a sec,” you state, muting yourself and tossing your phone on your bed.

You waltz in the kitchen, bringing your speaker with you, taking advantage of the fact that you’re home alone. You incoherently hum along to SZA, waiting for your bottle to be filled — and a loud noise erupts from behind where you stood.

“BOO!” 

You shriek, body jolting forward, causing some of the water to spill on your dress and your speaker to almost fall loose from your grip.

“What the fu— Oh my god, J.” You’re met with familiar brown eyes as you turned around, seeing Jamal with his hands flat on the kitchen island where he’d slammed them. He giggles at your annoyance. 

To most, Jamal is Bayern’s starboy, a young player dazzling in the world of football. To you, he’s your brother’s best friend, and someone who shows up unannounced to your house a lot. Your older brother Noah works in the industry as an agent, and the two of them met many years ago as teenagers. Now, they’re close as ever — so close, that Noah trusts him enough to give him a spare keycard to your shared apartment.

You met Jamal not long after they hit it off, and you can safely say you’ve also become friends with him now.

Just friends. That’s all you’ll ever be.

Like Noah has stressed multiple times before.

You grab a towel, dabbing the wet spot on your dress. “What do you want, J?”

“Is Noah home?” “No. He went to the gym,” you respond, groaning, making sure your dissatisfaction is heard loud and clear. Once you do, you turn off the obnoxiously loud speaker that prevented you from hearing his entrance. 

“Without me?”

“Yeah, he needed the time alone, clearly,” you snap back, circling around the kitchen island to face him. As you do, Jamal’s eyes trail down your body, your dress now revealed, his face twisting in a mix of confusion and awe. 

“Bit early for a night out, no?” He says, clearly referencing to your dress. He’d be right, it’s only the early evening.

You look down at your dress before meeting his eyes again, seeing him shift uncomfortably. “Who said this was for a night out?”

He cocks his head to the side. “It’s not?”

The devil on your shoulder is telling you to get back at him for almost ruining your dress and breaking your speaker. If he can show up unannounced, why can’t you lie and pull a few strings? “No… it’s for a date.”

You lie straight through your teeth, making up a story as you go. Jamal’s jaw falls slack, like he’s about to say something, but then it closes before he does.

“A… date?” He heard you the first time. He just wants to know if you’re being serious.

And you keep pretending that you are. “Yeah, a date. Why’s that so shocking?” You fold your arms, leaning against the kitchen island.

Jamal pauses. “With who?” While you’re biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from laughing, he’s having none of it. His eyebrows are furrowed, his jaw tense as he questions you.

“With this guy from uni. He’s just so sweet,” you sigh dreamily for dramatic effect, dragging the gimmick as long as you could. “We’ve been talking for a while and now he wants to get serious.” “Serious?” 

“...Yeah. I really think we could be a thing.” Your face falters at Jamal’s deadpan response. You’re only joking with him, but even if you weren’t, why is the mention of a date getting him like this?

You succesfully pulled his strings— but you don’t know if you should be happy or not. Jamal looks at you, almost in offense, and you can practically see the steam coming off of his ears. You’ve known him for a while, and yet this is the first you’ve seen of him like this.

“Tell Noah I’m not hanging out today.” Jamal storms out the kitchen, your mouth falling agape at his reaction. You trail behind him, worried that you took it too far.

“What? No, Jamal wait—” He doesn’t spare a single glance as he marches out the door, slamming it in your face, sending the hinges rattling. You’re frozen in your spot, unable to move or even process what just happened for a few moments before you’re dragging yourself back to your room, still slightly shaken.

You grab your phone and unmute yourself, still seeing Andrea on the line.

“Hey.” 

“Hey, what took you so long?” She notices the startled look in your eyes, sitting up in her bed.

“Sorry. Jamal … came over earlier. It was weird,” you say, slumping against your headboard.

“Weird? Isn’t he your friend? Or a friend of your brother?”

“Yeah, but… well, I—” you exhale, taking the time to string your words properly. “I was joking around, but then he got really upset and stormed out,” you explain.

“What the hell?” “I know. I’ve never seen him that pissed off. Not because of me at least.”

“That’s so weird. All over a joke?” “Yeah.” “What a prick,” Andrea sneers.

“No, don’t say that.” You’re not sure why, but you don’t really want to tell Andrea that the joke in question involved you lying about going on a date. “Hey, I gotta go. Bye.” 

You abruptly end the call carelessly tossing your phone aside. Now that you’re alone, you stare at the ceiling, finally having the time to process the interaction. The mood has shifted now. An inkling creeps into your thoughts as to why Jamal got so defensive, but you shrug it off, terrified of its consequences, terrified it would manifest.

“It’s probably nothing,” you mumble to yourself. But is it? You’re tossing and turning in bed because something is telling you that it’s not just nothing, and you have to find out for yourself.

You have to talk to Jamal.

“You’re up early.”

Stopping in your tracks, you turn around to see Noah splayed on the living room couch, working on his laptop.

You take a sip from your mug, setting it down on the coffee table before replying. “And you’re home for once.”

Noah gets exceptionally busy during the transfer window. You’ve been getting used to spending weeks home alone, or only catching him in the early mornings or coming in late at night, but almost never when the sun was out. Part of you thinks it’s not just work that’s been holding up, though.

“You know how busy I get in January,” Noah says. He squints as he watches you sit adjacent to him, putting on your socks and shoes. “And where are you headed?”

You pause. “Just going on a walk.”

Noah doesn’t need to know that the walk in question is en route to Jamal’s house.

Last night, you went to bed uneasy, hoping you could sleep it off. You woke up this morning and nothing had changed, and that’s when you decided you had to talk to Jamal immediately or you’d explode by midday. Noah being home wasn’t part of your plans.

He’s always been a little protective, as all older brothers are to their sisters. You vividly recall when you first met Jamal at one of his infamous house parties— alone in the kitchen, getting drinks for your friends when he strolled in, starting a conversation. It was an instant connection, with you finding yourself taking your sweet time just to keep talking to him.

Of course, Noah barged in at one point, throwing his arm around you and escorting you out of the kitchen himself, not before interrogating you on your conversation with Jamal.

Although he’s loosened up since, you know Noah would start getting skeptical if you told him you were headed to Jamal’s place first thing in the morning. But what Noah doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Right, bye.” Just as you stand up to leave, Noah interrupts.

“Wait! Can you get some sandwiches from the café when you come back? Thanks!” 

“As long as you pay me back!” you chime, already halfway out the door.

The walk to Jamal’s place is a rare but not unfamiliar one. You live not too far away, and there have been countless times where you had to pick Noah up after a night out, so you knew the way well. You could’ve taken your car, but you decided you need the extra time for yourself, deciding on a walk.

You’re not really sure what you’re getting out of this. Your mind fluctuates between feeling like this is the right thing to do and the urge to turn back and buy those sandwiches Noah was talking about earlier.

But you never do, and now you’re standing in front of his doorway.

Unlike with your house, Jamal’s never given you a spare set of keys so you can waltz into his at any given moment. You take a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, your heart beating out of your chest as you do.

Silence. You ring the doorbell a few more times, hearing the soft pattering of footsteps behind the door. 

You fix your hair and adjust your clothes, awaiting Jamal’s arrival. 

Instead, you’re met with the sight of a woman when the door swings open.

A half-naked woman.

She looks slightly older than you, dressed in only a sports bra and sweats, her hair tussled like she just woke up. You’re both looking at each other up and down, confused. This is the first you two have seen of each other.

“Can I help you?” She’s the first to break the silence. You reluctantly meet her gaze. There’s a weird territorial atmosphere lingering between you two, like the person standing before you shouldn’t be here.

“Uh, I’m looking for Jamal,” you say, your voice coming out a lot shakier than you anticipated. A pit continues to grow in your stomach. You probably should have turned back home when you had the chance.

“Oh, he’s in the shower.”

Your heart drops. You’re not an idiot, and you’re no child— you can put two and two together. Neither is Jamal, and you know he probably hooks up with someone whenever he gets the chance. But why does that bother you so much? And why are you only feeling this way now?

You’re lost in your thoughts, and the woman waves a hand in front of your face, trying to pull you back to reality.. “Did you need anything? He’ll probably take a while.”

You shake your head, already getting ready to take off. “Just tell him I was joking yesterday.”

“Huh?” Turning around on your heels, you leave the woman hanging, walking away from the door. Whatever you were expecting to happen when you got to Jamal’s place, it surely isn’t this.

You glare straight ahead, not caring for whoever you bumped into. All you knew was just in that moment, you had to get as far away as possible from Jamal’s house. And so you did, marching as far as your legs would take you, until beads of sweat ran down your temples and your breathing turned heavy.

Maybe Noah was right in trying to put some distance between you two.

Meanwhile, Jamal dries himself off with a towel as he leaves his bathroom. He walks into the kitchen to grab some breakfast, passing by his front door, seeing the girl he picked up last night standing by.

She hears his footsteps as he comes down the stairs, turning to face him. “Morning, baby,” she coos, putting on the best lovey-dovey voice she could muster.

Jamal winces at the remark. “I’ll get you a taxi after you shower,” he replies, walking right past her and into the kitchen. The girl rolls her eyes, groaning silently. She doesn’t know why she keeps trying to get closer to him when all they’re doing this for is sex.

“Some girl came over while you were in the shower, by the way,” she brazenly states, hoping to get his attention for once. 

“Who?” “Like I know. She just came by and asked if you were here, and then told me to tell you that she was just joking yesterday?”

It works. Jamal stops dead in his tracks. “And what did she look like?” The girl starts describing how you looked from the short appearance you made earlier. The more she speaks, she sees the gears turning in Jamal’s head as he puts two and two together, ultimately realizing that you had gone all the way to his house just to talk to him.

He looks at the girl before him. She came all the way to his house, probably to apologize, just to be met with one of his random hookups who he barely even spoke to outside his bedroom.

Jamal’s eyes widen in realization at how horribly he’d fucked up, abandoning his breakfast and rushing back up the stairs.

“Where are you going? Who is she?” The girl asks, waving her hand to get his attention, though all her calls are ignored as he shoves his way into his room to go looking for his phone, unplugging it from where it was charging on his nightstand.

His fingers rapidly dart across the screen as he types out a message, a desperate attempt at reaching you before it was too late.

[07:42] jamal: did you come over earlier? [07:43] jamal: i promise it’s not what it looks like [07:43] jamal: we can talk if you want to [07:43] jamal: just the two of us

Your phone buzzes four seperate times as you stand in line at the café down the street from your apartment building. Sometime during your walk, Noah had transferred some money into your account for both breakfast and you figured you needed the distraction.

It didn’t last long as you pulled your phone from your pocket, seeing the notifications from Jamal poured in. You shut your eyes, collecting your emotions before you shoved it back in, fixing your hair in frustration.

Out of sight, out of mind. Jamal got his chance when you were at his doorstep, willing, and he you weren’t about to give him a second. The fact that he thinks you would sets something off in you.

He watches as his texts stay on delivered. Deep down, he knows you read them through your lockscreen, and now you were choosing to deliberately ignore him. He stares at the screen in defeat, before another text comes in.

[08:01] noah: you’re coming over tomorrow night yeah?

The party. Noah had invited him and some other players to hang out before the season started, a tradition that’s persisted in the friend group for years. It’s hosted at his place this time around, a golden oppportunity.

Jamal has to talk to you.

For the first time in his life, Jamal regrets going to a party.

He’s used to having a blast, used to being the man in any room he walks into, instantly greeted by faces both familiar and unfamiliar, desperate to show him around— desperate to be seen with him.

Now, he throws his head back agains the wall of Noah’s living room, drink in hand, asking himself why he even left the house today.

Jamal arrived extra early to his friend’s place, hoping to catch you in a moment alone before it got busy. To his dismay, Noah informed him that you’d been out since the morning. Then he had to help him clean. A total nightmare.

He’s not so sure if you knew he was coming today, or just so happened to not be at home. Whatever the reasoning, he’d rather not have turned up altogether had you not been here.

While he’s drinking away his sorrows, you’re pushing him out of your mind as you spent the day with your friends. Shopping, going to the spa, more shopping, bar hopping— it was a perfect day.

Your smile quickly faded when you came home and was greeted with a crowd of men in your living room.

“Hey! You’re home,” Noah greets, pulling you into a hug. He gives you a look of guilt as he sees your eyes squint in confusion, knowing he didn’t tell you he was inviting people over.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But I figured you’d be out the whole day!” he reasons. 

“You’re so fucking annoying, I hope you know that,” you sneer, and Noah can’t fight back. You scan the crowd, seeing a few familiar faces. If it wasn’t for them, you would have cussed him out right then and there.

He knows you’re tired from going out all day, he knows you just want to rest. “Okay, listen, this isn’t anything crazy, we’re just gonna drink and talk, no loud music or inviting more people. It’s just my friends.”

Friends. You scan the crowd once more. If Noah ever mentions anything about friends, one person is almost always involved.

Jamal. You lock eyes with him, he’s been staring at you from across the room since you walked in the door. There’s a mix of anger, frustration and yearning brewing in your chest. You want to shove him down a flight of stairs. You also want to run into his arms. It’s complicated.

Noah shoves a can of beer in your hands, and you finally look away from Jamal. “Here, take this. Loosen up,” he says before leaving. You sip away your unwanted emotions and wince like it stings going down. 

Knowing Jamal is here and with the intention of talking to you sparks an idea in your brain, washing a boost of confidence over your body. He can’t look away from you and you know it, and you had to take this chance in sending him a message.

Your message comes in the form of a youngster sitting on the living room couch.

“Mathys!” You approach him, arms wide to pull him in for a hug that seems a little too friendly in Jamal’s eyes. He grips his glass harder.

“Hey! When did you come in?” he asks, and you sit next to him, grazing your thigh against his. You take a big swig from the can, needing the extra tenacity.

“Not too long ago.” You start talking to Mathys about your day, striking up a normal conversation. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch glimpses of Jamal glancing at you from time to time. It’s not enough. You want him to feel the way you did when you showed up on his doorstep the other day.

Mathys was happily recounting his encounter with some rapper he’d crossed paths with when you put your hand on his leg, rubbing his thigh up and down. You leaned in to his ear, covering your mouth to avoid Jamal from reading your lips. He jumps slightly at the motion, you’re never this close to him.

“Can I tell you something?” He nods, scared but intrigued.

“I’m trying to piss Jamal off. Will you help me?” Similarly to Jamal, you and Mathys have always been close friends. He’s younger than you, so you’ve always viewed him like a little brother more than anything, but that’s not to say you don’t appreciate his company. You knew he would definitely be down to help you tonight.

Mathys pulls away, searching deep in your eyes for certainty. He discovers you’re serious.

A smirk plays on his face as he nods slowly to himself. He’s not stupid, he quickly pieces things together. If he’s being honest, he’s always known something was going on between you and Jamal anyway. “Alright, alright. Deal.” “Deal, yeah? If anything I do gets too far, just tell me,” you assure.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be worth it in the end. Do what you must,” he says, winking.

It didn’t take long for the ball to start rolling. It starts off innocent — you laugh just a little too loud at one of his jokes, planting your palm on his chest as you do, playing with your hair. The small gesture has Jamal shifting uncomfortably where he stood.

It wasn’t enough.

You pull out your phone, asking Mathys if he wants a picture. He extends one arm behind you on the couch, leaning into you. Wrapping his shoulders with your free arm, you pushed your heads together, scooting closer to him, to the point where your legs were folded over his thighs. Jamal knows what you’re doing now, and it’s driving him to insanity. Yet, he stands there, unmoving.

It wasn’t enough.

The final straw came from Mathys. You tipped your drink as far back as you could, trying to get the last few sips from the can. A few stray drops landed on the corner of your mouth instead, dribbling down your chin as you raised your hand below it to make it stop. 

He reaches over to catch the beer with his thumb, cupping your face, gently swiping your lips.

Jamal storms out of the living room.

Mathys takes his hand off of you immediately afterwards, and you two share a laugh, feeling achieved. “Well, he’s really pissed now,” he remarks.

“Good.”

He glances at you in curiousity at your deadpan, sly response. He had fun doing this whole tidbit with you, but he doesn’t even know why you’re doing it in the first place. “What’d he even do to you for you to do this?”

“Long story,” you say it in a way that lets him know you’re not going to go into further detail. You stand up from the couch, bag in hand. “I’ll be in my room. Thanks Mathys, that was fun.” He winks at you, clicking his tongue in response.

You made the walk to you room with your head held high in victory. The message you were delivering was definitely heard by Jamal, loud and clear. He’s not the only one that gets to mess around with whoever he wants. 

You kick your heels off, throwing your bag on the floor and plopping down on the bed, scrolling on your phone. Tossing and turning, you ended up curled with your back facing the door, and that’s when it barges open.

“Hey.” You turn around, it’s Noah. You go back to scrolling on your phone.

“What do you want?” “I’m not gonna be at home tonight, yeah? Most of the guys already left anyway. Just wanted to let you know,” he says, rambling. “It’s just, work stuff…” You roll your eyes. Noah’s always been bad at keeping secrets, especially when it involves girls.

“Yes Noah, I’ll be fine alone while you go spend the night with that girl you met in Berlin. We all know you like her.” You don’t even have to look at Noah to know his mouth had fallen slack, the words being ripped from his throat.

“Man. That bad, huh?” Noah chuckles. “Alright, I’m leaving. Bye,” he says, shutting the door behind him.

A few minutes pass as you lied there unmoving. still scrolling through your feed when the door opens a second time. You hear the hinge creak open and the click of the knob as the person enters your room without saying a word.

You sit up straight, looking behind you. “Mathys? Is that y—” It’s Jamal. Daggers shoot from his eyes, watching you roll your eyes and go back to using your phone.

“What do you want, Jamal?” you groan. The fact that you’re not calling him by his usual nickname, not bothering to even spare a glance has his face contorting.

“Since when have you and Mathys been that close?” His voice is deep, interrogative, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t tense up at his tone, chills arising through your body.

You build up the courage to face him properly, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Why should I tell you about the people I’m hanging out with?”

“Hanging out?” he spits in disbelief, vitriol laced in his words.

“Yeah! Hanging out, Jamal, what’s so wrong about that? Huh?” you exclaim. You can’t believe the sheer hypocrisy in his words. “You’re one to judge, at least I was only talking to Mathys anyway.” “He had his hand around your neck and he was just gawking at your body the whole time, don’t act stupid!” he snaps back, raising his hands and dropping them to his sides.

You jump onto your feet. “At least I don’t go around fucking other girls as soon as one of them stops giving me attention!” Jamal’s eyes widen, offended. You both know what you were referring to.

“You told me you were going on a date with someone! You said he was the one — how the fuck was I supposed to know you were joking?!” He takes a few steps closer.

You struggle to find the right response, your mouth periodically opening and closing. He’s got a point. You hate that he does. “You didn’t even give me the chance to explain myself! You just stormed out of the house!”

“Yeah, of course! After hearing you say that, of course I did!” “Why?!” you ask, watching his eyes go wide, his mouth shut, unable (or maybe not wanting) to respond. “Tell me why.” Now it’s you who takes a step closer, and Jamal’s at arms length, causing you to look up at him as you speak.

He says nothing back. 

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“That’s what I thought,” you mumble. You move past him, lightly bumping your shoulders together as you do to convey your anger. You need to get a drink from the kitchen, and hopefully by the time you come back, Jamal will be gone.

Just as your fingers graze the doorknob, a strong grip gets a hold of your arm. It all happened so fast. One second you were facing the door, the next — your back hit the wall, and Jamal’s lips were on yours.

The kiss was hungry, one of Jamal’s hands on the back of your head, tilting it to kiss you deeper, the other on your waist. Your arms naturally wrapped around his neck, scratching the back of his head, pulling him closer.

One of Jamal’s knees slipped between your legs, rubbing against your crotch. A breathy moan escaped your lips, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, meeting yours. It was a messy, desperate kiss — a clash of teeth and tongue, Jamal making up with his lips what he can’t with his voice.

Jamal runs his hands up and down your dress. Your dress — it’s the same one you wore a few days ago, when you first got into the argument. It’s driving him crazy and you know it, it’s evident in the way he trails his mouth lower to your neck and down to your exposed cleavage.

“Jl,” you whine, teetering on a plea. He presses his forehead against yours, watching your eyes trained on him, your lipstick smeared and loose strands flying from your hair. He don’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

“This dress looks so good on you.” It’s all he can say before he’s kissing you again, a lot softer this time around.

“Mhm. Wore it just for you,” you breathe in between kisses. “Now take it off, please.” Your voice, your words, they rush straight to his cock. 

“Jump,” he instructs, and you do. Jamal walks over to your bed, plopping you on the soft pillows, his lips moulding against yours the whole time. He presses kisses lower on your neck, sucking, biting, being sure to leave a trail of purple marks for to blossom tomorrow morning.

Jamal takes the cut of your dress in his hands, pulling the fabric down, groaning at the sight of you without a bra. He wastes no time in swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud, causing you to throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist. He sucks and pulls with his teeth, moulding the other with his hands before switching, grinding down on your clothed core.

Once he’s satisified, he takes one last look at your tits — now glossy with his spit and marked purple, before climbing lower down your body. He bunches the material of your dress up your waist, exposing your panties to him.

Jamal takes hold of your legs, pressing a kiss to your crotch, smirking when your back arches, whining at the contact. 

“Fuck, don’t tease, please.” Your hand pushes his head closer to where you’re dripping, where you want him the most.

Jamal chuckles at your desperation, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and tossing them carelessly aside. He spreads your lips, cursing under his breath when he sees the string of wetness that’s accumulated.

“You’re soaked,” he says, planting delicate kisses to the inside of your thighs, intently watching how you jolt at each one.

“Jamal, please.” He loves it when you beg. 

“Shh, I know, baby.” And he finally licks one long strip up your pussy, relishing in the way a moan is punched from your lips. You’re lucky your brother is out for the night, because he’s certain it can be heard through the walls.

He plants a few more kisses before spreading your lips, delving his tongue in your hole. Your thighs clamp shut around his head, but his strength pries them open. He alternates between fucking you with his tongue and sucking your clit, swirling figure-eights on it.

You’re a writhing mess, your throat dry from moaning and calling his name over and over. Jamal never wants to stop hearing the pretty noises you make.

He continues to push his tongue in your cunt, using his thumb to circle your clit, doubling the pleasure. He explores your walls, finding the spongy spot that punches a particularly loud moan from your throat.

“Fuck! Don’t—ah—don’t stop,” you beg, and Jamal is happy to oblige. He moans into your pussy, the vibrations rushing through your body. He feels you get wetter by the second, your juices coating his mouth and running down the sheets.

Your breathing is short and erratic, your fingers tugging at his hair as your orgasm washes over you, cumming all over Jamal’s mouth. He licks the slick running down your inner thighs, pressing some final few kisses to your clit before hovering over you, meeting your eyes.

The sight of Jamal above you is nothing short of glorious — his chin glossy from your juices, his eyes blown out and his lips plump and swollen. He can say the same for you below him, once snappy and sarcastic now panting and ruined.

You cup his cheek, adorlingly gazing into his eyes before tasting yourself on his tongue. He takes your wrists, one by one, pinning them above your head with one hand.

“Need to make sure you can take me, baby,” he coos. “Is that okay?” You nod rapidly. You’d say yes to anything if he asked.

Jamal chuckles, his free hand trailing lower down your body and finding your clit. You’re still sensitive from your last orgasm, bucking up into his hand when he does.

“J—oh.” He slips a finger into your cunt, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head and your jaw falls agape as you do. He pumps slowly at first, feeling your pinned hands try to escape his grip, but he pushes them down harder.

After a few moments, he slips another one in, filling you with two digits. “Shit,” you whine, closing your eyes shut.

“You can take it, yeah?” he asks. 

“Mhm, I can take more, a lot more.” Jamal feels his cock throb in his pants, desperate to be freed. He picks up the pace, and you squirm beneath him, taking your bottom lip in your teeth.

Jamal pushes deeper, curling his fingers inside your walls. Every time he fucks into you, his palm rubs against your clit, only adding to the pleasure. Once he finds your sweet spot, he relentlessly goes faster, chasing your second orgasm.

“Oh my god, fuck,” you blabber, unable to focus on anything else than the feeling of Jamal’s fingers.

“Hey, look at me,” he instructs, and eyes shoot open on instinct, seeing his brown eyes bore into yours.

“Want to see how you look when you cum.” 

You struggle in keeping your eyes open but do so to the best of your ability, your chest heaving up and down as your moans get more sporadic. Jamal is lost in your eyes, his wrist starting to tire from his movements. After one rough push of his hands, shockwaves rippling through your body as your second orgasm washes over you.

Slick runs down your thighs, onto the bedsheets and on Jamal’s wrist. He pulls out, causing you to whimper at the loss of contact before he licks them clean, tasting every last drop. Jamal sits up on his heels and you follow suit, kneeling in front of him. You grab the hem of his shirt, quickly pushing it up and over his head, exposing his torso. You’re entranced by his physique, trailing your nails down his chest and abs. His hand cups your cheek, pulling you into a kiss.

“Fuck me, J,” you plead in between kisses, and how could he say no?

“Get on all fours.” You flip over, arching your back, hanging your ass in the air for him. You hear the clink of his belt as he pulls down his trousers, watching from over your shoulder.

“I told you to take my dress off,” you remind him, lightening the mood a bit. You have to stifle back a moan as he spreads your ass, pulling you flush against the shape of his bulge, lowly moaning when he does. 

Jamal pauses for a moment. “Nah.” He pulls his boxers down, taking his cock in his hands, hard and throbbing, jerking himself off before aligning the tip with your pussy.

“Wanna fuck you in it.” 

He slides his cock up and down your slit before pushing into you in one long stroke. A long moan is drawn from your throat as your head drops, feeling him slowly stretch you out, stopping until his pelvis was flush with your ass. 

It takes a few moments for you to adjust to his size, hearing Jamal whisper soft praises as he grips your hips, rolling his slowly to help. Once you do, he pulls back out, only living the tip in your cunt, before slamming back in and finding a rhythm.

“Shit,” you spit through a mix of moans and curses, feeling him push into you over, and over, and over. After a particulary rough snap of his hips, your elbows give out under you, causing you to bury your face in the sheets, arching your back harder.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect.” You hear Jamal breathe from behind you. His eyes are trained on where you’re taking him raw, seeing the glossy sheen coat his shaft, glowing underneath your bedroom lights.

His hands are rough where he gropes, alternating between bunching your dress up higher, spreading your ass and gripping your hips, slamming you against him harder. 

Jamal pulls you up to his chest, one hand loosely hanging around your neck. You can barely process the change of position until you feel his bare chest flush against your back.

His lips curl into a smirk, watching your mouth slightly open, the filthiest of sounds pouring out into his ears, spit welling in its corners. Your eyes struggle to stay open, your head lulling on his shoulder.

“Don’t—ah—don’t stop, please,” you blabber, drunk on his hips snapping up into you. 

Jamal plants a featherlight kiss on your temple. “Never.” He plants another. “So good, so good for me.”

He moulds his lips against yours, a messy clash of teeth and tongue. You struggle to kiss back, only whining into his mouth.

The knot in your stomach grows tighter by the second, your moans getting increasingly higher pitched by the second, your face contorting in pleasure. You’re close, Jamal knows it too.

“I’m close, fuck.” You reach out to him behind you, trying to lock him in place so he doesn’t stop. Not like he was planning on it, anyway.

Jamal twitches inside you, and you know he’s close too. His thrusts get sloppier, more sporadic, chasing your high before his own.  “Cum for me, go on,” he coos, lips ghosting over your earlobe. 

He reaches around your torso, his fingers finding your clit, circling figure-eights. It’s all it takes for your orgasm to wash over you in waves, sending your thighs shaking. Jamal doesn’t stop, he fucks you through it all, pressing kisses on your neck and shoulder, fingers still trained between your thighs. Jamal pulls out, causing you to hiss at the sudden sensation of being empty. You’re spent, chest heaving and sticky with sweat, but you still find the energy to turn around, facing him. He’s jerking himself off in his hands, his cock red and throbbing, begging for a release.

You look up at him with mischievous eyes, his own watching your every move. You pull your dress up and over your head, leaving yourself bare in front of him, sitting on your heels.

Jamal kneels high above you, groaning when he watches you push your tits together, inviting him closer. His head tips back when you stick your tongue out, kitten licking the tip of his cock, tasting the precum dripping from its head.

Strings of white liquid are painted across your chest as Jamal cums, shuddering. You feel some hit your chin, darting your tongue to get a taste, never breaking eye contact.

He cups your chin, pressing his lips onto yours, leaving chaste kisses. You both stay like that for a while, lazily making out, smiling against each other’s lips.

Jamal plants one final kiss before pulling away. “Stay here, I’ll get you cleaned up.” He walks in your bathroom, leaving with a towel and a water bottle he’d found somewhere not long after. 

You let him gently swipe the towel against your chest, his hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing back and forth against your skin. While you two sat in silence, it wasn’t an awkward one, far from it. It was comforting. It felt familiar, this domesticity. It felt natural.

You don’t say anything when he pulls you to lay on his chest. You don’t say anything when he pulls the blanket over you two, turning off the lights. You just focus on his heartbeat.

A throbbing headache has been your alarm these past few mornings, and today is no different.

The sunlight spills through the cracks in your curtains, bleeding through your shut eyelids. You slowly ease into consciousness, sitting up and rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

The first thing that hits you is the cold. A shiver runs through your body, instinctively pulling the blanket closer to you.

The second thing that hits you is your lack of clothes. You blink away the drowsiness, examining yourself, completely bare. Peculiar, but not unfamiliar.

The third thing that hits you is the weight on the opposite side of your bed when you yank the comforter. Your eyes widen at the sight of an undressed Jamal, blanket only covering so much, stirring awake next to you. His toned abs in full display, glowing golden in the sunlight.

It doesn’t take long for your brain to floor your memories of recollections from last night. You wince, face scrunching in disbelief as the images flashed in your head one by one.  What were you thinking?

You bend down to grab the first article of clothing you could find — Jamal’s shirt. Not ideal but it’ll do. You put it on to cover yourself, standing up with the plan of getting as far away from him as possible.

A strong grip on your arm stops your plans. 

Jamal calls your name, voice gruff and thick with the early morning. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the sound.

“Where are you headed?” he asks, adoringly.

No. This is wrong. You can’t think of him that way, someone who’s supposed to be irrevocably off-limits — so you get right to the point.

“Jamal.” His eyebrows furrow at the sound of you calling his full name. You’re never in a good mood when you do. “This, this cant… we can’t…” You watch him look up at you like he was expecting this from a mile away. 

With one pull, he tugs you back in bed, causing you to sit on his lap, albeit not fully. You don’t want to run away from him, deep down you know you don’t, and he knows that too. 

“Why? You scared of Noah?” 

You’re not sure how to respond.

“This isn’t even, I mean, we’re not even…” you struggle to string the right words together.

Jamal cups your cheek and you melt into his touch. Your words say one thing but your body suggests another. 

“I like you, I really do. I know I didn’t get the chance to say it last night,” he assures. You feel your cheeks heat at the sudden confession. “I don’t want to see you with someone else. I don’t want to act like I’m perfectly fine when you bring up some other guy.” You look deep into his eyes with a look that says, me too. After last night you knew you and Jamal would never be the same, for better or for worse. You pick the former.

“And especially not Mathys, Jesus.” You chuckle, finally lightening up. “Out of all the people you wanted to use to make me jealous, you chose him. Blegh.”

The giggles leaving your chest are unabashed the second time around. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, and it sucked.” Jamal’s palm lets go of your face, dropping down to take your hand in his. He resumes to his original point. “I want this, okay? I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to see you in my shirt every day,” he says while fumbling with the hem of his shirt hanging off your frame. 

“I want you.” 

You wrap an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in closer, this time properly sitting on his lap. “Never took you for such a romantic, J.” 

He stifles in a laugh, pressing his forehead against yours before closing the gap. You’re finally his.

[oikasugayama]

You can't escape from chuuya 😜 the same as with dazai with the reader with a short skirt nsfw I wanted the most chuuye😠

fiiiiine, fine. Have Chuuya smut that's twice as long as the Dazai one ;)

MDNI, NSFW, fem!reader in a short skirt, 5k of filthy dirty nasty smutttt, name calling, brat taming, spanking, daddy (only once), fingering, cum eating, blow job, all sorts of shit ok. MDNI MDNI MDNI

You’re always professionally dressed at work. Members of the Port Mafia are paid handsomely, so you can all afford to dress to the nines, even for a simple day in the office or a dangerous tryst out in enemy territory. Like many of your coworkers, you prefer a polished, businessy look when conducting Port Mafia business. You have a closet full of perfectly tailored pantsuits, mostly in black though you do keep a few fun colors should you get the chance to wear them. 

On your days off, however, you’re more or less unrecognizable to your coworkers thanks to the difference in your business style and your personal style. You’re not just fond of bright and pastel colors, you’re obsessed with them. The girlier, prettier, and gaudier a piece of clothing is, the more you love it. You’re inspired by Harajuku, and pastel goth styles, as well as some frilly vintage vibes now and again. You even have a small collection of colorful wigs you like to wear out sometimes when an outfit calls for just the right one. 

One of your favorite outfits includes a black tube top, a cropped pastel pink cardigan that hangs off one shoulder, a black and pink plaid mini skirt over some fashionably ripped fishnet tights and a chunky pair of black platform boots. You like to accessorize of course, and typically go for a pastel pink dog collar choker with a heart pendant, chains hanging across your waist and down one side of your skirt, dangly earrings, and several rings. Depending on your mood, your makeup is either very sharp and black, or very soft and pink, and if you choose to wear a wig, its color is the opposite of the makeup you chose.

On the day you accidentally run into several of your coworkers in a bar, you’re in a pink wig with black eyeliner so sharp it could cut a man. 

You’re not surprised that they don’t recognize you. At work you have very plain, naturally colored hair, typically smoothed back into a bun, much like Higuchi and Gin do. In a plain black suit, it’s hard to show off your style. Besides, you wouldn’t want any of your fun clothes getting ruined in the line of duty. And it’s not like, on the rare occasion you hang out with your coworkers, that you’ve had time to go home and change. Typically if you go anywhere with them that isn’t for work, it’s just to lunch in the middle of the day, or to a bar at the end of a shift. They’ve never known you to look anything except professional.

This leads you to want to have a little fun with them all, to see how close you can get and what you can start saying before one of them catches on that it’s you.

You walk past the group a few times on the way to the bar or to the table you’re perched at. They don’t say anything about you at first, and they’re not talking about anything important from what you hear. On your third trip past, however, you do catch one of them mentioning you, and you use your ability-- which allows you to focus your hearing on anything you so choose within a certain radius-- to eavesdrop from across the loud room.

“--same chick has walked by like 5 times already,” Tachihara says.

“Are you sure?” Gin asks.

“Why does it matter? We’re in public,” Higuchi says. “People are going to walk by.”

“I know it’s definitely her because, I mean, look at her. Of course I noticed her.”

You pretend like you don’t notice when several curious heads turn your way.

“God, she’s hot,” Chuuya says, whistling under his breath. “Fucking Christ, those thighs.”

“Hey, I saw her first,” Tachihara says, while the others roll their eyes and tell the two to quiet down.

“I’d offer to share, but if I get a piece of that ass, it’s fucking mine.”

“Jesus Christ, Chuuya, you’ve had too much to drink already.”

“We’ve been here 20 minutes, I’ve barely had one glass!” he says defensively.

“Why don’t you ask her to dance if you’re so interested?” Akutagawa asks, disinterested but amused at the notion of Chuuya making a fool of himself.

“Nah,” he says, waving his hand at his group. “A hot piece of ass like that you’ve gotta chase a little. I’ve gotta buy her a drink, maybe, then ask her to dance later, then lay on the charm.”

“You’re a real ladies man, Chuuya,” Tachihara says sarcastically.

The conversation gradually turns to something else. You let it drift away since your focus isn’t exactly on them anymore, it’s suddenly on the pulsing desire burning in your crotch. “Holy shit,” you think. “Chuuya wants to fuck me so bad he’s making stupid ass plans for it.” Honestly, he could hit it any day of the week if he’d just ask, but he’s never seemed too interested in you at work. “This is what does it for him, I guess,” you think, downing the rest of your drink. You then decide to grab his attention again by stretching a little, arching your back and raising your arms over your head to make your cropped cardigan and your tube top expose a bit of your belly. It’s not a lot, but for someone already desperate to see more of you, it works.

“Fucking hell,” Chuuya mutters under his breath, eyes on you. You make eye contact with him and wink, and when he smirks instead of looking away, you run your hand up your thigh, pulling your short skirt up even higher. His eyebrows raise, giving you a look like “oh yeah?” and you smile. 

“His move,” you think, using your other hand to twirl your empty glass around a little bit. Chuuya excuses himself from the group and goes to the bar quickly.

You’ve got him hook, line, and sinker.

It’s then that the worst thing happens. Higuchi’s phone rings, then Gin’s, and Tachihara’s, and Akutagawa’s, and Chuuya’s, and yours. It’s an emergency alert from the PM. You’re all being called in, and you need to be there fast. You’re only a couple of blocks from the office. All of your coworkers will be there in less than 10 minutes. You don’t have time to go home and change. You have to go right now.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hiss under your breath, getting up and rushing for the door before the others do. Maybe if you get out ahead of them they won’t notice you--

“God dammit,” Chuuya groans. “I was just about to get her a fuckin’ drink.”

“She’s running out, too,” Higuchi points out.

“It’s weird that she’s going in the same direction as us, right?” Tachihara asks, unsure.

“There are a lot of other things out this way, dumbass,” Chuuya says.

Then you take a left, and the group takes a left. They get closer, and you try to walk faster.

Then you take a right, and they take a right. Then you approach the PM headquarter building.

“What the fuck?” Chuuya asks, rushing forward to try to stop you at the door, but you rush inside as soon as the door opens a crack.

“Hey!” Tachihara calls, rushing in after you. You hit the button to call an elevator, but realize the only available one is several floors away. You’re cornered. The jig is up.

Fuck.

“Heeeey,” you say, slowly turning around to greet the group as they gather. “Any of you know what the emergency is? I’m wondering if it’s about the Detective Agency’s involvement in our failed gun import. I was just telling Akutagawa-san yesterday that I had a feeling they’d end up losing the guns to some other organization stealing them before the Detectives could decide whether to turn us in over it.”

“Oh my god,” Higuchi gasps.

“It’s [Y/N],” Gin says.

“What?!” Chuuya and Tachihara both say, and Akutagawa is the only one to stay focused.

“It likely is exactly that,” he says. “Your foresight is spot on as usual.”

“What’s with this outfit?!” Higuchi asks, feeling your cardigan and grabbing the hem of your skirt. “It’s so short! Why are you dressed like this? You were at the same bar as us!”

“This is how I dress on my days off,” you answer honestly, shrugging. The elevator doors finally open and you all start to file in. “And yes, I’m well aware we were at the same bar,” you say, glancing at Chuuya as he shuffles past you. His cheeks blaze and his eyes lock onto the ground, refusing to meet your gaze.

So that’s how it is.

The emergency meeting goes on for two tense hours. It’s exactly what you and Akutagawa thought it would be about, and your group, as well as other Mafia and specifically Black Lizard leaders and members discuss action plans, potential repercussions, and viable reconnaissance missions. When Mori finally announces that you all deserve a break and that you’re meet again in an hour, you’re the first to get up and leave the room, feeling embarrassed to be in a work situation in your fun outfit.

Several footsteps follow you into the hallway, but they all patter off in different directions after a turn here, a turn there.

Only one set of steps follows you into the stairwell. It’s quiet, with very light steps, but you know it’s there thanks to your impeccable hearing.

The same footsteps follow you down two floors, three, four, five…

You feel like you’re being chased, but you think you know exactly who it is, and so the chase is more exciting than it is scary.

You finally get to the floor that your office is on and leave the stairwell. You walk quickly to your office, go in but leave the door cracked, and to test your theory that you’re being followed, you “accidentally” drop your phone after walking a few feet inside. You slowly bend over, letting your short skirt rise up over the curve of your ass, completely exposing your fishnet-covered ass and black thong to anyone who may be standing at the door. You grab your phone slowly, give a cheeky shake of your butt, then stand back up.

Your office door clicks closed behind you, and the lock engages loudly.

“That show for me?” Chuuya asks. You turn to find him leaning against your door. A quick glance down shows you that he’s already at least half-hard in his pants.

“Who else?” you ask softly, leaning against the edge of the desk. It’s cold on your mostly bare ass, but you act cool, crossing one ankle over the other. Your legs look long and sexy stretched out in front of you, and you can tell that Chuuya thinks so too because he can’t stop looking at them.

“It’s a shame we were called away,” you say to break the tension. “I was looking forward to that drink.”

“Were you?” he asks, slowly walking toward you. His hands are deep in his pockets like usual, always acting calm and cool. The look in his eye is different than normal, though. It’s hungry. “Nice to know.”

“You know, you’re not as forward as I thought you’d be,” you admit, leaning back on your hands. You’re on full display for him now. “I half expected you to be all over me as soon as you closed that door.”

“Tell me to leave,” he says, finally standing toe to toe with you. “Tell me to get the fuck out otherwise I will be all over you.”

“Why would I tell you to get the fuck out when I could tell you to come the fuck on already?”

Chuuya makes a noise between a moan and a growl and leaps forward, standing so both of his legs are over yours. He grabs your face with both of his hands and pulls you in for a hot, hard kiss. It’s all tongue and nipping at each other’s lips and hot panting into each other’s mouths.

Your hands shamelessly roam his body once you’ve sat up to meet him. You push his jackets back off of his shoulders so it falls onto the ground. You feel his muscular back and shoulders and arms. You slide your hands lower, feeling his sides and hips. You start messing with his belt by the time he even realizes he can touch you back.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he pants, yanking at your cardigan so you take it off. “Honestly good that you don’t fucking dress like this at work,” he says, yanking your tube top down too so your breasts are exposed. “I’d be fucking you every time I fucking see you.” He gropes your tits, squeezing them and massaging them in his hands. He tweaks your perked nipples, rolling them between his fingers, making them hard and sensitive. 

“Chuuya,” you whine, “why don’t you suck on them if you like them so much?” He looks up at you and smirks, temporarily grabbing you by the hips to push you further back on your desk so you can lay down comfortably. Once you’re flat he climbs on top, knees on either side of your hips, and leans down to your chest. He licks wet stripes across your tit, teasing your nipple with his tongue. He kisses open-mouthed around your boob, refusing to give you what you really want until you finally whine and shift under him, then he sucks your nipple into his mouth and keeps steady pressure on it for several seconds until finally releasing it with a wet smacking sound. He gives the other breast a similar treatment, teasing and sucking and licking. You reach a hand up into his hair, gently moaning his name while you card your fingers through.

He starts grinding his hard-on against your lower belly, just above your crotch given the way that he’s kneeled over you. You whimper and push your hips up, trying to meet him as he grinds. He’s thoroughly attached to your breasts, playing with one nipple while sucking on the other, trading, kissing, sucking hickies onto them. He works a stream of moans and pants and whines from you, getting you to moan his name several times, which makes him grind down onto you harder.

Finally, his hand leaves your chest and trails down your body, his slightly calloused fingers feeling rough on your soft skin. Chuuya flips your short skirt up, wasting no time in cupping your still-clothed cunt and stroking his fingers over it.

“God damn, you’re wet already,” he says, shifting so his face is against your neck.

“You’re fucking hot,” you admit, tugging on his hair. He bites not-so-gently, leaving an instant red and purple hickey on a very obvious spot. His fingers slowly spread, coming together again almost squeezing your pussy lips together. He does it again after you moan in his ear, adding more pressure to tease you with, and again, but this time his fingers dip under your panties and bunch the fabric up together. He pulls it up, several inches higher than your body, making the fabric squeeze in between your lips, leaving it pressing against your clit.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, chuckling when you grind up against his hand and your own panties, seeking stimulation. “That why you’re letting me touch your cunt? ‘Cause you think I’m hot?”

“Yeah,” you whine, still grinding upward. It’s working, your movements are giving you little shocks of pleasure as the damp fabric drags across your clit and also teases your pussy somewhat. “I’d let you fuck me too.” Your voice is breathy and unsteady, and Chuuya can tell just from the sound of it that you’re getting really worked up.

“I don’t know, doll,” he says, hovering over you by one hand pressed against the desk beside your head. “I kind of like the view watching you fuck yourself on my hand.”

“It’s not really ‘on your hand’ without your fingers in me.” You could swear that his eyes light up.

“What was that?” He teases you again, drifting his fingers over the extremely sensitive skin of your pussy. “Did you say something--” he dips a finger past your lips just enough to hook around your panties and pull them back, pushing them to the side-- “about my fingers?”

“Fucking tease,” you huff, reaching down to grab his hand, but he becomes an immovable force when you try to push his hand further down. “Oh and that stupid fucking ability of yours.” He laughs at that and tsks at you.

“You’ve got a dirty fuckin’ mouth,” he says. “Maybe you need something good in there to clean it out.” He gets off the desk and unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, and kicks them to the floor. You sit up to see him in just his black underwear and white t-shirt, palming himself through the fabric. “C’mere and suck this dick.”

You obey, getting onto the ground with shaky thighs. He’d gotten you more worked up than you realized, and knowing yourself, sucking his dick is not going to calm you down, it’s going to get you closer to the edge.

You pull his boxers down and he steps out of them. His cock is thick and longer than your fist when you close it around his shaft. You give him a few pumps, spreading some pre-cum down his length, before leaning forward with an open mouth to take him in greedily. You start bobbing your head immediately, trying to take as much of him as possible. He stretches your mouth more than anyone else ever has, and you have a feeling your jaw is gonna get sore if you do this for too long.

Chuuya grabs fistfulls of your hair and uses it to guide you back and forth, setting a quicker pace than you already were. He works up to fucking your mouth, using your head like a sex toy. His tip bounces off the back of your throat multiple times, and you have to focus really hard on not gagging. You get messy, letting spit and drool fall out of the corners of your mouth. Tears also spring up in your eyes from him fucking your throat, but you don’t even try to stop them from falling. Your eyeliner is waterproof, but your mascara isn’t, so some black streaks may fall down your cheeks, but you don’t care. You honestly kind of want to see the fucked out look on your face when this is all over.

“You’re too good at this,” Chuuya moans. “Fucking cockslut, aren’t you? Gonna be my slut now, huh? Gonna let me fuck your throat some more, right? Whenever I want?”

You hum around him but can’t exactly nod given his cock in your mouth. He gets it though, and he also moans when you hum as the vibrations go straight into his sensitive tip when it touches the back of your mouth.

“Gonna cum in your mouth,” he grunts, “gonna make you eat it all.”

You try to shake your head, pushing back on his thighs, whining.

“No?” he asks, slowing down and stopping. “Why not, doll?” He lets you back up, finally letting go of your hair.

“That’s a waste,” you croak out, then clear your throat and try to make the fucked-out sound go away. “If you don’t bend me over my desk and fuck me until I scream I’m never fucking touching you again.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” he says excitedly, reaching down for your arms. He picks you up effortlessly thanks to his ability, and for some reason that really does it for you. You moan just from that touch, feeling your pussy throb. Then he turns you around, pushes you down onto your desk, and smacks your ass hard. You yelp and then moan as he rubs the sting out.

“Where do you want me to cum? On your back?”

“In my cunt, dumbass.”

“Geez, you’re a fucking bitch, you know that?” he hisses, squeezing one hand around the base of his cock while the other swings and spanks you again. “And it’s so fucking hot.” He spanks you again. He refuses to tell you he felt his orgasm building from you telling him to cum inside, though his brain is being overrun by that thought now.

He flips your skirt up and rubs his hands on your ass, squeezing your cheeks and gently smacking them to make them jiggle.

“Are you having fun?” you ask him, earning another hard spank, which you moan loudly in response to, a fun smirk on your face. “I kinda like that,” you coo, wiggling your hips back toward him. “Spank me again, Chuuya-san. I’ve been very, very bad.” 

He spanks you hard and you yelp, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “Oh, fuck,” you moan softly, torn between pleasure and pain. “You’re an asshole.” He spanks you again on the other cheek. “Will you fuck me already, asshole?”

“I would if you’d stop being a bitch.”

“Maybe you’ve gotta fuck the bitch out of me,” you say, trying to look at him over your shoulder. “You’ll never know until you try.”

“Amen,” he says flippantly, pulling your panties to the side again to make sure they’re still out of his way. He rubs his fingers over your wet pussy, dipping between the folds but never into your vagina. He spreads your wetness all over your folds, as if it wasn’t there already, but then he huffs and you hear a slight ripping.

“What was that?” you ask, turning to him.

“Stupid fucking lines are in my way.”

“Lines? My fishnets? You did not just rip my tights, you fucking douche.”

“So what if I did?” he asks, stroking himself with your wet.

“Are you serious? You fucking a-- ohhh, fuck!” You try to insult him again but get cut off by his thick cock skewering you in one swift movement. You’re so wet and ready that he slides straight in, your walls stretching to fit around his girth.

“Fuuuuuck,” he moans, throwing his head back as he bottoms out. “Your bitch pussy is the best shit I’ve ever felt, I swear to god,” he says, grabbing both sides of your hips as he withdraws and then snaps his hips forward again. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“Oh, shit, Chuuyaaa,” you whine, voice going high and strained. “You’re so big, what the fuck? What the-- fuuuck,” you moan as he sets a pace, hips snapping forward every second, filling the room with wet fucking sounds and the smack of his heavy balls against your thighs.

“I’ve gotta fuckin’ see you,” he says after only a minute, backing out of you. You grunt and groan, glaring at him over your shoulder until he once again grabs you with that ability of his and moves you around like you weigh nothing. He has you on your side, one leg hanging off the desk, the other hooked over his shoulder, and then he teases your pussy with the head of his cock, dragging it back and forth, up and down your lips, pushing in only near your clit, not near your hole.

“Chuuya, please,” you sigh, reaching down toward where your bodies meet, but he grabs your hand and pins it to the desk. “Please fuck me, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?” he asks cheekily, moving his hips as if thrusting, only letting his cock rub between your pussy lips.

“Don’t tease me,” you pant, trying to squirm your hips. “Put your cock back in me, now.”

“Now?” he asks, playing dumb.

“Now,” you insist. He rubs his tip against your clit.

“What about now?”

“Stop teasing me!”

“You know, that’s no way to ask for a favor,” he says. “Maybe I’ll just walk away. Then what would you do? Fuck yourself on your fingers?”

“I’ll find Akutagwa,” you huff, trying to loosen your hand from his grasp. He barks out a laugh, whole body shaking for a moment.

“Akutagawa?! He wouldn’t know what to do with a pussy like this, babe,” he smirks, finally moving his tip back toward your hole. “You really don’t think he could fuck you like I can, right?”

“What if I do?” You try to keep sounding tough, but the brat is being teased out of you, and you really, really want to be fucked dumb on his cock right now. “Maybe-- ahhh--” Chuuya enters you slowly, smirking down at you and the way your eyes roll back before fluttering closed. 

“Maybe what?” Chuuya asks, bottoming out.

“Maybe-- Akutagawa--” you stutter as Chuuya pulls back and snaps his hips forward again, spearing your g-spot as if he was locked on target.

“Akutagawa?” he asks, trying to lead you on as he slowly builds his pace. You try to babble something out, but as he starts properly fucking you, leaning over you and holding your leg up so he can press you into the desk, you just can’t think of anything except for Chuuya.

“Chuuya-- Chuuya-- Oh, fuck, right there-- Ohh, Chuuya!”

The sound alone is enough to make someone blush, your wet pussy gushing around him every time he goes balls deep, his body pressing against yours, getting wet and precum and sweat all over each other's crotches. You both get lost in it, moaning and swearing and giving stupid empath threats to each other.

“You better make me cum,” you say to him, and he responds “You better stop being such a bitch when I make this pussy squirt.”

He starts palming your tits again when he gets close, panting and fucking you as quickly as he can.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. You sure I can bust inside?” he manages to ask through his panting.

“Yes,” you moan, “oh fuck yeah. Cum in this pussy, daddy.”

“Daddy?!” he asks, and that’s what does it. You caught him so off guard that his whole body jerks and he hunches over you, cumming a big, hot load into your cunt. His face is burning red, and some sweat drips down his forehead. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth dropped open, a tiny bit of drool about to sneak out the corner of his mouth. “Fucking bitch,” he says, but it’s so high pitched and tense that it makes you laugh. Your pussy involuntarily contracts when you laugh, and your whole body slightly jiggles under him, and it makes him yelp and moan again, long and drawn out. “God damn,” he whines, pulling back as if he’s going to back out now.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you say, trying to stop him by the leg that’s thrown over his shoulder. “You didn’t make me cum yet. You’re not done here, Chuuya.”

“I’m not but my dick is,” he says, still kind of whiny. “I think you just sucked me dry, I really fucking think you did.” You can’t help but to laugh a little more as he lowers your leg and rolls you onto your back. “It’s only polite--” he says, dropping to his knees “--that I return the favor.” In a flash his tongue is on your pussy, lapping up his cum as it spills out of you. He swallows it without comment, and keeps lapping at your pussy, dipping his tongue into your hole while it’s still nice and open from his cock. You run your hand through his hair again, making sure he can’t pull back too far. You want his whole face in your cunt and you aren’t letting up on this. 

His fingers join his mouth, taking over for his tongue in prodding at your hole. They slip inside, twisting together at the same time as they pull in and out. He teases your g-spot every time this way, and the side of his fingers on your sensitive walls feels so so good. You start moaning his name when his tongue swirls around your clit, working relentless circles on it. He intersperses little sucks on it, and once he even dips his nose down and uses it to rub your clit since it’s a bit firmer than his tongue. He eats you out like an absolute fucking champ, shaking his head and blowing out to give you slight vibrating sensations, suckling to give you quick peaks of stimulation, and flicking his tongue back and forth and rolling it in circles to build your orgasm up higher and higher and higher until finally.

“Oh god, Chuuya-- I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-- oohhhh Chuuya!!” Your back arches up, your fists close tightly in his hair, and you force his face into your pussy as you cum on his mouth and his fingers, rolling your hips to meet his touches. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, just keeps letting you use him as your orgasm rolls and rolls and finally starts to patter out. Only when you let go of his hair does he sit upright, pull his fingers out of you, and suck your cum off of his fingers.

“You’re a lot of fun, you know that?” he asks, standing up, stretching his somewhat sore muscles.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you sigh happily. Your whole body feels weightless and blissful and you aren’t ready to get up yet, even as Chuuya starts getting dressed.

“You dress like this often?”

“Every day off,” you say, finally having enough energy to at least pull your tube top back up to cover your breasts.

“Good. You should come see me again then.”

“You came to see me. And yes, you should come see me again.” You sit up, tilting your head and smiling mischievously at him.

“Guess I didn’t fuck the brat out of you yet,” he mumbles, reaching up to grab your jaw in his hand. “Next time then.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Whispered Vows Masterlist here

Summary: You thought planning your wedding was going to be a magical memory. You didn't realize that it might make you second guess everything.

Pairing: Fiancée Yoongi x Insecure F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Hurt-Comfort

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Toxic Family Dynamics, Arguments, Sex Toys, Self Doubt, Over Thinking, Yoongi Overworking Himself, Reader Just Needs To Speak Up.

A/N: I know I just posted chapter 5, but I'm in a good mood. Here is chapter 6.

Chocolate cake is perfectly moist, raspberry filling a touch too tart. You write down your thoughts on the provided worksheet the bakery supplied you after you swallowed the chocolaty goodness. You have been looking forward to your cake tasting for weeks now. Now, as you sit at the table with ten beautiful cupcakes before you, it just feels empty. Your eyes turn to look out the window and see Yoongi pacing up and down the sidewalk in front of the bakery while on the phone with Namjoon, running his hand through his hair. He promised that he would help you with this, but once again, here he is working. Your patience is almost nonexistent at this point. You just wanted this one day with him, and he couldn't even give you that.

Reaching out, you grab the next sweet confection, cut into it with your fork, and take a large bite. Vanilla cake is moist and sweet, lemon curd filling has a perfectly smooth texture, and vanilla buttercream is not too sweet. Favorite by far. You place your pen back down and sigh as you swallow that bite. You look at Yoongi through the window again and see him hang up the phone before entering the bakery. Sitting next to you, he opens his texts, and you see him message Hobi something. Your eyes drift back to your notes, and you think you might go with the vanilla.

“You can go,” you tell him softly while still focused on your paper but not really reading anything. You just wanted to make sure your handwriting was neat and legible. This would be a nice little keepsake.

“Hmmm,” he says, still looking at his phone as his fingers fly across the screen. His face is scrunched in pure concentration as he rereads what he just typed. “What? What did you say?”

“You can leave,” you say louder, looking at him, and his head finally snaps to you. “You clearly don't want to be here, and I don't want to force you to be here. You can go.”

“I took the day off to be here,” he tells you, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why would you say that? You know how hard it is for me to make time for anything right now. We should be lucky that I am even here right now.”

“You took the day off? Did you really?” You question him and sip on your water that was provided to you to cleanse your palate.

Yoongi hasn't touched his water nor his worksheet. He probably hasn't even looked at the cupcakes that the baker worked hard on. The beautifully piped buttercream and colorful fruits and chocolate pieces were probably not appreciated. You appreciated them.

“I'm right here,” he argues and touches his chest with both of his hands to prove the point that he is indeed there. "I'm sitting right next to you."

“No, you're not,” you whisper. His phone rings again, with Namjoons name popping up on the screen.

“There is something wrong with our software at the studio. We lost a bunch of files,” he explains, gripping his phone tightly when the ringing stops. “You just don't understand. This is really bad.”

“I understand,” you tell him, nodding your head. “I do, I get it, and I said you can go.”

“It's not like I wanted this to happen,” he argues a bit too loudly, causing the bakery staff to look over at your table out of curiosity. You want to shrink away from embarrassment at their stares, and he quickly changes his tone. “We just lost weeks if not months of work,” he said much more softly. “All this time that I had to be at the studio, working all those long hours. It was all for nothing.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach as he starts getting texts in rapid succession, his phone continuously chiming. It rings so loud in your ears. You're tired. You haven't felt this tired in a long time. Not since that night you thought he was cheating on you. You're tired of dealing with this wedding and making these damn choices. You're tired of worrying about him. You're tired of sleeping alone at night. You're tired of being patient. You're tired of being tired.

“Yoongi,” you say and take a deep breath. “Please leave.”

“That's not fair,” he said. “This isn't my fault that this happened.”

“I…I don't care. I want you to leave,” you tell him as you turn back to the baked goods and take the card in front of the next dessert. Chocolate cake, salted caramel filling, and chocolate buttercream. “This experience is ruined. I'm just going to choose a stupid cake that you don't give a shit about and be done with it.”

“Y/N,” he says your name softly.

You ignore him and take a bite of your next pastry. Picking up your pen, you get ready to make your notes. Yoongi’s phone rings in the background, and you can hear him swear. Cake is a little crumbly. The filling is delicious with the right amount of saltiness, and buttercream could be a little sweeter. You can hear him sigh loudly before he gets up from the table and walks out of the bakery. You breathe deeply through your nose and blink rapidly, trying to stop the tears that threaten to fall.

“Is everything okay over here?” The owner and head baker asks as she approaches the table quite cautiously.

“Yes,” you say, giving her a small smile. “I'm ready. I think I have decided.”

“Oh, perfect,” she says and claps her hands together lightly. “I'll go get my tablet. We will get you ordered and get you scheduled on the calendar.”

Your smile drops as she walks away. You are such a liar. You are not ready. Not even in the slightest.

“I'm calling the wedding off,” you say as soon as the door opens.

“I'm sorry….WHAT?” Jisoo says clearly in shock. You push past her and enter her apartment, making your way to her couch where you collapse face first into the cushions in exhaustion. “I think that I heard you wrong. Please say that again and maybe more slowly.”

“No,” you said, your voice muffled by the cushion. You don't even bother looking at her. You know she is looking at you like you are crazy. “You heard me right.”

Jisoo sits on the floor next to the couch and moves your hair out of your face. She gently continues to stroke your hair in a comforting manner. You close your eyes and relax into her touch. She smiles sadly as she looks at you.

“I don't think you really mean that,” she tells you softly as she pulls her delicate hand away. You huff out a breath of irritation and sit up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest. “Tell me what's going on.”

“He's been so busy, and I don't see him that often unless I make the effort to go to his studio. Then, I just end up cleaning the studio for him. I finally got him to help me with the cake tasting, and work still came first. I don't know if I can live like this forever,” you tell her. “I don't know if I want to.”

“Have you talked to him about this?” Jisoo asks, moving from the floor to sit next to you on the much more comfortable couch.

“Not really,” you admit, shaking your head. “I just miss us. I miss how we used to be before he got all busy, and the studio became everything to him.”

“Relationships change,” Jisoo tells you. “You may have hit a small rough patch now, but is it worth throwing it all away? After everything that you have been through. Do you want to throw it away?”

“Sometimes, I look at you and Seungkwan or Lisa, and Jimin and I get so jealous. You get to go out on dates and sleep next to them every night. You get to have real conversations and homemade dinners,” you explain to her. “I get to go home to a frozen microwavable dinner and a television for a companion. Sometimes, it's like he doesn't even exist, and it feels like I'm back on my own again.”

The door to the apartment opens, and you see Seungkwan enter. You watch as he takes off his shoes and hangs both his coat and bag on a hook, protruding from the wall before entering the room. He spots you on the couch and gives you a contemplative look.

“Well, that explains it,” he says and walks away to the kitchen.

“What?” Jisoo asks her boyfriend. You can hear the refrigerator open and close before he walks back out with a bottle of water in his hand. “What explains what?”

“I needed something signed, and Yoongi…well…he was grumpier than normal when I went to his studio. He also, kind of…” he trailed off for a few seconds. “Looked like he had been crying. Maybe? Does he do illegal substances?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head at him.

“Then he was definitely crying,” Seungkwan confirms.

On one hand, your heart sank as the words Seungkwan just said sank in. Had he been crying? Maybe you were too hard on him. Maybe you shouldn't have kicked him out of the bakery. You guess you probably could have been nicer about it. On the other hand, it just made you even madder. You were suffering too, and you still don't think that he cares. If he cared, he would have turned his phone off and stayed with you today. However, he didn't. He left. He left you there alone to order one of the plainest wedding cakes there probably ever was. He left in his car, leaving you to take the bus to Jisoo's.

“Can you please give us a minute,” Jisoo asks her boyfriend. Without a word, he walks down the hall and into the back of the apartment to the bedroom. You don't speak until you hear the bedroom door shut.

“Do you think….” You trail off in a small voice. “Do you think I should be getting married?”

Jisoo wraps her arm around you and pulls you down into her lap. She once again moves her hand to your hair and gently smooths it away from your face. She doesn't answer your question right away. It probably takes her a full two minutes before she finally speaks.

“I can't answer that,” she tells you, and it makes you clench your teeth in frustration. “I won't tell you not to marry him. It's okay to be jealous of me and Lisa and our relationships. However, I get jealous of you, too. The way that Yoongi looks at you, Y/N. Jimin and Seungkwan don't look at us like that. Yoongi looks at you like he would hang the moon for you. He would burn the world down for you.”

“I know he would,” you say as a tear drips down your face.

“If you don't love him, then I say don't marry him. If you do love him, then I say fight for him. You tell him how you feel and you fight,” she says seriously.

“I already told her to talk to him weeks ago, but no one ever listens to me," Seungkwan called from the back of the apartment. You and Jisoo start giggling and sit up to look at her. Her nosy boyfriend clearly had been listening to your entire conversation. “I would also hang the moon for you too, Jisoo.”

“Please don't tell Lisa about this. I don't need her saying anything to anyone,” You look at her, hold your pinky finger out. “Jimin loves gossip just as much as she does.”

“I won't. I promise,” she said softly and wrapped her own pinky around yours. “I promise.”

You checked the apartment first but you were not surprised when you found that he wasn't there. Now, you stand outside of his studio door, not sure if you should ring his doorbell or enter the code and walk in. You look up and down the deserted hallway before you slowly raise your forefinger and push the doorbell. Standing up straight, you wiggle your fingers that hang loosely at your sides as you wait for him to open the door. Your heart feels like it's going to pound out of your chest. You take a deep breath through your nose and slowly release it out of your mouth. Again…again…again.

“Y/N?” Jungkook says as the door finally opens and loud rap music flows out of the darkened room from the speakers.

You look over Jungkook's shoulder and see Yoongi look at you from his chair in surprise. His hair was disheveled and sticking up in all sorts of directions. He had changed into black track pants and an oversized white hoodie. They were both wrinkled, and the hoodie might be a little stained. You'll have to try and wash it for him later. Hopefully, you will be able to get the stains out. Yoongi stands from his seat and stares at you but doesn't say anything.

“Umm, can he and I have a minute?” You ask Jungkook, who still stands in the doorway. “Unless you're too busy.”

“NO!” Yoongi exclaims as he takes a few steps away from his chair. “Kook was just leaving.”

“Yeah, I was just leaving,” Jungkook agreed and nodded his head. “Everything is all set now. Have a good talk, bye.”

Jungkook practically runs out of the studio and down the hallway, nearly tripping over his own feet. Yoongi catches the door with his hand before it closes and opens it for you again. As you walk in, you notice that it was pretty cluttered with several discarded white styrofoam carryout boxes on his table and couch. A small pile of dirty laundry sat on the floor in the corner of the room. You can't even begin to imagine how long they have been there for. You know that you haven't been by in a while to clean up for him, but this was ridiculous. It even smelled a little bit, and it made you scrunch your nose as the stench hit you. Yoongi dropped his head and rubbed the back of his neck as he caught your facial expression. Good, he should be embarrassed.

“Is everything…” you trail off and motion to his work space.

“Oh, yeah. We got the files back pretty quickly, thankfully. I hurried back to the bakery, but you were already gone.” he explains.

“Oh,” you say softly and continue to look at his mess.

“You weren't at home either,” he tells you, and your eyes went back to him. “I figured you probably went to Lisa's or Jisoo's.”

“Jisoo's,” you confirmed. “Seungkwan said he saw you today. He said it looked like you had been crying. Were you?”

“He's got a big mouth,” Yoongi snaps, turning away from you. He pushes his chair, and it goes rolling across the room before hitting the wall. It makes you jump just a tiny bit.

“Were you crying over me or the lost files?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” He asks, turning back to you. “You think I would cry over work. Baby, I hurt you. I hurt you, and I took you for granted. You take care of me, you have been planning this whole wedding by yourself and I can't even do one damn thing for you.”

“Yoongi,” you say with a sigh and drop your arms.

“No, it's true,” he argues. “I don't even know why you are still with me. I would have left me a long time if I were you. Jungkook is even surprised that you're still here. Jimin tells me all the time that Lisa is worried about you.”

“Do you want to marry me? Be honest with me,” you plead.

“Yes, of course I want to marry you. I want nothing more than to be yours…forever,” he assures you.

"It doesn't feel like it,” you say, kicking a stray chopstick that was on the floor. “It feels like you don't care about the wedding at all. You’re always so busy.”

“Do you want me to quit? Make Namjoon buy me out so I can work some crappy, dead-end 9 to 5 job? Have us both worried about making ends meet? Working paycheck to paycheck?” He asks, throwing his arms in the air out of exasperation.

“Now you're the one not being fair, Yoongi. If you can't figure out how to balance your life with me and work, then maybe…” you say, but he immediately cuts you off.

“Stop right there,” he growls at you and points his finger at you. “Don't you dare finish that sentence. I am trying my best.”

“I don't know how much longer I can do this,” you tell him as you will yourself not to cry. You want to be strong. For once in your life, you just want to be strong and not run away to lean on someone else to help you. “If I knew how alone I would be all the time I….”

“Stop!” he says loudly. “Don't you think I get lonely too? Don't you think that I miss you? It's not easy to live like this. I get that!”

“THEN WHY CAN'T YOU JUST COME HOME!” You scream at him.

Immediately, you feel guilty for yelling. The two of you both stand there, glaring at each other, breathing hard. A large lump has formed in your throat, and your heart starts to race once again. The tension in the room is heavy and thick but not in a good way. It's never been this way between you two, and you don't know how to climb and claw your way out of it. The music in the studio changes over to something slower and almost melancholic. It feels fitting for this moment.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, breaking the silence.

“I’m sorry. I'll clean up,” you whisper as you turn toward the messy couch.

“No,” he says, grabbing your hand, pulling you to him, and you let him. You don't want to fight him anymore. It hurts too much. Your heart hurts so freaking much.

Yoongi guides your hands up and around the back of his neck, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pressing himself right up against you. Yoongi buries his face into your neck, and you rest your own on his shoulder. He gently starts rocking the two of you back and forth. Dancing? Dancing to that slow beat pouring out of his sound system in the middle of his dimly lit studio. His arms and hands cling onto you as if you are his lifeline. Like he would drown if he were to let go of you. You lift your face and kiss the side of his neck softly, lips barely touching him. Yoongi pulls his face back and rests his forehead against your own. Your bodies are still gently swaying side to side in your own little world.

“Please, don't leave me,” he gently begs, “I promise I'll do better.”

“Don't make promises that you can't keep,” you say, looking right into his eyes.

“I promise,” he says again, leaning toward your mouth. You close the gap and gently kiss him on the lips. “Tell me to quit, and I will. Tell me to run away with you, and I will. Do you want to move to Paris? Our own little island? I'll make it happen. I would do anything for you.”

Jisoo was right. He would probably burn the world down for you.

“I know you will,” you tell him and lay your head against his chest. Yoongi rests his head on the top of your head. Your bodies still sway with the music. Dancing. Dancing in your own little world in the middle of his studio. “I know you will.”

Tagged Readers:

@mggv97, @granataepfelchen, @kam9404, @svnbangtansworld, @futuristicenemychaos, @notarshia, @busanbby-jjk

[whorediaries-09]

down bad;

pairing- james potter x reader warning(s)- death, angst. a/n- i'm in my moods lately. a bit of angst to calm my soul and to feed my babies. short and sour :)

little train.

death was easy. unlike the concept of pain that came along with death, which had been ingrained into your mind as you grew, it was easy. even if you lay on the cold hard ground, slowly losing your senses as the acid from your stomach burned your organs, destroying them. your eyes ran dry, hands slowly losing strength and senses to hold back the blood flowing from your stomach.

or perhaps it was interest you lost. in saving yourself. the bloodcurdling screams had stopped, your ears were cold, devoid of hearing anything.

bellatrix knew how to kill. she didn't kill for vengeance. she killed because it was her passion. to kill and hurt people. to destroy them and their loved ones. her words were colder than any sword that could kill one. one could see the mad love behind her eyes as she killed.

you knew that. nobody could've known it better than you. but yet when it was time to choose between your life and your friends, you'd chosen your friends. your friends had families to build. your friends had someone waiting for them. but you had no one.

so, you decided to confront her, despite the protests of your friends.

the duel had been going pretty well, before she decided to puncture your emotions. it began with calling you a nobody in the wizarding world. it ended with you on your knees, as she taunted you for falling in love with a married man.

'what would you know about love, bellatrix? you belong to generations of inbreeding,' you spat. you saw the color leave her eyes. you saw yourself touching a nerve. and before you could do anything, you found yourself lying on the cold hard ground, blood oozing out of your stomach like a fountain.

she screamed, hysterically, maniacally, joyfully.

'oh i know about love! look what it's done to you now,'

*-

with shaking hands, james put the tape in the tape player. it was an anonymous mail. he knew better than accepting anonymous mails, given the high risk due to the circumstances. he'd just lost a friend. the grief and guilt still weighed down upon him.

he consoled himself by thinking that the death eaters wouldn't know the muggle ways of tapes or mails. they were petrified of the idea of death.

there was a static noise, before a cough. a cough he knew a bit too well. it hit him like a jab in the stomach.

'hi. if you're hearing this, then i'm dead. but i cannot simply die without confessing a few secrets you should know. so, this is my confession.'

james knew this voice a little too well. the girl he'd first fallen in love with. the woman who was dead, and would never return.

'i've never actually loved someone. it had just been you i'd decided to fall in love with. but of course. fate has always been cruel with me.'

james felt a growing lump in his throat. his eyes burned.

'before i could ever confess to you, i found out lily had finally said yes to your date after the years you'd spent pestering her. i don't remember feeling anything particularly. i remember it hurt me. it wounded me, it made me numb.'

the tears that flowed down his cheeks were warm and salty. the day was crystal clear in his memories. how you'd stopped talking to him, and started avoiding him and his constant confrontations asking you about your absence.

'but then it started to hurt. so much. it began with you changing places with peter to sit beside lily. then began her melodious laughter ringing into my dumb eardrums. then began the start of your beautiful relationship. which was nothing but an eyesore. i knew i had to get myself out from your friendship to end what i'd been feeling.'

he swallowed thickly, tears uncontrollable. he remembered how he'd had a crush on you as a fourteen year old, but you weren't quite close to him or his friend group back then. as he got to know you slowly, he realized that he'd never liked you. he liked the idea of you. he had always loved lily.

'then started your confrontations. i tried to ignore you, and i thought it wouldn't be too hard, given there was not much time left for school to finish anyways. turns out i was wrong. we had to join the order, since voldemort is at large. and we had to spend more time together. at meetings. at missions.'

james could remember the first time he'd seen you after hogwarts. you had changed a lot. it seemed as if you'd lost your charm. your shine.

'then you took me to choose the ring with which you proposed lily. and i think, that was my last straw before i let loose of any hope. and i knew it is wrong. but i'm doomed aren't i? always have been.'

james hated the fact that he hadn't done anything. even if he'd never liked you romantically, he'd loved you. you'd left the world without any closure. the closure you thought you didn't need. the closure he thought you deserved.

'you thought that it would be a nice way to catch up. but you only lost me. but trust me i was happy for you. i was happy that you got to marry the woman you'd always wanted to marry. i am happy that you got to marry the woman you'd loved. but sometimes i turn sour, thinking why couldn't it be me? and i really hate myself for it.'

your voice paused, and you took a deep breathe. cold air chilled down his spine.

'i didn't opt to be your odd man out. but i guess, that's what i was. but now that i'm no more, and you can't confront me anymore, i just need to say this, no matter how morally wrong it might be.'

james felt his heart pause. it was like a rare breathe.

'i love you.'

****************************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

additional taglist - @tiaajosephin

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

****************************************

[bennusimurgh]

"The Chronicles of Forgotten Light"

Chapter One: The Council of Echoes

---

The Council chamber was a marvel of ancient and modern architecture, a sacred space that seemed to

exist outside of time. High vaulted ceilings, soaked in centuries of history, were adorned with glowing

runes that pulsed with life, responding to the thoughts and emotions of the beings gathered below. Soft

golden light streamed into the room from crystalline spheres that floated in the air, shifting colors in

tune with the mood of the discussion.

Representatives from across the galaxy had gathered in this hall—beings of incredible diversity, each

one embodying the unique beauty and power of their race. Tall and luminous, Ethereal beings seemed

to shimmer as they moved, their garments ranging from simple robes to intricate, ornate attire, each

bearing the emblem of their status. Alongside them stood warriors with bronze skin, wisps of smoke in

humanoid form, and metallic creatures that glinted in the light, all coexisting in a delicate balance.

Despite the importance of the topics being discussed, the atmosphere in the chamber was thick with

the weight of bureaucracy—a slow, creaking machine of deliberation that had long lost momentum. The

Council was mired in debates over trivial issues that could quickly wear down even the most patient

listener.

Dundul Kron sat in his seat, his gaze drifting over the assembly, but his thoughts were far from this hall.

His restless mind sought escape from the monotony. And as often, he slipped away to another place,

far removed from the noise and tedium.

With a deft shift, he connected to the collective unconscious and, with just one leap, transported

himself to a bar, leaving the assembly behind. His decisions would be recorded and documented

regardless; why waste energy on being present where the only task was to select the distinctive feature

of a specific model, or to decide why it should have a particular color, with periodic rescan for

additional functions that enhance the model’s ability to perform its assigned tasks?

In this other reality, everything was sharper, more vivid. Here, there were no debates, no endless

discussions, only peace and harmony. The bar where Dundul had transported himself was located on

the rings of Saturn, a place that epitomized tranquility and seclusion, far from the bustle of the galaxy.This bar, hidden among billions of icy and rocky particles, offered a breathtaking view of the planet's

rings, slowly streaming through the vastness of space. It was called "On Saturn's Rings" and was the

embodiment of what could be called the perfect place for those seeking quiet and solitude away from

the chaos of the universe.

The interior of the bar was simultaneously cozy and futuristic, with floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed

guests to gaze out at the endless expanse of Saturn and its famous rings. Beyond these windows, like a

river of time, the distant stars slowly drifted by, creating a sense of eternity and calm.

Tables and chairs, made of soft yet sturdy materials, were arranged so that each visitor could enjoy the

panoramic view. The lighting in the bar was subdued and soft, emanating from neon tubes that gradually

changed color depending on the time of day and the mood of the patrons.

The bartender, seemingly an extension of the bar itself, effortlessly mixed drinks that seemed to absorb

the atmosphere of the place. Each cocktail served here was more than just a drink; it was an entire

universe of flavors and sensations, adjusting to the emotions and thoughts of those who consumed it.

This bar was the place where one could come to ponder important decisions, immerse oneself in

reflections on life and the universe, or enjoy a moment of silence in the vastness of space. For Dundul, it

was the perfect place to meet her—a place where time slowed down, allowing him to focus on what

truly mattered.

Meeting with Sophia was what truly mattered now. She was a beacon of calm in the storm of his

thoughts, her presence a reminder of the beauty that lay beyond the confines of duty. Her deep,

understanding eyes met his gaze, and a soft smile played on her lips as she voiced the question that had

been lingering in her mind.

“It’s fascinating how you understand things as if you’re seeing through layers of reality,” she began, as if

continuing a thought out loud. “I had a strange feeling during my last work. It was as if my brushes were

painting not by my hand, but by someone else’s. Is this what you talk about—the unconscious?”

“It’s similar to what Jung would call ‘the projection of the unconscious onto matter,’” Dundul replied,

smiling slightly. “Perhaps your brushes weren’t guided by your hands but by archetypes hidden deep

within your subconscious. They might manifest through you, as if you were a conduit for their energy. Do

you feel them influencing you?”She pondered this, her gaze drifting to the rings of Saturn outside the window.

“Yes, but it’s a bit unsettling. It feels like there are two forces within me: one striving to express

something I can’t understand, and the other trying to maintain control. Have you ever felt that?”

“Often,” Dundul responded calmly, his voice deep and assured. “It’s the eternal struggle between

consciousness and the unconscious. The second force is your ego, trying to maintain order. But to

achieve true harmony, we must learn to listen to both sides. Have you ever tried talking to these forces

as if they were living beings?”

She nodded slowly, her face lighting up with understanding.

“Talking? I’ve never thought of it that way. But you’re right, they do seem alive. How would you suggest I

begin such a dialogue?”

“Try entering a state of light trance, when you’re on the edge between sleep and wakefulness,” Dundul

suggested, his voice nearly a whisper, as if he were sharing a sacred secret. “In that moment, you can

visualize these forces. Imagine them as figures with whom you can converse. Ask them what they want

to tell you, and listen. You might be surprised by what you hear.”

She looked at him, her eyes once again meeting his gaze.

“I’ll try. It seems like this could be an important step toward understanding what’s happening inside me.

Thank you. I feel a bit more at ease knowing you’ve been through something similar.”

Dundul smiled gently.

“We all go through this, it’s just that not everyone realizes it. I’m glad I could help. Remember, this is a

journey to your true self, and only you can define what it means.”

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, a natural exchange between two souls connected by a deep

bond—a love that transcends the physical, a union rooted in mutual understanding and respect. They

didn’t need words to express it; their shared presence was enough.But as Dundul began to speak again, he felt a familiar tug at the edge of his consciousness. The Council

chamber was calling him back, its sluggish discussions demanding his attention. He blinked, and the

serene landscape outside the bar window faded, giving way to the grand hall filled with beings from

across the galaxy.

He straightened in his seat, realizing that his brief mental escape hadn’t gone unnoticed. The speaker at

the podium had paused, his eyes fixed on Dundul with an expression of curiosity and something else.

The room had fallen silent, all eyes turning toward him. Misael, a figure known for his rare but impactful

interventions, stood at the edge of the gathering, his gaze locked onto Dundul.

Dundul sighed inwardly, preparing to re-engage with the discussion. But before doing so, he allowed

himself one last thought of the woman in the bar and the utopia they both knew—she was so close.

— And don’t forget to stay with me, he thought to himself. — The journey has only just begun.Chapter 2: The First Artifact

---

‘‘Introduction and Familiarization’’

Dundul was stationed at an ancient archaeological site located in one of the most remote corners of the

galaxy. This forgotten outpost, which once served as a hub for studying ancient civilizations, was now

engulfed in silence and oblivion. Centuries had passed since the last scientist left these walls, leaving

behind only dust and ruins.

But recently, the station had once again attracted the attention of researchers. Strange energy surges

detected in this region indicated the presence of something unusual, possibly linked to ancient artifacts

that held the power and wisdom of long-lost peoples. Now, with the station becoming a focal point of

interest once more, Dundul had arrived to unravel the mysteries hidden deep within.

This life-sustaining planet had become the subject of investigation due to its unique position and

complex history. Once, Salt III had been part of a great civilization, but now only ruins and enigmas

buried beneath its surface remained. The shift in the planet's axis in the past had led to climate

changes, making it similar to Earth, though with a less polluted atmosphere.

Salt III was surrounded by a massive ring system, reminiscent of Saturn's rings, but with a mystical

touch, as if the planet itself was encased in ancient artifacts. These rings, encircling the planet, created

a mesmerizing spectacle in the night sky, giving everything around a sense of mystery and eternity.

The station was built many centuries ago on the ruins of an ancient city, which may have been one of the

centers of the vanished civilization. The station's main dome, constructed from a durable and nearly

invisible energy material, provided protection from harsh external conditions and allowed the station's

inhabitants to observe the majestic rings shimmering in the night, evoking a feeling of peace and

oblivion.

The planet's terraforming process had begun, but it was interrupted for unknown reasons. Outside the

dome, the atmosphere was still unbreathable, though its composition was slowly changing. A complex

life-support system artificially maintained a favorable environment inside the station. Biomes, where

rare plants were cultivated, played a crucial role in oxygen production. These domes resembled vast

parks filled with diverse flora and fauna, where both exotic plants and rare animals thrived. Thesebiomes not only sustained life on the station but also served as a reminder of nature's vitality, despite

being far from their home worlds.

Around 50 people lived on the station — archaeologists, engineers, biologists, linguists — each a

specialist in their field. They formed a diverse group, gathered from across the galaxy for a single

purpose: to unravel the mysteries of ancient civilizations and use their knowledge to understand the

present and future. The researchers lived in compact modules connected by a system of corridors that

provided easy access to various excavation zones and research centers. Though small, these modules

were designed to create a cozy atmosphere and foster a sense of camaraderie. However, some

preferred to live in townhouses located in the park zones of the biomes, where they could enjoy solitude

and the tranquility of nature.

Despite the harsh conditions, the station became a place where a sense of camaraderie thrived. Those

who lived and worked there became like family. In such extreme conditions, mutual support was not

just a necessity but the foundation of survival. Here, on the edge of the galaxy, amid cold wastelands

and ancient ruins, unique human bonds were formed, built on trust, mutual aid, and a common goal.

In the evenings, when the workday ended, the station's inhabitants often gathered in the central hall

beneath the main dome. There, they discussed their discoveries, shared thoughts, and told stories of

their home worlds. These moments were essential for maintaining morale and fostering a sense of

unity. Dundul, though lost in his own thoughts, could not help but feel the powerful energy emanating

from these people. Their dedication to their work and to each other inspired him to achieve new heights.

At the same time, especially for the sensitives, the station's atmosphere was imbued with a sense of

mystery. Every corner, every ancient mechanism seemed to hold secrets, waiting for their time to be

revealed. Dundul, with his innate ability to delve into the essence of things, could not help but feel this

tension, this call from antiquity that echoed in his mind.

But he needed to complete routine tasks before he could unravel these mysteries. Scanning debris,

analyzing energy fields, checking the operation of old mechanisms — all these were part of the work

that needed to be done to prepare the station for further exploration. These moments, filled with

monotony and sameness, seemed especially dull against the anticipation of what might be discovered

next.

Dundul wandered the station slowly, lost in thought. To him, artifacts were more than just ancient

objects. He understood that their true power lay not in their physical shell, but in what they symbolized.

An artifact had meaning only to the one who created it, and only in that person's hands did it hold truevalue. In Dundul's view, there was no difference between artifacts and totems — they were all merely

reflections of their creators' inner worlds.

Yet despite his skepticism about material objects, Dundul knew that they could be the key to unraveling

deeper truths. Each artifact held a piece of history, a fragment of knowledge that could shed light on

current events. Runes, though merely symbols to him, could still contain hidden power, capable of

opening doors to new understandings.

Immersed in these reflections, Dundul continued his work, preparing for the upcoming quest that

awaited him. With each step, he felt the station's mysterious energy becoming more palpable,

foretelling an inevitable encounter with what lay hidden in its depths.

The scientific team assembled to study the ancient artifacts on Salt III soon faced unforeseen

challenges. Initially, everyone worked in unison, striving to uncover the secrets of this enigmatic planet.

Still, as time went on, internal harmony began to unravel under the pressure of ambitions, fears, and the

unseen influence emanating from the ancient relics.

‘‘New Discoveries’’

The first signs that the station was on the verge of great discoveries came unexpectedly. Routine scans

conducted on the surface and deep within Salt III began detecting powerful energy surges. Initially, they

were dismissed as equipment errors or natural phenomena, but over time it became clear that these

were not random spikes. These energy anomalies were too regular, too powerful, and too purposeful.

Dundul, responsible for this sector, gathered the team to analyze the new data. It soon became evident

that the sources of these surges were located in the ancient ruins, deep beneath the planet’s surface.

Analysis showed that these surges were linked to something more significant than simple artifacts —

possibly to the awakening of a consciousness of an ancient civilization that had been dormant for

centuries in the depths of Salt III.

The more the researchers delved into their study, the more it seemed that their actions were themselves

the catalyst for this awakening. The terraforming process, which had been interrupted millennia ago,

began slowly resuming. The planet's atmosphere became cleaner, more stable; the domes that

protected the station started to disappear as if the planet itself had decided to reveal itself to its new

inhabitants.However, the joy of such discoveries quickly darkened. Along with the awakening of ancient systems,

strange and disturbing phenomena began to occur on and around the station. Researchers started

encountering mysterious visions and indistinct shadows wandering the station’s corridors. These

entities seemed not to belong to this world but were closely tied to Salt III’s past. Some researchers

claimed to have seen fragments of the past, scenes of ancient battles and destruction now coming to

life before their eyes.

On Salt III, everything seemed calm and predictable at first glance, but each day spent on this planet

brought the researchers closer to uncovering what was happening on a much deeper level. The energy

surges detected by the instruments were just the tip of the iceberg, signals that something ancient was

awakening. Initially, Dundul and his team treated these as ordinary anomalies, but over time it became

clear that they were dealing with something that could not be ignored. The awakening of the ancient

mind was not driven by malevolent intent but rather a result of ancient forces striving to return the

planet to its original, paradisiacal state.

The energy enveloping Salt III was like a massive wave that swept through space and time, and with

each wave, it grew stronger, causing changes on the planet and within the researchers themselves. This

energy began to influence people's behavior, not with the aim of harming them but as a natural process

aimed at purification and restoration.

The planet’s power manifested itself subtly, covertly. The ancient mind of Salt III did not seek to control

people directly; instead, it guided them through its energy surges, creating conditions in which they

were forced to act. Each energy impulse was a message, a riddle that needed to be solved. But to do so

required not just strength, but a deep understanding that every action had its consequences. Like an

experienced ruler, the planet did not reveal its intentions, forcing those around it to act under conditions

of uncertainty.

Salt III acted through its energy surges and influence on the researchers' consciousness, compelling

them to make decisions and take action rather than merely discussing possible options. The energy of

the ancient mind awakened hidden emotions, fears, and ambitions within people. These surges were

not aimed at destruction; rather, they forced people to confront themselves, their inner demons, and

shadows. Nature sought not to destroy but to awaken the dormant power within each individual, forcing

them to act and thus cleanse themselves.

‘‘Memories of the Past’’: As Dundul immersed himself in his work, he increasingly noticed that strange

visions engulfed his consciousness. These visions were fragments of the planet's past, where ancientcivilizations performed their rituals, connecting with the forces of nature. The visions did not just come

to him; they took hold of him entirely, immersing him in the atmosphere of a distant time when artifacts

were not relics but living, active sources of power.

In these visions, he saw ‘‘Platunus’’

— a planet that was once full of life but became a victim of its own

technology. He observed how the ‘‘Temple of Energy’’ became a center of birth and death, how energy

meant for creation turned into a destructive force. These visions were so realistic that Dundul

sometimes could not tell where reality ended and illusion began.

‘‘The planet’s awakening’’ became increasingly apparent. Salt III, like Platunus, could become a victim

of its own power if it was not managed properly. But this power did not seek to destroy its new

inhabitants — it sought to restore the planet to its former glory. Dundul understood that their actions

needed to be aimed at maintaining balance, that any wrong move could lead to disaster. And though

they longed to uncover all the secrets of this land, they also realized that their mission required special

caution and respect for the forces they encountered.

With each passing day, more intense changes occurred on Salt III. The disappearance of the domes

opened new horizons for the researchers, but also brought new challenges. The awakening of ancient

spirits and entities connected to the planet’s past became a new reality for those who remained at the

station. These entities were not malevolent, but they could not fully interact with the planet’s

inhabitants without creating discomfort and fear.

These spirits were a mixture of memories and entities, gathered into a single consciousness that tried to

reconnect with the physical world. They were nothing more than archetypal shadows trapped in the

collective unconscious, attempting to restore a lost connection with reality.

Salt III, like a king, demanded respect and understanding from those who dared to step on its surface.

The planet did not forgive mistakes, but it did not seek revenge. It wanted to restore its grandeur, and for

this, it was necessary to understand its needs and goals. Those who could act consciously and with

respect had a chance to see the planet bloom again, returning to its paradisiacal state. But those who

could not handle its powerful energy were doomed to become its victims.

The researchers and Dundul found themselves at the center of this process. They had to act like wise

rulers, maintaining a balance between power and respect for the planet's force. They stood on the brink

of great discoveries, but every action they took could lead to either restoration or destruction. Salt III

demanded not only skill but also inner maturity to deal with the challenges it presented.Dundul understood that he and his team needed to become flexible, like water, to cope with the growing

challenges. They needed to act not just with strength but with wisdom, adapting to changing conditions.

Salt III, like an ancient teacher, tested the patience and adaptability of everyone who dared to enter its

sphere of influence. Like water, which always finds a way around obstacles, Dundul and his team had to

learn to navigate the invisible barriers the planet set before them. But these barriers were not meant to

stop them but to teach them to act with caution and wisdom.

With each new energy surge, with each new encounter with ancient spirits, Dundul's team increasingly

realized that they were not controlling the process but were a part of it. The planet dictated its

conditions but also revealed its secrets to those who were ready to listen and learn. The researchers

needed to become more than just observers — they had to become partners in the great restoration

process.

Salt III, despite its power and grandeur, did not seek to subjugate its guests. It sought to restore

harmony, and for this, it needed allies, not conquered slaves. To achieve this harmony, the planet

required them to have fluidity of thought, the ability to quickly adapt to new conditions, and a readiness

to change their perspective.

Dundul felt how he himself was changing under the influence of these forces. His own connection to the

collective unconscious grew stronger every day, making him more sensitive to the vibrations and

energies emanating from the planet. He realized that they were not just researchers on a mission but

participants in a grand cosmic plan that was only beginning to unfold before them.

It was this fluidity and adaptability that allowed them to avoid the traps and dangers that could have

destroyed a less flexible and dogmatic team. They had to remain adaptable in their approaches,

constantly adjusting their actions in response to the changes occurring on Salt III. The planet’s energy

could be both creative and destructive, and only those who could tune into its wavelength could truly

benefit from it.

Instead of trying to control the planet, Dundul and his team decided to work in harmony with its forces.

They stopped perceiving the energy surges as a threat and began to see them as signs and indications

that could lead them to uncovering the great secrets of the ancient civilization. This shift in approach

allowed them not only to survive but to thrive, gradually approaching the moment when Salt III would

fully reveal its deepest secrets.Salt III continued to change, and with it, so did those living on its surface. Their mission became not just

an exploration but a journey inward, a dive into the depths of their own consciousness, where the

answers to many questions they asked themselves lay hidden. They needed to become part of this

planet so that it could become part of them, and only then could they hope that everything they had

planned would lead to a successful conclusion.

Ultimately, the success of their mission depended not on how much they learned about the planet but

on how deeply they understood themselves in the process of this knowledge. Salt III was not only a test

of their knowledge and skills but also a test of their spirit, their ability to remain fluid, adaptable, and

wise in conditions that changed every minute.

So they moved forward, attuning themselves to the planet’s rhythm, merging with its energy, and

gradually uncovering the secrets it had kept for many centuries. This journey promised to be long and

difficult, but those who could adapt, who could become fluid like water, could hope that something

great awaited them at the end, something that would justify all their efforts and trials.

The scientific team, gathered to study the ancient artifacts on Salt III, soon faced unforeseen

challenges. Initially, everyone worked in unison, striving to uncover the secrets of this mysterious

planet, but as time went on, internal harmony began to crumble under the pressure of ambitions, fears,

and the unseen influence emanating from the ancient relics.

The Mystery of Artifacts and Their Influence

Energy artifacts revealed their true nature only in the hands of those connected to their creators. This

discovery was not just a scientific fact but a blow to the team's confidence. Some artifacts that had

previously seemed harmless, in the hands of those obsessed with their creators, became sources of

power. These individuals began to feel that they could control the artifact's power, but in reality, the

artifact was controlling them.

Artifacts discovered by the team on Salt III were unique in their nature and action. Each had specific

properties and could strongly influence the environment and even the researchers themselves.

However, as they delved deeper into the study of these objects, it became evident that the power of the

artifacts could have been more unequivocally beneficial. Some, like the ‘‘Misantreon’’ (named after an

ancient artifact capable of awakening the dark sides of human nature), began to sow discord and

mistrust among the team.

‘‘Misantreon’’

, an artifact emitting dark, almost imperceptible energy, was found deep within a ruined

temple and immediately drew attention. Its influence was invisible but palpable: as soon as one of thescientists began to study it, they began to feel inexplicable suspicions toward their colleagues, fear, and

a desire to possess the artifact alone. Initially, these changes were barely noticeable, but over time,

they grew into open conflicts.

Other artifacts, such as the ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ (functionally similar to the Resurrection Stone), emitted

a bright energy that promoted healing and restoration. However, its power was also ambiguous: the

crystal demanded sacrifices, as if hinting at the inevitable balance between light and darkness.

The ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’

— a majestic artifact reminiscent of a lost civilization that may have used it to

revive or restore the deceased. But its bright aura hid a dark secret: every time someone tried to use its

power, they felt something slipping away in return, as if the crystal demanded sacrifices in exchange for

its action.

These two artifacts became the epicenters of conflict. Some scientists, obsessed with the idea of using

‘‘Misantreon’’ to uncover the secrets of the ancient civilization, insisted on further research despite its

obvious negative impact on the team. Others, on the contrary, saw in the ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ the key to

restoring harmony on the planet, although its dark sides caused no less concern.

Conflicts Within the Team

As tension within the team grew, two opposing groups began to form. One, led by Dr. Laren, believed

that the artifacts should be studied at all costs, even if it involved certain risks. Laren argued that

without a deep understanding of the artifacts' power, they could not uncover all the planet's secrets.

Her supporters believed that the risk was justified and that the knowledge that could be extracted from

the artifacts was worth it.

The other group, led by Dr. Iris, called for caution. They saw how the influence of ‘‘Misantreon’’ and the

‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ was changing their colleagues' behavior and believed that continuing the research

could lead to catastrophic consequences. Iris and her supporters insisted that the artifacts should be

isolated and studied remotely to avoid their negative influence.

“We cannot afford to lose our sanity for the sake of discovery,” Iris said at one of the team meetings.

“These artifacts may hold not only knowledge but also destruction. If we’re not careful, Salt III will

become our grave.”

Meanwhile, the artifacts continued to exert their influence on the researchers. Each of them felt the

pressure emanating from the ancient relics. ‘‘Misantreon’’ heightened paranoia and distrust, makingpeople more closed off and aggressive. Some even began to see their colleagues as rivals rather than

allies, leading to open conflicts and quarrels.

The Influence of Artifacts on Consciousness

The influence of the artifacts on the researchers' consciousness became increasingly apparent. Visions

that initially seemed like mere illusions began to invade their reality. Some began to experience an

inexplicable fear of the artifacts, while others felt an irresistible attraction to them. These behavioral

changes intensified, leading to conflicts within the team. Dundul, with his natural resistance to such

influences, began to notice how his colleagues were slowly but inexorably changing.

The ‘‘Shadow of Power’’, an ancient staff capable of subjugating its wielder's mind, became the focal

point of such influences. One researcher, under its influence, began to see himself as a ruler striving for

power at any cost. These visions were so vivid that he began to perceive his colleagues as threats to his

future greatness.

The researchers realized that they needed to protect themselves and their team from the artifacts'

influence. They began creating protective gear designed to block the relics' effects on consciousness.

The team also started training to strengthen their inner resilience and concentration to withstand the

forces contained in the artifacts. Dundul, with his innate mental defense abilities, became a mentor for

others, teaching them methods of resisting ancient influences.

Chaotic Control

At the peak of the crisis, when ‘‘Misantreon’’'s influence reached its zenith, the team faced the greatest

danger. The energy released by the artifact began to break down the station’s defense systems.

Everything seemed doomed to fail. But those who remained sane knew that chaos could only be

controlled by embracing it. The team’s actions, which seemed chaotic and meaningless, were actually

meticulously calculated.

Even the most powerful protective measures could not fully shield them from the artifacts' influence.

When the incident with ‘‘Misantreon’’ occurred, the station plunged into chaos. The dark energy

released by the artifact began to spread at an unimaginable speed, like a living entity seeking to engulf

everything in its path. Everything happened so quickly that it seemed each moment teetered on the

brink of destruction.The team, gripped by panic, froze in terror at the unmanageable force. But those who remained

conscious immediately pulled themselves together. Without a word, as if by an invisible command, they

began to act. The intricate dance of interactions that unfolded at the station appeared chaotic and

unstructured to an external observer, but within this chaos, there was hidden harmony.

Every action was part of a complex plan, with each note played at the right moment. The entire team,

acting as one, began working, creating a symphony out of chaos. They knew they couldn’t fully suppress

‘‘Misantreon’’’s energy, but they could redirect it. At the moment of climax, the artifact was encased in a

protective field and transported to an indestructible vault. This step was necessary to save the station

and continue their mission.

When it was all over, silence reigned on the station. The researchers realized they had encountered

something beyond their understanding. But they also realized that the power contained within the

artifacts could be both creative and destructive. It was important not to suppress it but to learn to work

with it, respecting its nature.

Now they knew their mission was not just a scientific inquiry but a spiritual journey, in which they had to

find a balance between the thirst for knowledge and respect for the forces they were unveiling. Salt III

continued to hold its secrets, but now the team was prepared for new challenges, understanding that

their success depended not only on knowledge but on their ability to maintain balance between light

and darkness.

And only time would tell whether they could uncover all the mysteries of this enigmatic planet without

losing their humanity in the process.

“These artifacts,” Dundul said as the situation on the station began to stabilize, “can give us answers to

many questions. But they can also lead to our demise if we don’t learn to understand and respect them.

We must remember that the power hidden within them can be both creative and destructive.”

This incident was a turning point for the team on Salt III. The conflicts and disagreements that nearly led

to disaster showed how dangerous the misuse of the artifacts' power could be. The researchers

understood that their mission was not only about the pursuit of knowledge but also about maintaining a

balance between the thirst for discovery and caution.Salt III continued to hold its secrets, and each day brought new challenges. However, the team now

acted with greater caution, understanding that every action they took had consequences not only for

themselves but for the entire planet. And though they continued to strive to uncover the secrets of the

ancient civilization, they knew that their success depended on their ability to maintain unity and respect

for the forces they had encountered.

Thus, the station on Salt III became not only a place of scientific research but also an arena where

human ambitions and fears clashed with ancient forces awakened from a deep slumber. And only time

would tell whether they could uncover all the mysteries of this enigmatic planet without losing the most

valuable thing — their humanity.

[green-planets]

StEx Appreciation Month Day 5: Electra!

⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡

Face Claim: Leon Maurice-Jones

Favourite Song/Scenes: AC/DC (the versions where he descends from the sky are so funny! Buddy, you're a train. What were you doing up there?), No Comeback ("EAT MY DUST!!"), ORARTM (the kiss boot), when he throws a tantrum during Dinah's Disco

Favourite Costumes: Bochum mid 2000’s to 2018. The perfect Electra costume should have big hair, long lashes, bold makeup, and look like a glitter bomb went off. I also like the early Bochum wigs that swoop to one side

Favourite Ships/Friendships: Electra x Greaseball, Electra x Greaseball x Red Caboose, Electra x Components. His friends are the Cabeese and the Components (and Dinah post-canon)

Headcanons: He is fluent in English, French, German, Italian, and Japanese. He probably knows several other languages too but he mainly uses them to impress others and/or flirt.

Unpopular Opinion: Out of all the StEx antagonists, he's by far the least "evil" (and that word should be taken with a grain of salt-- I don't believe any StEx characters are truly evil)

⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡

Bonus round: Elektra!

Face Claim: Semme Prins

Favourite Song/Scenes: AC/DC, Beelektra moments 🥺, his little temper tantrums are funny and I like the way his wig swishes around whenever he moves

Favourite Costumes: I love the LED panels on his costume! They look really cool when he's fully lit. The monochrome looks so good when he's lined up with his components!

Favourite Ships/Friendships: Elektra x Brake Van

Headcanons: Mood ring Elektra!!! (his lights change colors based on his mood)

Unpopular Opinion: His costume isn't bad (?!) or boring just because it's monochrome!

⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡⚡

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .7

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Angst, Discussions of child abandonment, Discussions of child neglect; Family dynamics; Mention of abortion; Jealousy; Possessive behavior

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: There are much happier times ahead after this, I promise. I hope you enjoy <3

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

.7

Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life. 

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

As the turn of the season marches its way into the city, the leaves bloom the crisp, bright colors of autumn. Austin comes alive with the burning colors of fall: reds and oranges and yellows, so beautiful. It makes you feel nothing. You usually love the change of the weather into the colder months, but this year it all feels – meaningless. Empty – like you. 

And yet, life continues, work continues, and at the end of October you and your fellow art teacher plan a field trip to one of the city's parks for the children to paint the colors of the changing leaves. It should be something to look forward to, despite the stress of having to organize a group of twenty first graders and wrangle them in a large, open space, you usually look forward to things like this. You love your job, it’s always made you happy, but somewhere along with the part of you that he’d stolen away, you’d slowly gone by losing other smaller parts of yourself, discarding them in the wake of your grief. Your ability to smile, to enjoy the things that had always previously made you happy, all gone away with him. All you can focus on now is how much you miss him. How much you hate all the decisions you’ve ever made, and how much you resent your history, your parents, for leaving you this broken, wanting thing that could not seem to find happiness – that would not let yourself be happy. No matter how hard you try.

But above the wailing cacophony of your grief, your longing for him ringing in your ears, there is the overwhelming resounding cry of your past screaming at you: you can’t let this go, you can’t let this go, you can’t let us go. Your parents, their history, the tragedy of their demise, the painful solitude of your childhood, the sight of your father wasting away for years and years and you, a child, unable to do anything, unable to help him, to save him, to bring her back so that he could be okay. 

But you also can’t let him go. It was, you now knew, an impossibility. As futile as forgetting your own name, how to breathe, how to be alive. Holding on to him now is an intrinsic part of you that you’re sure you’ll live with for the rest of your life. 

And so, the real question now is, what are you more willing to hold on to? But no, that isn’t right either, the better question is: what do you have to hold on to? What do you need to survive? What can you not live without? What would leave you only half a person if you were to let it go – the past or him?

You’re sure you know the answer, but are only too afraid to admit that all you’d put the two of you through throughout all this, had been pointless. So pointless and so needlessly painful. 

All you want now is to talk to him. No, you don’t even have to talk. If you could just get the chance to see him, even if from a distance, it would make everything better. You just want to see that he’s okay, that he’s not as miserable as you are. That he hasn’t been left as desolate as you seem to have ended up. 

The day is gorgeous, despite your mood, and the class has been good so far, calm and cooperative. The kids all sitting across picnic blankets you’d spread out on the grass amongst the fallen leaves. They’re all chattering and painting, engrossed in their task, when you hear your name being shouted from across the park in a high pitched little voice, and like a fucking revelation from above or your worst nightmare, your deepest desire come alive from the bottom of your heart – there they are. Sarah, running at full speed towards you from the far side of the park. Joel stalking a few paces behind her – his face like stone. You start to move towards them in a daze. 

You take in the sight of him from afar – massive, so tall, and so beautiful. His hair is longer, his dark curls brushing the back of his collar and curling along his temples. Weeks since you’d last seen him, since he’d last touched you, since that horrible moment in that restaurant bathroom. Your cunt clenches, empty and desperate, around nothing, just at the sight of him. He has on a dark green flannel that brings out the warmth in his eyes, you can see it, even from all the way over here. He looks so big, so strong, and you have a sudden, savage vision of him forcing you to the ground right here, in the middle of the park, and taking you for himself, forcing your legs open and ravishing you. Your head goes slightly woozy, dizzy, at the intensity of it, and you stumble, holding your hand out towards Sarah. You can see his eyes tracking your movements, your unsteadiness. His cheeks are bright red, flushed with the crisp autumn air, or perhaps, with anger. 

She squeals your name as she runs towards you, throwing herself into your legs, wrapping her arms around you when she slams into you. Your breath whooshes out of you at the impact, and you’re forced to take a step back as her body rocks into yours. Careful, Sarah. Be gentle, he calls.

 “Sarah,” you gasp, “Hi, baby. How are you?”

“I missed you,” she says, and her face is so sincere, so full of genuine happiness at seeing you, despite the fact that she’d only met you a couple times, that it brings tears to your eyes now, but you aren’t sure what kind of tears they are. Perhaps, from the pain of seeing your past self reflected in her fervor. The devastation of being confronted with him again. The most sublime elation because look at this little girl and how special and wonderful she is, and she’s happy to see you. She’s so in need of the attention and comfort of a maternal figure, and she reminds you very, very much of yourself at her age. It breaks your heart to feel her innocent desperation. You cannot even consider looking up at her father, you know that if you do, you’ll break down entirely, sobbing at his feet, begging him to forgive you, to love you back as much as you love him. “We– we should go play in the water again. I liked it so much when we did that. I had so much fun.” There’s such earnest pleading in her voice, but it gets just the tiniest bit smaller and quieter when she says the last part, as if she’s unsure if you’ll feel the same, if you’ll reciprocate her feelings. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out through your mouth as you hug her closer to you.

When you open your eyes again and look down at her upturned face your voice is slightly steadier, “We can go whenever you want, sweet pea. I had so much fun, too,” but you lose the battle at the end, voice cracking slightly. You can feel his hovering presence at your periphery like a blazing inferno, demanding attention, and you finally look up at him.  He has a slightly unhinged look in his eyes, taking you in from head to toe, gaze manically roving your form, like a man starved, parched – desperate and ravenous. 

“I had to go to the doctor,” Sarah says. “Look,” she shows you a bandaid on her little bicep, “I got a Sailor Moon sticky, but it hurt really bad.”  She pouts and you rub her hair, cooing at the small hurt. 

You look back up at him then, “Joel,” you croak. He doesn’t say anything, and you can see a slight tremble in the lines of his arms. He turns his face away from you, looking across the park, and you watch the ripple of muscles in his throat as he swallows several times, the flare of his nostrils as he takes his own set of deep, calming breaths. “Please, say something,” you beg. 

You hate the look in his eyes, you hate it, you hate that you’re the reason he looks like this right now. He doesn’t deserve this. He deserves your love. He deserves to be loved. He’d told you once that you weren’t some secret to be kept, hidden, that you deserved to be cherished out in the open, you realize, in this instant, that he deserves the same, and that what you’re doing to him is wrong. But how to stop it? How to change the most integral part of your mind, of your belief system, and that which it all hinges on, your past, your history? An impossible feat. 

“What are you doing here?” he finally says. His voice is rough and deep, and the mere sound of it makes everything deep in your tummy clench painfully. 

You’re still hugging Sarah to yourself, and she tightens her arms around you, looking up between the two of you as if she can tell that something isn’t right. “Field trip.” You hook your thumb back towards where your kids are still being watched over by the other chaperones. 

He finally turns back to look at you, and the fire in his eyes is terrible for all the desperation and pain you recognize in it. “It’s been weeks,” he whispers.

“I know.” You rub Sarah’s shoulders gently, feel her nuzzle into your thighs. 

“I went to look for you at the school.”

“I know.” Your voice sounds almost like a cry. Despite everything, despite telling you that this was hurting him, he’d still come to look for you again. He hadn’t given up on you, no matter how many times you’d pushed him away.

“I knew you’d seen me,” and he looks so hurt as he says it, that it sends a spear of fire through your chest. You can tell he’s holding on to his control by tenterhooks, trying his best not to let his anger out and scare you or Sarah. An irrational part of you wishes he’d lose control, throw you over his shoulder and force you to go with him. 

“Daddy?” Sarah’s little voice.

“Are we just never going to speak again? Is this the way you want it to stay?”

“No,” you croak, “I don’t– I don’t know,” a violent shake of your head, “I mean– yes, of course we are. I just can’t do this right now.” Your kids are waiting for you. You’re supposed to be working right now, not watching the rest of your future crumble brick by brick before your eyes, the only thing you’ve ever truly wanted for yourself angry beyond words at you. He scoffs, runs a shaking palm over his mouth and beard. 

You hear the other teacher call your name from behind, and as he comes up next to you, he puts a hand on your shoulder, perhaps sensing the tension or a fight brewing. “Everything alright over here?” he asks you gently, not sparing a glance at Joel. 

The entire right side of Joel’s face spasms furiously. “We’re in the middle of a fucking conversation here,” he spits, taking an aggressive step forward, eyes zeroed in on the hand touching you. You shrug it off immediately.

“Joel–” you warn, at the same time that Sarah’s high, anxious voice cries, “Daddy, why are you mad?” Her voice seems to snap him out of it, he looks down to her, his eyes going slightly wider for a second before he squeezes them shut and shakes his head once, quick. 

“I’m not, baby. I’m sorry–”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you murmur to your coworker. “Can you give us a minute? I’ll be right there.”

As he retreats, you say again, “I can’t do this now, Joel. But maybe–”

He shakes his head, ignoring you, crouching down to Sarah’s level. “Let’s go home, baby.” He places a gentle palm on her slight back. You can see the tremble of his hand, and it makes a sharp pain start up behind your left eyeball. 

“No, I don’t want to go with you!” she says muffled into your thighs.

“Sarah, baby, please. We need to go home,” he begs her. 

“Joel–” He continues to ignore you. 

“I don’t want to go yet,” she looks up at you, her little face pleading, “I want to stay with you, please.” Her eyes are starting to fill with tears. “Don’t you want me to stay with you? You said you had fun with me.” The tears start to fall, your own pool in your eyes.

“Sarah, it’s okay, baby. We’ll play another time,” there’s a begging lilt in your voice too. What are you doing? This is all your fault, you’re hurting the both of them. 

Joel stands to his full height now, finally meeting your eyes again, and his voice is hard and angry, patience come to an end as he says, “Sarah, it’s time to go. Say goodbye. I’m not gonna ask you again.”

“No! I don’t want to go with you! You’re being mean!” She turns her tear streaked face to him now, pulling on your clothes as if trying to scramble up your body. “Please, Daddy, please, I want to stay here.”

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, “Sarah, please.”

“Why do I never get to play with girls? Where’s mommy? Why hasn’t she come back? I’m tired of just being with you, Daddy!”

He flinches at that. If you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you’d have missed it. If you hadn’t memorized his face so well, you wouldn’t have seen the muscle under his left eye twitch. He freezes as she starts to sob loudly, and you’re at a loss, writhing in agony for the both of them. 

He crouches down again at the sound of her very real and anguished sobs, and his voice is gentle and coaxing again, when he says, “Let’s go home, baby girl. It’s alright, come on. I’ll get you an ice cream. How does that sound? With the rainbow sprinkles we like, okay?” He pries her off you gently, not turning to look at your face again, taking extra care to not touch you even a little bit, but you feel the heat of his hand against your thigh as he grabs her, and it has a jagged shock moving through you. You desperately wish he’d take you with him too.

He wraps her in his arms and picks her up, “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you hear her sniffle as she hides her face in his neck, a safe place. You wish you could hide from the world there too. 

“I know, baby.” He rubs soothing strokes along her back as she wraps her little arms around him to clutch at his hair. 

“When’s mommy coming back?” she mumbles as they walk away. He does not turn back to you. 

-

The encounter in the park makes everything worse. Much, much worse. Like your heart had been ripped clean out of your chest that day and had gone off with Sarah and Joel, leaving you behind to float in the rotten pool of your misery. 

“I heard a strange rumor recently.” Your mother’s voice, soft but discerning, comes through the phone – first call in six months. It makes dread coil in your belly. Nothing good ever follows that tone. 

“Oh? What’s that?” She doesn’t call often, but when she does, it’s usually to ask for something, you’d already promised to send her a few hundred dollars, or to share news of a new boyfriend or trip or something equally self involved.

“You remember my friend Betty? From when you were growing up – she lived down the street from us. Well, she’s in Austin now too, has been for some time–” Fuck, “And you wouldn’t believe, but her daughter’s a doctor now, there in Austin too, very impressive.” She’d always hated that you’d become an art teacher – not glamorous enough for her. “Maybe you remember her, too? Little blonde thing, very cute… and well, she said she was at a birthday party recently,” No, no, no, no, please, no. “And she said she’s almost sure she saw you looking pretty cozy with some man, who she has on good authority, is married.” There is a sharp and cruel vein of satisfied glee in her voice, “And you know, I really couldn’t believe it when she said so, and I told Betty, ‘My daughter? She’d never get herself involved with a married man.’ I mean, you’ve always cast me as the worst sort of woman for leaving my own unhappy marriage for another man. So, how could it be that my saintly little girl has now fallen into my own footsteps? I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” You’re shocked speechless. Of course, of course, she’s found some way to hear about this. She’s always had a way of finding out everything about you, as long as you’d go without speaking or seeing each other, she always finds a way of sniffing out the things in your life you want to keep hidden from her, as much as she claims she doesn’t care what you do or what becomes of you. “Nothing to say?” she croons.

“It–” your throat is tight, filled with tears already, confessing this to her will break you in a way you don’t think you’ll be able to recover from. “It’s not like that – it’s not like… you,” I’m not like you, I’m not, I’m not. “It wasn’t something– something done purposely,” you whisper. “It just happened.”

She laughs at that, long and loud, “Yes, well… it usually does happen like that. Unintentional. One doesn’t often set out to ruin a life, do they? Sometimes it just happens, I suppose, no? What do you think?”

“I haven’t – I haven’t ruined a life,” you blink furiously, shaking your head even though she can’t see you.

“Oh, no? You’ve always taken yourself to be so high and mighty – always so holier than thou, and now? What? You’ve ended up just like me. Brought low, down to my level, after you’ve always judged me so harshly. How does it feel? To have ended up just like me? Scum like mommy.”

“I didn’t ask to be this…” you cry, “This– this hideous thing I’ve turned myself into–” like a creature of cracked skin and painful faultlines, “But this is what you made me, this is all you left me with, an inability to escape you, an inability to have a normal relationship.” You know she can hear the tears in your voice, and that she’ll be all the worse for it, crueler for subjecting her to your weakness, but you can’t help it. She hates it when you cry, your tears have always reminded her of her own weaknesses.

“Baby girl, that’s just what you tell yourself to make yourself feel better. And sure, if it helps… if it works, go on. You tell yourself that. But you’ve made your own choices. I can’t be held at fault for what you do with your life.”

“I’ve never seen anything else but the wrong kind of love. A– a  painful kind of love–” you think of your past words to Joel – his worry that he and Eva had only ever given Sarah the wrong example of what it is to love, and your reassurance that the love he gave her was all that mattered. You’d never had that, you’d never had that sort of steady, reassuring presence that he was able to provide his daughter, and so how could you have turned out any way other than gnarled and wrong? And yet something in you rebelled at that thought, for you felt, deep inside, that despite the circumstance, the way you felt about Joel was anything but wrong. If anything, it was the only thing in your life that made sense, the only thing that was truly right. “How could I have turned out any other way…?”

She’s quiet for a moment after that, and when she speaks again, the venom in her voice is gone, and the mother you hold so sacredly in your memory, the one she only lets you see on occasion, makes a rare appearance. Her voice gentled now, she says: “I know… I know it wasn’t always right, that I wasn’t always right,” she huffs a breath of laughter and it sounds… almost sad, “But I did love you.” Did love – the past tense spears you through the heart and silent tears drip down your chin, “I’m sorry that I’ve made you believe otherwise, but I did.” And you know, part of you recognizes the truth in her words, despite the pain they bring, you know that she had loved you, she’d just never known how to show you – it was always the wrong way, the wrong kind of love, but it was love. The love of a mother who’d never really wanted to be a mother. 

“I know,” you tell her quietly. 

You were always fighting with her in your sleep. Unable to let the wound close. But you were so tired, you needed to let it go, you now thought. You needed to move on, couldn’t let it rule your life and your relationships anymore. 

You can’t help but think that a broken home is such a funny and strange thing that spits out equally funny and strange people. At once, fractured, disjointed, painful, but at the same time, still a family, still desperate for all those things that make a family, a family. Despite not really knowing what that truly means. Still held together by that obligation of blood, love, need, childhood. Something inescapable, and even yet, in many ways, unbreakable. For you can never truly break a thing like that. It would always live with you, in some manner. You would never be able to forget it, and even if you cast it away, left it behind, forgave, memory was not a thing so easily let go of. It would stay with you regardless of what you did or who you became. Keep its claws in you. But you didn’t think you had to let it rule you anymore, subjugate you. You could forgive your parents for their faults and their let downs, for being human, for being bad parents. If you could not forget, then you could forgive, let go, move on, stop letting their memory dictate you.

She was never a good mother, but she was still your mother, and you’d always known that despite everything, you’d always loved her anyways. You always would. 

You wonder what it was about some women who were able to find such comfort, purpose, stability in motherhood, as opposed to others who saw it only as a prison, a grave. Was it paradox, nature, nurture, personality, fate? Nothing meaningful at all, no reason, it just was? You wished there was a set equation that could tell you what you would be, who you would be, what kind of mother you would turn into, were you to become one. 

And then, in opposition – the plane of fatherhood and all it entailed. What was it that made a man a good and caring father, as opposed to one who drank themselves to death, and left their already very alone child, even more alone? What was it to have a good mother and a bad father or vice versa? To have both of the same? What were the implications, and what sort of creature would it turn you into once their influence had been wrought upon you?

What were the implications of having had bad parents, and then, when the time came for you to become one yourself, wanting desperately to be a good one? How did you do that when you’d had only poor examples? 

How did you escape faithlessness?

You had to wonder, would your father have always become what he had, even if she had never done what she did, if your mother had never left, never been unfaithful? You didn’t think that you could cast all the blame on her anymore. After all, a marriage was a strange and intimate thing, only looked upon in its true form by the two people within it. No one could turn a thing into something it was never meant to be. No one could turn you into someone you didn’t already have within you. This was true for yourself, as well. You supposed, the same could even be said for Joel and Eva. People were what they were. Nature versus nurture, again and again and again. 

You had been so staunchly stuck upon the fact that you couldn’t be the thing to break their marriage apart, when he’d told you, time and time again, that there was already nothing to be broken, that there had never been anything to break in the first place. The marriage, too, had always been what it was. Had you, in your fear and fractured history, tried to make it into something that it had never been for fear of it turning you into that very history you were so frightened of? There were different realities to category, different things held different significance and not everything was the same in perpetuity. 

Categories, labels, titles – husband, wife, lover, mother, father, daughter – was it all useless fodder people ascribed to a thing to be able to bend a person or a feeling to their will? You didn’t think you could tell anymore. The ideas that had always been so securely held in your mind seemed to have all been shifted askew by a man who, in his own right, was beyond category. A title did not make a thing real. But love – that was its own category, of this you were sure. That was a pillar all on its own, its own realm which opened up possibilities and necessities that you were now coming to realize were uncontainable. 

And so, what of you and Joel? Did that count for nothing merely because of a lack of category for what you two had? No. Impossible. Because in many ways, what existed between the two of you was a marrying of your very souls, a melding of them – as if he’d stolen it straight out of your chest. Its own category ascribed to its position in your reality, and thus directing all your actions for the simple fact that you were in love with him, and it could not be swallowed any longer. 

What is it to feel before category? 

Were the labels useless until there was feeling behind them?

All your life labels, titles, promises, promises, promises had never meant a single thing to anyone around you. Not your parents' promises to each other: husband, wife; not their promises to you: mother, father, daughter, family. None of it had ever meant anything, so how could you ever be expected to have faith in the promise of category? 

How did you escape faithlessness? How?

You and Joel loved each other – real. That was its own category, its own faith, in a way. The feeling behind category.

What was it to feel before category? Possibility.

What was it to feel after category? Promise.

There was a real sort of promise in love – no guarantee, surely, for love could be wrong, but intention, for it could also be right. Joel and Sarah and everything he’s done solely for her sake – committing himself to a marriage he’d not wanted, had known would never work. There was a promise in that. A father telling his daughter that he would do anything to give her what a child could need: a family, a home, togetherness, security. He’d sacrifice anything for that. 

You’d always known you recognized something in him, but what was that thing? You’d thought that you couldn’t say, or didn’t want to say, didn’t want to admit it, for too long. Part terror, definitely, part desire, unfortunately –  most horrifying of all, and that which had been your first realization where he was concerned: yourself, kindredness. You saw yourself in him – a great and unbearable knowing. The two of you were the same. And so, it was only then, love. And oh, there it was. Perhaps you could admit it after all. 

For at the end of everything, the simple reality you were now forced to accept was that to know was to love, and you’d known Joel from the first first moment you’d met him, as he’d known you. A thing was what it was, and no matter what category you tried to force it into, it would remain as it had been born as. Recognition was, you thought, what ascribed value, what made the decision in the end. 

-

“You’re cold, Joel. You push people away, hold them at arm's length.” Hours of this interminable back and forth between the two of them. His temples were throbbing. All he wanted to do was fall face first into bed and not resurface until tomorrow morning. But she was getting at something – restless and coiled all day – she was getting ready to make her decision. Eva was leaving.“What woman would ever want to stay for that? You aren’t unlovable… you just won’t let yourself be loved.” He shakes his head at that, not looking at her. Not true, he wants to say. Despite everything, he still thinks there’s a part of you that loves him, you love him, you love him, he knows it. Even if you can’t let yourself be with him, or don’t want to be with him. “And anyways,” she continues, “It was never supposed to be me. I was never supposed to be the one to love you, we both know that. It was never us. We never had a chance. We never loved each other.”

“Did we ever even like each other?” sardonic – and she laughs, high and rueful, at that. 

“You know what your real problem is?” Her voice takes on that especially vicious tone she likes to use sometimes, the one that makes his bones itch inside the confines of his skin. “You’re selfish, Joel. You– you just want me here–”

Now that makes him laugh.“I’ve told you many times… you’ve got no obligation to me, Eva.” He sits heavily on the sofa, elbows braced on his spread knees, staring unseeingly ahead. He thinks that his voice sounds so tired, so unlike the sort of man he wishes he was, a creature he hardly even recognizes anymore. “If you wanna go, then go. I won’t stop you. I won’t hold you back. I won’t resent you for it. I won’t turn our daughter against you afterwards. I’ll respect your decision.”

“That’s not true! You forced my obligation to the two of you when you let me come back. You should’ve never taken me back, you knew it wasn’t what I really wanted. I–”

He shakes his head, “You’re talkin’ nonsense. You can’t cast the blame of your guilt on me because I– I– what? Because I let you come back into our daughter’s life after you abandoned her? That makes no fuckin’ sense, and you know it.” He points a finger down the dark hall towards the room where Sarah sleeps, peaceful and unaware. “You will always have an obligation to that little girl – no matter how far you go or what you do or what you think of me. You will always have an obligation to her. Even if you don’t see it through… even if you leave – it’ll always be there, by virtue of the simple fact that you’re her mother, and no matter how badly you’d like to escape that, you never can.”

“You think I wanted to give up my freedom again? Once I’d gotten it back? But I– I, I felt so – like I was supposed to be here – like it’s what the world expected of me. So here I fucking am – miserable and stuck with you.”

“Evie, darlin’, I’ve never wanted you miserable,” he says softly, reverting back to that nickname he sometimes called her, when they were trying especially hard to get along, when things weren’t, in the rare occasion, so terribly fraught between them. “I told you from the very start of all this, that what happened would be up to you. The decisions were yours to make, and I’d support you in whatever you wanted. I never wanted to force you to do anything you didn’t want to.”

“Well, I didn’t want to have a baby with you!”

He clenches his jaw tight. “Then you shouldn’t have.” He is trying very, very hard to keep a controlled grip on his anger.

“So, what, I should’ve gotten an abortion? Is that what you would have preferred? Gotten rid of her?” He feels very close to rage, hearing her talk of Sarah like this, but he forces deep breaths in and out of his lungs. Tries to remain calm and rational. 

“If that’s what you wanted – I told you that if that was what you wanted I’d have supported you.”

She laughs, cruel and broken. “Please, you would’ve fucking hated me.”

“And?” That wipes the jagged smirk off her face. “I wouldn’t have – I would’ve understood, of course I would have – we were fucking strangers, but even if I did hate you – what the fuck does it matter? I didn’t even know you. What would it have mattered?”

She’s silent at that, almost stunned, for it’s the truth. They’d been complete strangers then. In many ways, they still were now, even after the birth of a child together, after three years of marriage. They didn’t really know each other, not in the intimate or tender ways that made up a real marriage. 

“That wasn’t an option for me.”

“I know. And I accepted that.”

“You should’ve never asked me to marry you.”

His eyes flutter shut, frustration surging again. “I felt it was the right thing to do at the time.”

“But now?”

“What do you want? You want to hear that I regret it? That this was the worst mistake of my life? You want me to tell you that I’ll stay with you forever? What do you want to hear? I don’t– I don’t know how to make this better for us anymore.” He is terrified that his most terrible and painful truth is that he would force himself to remain trapped in this purgatory with her, despite everything else, for Sarah. He is the man that he is, after all. One who is acutely aware that when you try to force yourself into a shape you were never meant to be, it turns you into an angry thing – embittered, cruel, despondent. It’s what they had done to each other. 

She goes quiet, almost deflates, “No. I’m miserable. You’re miserable. You’re in love with another woman.”

He can’t say anything at that – the mention of you in this terrible space they’re creating with their words and their anger feels wrong. You don’t belong here. Although, he has the sudden flash of a thought that part of him wishes very much that you were here right now anyways, sitting in that chair in the corner, if only so that he could turn to look at you, find comfort and strength in your warm gaze. All he can do is nod. 

Suddenly, all the fight and venom seems to leak out of her, and she says very quietly, very sadly: “I don’t want to be with you for the rest of my life, trapped here in this place I never should have ended up in, in the first place. I don’t want to be here at all.” 

He nods, “It’s your decision. I won’t condemn or judge you for it.”

“Wouldn’t you like to make any decisions for yourself? 

“I made my decisions. I’m living with them now.”

“You sound like you’re being punished.”

“Maybe in some ways I am.” You don’t want to be with him anyways, what difference does it make?

“Wouldn’t you like to decide to be with her? Because honey, with three of us it’s a sideshow. You think I don’t know how you feel about her? That I haven’t seen the way you look at her? I’ve known since the start, and I’m glad for you.” And he knows that despite all the rest, she is sincere in this. 

“Just three?” he laughs, ignores the rest. “Surely there’s more of us than that.”

“Oh, suddenly you’re funny?”

“You really think there’s anything about this I find funny?” he spits, anger surging up inside of him again, hot and bright. “I suppose it’s laughable. We sure have turned ourselves into one big fuckin’ joke. But I don’t think we’re the ones that should be laughing.”

“No… you’re right… we’ve turned each other into such sad and terrible creatures,” she says then. 

“Maybe. If so, I’m sorry for that. It’s not what I wanted.”

“No– me either. None of this was.” And he knows she means Sarah. She’d never wanted Sarah, but he can’t focus on that now or perhaps, ever. Sometimes it was just easier to not look at a thing, to swallow it and pretend it’d never existed. He closes his eyes and brings a shaking hand up to drag down his face. 

“This is a broken marriage,” she says. 

And he knows it is true. “Yes.”

“No true marriage at all.”

“No.”

“It is no great loss.”

“But it still hurts.” Also the truth. It hurts him for his daughter, for the breaking of a family – even theirs, as elusive or damaged as it was. 

“Only because you hate to fail at anything.” There is so much resentment in her eyes, and he can’t tell whether it’s for him or for herself or for the entire fractured thing. He so wishes that he could have done things differently, that things had happened differently. But then, if things had happened differently, he, perhaps, would not have Sarah now, and she was worth all of this, she had always been worth all of this.

He shakes his head. “Because we have a daughter together.” He feels so interminably sad for the both of them. For all they cannot and have not had. For all Sarah will not have.

“Was it really ever together? She’s yours. She’s always been more yours than she ever was mine. I don’t feel bad or wrong saying that. Some women aren’t meant to be mothers. Some women have children when they aren’t meant to be mothers. This is not a sin. I am not made evil by my lack of maternal instinct. I love her. I do. Despite whatever you may think, I do, I always have. But I was never supposed to have children. I was never supposed to be a mother. It was never in my nature. And anyways, it’s why she has you. She’s never needed me because she’s always had you.”

He looks down the dark hall towards his little girls room. They’d put up those glowing sticky stars on her bedroom ceiling this afternoon and construction paper butterflies they’d cut out together, hanging from fishing line between the stars. When she woke up tomorrow he didn’t think she’d have her mother here anymore, would not have her by her side, probably, for a very long time, if ever. How was he supposed to tell her that? How was he supposed to help her through that? He didn’t know if he had the strength, the intelligence, to navigate such a difficult thing. But he didn’t have a choice either. He’d have to find everything she needed from him somehow, somewhere – he would. 

“Every little girl needs her mom… but she also needs structure in her life, stability – she deserves to have that. You need to make a decision, a real one, for her sake. I won’t have her waiting by the phone, watching out the window for you for years and years.”

“I won’t be coming back this time,” and although he was expecting it, already knew, he still flinches, like a bullet punching through the space in his heart where he holds Sarah. He nods anyway. “I do– please, I do want you to know that I’m sorry. That I wish it was different. Please, tell her that, tell her to forgive me.”

He wonders why it is, that in the equation of crime and absolution, forgiveness is always the faction that is most readily expected – demanded even? Despite the hurt being something so, so terrible. But he promises that he will, anyway. 

Eva’s gone the next morning. 

Two weeks later, he gets divorce papers in the mail, and he tells Sarah that her mother will not be returning this time – cradles her little body in his arms with equal measures of as much gentleness and strength as he can muster while she cries.

Chapter .8

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[rada-76]

Supplement one to Part 1. About "rings" and "a spring in a box"

This post is in Russian/Этот пост есть на русском, здесь.

Preface "Marvelous!" | Part 1

There's a lot more great stuff sewn into the scene where Aziraphale drops the items in the magic shop!

"Hats" 

When Aziraphale enters the shop, he politely removes his hat, but similar hats are hung behind him in the shot because it's a prominent detail of his trip to Edinburgh. 

"The Angel in the Bentley and the Four Rings"

In that Part 1 I convinced you: the authors know how to make perfect parallels. But what is more important, these parallels also coincide in terms of emotions.

Look, both in the scene of things falling and in the trip to Edinburgh, Aziraphale feels stupid and awkward deep down, and we sympathize with him, but also regret that he disappointed us so much. 

But when playing with the four rings, Aziraphale looks at Crowley with adoration, as if hinting at their conversation about Bentley Yellowness. By the way, these rings are gold. How beautiful! The angel is in a very good mood in both scenes.

"The Demon-Snake and the Curtain" 

Now this is an absolute gem! A compact example of a perfect parallel! We look at the background around Crowley at the moment when Azi plays with the rings. In the frame next to the demon, we can see a snake statue, which is framed by... A theater curtain! Bentley's number is actually NIATRUC. It's a curtain (a theater curtain), only from right to left. Moreover, the snake in the frame is located between the curtains, but still in the distance, that is, now we have Crowley not inside the Bentley. And what is this glass ball between the snake and the curtain? A coincidence, probably. And then it dawned on me! The ball is placed in front of the curtain so that both the snake and the audience are looking at the curtain as if through it. And the glass ball is a lens that turns objects over, changing top with bottom, and right with left! NIATRUC!

We will see this ball in "Part 2", but as a symbol of the Earth. Things here often carry a double load of meaning. 

The curtain is not black and not yellow, like the Bentley. But it is red, this is Crowley's color in the hint system. And the fringe is gold, like the rings. And the snake statue is red. 

What about emotions? Crowley himself looks pleased in this shot. I do not argue, he grumbled at Azi on the radio, but in general he likes talking to the angel. In the scene of the first season, he also reluctantly blows the stain off his shoulder, and he himself is glad that he was persuaded. 

I also thought that since Crowley calls Aziraphale in the car, they should have added some ringing object here. And there is one! The rings in Azi's hands are ringing! No, think about it, Aziraphale in this allegory hears Crowley's call not just anyhow, but through the Bentley.

"Trick Box with a Spring"

Crowley is very scared of the spring with tinsel that flew out of the box! And Az is scared along with him. And the seller laughs, repeating: "Very funny! You'll die laughing!" 

If you want, think that the spring that jumped out is Gabriel-Jim, whom Crowley was so scared of when he unexpectedly saw him in the bookstore. Or that the spring is a yellow duster. Then the seller acts as the audience of the series, who unanimously think that it was very funny when Crowley was scared of Jim. And for the collection of analogies: the spring and tinsel that flew out of the box up and beyond the edge of the frame were compared in the fandom with Azicrow's joint miracle that went beyond the bookstore. All three versions come down to Gabriel.

Yeah, Gabriel's arrival at the bookstore has put quite a bit of stress on our heroes. So, Gabriel is a symbol of false, vain fear, he's a joke, a dud. Here they hint at it, laugh, they say. And in the season finale, Gabriel's harmlessness was confirmed. So trust the emotions in the clues, they more truthfully communicate the true emotions of the characters and the meanings in symmetrical scenes.

"The call bell and just enough of a bastard"

After the scare, Crowley is shown laughing sincerely and good-naturedly for quite a while. We rarely see him so happy. Is he really that happy for Gabriel and Beelzebub? There are no hints of this couple in the frame. No flies, no yellow feathers. But there is a hint of another scene. 

Now we will talk about the apology dance, forgive me. Many people don’t like it because of the feeling of coercion and because the author reminds us that an angel is not always a sweetheart. But the formula of the apology dance has already come in handy once, as evidence, so don’t you dare brush it off. I can’t stand zombies, but it looks like I’ll have to dig around in the footage with them too. The detective’s work is not always pleasant, but it bears honest fruit. Many clues in the season are irritating, but they are capable of attracting the attention of the viewer-detective.

Before the scare, this trick box is persistently shoved into our eyes, pushed to the foreground. What does the box look like? Yes, it depicted the bookstore at the moment of the miracle. But now it is also a button-bell for visitors to the bookstore, which Crowley pressed in the scene of the apology dance. Just look at how the shots with "The Call Bell and Crowley Before the Dance" and "The Box and the Trick Seller" are arranged: a figure on the left, a button on the right, a diagonal strip of the carpet and a diagonal strip of the counter, a vertical strip of the column and a vertical strip of the golden curtain. I am attaching the picture. 

The bump on top of the box is made in the shape of Aziraphale's pocket watch, and the brown color of the box is Aziraphale's color. These signs also hint to me that the box is connected with an angel who, deep down, is enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. Accept that this bastard made the Serpent dance, because the demon likes the bastardry in the angel.

The way Crowley smiles long and well, and doesn't let go of the box for all this long time, personally clearly tells me that the apology dance stroked not only my kinks and fetishes. If this were not so, the authors, who carefully build every little detail in every frame, would have prompted Crowley to throw the box on the counter after the spring flew out, and as quickly as possible.

But if you don't like my idea, then you can consider that Crowley enjoyed doing their miracle together with Aziraphale. As with Gabriel, the authors here provided us with a range of interpretations. The last frame of the trip, where Bentley turns black again, contains tartan mountains and a snake-shaped monster splashing nearby. That is, the conversation about Bentley's color was not a quarrel, Aziraphale and Crowley finished it, emotionally feeling close to each other.

"Arrogance and ears"

I'll add about the dance, although it's not about tricks. Although, it's hard to say! 

Aziraphale's phrase "I can see that" right before the Serpent's dance and the subsequent arrogant "Very nice" rhymes in my head with how the angel arrogantly corrected Furfur when he misinterpreted his name while reading the angel reference book. And the reference book contains the absurd phrase "has suspicious ears." Yeah. He hears with them. And the trick on Furfur is nearby. I have other arguments that Aziraphale's ears are important, but for now I'll have to put this pulp aside. The size of posts and your attention (precious for me) is not endless.

***

About the trick seller's table at the moment when everything was falling and ringing. There, next to the snake statuette hugging the bell with its tail, are two goblin figures. And in Edinburgh, next to the angel ringing the Snake, are two goblin figures. (There is a false movie blooper connected with these goblin gangsters figures, I will describe it in the post about the cups. There is also a brilliant parallel in emotions there.)

And there is one statue. True, there is a snake statue on the table, and in Edinburgh there is a statue of Gabriel, but the word "statue" is played with.

Homework for the inquisitive: why is the "three ropes" trick called "The Professor's Nightmare"? I don't know.

Ah, I know! Emotions help. Professor Hoffman praised Aziraphale for his tricks. And Crowley praised Aziraphale for the trick with the caraway seed, and how he praised him! And the trick with three similar ropes refers to Crowley's nightmare from the first season, when our demon mixed up the babies.

I am especially pleased that the inscription that Professor Hoffman made in the book could have been written to the angel by Crowley himself: "To the wonderful student." After all, the angel in the two previous flashbacks (with Job and with the gravediggers) showed himself to be his excellent student!

***

The thing is, "Queen" was playing at Nina's cafe, and there was a board with the inscription "Honolulu Roast". This is a reference to the story of the Queen of Honolulu. (From the post https://www.tumblr.com/indigovigilance/730554435104915456/honolulu-roast) Nefertiti is also a queen. And the words Nefer-ti-ti and Hono-lu-lu are similar. And just a beautiful thing: when Nefertiti is mentioned, I think of Honolulu by the consonance. It was lucky that two queens are connected by such similar words in structure! But is there any meaning in this connection, or just beauty, I'm not sure.

Next part.

All my posts with analyses are here. Author @rada-76 Translator into English @kimberleyjean

[seaskate]

A Darker Form of Magic (Masterlist)

Masterlist for mood boards made for my ‘A Darker Form of Magic’ series

Total canon rewrite with a Slytherin Harry Potter that has the Boy Who Lived dropping the rose colored glasses from the start, and collecting friends from all houses as he strives to surivie and flourish within the magic world as he possesses a broken sort of magic that changes things more than before. (Because Harry being a Horcrux really should have done more than give him the ability to speak Parseltongue and look into Voldermort’s mind since the other Horcruxes like the locket, dairy, and ring did) Check out the mood boards below to get an idea of the series:

Book One, Dark Affinity

Book Two, Parseltongue

Book Three, Dementors

(Fanfic Collage Masterlist)

[eldritch-bf]

Autistic Herbert West related headcanons:

Stims include: tapping, knocking, drumming, foot tapping, pen clicking, tongue clicking, sniffing things, touching any good texture, repeating phrases/words esp the beeps and announcements over the hospital PA, listening to the same piece of classical music over and over and over, and fidgeting with clothes.

Stims he did as a kid but were “corrected” out of him: spinning, hand flapping, rocking, and reading signs out loud.

Only if he’s alone or with Dan will he very rarely happy flap.

One of his negative stims was digging his nails into his skin until he drew blood/hitting himself/ripping his hair. He only does it now if he’s having a meltdown which is incredibly rare (normally he has shutdowns).

Bad sensory experiences: smell of burned food, fabric softener smell (Dan had to switch to the unscented kind), silverware scraping/squeaking sounds, sweaty clothes sticking to skin, polyester and wool, loud chewing, and high pitched sounds.

Good sensory experiences: glass, linen, paper (he can tell you the weight/grain of paper and has specific preferences), his clothes being perfectly ironed and starched, color changing lights, rain/thunder.

Favorite self soothing activity: he’s got this box of meticulously organized beads, buttons, etc of various sizes and colors which he will occasionally dump on the living room floor and spend an hour or more gleefully sorting and counting. Once a blue beads was missing and Dan had to help him find it (it rolled under the couch).

Special interests: obviously medical science, and the paper grains I mentioned, but also paleontology though he considers dinosaurs pedestrian and cares more about the Paleozoic era, arthropods, and cladograms.

Misc: too much eye contact autistic, he has several food texture aversions particularly with condiments or anything greasy and so he likes to eat dry sandwiches, crackers, granola bars, etc., he can’t help but correct people’s grammar, neatly folds his clothes so nothing will have crinkles or creases. He also struggled with inappropriate facial expressions (smiling when the mood is sad, laughing in serious moments, etc.)

Hates off topic chitchat at work. Does not understand why he should pretend to care about what his coworkers did over the weekend when all they should be focused on is work.

Dan bought him a big weighted blanket for his birthday (the date of which he only got after stealing Herbert’s expired driver’s license) and now Herbert snuggles with it on the couch with Dan every time they watch a movie.

Dan is the BEST at spotting the early moments of Herbert becoming overstimulated/on the verge of a shutdown. Usually Herbert suddenly going stiff/not talking when they’re in a crowded store/restaurant/etc is enough for Dan to recognize what’s happening, after the first couple times where he didn’t.

Dan always carries noise cancelling ear plugs with him bc Herbert often forgets. If Herbert gets overstimulated at the hospital he’ll just find a quiet room turn the lights off and rock until he feels better. However a quote place isn’t always handy and if Dan is with him Dan will throw his shirt/sweater over Herbert and cradle him, blocking out as much light and sounds as possible, rubbing his back until he feels better. Dan’s legs have fallen asleep doing this but it was worth it.

Herbert may have a horrible bedside manner but if an autistic kid comes in he is ON TOP of that shit. Making sure they don’t feel overwhelmed. It’s part of the reason why there’s always some fidget toys in his lab coat pockets.

Dan buys him a fidget ring/necklace and Herbert will never remove it for any reason and often happy flaps when he fidgets with it. No one has ever bought him a gift like that.

[sp-dr-isnotaloli]

Alright, I’m gonna lay out some bad arguments against Gwen being trans that I’ve seen and respond to them.

1. Gwen Stacy was cis in the comics.

Well, 616 Gwen was cis in the comics (there is a storyline in which she gives birth to Norman Osborne’s children and we do see the pregnancy), though that was never established until the 90s. 65 Gwen Stacy, our beloved Spider-Gwen whom the movie character is based on, has not been established to be cis, and her universe is different enough from 616 that assuming she is would be a mistake. Now, the Gwen Stacy of Earth 8 is a possible future Gwen, and there is some evidence that she may be cis (she has children who resemble her, but we don’t know for sure that they’re not adopted nor that transition healthcare on 8 doesn’t include the ability for trans women to carry children) but it’s not conclusive.

More importantly, however, the versions of these characters in the movies are not so close to their comics counterparts that we should assume everything about them is the same unless otherwise stated. I mean:

2. Gwen’s universe changes color like a mood ring to reflect her emotions.

Okay. So, in the scene where Gwen is confronting her dad about her identity, trying to get him to see past his prejudices and see her for who she is, to accept her for who she is, to accept all of her when she’s sick of the world only ever knowing half of her, her emotions bleed out into the world around her, painting herself and her environment in pink, blue, and white... and you think that makes this scene less trans?

Like, one of the first things the animators told us was that they know these colors are associated with trans people, and they told us that by associating those colors with Gwen specifically. And you think it’s just a coincidence that the colors they chose to reflect how Gwen feels while she’s coming out to her dad are a bleeding trans flag?

3. Gwen could just be an ally. Miles had a BLM pin too!

Guys. Miles is not a white ally to black people. Miles is black. If Mile’s BLM pin is meant to parallel Gwen’s flag - if that pin tells us anything about Gwen’s flag at all - it would mean that Gwen is trans. The black kid has the pin with the message about protecting black people, the trans kid has the flag with the message about protecting trans people.

4. Gwen looks cis. No trans girl looks like Gwen Stacy.

Gwen literally looks exactly like prominent trans actress Hunter Schafer.

In fact, we’ve been talking about how Gwen looks trans since the first trailer for Into the Spiderverse dropped. Like, maybe you weren’t paying attention, but no, Gwen definitely looks like a trans girl. Like, we can literally point to a trans girl she looks like.

5. None of this proves she’s trans!

Okay, sure, maybe you’re not convinced. But it’s still evidence. Conclusions about a story or a character based on textual evidence are fan theories, and this is a fan theory, a fairly well supported one.

Given that there’s no evidence that Gwen is cis, however, that’s not a theory. That’s just a headcanon. And pushing your headcanon when people are talking about a fan theory you don’t agree with is rude. You’re being rude.

6. Her dad doesn’t have a trans pin on his jacket!

This one is true, actually.

George Stacy does not literally wear a trans pin on his uniform. Rather, the very deliberate lighting and coloring in one scene made it look like the trans flag. This one could actually be coincidence, but like, it’s not like her dad having a trans pin is the foundation of the theory. It still stands up perfectly well if it was coincidence.

[joesheistyy]

Bad Day

I’ve had a shit day so I’m writing about it 🫠

——

Nothing could seem to go right today. One thing after another did not go to plan, made a mess, or overall was just shit. You never liked to bring your work life home, but sometimes you just had to let your frustration out.

After getting to work at 8am, you spilled coffee down your cream colored crew neck, not noticing it until hours later. You got scuffs on your new bag, very visible ones at that. Your head hurt, you forgot your lunch and didn’t have time to go get anything…the list goes on and on.

Getting in the car upon work ending, you checked the time to see the clock reading 6:37. An hour and 37 minutes later than you should have been working. A groan escaped your mouth as you hit your head into the headrest of your drivers seat. All you wanted to do was disappear for a few days.

Driving home consisted of stupid traffic and people who didn’t know how to drive. Many close calls when it came to safety. Your usual 15 minute drive became 30 which put you home at a time when you would much rather be already relaxing.

You pulled into the driveway, hitting the garage door sensor to send it open. The battery on your sensor was dead, imagine that. You put your car in park in the driveway, deciding to not even park it in the garage.

You grabbed all your work belongings and headed for the front door. You then realized your keys were buried in your bag, the one with new scuffs on it. Ringing the doorbell was the easiest option, hoping Joe wasn’t busy so he could open the door.

About a minute after standing there, you caved and set your belongings down, deciding to dig for your keys. No Joe in sight.

You opened the door and propped it open so you could drag all your belongings inside. Everything was dropped in the entryway. Shoes flung off, purse on the floor, keys out of sight again.

Stomach growling, you headed to the kitchen to find even the littlest thing to satisfy your longing hunger. You grabbed an orange and peeled it over the sink, letting the peels to sit there to toss later.

As you continued to munch on your orange, footsteps approached from the stairs. Here comes Joe in his good-day having mood. You were not up for any of it.

“Hi honey, how was your day?” He asked cheerfully, just happy to see his girl.

“Shit. I don’t think I’ve ever had a worse day,” you complained.

“What happened?” He asked.

“You don’t even want to know. One thing after another made my day go to shit and far from any sort of recovery,” you stated, heading for the stairs so you could go change.

Joe stayed downstairs and turned on your favorite TV show. Unfortunately, you weren’t in the mood to watch TV.

After putting on comfortable clothes, you went back to the kitchen to make dinner. A simple air fryer meal was calling your name. Mini corn dogs and french fries.

Joe was waiting for your arrival into the living room as you made your dinner. Once everything was cooking, you poured yourself a rather large and questionable amount of wine. When the food finished, you put it on a plastic plate and headed for the living room.

You plopped down onto the armchair, not sitting close to Joe like you normally did. He gave you a glance, but you were focused on your food.

“Baby, talk to me. I know it makes you feel better,” he pried as you kept eating silently.

“Joe, I really don’t wanna talk about it,” you said as you put another mini corn dog into your mouth.

“Come on babe, please?” He begged like a kid in a candy store.

“Joe I said no. I don’t want to think about it, let alone re-live it,” you said sternly as you got up to head for the kitchen. Joe got up and followed.

You put your plate into the sink and turned on the faucet to give it a pre-dishwasher rinse. Joe approached you while you were at the sink. His arms snaked around your waist and that irritated you, you wanted space to breathe after such a bad day.

“Joe get off,” you tried to push his arms off.

“No,” he replied as he buried his head into your neck.

“I said, get off,” you shoved at his arms. He pulled back with a look of astonishment on his face. You never acted like this when you had a bad day. You usually wanted to be comforted, but not today.

Joe didn’t fight back, he only walked off sadly to go back to sitting on the couch. You headed up to the bedroom quietly in hopes that you could get a little alone time.

When you made it up to your shared bedroom, you headed to take off your makeup and lay down. The warm cloth used to take off your makeup cleansed your skin of the day’s stress, and you took a deep breath.

The day finally caught up with you after you got comfortable in bed. Your bedside lamp was on while you laid on your phone trying to watch TikTok. As time passed, you felt a teardrop come out the corner of your eye. You were laying on your side which sent the warm, salty drop to splash on your pillowcase. Once one fell, a few more followed. You didn’t have one specific reason to cry, but the events of the day had kept stacking up.

You continued to watch TikTok through your clouded eyes, but then you heard Joe come into the room. You quickly wiped away your tears, not wanting him to know you were crying.

He took his shirt off and came over to the bed to lay down. You were turned and facing him, and when he saw your face, he could tell you had been crying.

After climbing in bed, he gently took your phone out of your hands and turned it off, then pulled you into his side. You let out a little sniffle as you morphed yourself into your little Joe nest. You had one specific way you would lay with Joe when you were going through anything.

His hand reached down to brush at your scalp and move your hair away from your forehead. He looked down at you with a slight frown, hating when you would cry.

“I’m sorry you’ve had a bad day baby, can I do anything to help?” He asked in a gentle voice.

“Not necessarily. Just don’t leave my side,” you let out a soft giggle followed by a sniffle.

"I won't baby, and we'll make sure tomorrow is a better day for you," he leaned down to kiss the top of your head, resting his chin there afterwards.

You fell asleep on his chest and let the shit day turn to beautiful sleep.

----

I started writing this like two weeks ago and its also not good so im sorry y'all haha

[eddieredmayneargentinablog]

New: "Eddie Redmayne in COSMO interview: "I was never a dreamer".

Cosmopolitan Deutschland, October 8th , 2024, November Issue.

📸 Photo by Dana Scruggs/The NewYorkTimes/Redux/laif

[Translated with Google Translate]

Cosmo is very close to the man. Every month we meet a cool guy for an interview. This time: the British actor who has recently started defending himself with his mobile phone.

Eddie Redmayne is sitting in a plain office on the outskirts of Budapest, a little sun is shining through the window. One floor down is the film studio where he has just finished filming. Known for his versatile roles, such as as a trans woman in "The Danish Girl" or as physicist Stephen Hawking in "The Theory of Everything" (which won him an Oscar!), something new is coming up again. The nighttime car ride scene for his series "The Day of the Jackal" (available to stream from November) is in the can at the time of our meeting, and he has to go back to the set soon. In between, the Brit has time for a decaffeinated coffee and a chat. Considering that we are meeting him in the middle of the working day, he is surprisingly relaxed and in a chatty mood. And there is no need to worry about the large plaster on his right hand: it is part of the costume, just like his dark wool sweater and gold wedding ring...

Interview: Patrick Heidmann in the current November issue of Cosmopolitan (11/24).

Eddie Redmayne in the COSMO interview:

In your new series "The Day of the Jackal" you play a contract killer who is hunted all over Europe. We don't know you like that yet...

I wanted to do something different because I felt like I had spent my entire career up to that point in tweed suits and other historical costumes. It was time for me to arrive in the 20th century. Also, the first film version of "The Jackal" from 1973 is my father's absolute favorite film, we used to watch it together.

What are the strangest things you have learned from your new life as an action hero?

Apparently you should always have a cell phone in your hand that you can use as a weapon if necessary, and a few coins in your pocket that you can throw in someone's face to distract them. A neon yellow safety vest is apparently the best camouflage because people hardly notice you despite the bright color. And what's particularly funny is that all action heroes carry tampons with them. Because if you do get shot, you can use them to stop the bleeding...

Hopefully nothing you need in your everyday life.

But I could tail someone now! I also learned how to use shop windows, car mirrors or reflections on cell phone screens to follow and shake off others. I even had to practice it properly. In the middle of the hustle and bustle of Covent Garden in London, my coach sent me a photo of a person I had to find and tail. Until he then sent me a second photo of someone who was on my tail and who I had to get rid of.

Maybe a good skill to get rid of the paparazzi. Your kids often visit you on set. Do they understand how famous their dad is and what his job is?

Partly. But sometimes it is very confusing for them. They visited me once in Budapest when I was dressed as an old man chain-smoking. The children recognized my voice, but didn't understand that I was actually in the costume and under the make-up prosthetics. I should have thought about how disturbing that must be for them. In the end they just watched the make-up artist remove everything and reveal me underneath. That helped to calm them down.

Speaking of changes, you were already keen to experiment with your look as a teenager, right?

For my very first series, when I was 14, I really wanted to dye my hair peroxide blonde because that's what all my friends were doing at the time. But I'm colorblind - and I sprayed so much of the stuff into my hair that it turned orange. I still remember that in this half-hour TV show, my hair changed color every few minutes because every day of filming I tried in vain to save something from my hair.

Would you have imagined back then that you would have such a career today?

Not necessarily because I never had any ambition for that particular goal, I was never a dreamer. I want to do every job I take on as well as I possibly can - I always work incredibly hard to achieve that. It's all the nicer that it's paid off.

...

[ticklingheart]

. × (Not so off) day off

pairing : nurse/caretaker!reader × spencer reid

genre : fluff / just how reader and spencer met, lol

content warning: mentions of Alzheimer's and schizophrenia, mentions of medicine

summary : It's your day off, which usually means you are not getting called into work. But when you do get called, it's not like you have the option to say no.

a/n : watched the episode where spence was trying to find a nurse/caretaker for him mom (11?12?×12) and immediately thought that it could be such a cute way to meet spencer, lolll, anyways, hope you enjoy it.

! english is not my first language ¡

It was a cold afternoon, which were your favorites, especially on your day off. You were sitting on your couch, book in hand, and a hot coffee just waiting to be drank. You were trying to read since you were just running your eyes through the words and not actually internalizing them. You realize it way too late and were about to restart the paragraph when your phone rings. Checking the ID of the caller, you see your boss's name. Why on earth would your boss call on the afternoon of your first day off in weeks?

You pick up with a confused "hello," but your boss interrupts you. You weren't exactly paying attention until you heard the words "go to the address I sent you, now."

It was your first day off, and you were not, at all, not even a little bit, in the mood to go to work. You even consider asking if anyone else could do it, but, unfortunately for you, you also weren't exactly in the position to challenge or disagree in the slightest with your boss.

So, with a "Yes, sir. I'll be there" you hang up the call, and, in special agony, you get up from the cozy, warm spot in your couch, placing the book where you were sitting. You'll have your actual complete day off eventually. Not now, though.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, you walk out of your apartment, checking your phone for the address your boss sent you, and thank whoever is out there for it not being too far from your workplace and home.

After stopping by at work to clock in and get what you needed to go over to the address, you get to the place you were supposed to be.

You knock on the door once. No response. So you knock again, praying that there was actually no one so you could just go back home.

Suddenly, a tall, handsome man opens the door for you. You analyze his appearance quickly: brown colored hair falling ever so slightly in his face, a professional work outfit, and a tired look.

- Hi. - you introduce yourself, and he does too. You wal inside in a shy step, noticing a certain disorganization. Nothing you weren't used to.

— Sorry about the mess, we had a little accident this morning. - he says with an apologetic look, guiding you over to where his mother, your possible future patient, was seated on the couch.

— It's okay, Dr. Reid, accidents happen. Hi, Diana. - you introduce yourself to her, not expecting a fancy or coherent response, and you weren't certainly surprised when she got up and just left. Her son, Dr. Reid, starts apologizing, but you interrupt him. – Don't worry, this kind of interactions happen, there are days and days. We could talk, or would you prefer for me to come back another time?

He runs a hand through his hair, deciding to talk.

— We should start with the basics then. What kind of medicine is she taking?

Reid proceeds to talk about his mother's conditions, and how it progressed over time. Nothing way out of the ordinary, also presenting his mom's medicine, which were pretty standard for the treatment of Alzheimers and schizophrenia.

— Well, Dr. Reid, I think we're done here. I would be happy to show up tomorrow.

— Really? - he questioned, genuinely surprised, murmuring 'thank yous' with an unexpected hug. His arms were warm, cozy even. It didn't last long, as Reid apologized and walked you out. You were definitely coming back.