#just... very little... in the last month and a half...

[inkdrinkerworld]

Happy birthday, darling

synopsis: James wakes you up for your birthday, with sticky kisses and an even stickier love

cw: fluffy fluff with a soft, tender love, like I said very self-indulgent, preschool teacher!reader

wc: 1.2k

James makes a big deal of your birthday. He doesn’t care that it’s an awkward time of year or month, he goes all out. 

It had come about when you’d told him that you can’t remember the last time you’d had a birthday party let alone a cake on your birthday and you’d practically scarred your boyfriend. 

Three years later, James makes it a point to celebrate your birthday hard. 

You wake up to James kissing your face, his curls tickling your cheek as he nears your ear and murmurs, “Happy birthday, m’heart. S’time to wake up.” 

You groan and twist under him, a smile on your face as you lay on your back. “Jamie,” 

He smiles the moment you open your eyes, his lips trailing along your jaw, sponging sweet kisses onto your skin. 

“Happy birthday,” there’s a soft scent of citrus and cardamom that follows James as he meanders all over your face with his lips and it makes you feel all warm and gooey on the inside.

“I made breakfast but there’s also gifts.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you, “Thank you James.” you kiss beside his ear, happy to accept all of his weight but knowing James would never drop himself onto you. 

“You’re perfectly welcome, angel.” 

He rolls off of you and props himself up on an elbow, a soft smile on his face as he watches you stretch- as weird as he knows it may be, seeing you stretch really makes his chest all warm. 

“I’ll be five minutes,” he says to you before he climbs off the bed, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips before leaving. 

You manage to brush your teeth in the time he’s gone, and when he comes back, tears spring to your eyes. James is walking in with a bouquet of yellow lilies, three wrapped boxes in pale yellow paper with colourful balloons on them, and breakfast waffles with lit candles in them.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” you blush as he continues. “Happy birthday my angel.”

“Jamie,” he blushes at the breathless way you call to him. 

“S’not even everything, I’ve got a card too and something in the closet.”

James is a loverboy, he knows it and everyone who knows him knows this. He’s taught you a lot in learning to accept this kind of love, the love that reassures you you’re a priority and you’re taken care of without asking. 

He’s a reflection of his parent’s love and you never fail to thank them for him when you visit.

He brings the gift from the closet first, it’s in a huge box, and when you open it you grin. It’s a yellow sun plushie you’d seen in the shopping center a while back- you don’t even know when James had picked it up.

“Thank you, James.” You kiss his cheek and then the plushie and put it on the chair with all your others.

“You’re welcome angel. Now sit, sit.”

“James I feel spoilt,” you giggle when he sets your plate of funfetti waffles in your lap with a little jug of Lyle’s Golden Syrup and a cup of tea on the bedside table. 

James grins, his pretty dimples coming out. “M’heart, this is just half of it. I can spoil one gift,” he kisses your lips just as you cut a square of your waffle. “We’re going to dinner at that place you like.”

You gasp as he pulls away, James smiles even wider. “Jamie.”

He shakes his head, “S’your birthday and we agreed that I’d get to spoil you.”

You never outright agreed, James had seen an issue and sought to rectify it and he’s been doing it since year one. You concede because you know that’s a hard reservation to hold and you really do love their food. “Thank you.” You say instead, earnest and soft at his love for you. 

“You’re welcome, now eat before it gets cold.”

You share with him, exchanging bites while you tell him about your planned day- you’ve got work, and a meeting at the end of the day, but after three you’re all his. 

James has taken the day off, unbeknownst to you, to plan everything for tonight.

You shower before you open gifts, and when you change into your long jean skirt and white knitted ladybug sweater vest with a red long sleeve underneath James smiles. 

“You look darling.” 

You fluster, your face warming under his gaze and from his words. James pats the spot on the bed beside him, “Come open up everything.” 

You practically skip over to him, “Can I take the flowers to work?” 

James rolls his eyes as he passes the boxes to you. “They’re yours to do with as you please, angel.” Then as a second thought, “Do you think the kids will ask about them?”

You smile, the kids definitely will. “They always ask about them. They like the cellophane.” 

James smiles, the kids are adorable, every time he comes into the school to see you, they all want to hang off his arm and they stumble through sentences about what he’s doing, ‘not at his work.’

You read the card first, chest tightening at how blatantly he expresses his love for you. “I love you Jamie.” He kisses you swiftly. 

“I love you too, angel.” 

You tear into the first gift carefully, and gasp when you see the first box. “James! No way did you get this.”

He simply shrugs, smiling as you open it to reveal a pair of black glossy kitten heels that you’d been eyeing for some time. 

“James!” you throw your arms around him and he laughs, hugging you back. “Thank you, Jamie.” 

“You’re welcome, baby.”

You open the other two, a smaller box that houses a thin tennis bracelet that has pomegranate shaped garnet stones in it. You hiccup as James clasps it on your wrist. “James,”

He shakes his head, “Open the last one baby, you don’t have to thank me.” 

The tears fall freely as you open the last gift and find a perfume, specifically your favourite perfume ever to exist. There’s a bit of a backstory to the bottle you’re cradling, as you look up at James. 

James has gifted you this perfume on your first anniversary, a perfume he’d been terribly nervous about gifting you because it’s an intimate thing to gift, but he’d told you softly while wringing his hands together, “It reminded me of you, warm and honey,” and you’d never worn another fragrance since. 

“Look at the bottle.”

You look down and find engraved on the face of it, ‘For M’heart,’ and you rasp a quiet, “Thank you James.”

He nods, pulls your head to his chest and kisses your crown. “You’re welcome angel girl. I didn’t mean to make you cry though.” 

“S’not your fault, I cry all the time for this.” 

He chuckles, “You do. Want me to drop you to work?” 

You nod, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “And we can listen to our playlist.”

James smiles, “Happy birthday, darling.”

You turn up to him, kissing his lips, once, twice and three times before pulling away and then getting a kiss right on the beauty mark under your jaw. 

“Thanks for always making it special Jamie.”

He smiles, his dimples on display again. “I’ve got you forever, sweet girl. Till the galaxies collide.” 

[andcars]

ㅤ [ 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗬 ]

premise. if you were a better woman, you wouldn't be sleeping with your husband's driver. it's just that there's something about a broken marriage and an overeager young man to fuck you

tags #ㅤfranco colapinto/female reader, infidelity, porn with little plot, mentions of gambling addiction, younger franco colapinto, older reader wc #ㅤ 1k

ㅤㅤFEEL FREE TO INBOX ME FOR THOUGHTS OR REQUESTS !

| MASTERLIST⠀REQUEST ME⠀TAGLIST⠀PATREON GUIDE⠀AO3

You tell yourself over and over again that it would be the last time. Over and over again, you find yourself in the arms of Franco Colapinto. It would be damn near guilt wrecking if not for your own husband being determined to waste his millions in gambling to even notice your sullen heart. If he wasn’t so blinded by his own greed, maybe you would forgive him. Maybe you would feel a single ounce of guilt if he didn’t piss you off. Every second more into your marriage, it’s like he forgets that he ever married you to begin with. The only thing you are to him is a bed warmer. The bed has been cold for months.

Franco is… something. He’s younger, athletic—the fucking Formula 1 driver under your husband’s team. He’s the driver he favours among his current and even old ones. Fucking him almost felt like a big fuck you to your husband. You don’t really care. When you’re in the garage, Franco talks to you more than your husband. He’s eyeing you from the other side, distracted by your presence as his engineer explains to him whatever it is that they need to explain. The sport never really had a big impact on you before, you only had to fake it for the marriage. There are no faux smiles or excitement this time.

He approaches you, mischief in his eyes. “Who are you here to support,” he asks, looking around as he whispers into your ears, “your husband or me?” The scoff you let out is a bit too loud. It’s like the man doesn’t have censorship. The flirt radiating off of him blinds his other great features as a driver. 

“Go race, boy,” you tell him. He’s not so annoyed at the nickname, but he's more amused by your names. “It’d make my partner very, very happy if you were to get a win today.” As if on cue, your husband calls him over. He glances at you briefly but looks as if he thinks nothing of it. It’s just Franco talking to his wife, nothing suspicious at all. The man is a mouse that continues to think that its cheese is safe to consume. A rat. Starving, greedy, and blind.

Later that night, it’s not your husband’s hotel room you enter. Your heart raced as Franco’s strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against his sweat-slicked body. Beneath you, his hotel bed creaks as he has you once more in his bed. Each powerful thrust sent waves of pleasure rippling through you, your breath hitching in your throat. His lips, soft and insistent, trailed along your jawline.

"Mmm, you feel incredible," he murmured a sensual purr that resonated. You can’t shake off the feeling of his embrace. There’s something more to it. There’s heat that builds between the two of you, something all-consuming. His fingers danced along your skin. You arched into his touch, craving more, always wanting more of him. Never have you been able to say no to his touch. Thinking a little bit, you compare this addiction to your husband’s.

Your hands, in turn, explored the hard planes of his chest, revelling in the way his arms flexed beneath your fingertips. His skin was hot. Rhythmic pounding of his heart alongside your own. It’s in time with the few grunts he lets out, enjoying the ecstasy of your cunt sucking him in. His eyes are half open, unfocused and completely lost in the feeling of you. You can feel it in the harsh thrusts, the chase in his hips and the grip of his hands.

"Fuck, that’s so good, baby" you breathed. He chuckled, a low, seductive sound that sent shivers down your spine. The hands move from your hips and down to your thighs—pulling it up as it gives him a new angle to work with. The suddenness makes you let out a gasp, feeling his balls draw up to your ass with each deep thrust inside of you. It gets you shaking. You can feel heat spread inside of you, the wet slickness of your pussy makes adding to both of your arousal.

Words in his mouth turn foreign. It sounds like a curse. He moves slower, determined to get as deep as possible with the new position. You’re completely trapped under him. Franco pushes against your body, warmth radiating off of him. You couldn't deny it. You were loving every second of it, drowning in the sensation, the passion, the raw, unbridled lust that consumed you both. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, urging him closer, deeper. Nothing else mattered.

He takes his time with you. Letting the both of you enjoy the debauchery and infidelity. Franco groans, nearing his orgasm as he grinds deeper and deeper into you. The thrusts gain pace, getting greedy. Your own hand reaches down, matching the pace to your clit as you moan. It’s almost electrifying. He lets the pace return as his body taints yours, continuing to fuck you despite the positions the both of you are in. After a few more thrusts, he cums inside the condom and lets you finish your orgasm with a drawn-out moan.

Over and over again, you tell yourself that this will finally end. Franco pulls out, cleaning himself up before he turns to you. The kiss he places on your head is almost familiar. Almost. The little spark and the tightness of your heart remind you of older times. It’s heartbreaking. He tells you, “Come on, amor. Clean-up time. You always make me do the work.” He’s teasing. You can’t help but yearn for something more from his words.This isn’t the time to end it, you think. Franco is allowed to do anything with your body; fuck it, kiss it, clean it, worship it. You think that divorce papers are too much of a hassle, despite your husband having never thought of a prenup in the first place. When you get his money, you think of attending a Formula 1 race on your own accord. This time, you can answer Franco’s question—who are you here to support?

@delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @bicchaan @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @Tribbisweetdear @Jamie2305

FOOTNOTE ────── idk why but franco is def an older woman type of person. am I wrong?? am I hallucinatin?? anyways. HE'S BAAAAACK. I smell a mid season switch if I'm being honest <3 but ily jack doohan no matter what happens. it's just that.... dude, it's franco. I am hoping doohan does well tho.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - II

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur's obsession with you intensifies and reaches a point of no return when you catch him red-handed... ✦ Warnings/tags: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation (again), Arthur is still a little pervy, stripping, p in v, Arthur's self-esteem's still shitty, sub!Arthur at first then switches into dom, Reader is a BIG tease. Mainly Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 5k (oops) Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings.

Part I - Part II

 A ruby, squared, soft form.

His eyes are stuck on it as his thoughts unthread and tangle endlessly in his brain. 

Arthur was a damned man. He had been for a while now and this fatality had settled into his head for a few years already. His sins were so numerous and varied that he hadn’t even considered the thought of going to rest in Heaven when the Great Reaper would finally put an end to his sufferings. 

But considering all of this, the gunslinger had definitely not planned on adding a new sin to his list by jerking himself off while watching you almost every night for more than half a month. Oh, the same old speech was still playing in his head; his gesture leaking with shame and muscles sweaty from fear of getting caught. The adrenaline and depravation of the act, the sweet, sweet relief of his orgasm, and the momentary satisfaction he was pulling out of it every time was a very dangerous cocktail; he knew it.

He knew, knew, knew everything of that, of course he did. And still, his fingers opening his fly carelessly. Still, his eyes searching for this sublime silhouette of yours. Still, his cock hardening, itching, burning, begging to be grabbed. And still, his hands taking the doomed responsibility of answering the call. Still his muffled groans, his lips bitten, his silent words spoken in his head, your body joining him. Still, your hand, instead of his. His spend, less and less consistent, spurting quickly and spreading on his dirty clothes, the silence following, the emptiness, the shame, the guilt, the coldness amplified by his intimate fantasies. Like those dark loud nights of storms, air charged with electricity, and left in heavy disturbing quietness after the last lightning struck. Still, dreaming, wanting, longing. 

Still you.

He felt insatiable, like an enraged, mad dog, pathetic bastard. And paradoxically, as he finally had found sleep again after allowing his body what it needed, he felt weaker than ever. Weakened by you.

You hadn't left him after the first night he had succumbed to temptation. You had branded his spirit with a red-hot iron. Damned him to a lifetime of ache, a mortal succumbing to a Mermaid's melody and sailing in search of her on an infinite sea.

 A ruby, squared, soft form. 

It’s your shawl lying on a chair. You forgot it a few minutes ago, but he didn’t say anything about it. He’s still looking at it, hands fidgeting, mind pondering. What’s good and what’s bad. The ugliness of his self and soul. The risks, the benefits. 

He thinks back to the day you and him just shared. A job in Rhodes, “needing to be taken care of by two people”, Dutch’s words. He had sent him, which was predictable —the gang’s workhorse rarely knows rest. But you? It surprised him a whole lot more. Something about the job requesting some “feminine charm”. He hadn’t complained. Not when he had realized he would be able to spend some time alone with you. 

And his gaze had been wandering way more than what common decency was allowing him to. Staring and dreaming were all he had been doing lately, anyhow.

Looking at the delicious cleavage your fancy dress was offering when you got out of your tent and joined him back at camp, your breasts pressed up and round, almost impossible not to devour with his eyes. All he could do was make a sarcastic comment about it as the only defense against his urges. You moron Morgan, just say something nice for once. Luckily -or not- for him, you had wrapped your appealing shoulders in the sophisticated cherry-colored cape to prevent the coldness of the night.

Looking at your back as you both rode into town, looking at your neck when he helped you off your horse once into Rhodes. Looking at your lips as you two were sat in one of the Parlor’s house boxes, the job long-forgotten when he had noticed this little wrinkle next to your lips, that one you have when you laugh and find something funny. He would have to add it to his endless sketches of you.

Looking at your thin, sneaky hands from afar as they were slipping into that wealthy gentleman’s pocket to steal the papers you were both here for in the first place. It all felt distant and insignificant to him now, as a forgettable theater play set in the background. 

Later, you had been the one looking at him when he had come to your rescue. The “gentleman” was being insistent with you. As you both had crossed eyes from across the reception room, Arthur had read your apprehension and silent call for help in just a split second. And here he was, puffing out his chest, look dark and intense, muscles tensed. The perfect look of a man you don’t want to cross, that look he and Hosea had worked hard on building, scars and broad shoulders gained after all these years of intimidation. He was so used to it by now he wasn’t even sure he knew how to be anything else. His pointer finger tapping threateningly on the shiny Deputy Star he had on his jacket and his deep, menacing tone had acted as the final details. You should leave the lady alone and get some fresh air, pal. The fool had dropped the case and returned with his tail between his legs without any clue what had actually happened.

And then, your sweet voice asking for a drink. “Come on, we got to celebrate! Finally, a job well handled without a drop of blood.” How could he ever say no to that? It was almost too good to be true. Spending the evening with you, laughing, talking, philosophizing.

Arthur didn’t know he could be that talkative. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was your presence. Maybe a bit of both. And he had paid for everything. A good hot dinner for both of you, your drinks, and two rooms the moment you told him you were too tired to ride back to camp. Oh, he could have given you all the Wolrd’s treasure if that meant you would keep looking at him with these pretty playful eyes.

As the evening passed, the gentle flow of your endless conversations had led you from the bar to the stairs, to the second floor, to the hallway, and eventually to his room, naturally and serenely, like a rowboat ride on a summer lake.

And finally, after a few yawns exchanged, some delicate eyelids rubbed by you, you had left him to sleep, completely forgetting about your shawl, hanging on one of his room’s chairs. And you had greeted each other goodnight. As friends. This was all he would ever be to you, he knew it. And it was better that way. Like this, he was preserving you from having a pathetic man and a pathetic life being his. He was like an infertile soil, anyway. Any seed you would plant and try to harvest with him would end up rotten, corrupted. Fruitless.

And now left in the stillness of the room, in this deafening silence without the sound of your voice, his vision fixated on your abandoned piece of clothing, the most sinful of all thoughts is digging its way through the fibers of his brain, fed by need and alcohol, gnawing at his neurons, eating up any rational reasoning. 

A ruby, tempting garment of yours.

He wants to grab it. To smell it. He wants your perfume to completely fill his nose, so much it would be like drowning in your scent. You wouldn’t be coming back for it anyway, considering how tired you looked a few minutes ago. And you’d never know about it. Just like you didn’t know he was watching you all this time through the fabric of your tent. After all, he was already so deep down into this rabbit hole of lust, what would it change?

And just like that, before he can even think about it more, his arm is already extending, his fingers wrapping around the forbidden fruit.

A descent into Hell he is not able to stop nor control. And at the same time, it feels like getting closer to Heaven.

He lays on the bed, back against the coarse sheets that still felt better than his cot back at camp, and brings your stole to his nose, almost covering his face with it. He closes his eyes.

And he breathes in.

Hell. If God wanted him to stay virtuous, why did he create such a temptatious woman like you? Your scent is without any surprise just as irresistible and bewitching as your whole self.

The fruity notes of it remind him of your skin and lips he wants to taste so badly, a mouth-watering gourmet scent. The floral and fresh ones, of this sparkling mischievousness in your eyes. And in the end, as he exhales, warm and spicy aromas rain on him. They fill his mind with a deep sense of comfort, as if scenting directly your hair. It’s intoxicating, spellbinding. Driving him deeper into his madness. He doesn’t try to resist, not anymore, this delightful fresco of fragrances painted just for him.

Naturally and almost subconsciously, his vicious right hand reaches his crotch. He’s already hard. Just by smelling your shawl.

This time you’ve really hit rock bottom, old bastard.

He doesn’t even bother thinking about it more, he already knows he’s too deep in; already knows he won’t be able to stop himself. 

Ah shit, screw it, jus’ a quick wank.

He quickly unbuckles his holster belt, then unbuttons his pants, and snakes his hand between the folds of his union suit. A silent swift dance he is used to repeating by now. 

He breathes again a long, deep whiff, and wraps his fingers around his cock thinking of you, once more. 

He sees you and your perfect body, and everything blends and blurs in his heated psyche. The form of your breasts and ass through the tent's canvas he knew by heart at this point. Your smirk, your eyes looking back at his, only his during this night spent together. Your heady, addicting scent surrounds him and fuels his fantasies even more, making them more vivid than before, the soft fabric of the stole against his skin a light caress he imagines yours.

He strokes and strokes and strokes, he needs it more than ever, even if, truth be told, every time is more than ever. His pinkish cock’s head is reddened and swollen from having been rubbed so many times lately, sensible and almost pained. But he doesn't care. It makes him feel even more alive. Even more here. Simply better.

He wants his body to feel pleasure. Pleasure, for once, instead of pain. Pain all the time, pain everywhere, bullets through his muscles, knives on his skin, cutting through his flesh, fists against his bones, breaking his jaws, his nose, his cheeks. Broken, used, beaten, ripped, bruised, overworked, abused. Oh, he’s tired of it. Only in those prohibited moments, he can experience pleasure. No matter how wicked and profane.

The room is now filled with those wet, fast-paced sounds, his rustling against the sheets, and the smallest of grunts coming from his unholy lips as he fucks his fist. Your name escapes him from time to time, muffled by your shawl he's still holding all against him with his left hand, and breathing the air from.

As if all the World’s oxygen would never be as good as breathing through it. As if everything else would feel thick and fusty in his lungs. No Mountains, no Oceans, no flowers, not the tastiest food, nothing could ever compete with smelling your scent. 

Stroke, stroke, stroke. Goddamn it, she’s perfect. A big, hard stroke. Oh God, yes, just a bit more…

Too absorbed by his delirious daydream, he doesn't notice right away the creaking of the door as you enter his room again, searching for the very thing he's using to masturbate right now.

“Arthur, I’m sorry to bother you again but I think I forgot my sh—”

You freeze.

SHIT! He instantly curses loudly and jumps from the bed so suddenly that he almost falls to the ground. A stumbling mess, his holster crashes on the wooden floor with a loud percussive sound as he shoves his member back into his clothes as fast as possible, looking like a disjointed chaos of limbs. He is mortified. There is no way in the world you won’t understand what was just happening. He ends up standing next to the bed, after having thrown your cape at the other corner of the room with such force it looked like the damn thing was made of burning iron. And he doesn’t even know why. Maybe to distance himself from his sins. To try and erase this horrible vision from your pretty eyes. His labored breath and fast-beating heartbeat are now ruled by panic instead of lust. For all his life he had never experienced such shame and felt so utterly stupid. 

There is a small moment of silence, heavy and embarrassed. A little time of denying. No, this can’t be happening. But your look turns in circles from the bed, him, and the scarf, circling him like a cornered animal. That’s it, his pride is dead right here in this stupid hotel room. You see right through him, he’s sure of it. Your piercing beautiful gaze lands on his ears a few times, and he knows they’re crimson just by the heat he can feel on them. But the worst thing of all is his bulge, obvious and raised up as a flag right in the middle of his thighs, under his badly buttoned fly. Like a Mausoleum to his Dignity. The damn thing refusing to shrink and obviously screaming loudly his offence to the whole World. All the contrary, your gaze falling on it produces the exact opposite of what he wants, his cock almost twitching in return. 

Damn it!

Damn it, damn it, damn it!-

“Where you… Hum…” You start, before clearing your throat slightly.

“ ‘m sorry, Am… I didn’t mean to… ‘m such a goddamn fool.” This is the best he can come up with. What excuses could he have anyway? Nothing could justify what he did.

You had never heard his deep asserted voice so chagrined. Utter fear and shame. You didn’t even know he could feel that way.

His gaze is fixated on his dirty boots, refusing to cross yours. Just as goddamn dirty as me. 

“Were you pleasuring yourself, Mister Morgan?” You ask, your tone slightly playful. He doesn’t see it, but a mischievous grin settles on your face.

He takes your tone as a mocking one. You would have all the right to mock him. That’s all he deserved.

He tries to answer but doesn't even dare to admit it verbally, as if it would aggravate his situation. He just nods slowly, as seriously as if he was at a funeral. 

“With one of my clothes?” You ask again, your grin widening.

Another nod, his eyes shutting as if he had been hit by something, your sentence making the whole thing even worse. Oh, just a few seconds ago, he was feeling more present and alive than ever, and now all he wanted was to disappear or die.

He hears more than he sees your steps on the parquet. Every stomping sound hurt him a bit more. He doesn't even dare to move. As if everything he would do from now would offend you. Even breathing, no, even existing is too much.

She’s going to slap me. A step. She's going to yell in my face. Another step. I’m dead. A final step.

You’re so close to him now he’s holding his breath, eyes closed, ready to face the well-deserved punishment of your choice for his trespass.

But he's only met with stillness until you speak again.

“Arthur, do you really think I was that hot in my tent, every night?”

The words reach his ears but his brain refuses them. His mouth opens in astonishment. He closes it to swallow loudly and opens it again as if trying to speak in utter confusion.

“You… I… Wait, really?”

“I never thought you could be that naive, honestly.” You answer, a little chuckle escaping you. One of your hands slowly reaches the side of his face, but he still shivers slightly when it touches him. You guide his head back up for him to finally look you in the eyes.

Arthur's two blue sapphires are topped with anxious brows. A bright confusion and a soft vulnerability. They don’t settle too long on one point of your face out of nervousness, as if they could burn you.

“M-me neither.” He simply whispers, a bashful, nervous smile settling on his mouth. He still doesn’t move.

“Do you really think I wasn’t aware of what I was doing, mmh?” You continue, your fingers traveling from his face all the way down his neck, gently caressing the base of his hair.

You can’t be serious right now.

“I… I don’ know…” And he really doesn’t. This is all so unbelievable to him that he’s persuaded this is all a dream and he’s going to wake up any moment.

The only thing anchoring him to reality is your fingers exploring him, making him slowly let out the breath he had been holding in his chest.

“Let me help you finish what you've started…” You murmur, voice low and obvious to what you’re implying, sultry, suggestive.

He feels his shaft pulsing again instantly in answer, his body once again taking the lead. He’s about to say something, to ask you if you’re sure you want to do this with an old bitter moron like him, but one of your hands is already reaching straight to his crotch, palming his warm, needy erection.

“Anh…!” The moan turning into a groan he lets out duplicates your own arousal.

His hips rock against your hand involuntarily, the need for contact of any sort getting more powerful than his shame. He still doesn’t dare do much to you though, not wanting to cross any more limits. He lets you handle him just like you want. He lets the flow of life take him instead of fighting against it, for once. The only gesture he allows is settling his big hands on your back, sweaty and almost shaking.

Oh, your sneaky fingers. They touch and grope and palpate, and he sighs louder. It feels so much better, to have your hand touching him.

After a few more teasing caresses, you sway in a smooth motion and playfully push him backward, making him fall on the bed. He sits there, looking up at you with those two adoring cerulean pupils, as if you were the Sun itself. A distant magnificent star, impossible for him to reach, condemned to only contemplate.

“Get your clothes off.” You order, his reactions making you more confident and straightforward than usual. 

He is quick to obey. You could have asked him to jump off a cliff and he would have done it without even thinking. His clothes fall one by one on the floor and you feast on every area of skin he’s offering you. He ends up entirely naked for your eyes. This Titan, cascade of virile hairs everywhere, prominent scarred muscles carved into stone by Ares himself, gorged with raw powerfulness and designed to kill. To survive. And between those open thick thighs, his aroused member. The one he thought of as the triumph of his shame a few minutes ago, is now the Apotheosis of his Glory. Thick, long, hard like him, surrounded by a crown of tawny curls.

“Look at you…” You let out, almost licking your lips. But he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t see what you do at all. Instead, he let his gaze wander on your chest, and you can almost hear the silent plea in his gaze for you to join his nakedness.

Standing right in front of him, you begin to strip yourself out of your clothes, agonizingly slowly, your face displaying this provocative grin that turns him on so much. It’s purposeful, and you feel your own arousal rising as you notice the red coming back to his cheeks and ears.

First, your boots and socks, discovering your delicate legs. Then your blouse, showing your shoulder and chest, then your skirt. He stays silent all the while, enjoying your little show more than you could imagine. Your hips swaying, your arms gracefully dancing, each piece of clothing falling on the ground, this is all a trance he's getting hypnotized by.

Seeing you undress just for him after all those nights spent on his cot touching himself watching your shadow is like adding all the missing color from a masterpiece, enhancing and fulfilling.

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about?” You purr proudly, now in your undergarments.

“God yes. Yer a real’ angel.” He praises in a fevered-like whisper.

You smirk as all answer. “Come on now, show me those dirty things you’ve been doing.” You speak while nodding at his crotch in an almost challenging way.

His hand instantly reaches for his cock. It was itching him to since you had looked at it earlier. He presses his fingers hard around it and he grunts softly, the sound incredible to your ears. Obeying you and surrendering fully to his depravation, he slowly starts stroking himself again while watching you intensely. What did he do to deserve such a splendid spectacle?

That’s when you decide to slowly bend inward and undo the last pieces of clothing you still have. Just a few gestures and your breasts are bare and hanging for him to look at. Jeee-sus. You see and hear his hand speeding up. 

Lastly, you reveal your own sex to him, a pearl between those gorgeous thighs of yours, and he curses out loud this time.

“You're so goddamn beautiful. I could... Damn, I could finish right now jus' lookin' atchu.” He confesses, his cheeks, ears, and chest getting even redder at his own words.

“Really, uh? You're quite easy to tease, Mister Morgan.” You tease, before turning around and bending again, wanting him to see your bottom, taking a more than suggestive position with your ass up.

“Oh, for God sake.” He nearly chokes, his rhythm accelerating again; almost frenetic. This is all he ever wanted during those cold lonely moments. All he ever needed to see. And he can’t help but engrave every little detail in his mind; the little scars you have here and there, the different tone and grain of your skin, your hairs, your body’s hollows and bumps. Every little imperfection. And they make it all even better. Better than any fantasies he had ever pictured in the past few weeks. Because they are making you yourself.

You turn again to face him and straddle his lap, unable to resist your own urges that had been building and building since you had found him touching himself to the thought of you.

That’s when something finally lights up in his mind. The moment he feels your soft, warm thighs around him, and how you’re soaked in between them, it hits him. You’ve been wanting him just as badly as he wanted you. As odd and surprising as it sounds to him. This new reality is right there against his tip as you start rubbing your entrance against it, teasing, playing, pressing just a few inches in, gently praising how big he looks and how good it would be to have him inside of you. 

That thing inside of him explodes.

Suddenly his hands are all over you. Touching everything they can, discovering, molding your curves under his fingertips. Hands on your thighs, hands on your hips, waist, neck. Each part of you touched is breaking every chain that was holding him back, one by one. These perfect sensations blind him to any reasoning, any sense of restrain, and push him to palm your breasts. God, the softness, the warmth. He sighs in appreciation as he kneads both of them and you join his pleasured breathing.

More.

One of his hands leaves your chest to grab your ass, roughly, and he squeezes, hard, while he sucks on the breast that has been abandoned. “Arthur!” You moan out in return, pleasured and surprised voice, mouth left open in delight. Oh, he will satisfy you. Those renewed vows appear as clear as day between the mess of his head as he keeps devouring your nipple endlessly, almost suckling at it. He will push that voice of you to its limit, break it until you won’t be able to scream.

“That’ what you wanted all this time, uh? Drivin’ me insane?”

You search for something clever to throw back at him but the calloused hand on your breast suddenly reaches your cunt and you gasp instead. 

“That’ what you do? Torture poor devil like me until they can’t help but fall for you?” He asks again, his confidence heightened by your sweet sounds, his tone getting darker and darker. Touching your folds pleasures him almost as much as you, his brows furrowing into a needy and intense expression.

“J-just you… ‘Just wanted you to notice me…” You admit, your hips rolling on his lap and against his hand. His fingers part your cunt and trace their own way through this little Heaven, exploring this place he had craved so much; and it makes him more excited than any thoughts he could have had on his own.

“Well, that sure worked, girl.”

He lets go of your pussy and you squeal in protest, almost ashamed of your own sound. He smiles triumphantly at you, feeling satisfied to give you a taste of your own medicine. He wraps both of his arms around your waist, your chest ending up pressed against his face; his nose is shoved in it and he sighs louder this time. 

He can’t wait any longer. Not when he has been dreaming of this for weeks. Not after discovering your unforgettable perfume. Not after having felt this wet, warm promise of your entrance. He looks up at your face, searching for any trace of disgust or apprehension but you're completely free from any. Mouth agape, breaths deep and hips shamelessly searching for his, you're even more gorgeous than before, and he snaps.

He guides you carefully, his hands warm and hard against your bare skin. And he pushes.

His sex entering you slowly is deliciously hard and hot. His cockhead is big, way bigger than what you’re used to, and feels so good already. His arms hold you in place as he pushes again, wanting to be completely stuffed in, a long, low growling sound accompanying his movement. Oh, Christ Almighty. He had never felt so good than buried like this in your warm, silky, divine cunt right now.

Once fully settled, you both sighs and breath loudly for just a few seconds, your gazes meeting and silently agreeing on how fucking delicious this feels. Then you move up, wanting to ride him, feeling his shaft pull out as you do, but his arms grab you tighter and put your hips back in place.

“God!” You whine as you feel his length plunging again and hitting that spot inside of you.

He starts to buck his hips up against yours, unable to resist anything anymore. His rhythm, he wanted slow and meaningful at first, is quickly turning fast and hard, a remnant of how incredibly frustrated and needy he had been all this time.

“I’m gonna -Ohh, shit- I’m gonna show ya what ya get teasin’ me like that.”

Arthur's southern drawl is even more prominent, his voice hoarse and deep from effort. His thrusts up are more and more powerful, making you jump up and down on top of him and for the first time in days he thanks himself for having pleasured himself so many times lately, otherwise he would have come instantly right there in your heat. Your breasts bounce in this erotic, unresistible dance that he’ll remember for every future night he'll spend alone.

“Oh Arthur, don’t stop!” 

His cock pulls out and shoves into your cunt so fastly it's rubbing perfectly how you want it deep inside and you reach for his shoulders, needing to hold onto him, already so close. “Yes, yes, yes, right there!”

He hears your accelerating breathing, your higher-pitched moans turning into screams and he searches for your lips with his. Your tender petals against his dirty mouth. But he doesn’t care, there’s only your pussy right now, and your incredible smell he’s filled with once again, just like you’re filled with his tongue and his dick inside of you.

Both his hands grab your ass and he fucks frantically, his balls slapping against it with each thrust, making your plump flesh jiggle and those hitting and smacking sounds resonating throughout the room. Again, and again, and Damn it again.

It’s too much for you. 

You cry out loudly as your fingers dig into his shoulders and your head tilts backward, and his big, solid arms keep you pressed against his chest, completely wrapped around you; and he finally, finally feels it. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure, instead of pain. This irresistible release, your pussy clenching and squeezing all around his cock. “-Ngh, s-shit yes angel, give it t’me!”

You give it all to him without any resistance and in a obscene scream. And it’s too much for him.

“Ah, God…” He hisses as he feels it coming, quickly pulling you up —as effortlessly as if you weighed nothing— and pressing his cock against your clit, well nestled between your lips.

He reaches your lips again, needing to finish while kissing you, both of your bodies almost sewn together, his moans sounding more and more like primal growls and hisses at every rubbing movement against your core, movements getting faster and faster, impossibly faster, So fucking good, Jesus so goddamned perfect, Perfect, perfect!- Until he finally comes, translucent cum leaking all the way down his shaft and spreading on your lower belly, all panting and grunting, a complete mess; a satiated beast.

It’s better than any of the dreams he ever had, waking or sleeping. And it’s not just the release of this one and only time, it’s the pinnacle of all these lonely pleasures shared with no one in regretful secret.

For the second time that night, he thinks he’s dead. 

He falls backward, back against the mattress, and you follow, unable to stand without him. In that silence only disturbed by your exhausted breaths, he turns and grabs the first piece of clothing that he has at hand’s reach, his flannel. He gently uses it to clear your belly from his seed and seeing it, on your smooth and soft skin, makes a wave of culpability crash onto him once again. Shouldn't have done all of this. Should have taken care of her properly.

A dark, glum expression settles on his face and he wraps himself in a deep silence instead of your arms as he finishes to clean the both of you. God, did that man ever know rest for more than a few minutes? At this thought, you bend over to put a small kiss on his forehead, as a thank you for his aftercare.

“Satisfied enough?” You finally break the silence, getting up from the bed –not without stretching your back slightly and swaying your hips before bending to reach for your clothes on the floor.

Arthur cannot help but think of a Nymph as you do all of this still naked. Those irresistible, divine beauties that lure men with a simple move of their finger, as they say in books. He knew it was all stories from another time, but he was more and more convinced they would look exactly like you if they did exist.

“More than in a long time. You?” He replies, voice neutral and features closed as usual. He stays on the bed and put only his pants back, his cock finally softening under the coarse fabric. He never stops looking at you all the while.

“Couldn’t be better”. You assert, your blouse falling back on your upper body. You then roughly fix your hair in this casual, impish way that was yours.

That was driving him insane.

“You’re a little minx, ya know that? Gettin’ naked on purpose every night…”

“Oh, please. You didn’t really complain as far as I know.”

“Nah, but ya did make me insane. Teasin’ littl’ thing y’are.” He says with a fond voice he would have preferred less obvious.

You innocently shrug your shoulders, cheeky grin on your face. The way you're playing with him that easily should have been shaming to him, but he doesn't feel any shame anymore, not after what you have shared.

"Goodnight, Arthur." You throw as all answer, leaving him as you walk through the door of his room. He greets you back, the trimmest trace of longing in his rough voice.

Once again alone, once again cold, Arthur grabs a cigarette from his pocket to smoke before falling asleep; maybe to keep this lingering warmth just a bit longer, the sensations of your body, and especially your sex squeezing around his, still remaining on his skin. Lying completely in the bed, he smiles to himself as he notices you have forgotten your shawl —again. Or maybe you had left it on purpose. Maybe you had both times, now that he is thinking about it. The ruby fabric had landed wrapped all around his old, worn-out leather jacket, like a flame dancing around, envelopping, lapping at a tree.

It looks great that way.

Maybe you were only playing with him. Maybe this was only a one-time thing. But who cared. Tonight, Arthur had been taken care of by a Nymph. And no other mortal pleasure, no other solitaries delights, not even the most lustful and depraved images he could have pulled out of his tormented mind could ever compete with that slice of Olympe you had given to him.

a/n: Yeah, 5K words, I knooow! I'm hopeless. It's quite a lot, but I didn't feel like cutting, nothing felt right. What can I say except thank you, so much, for everyone's interest in the first part, for your notes, comments and reblogs, and for reading all of this! I am in utter PANIC rn because I feel like nothing I could write would be as good or as well received as the first part, but here it is! I really hope it didn't disappoint!

Also, to give Caesar what belongs to Caesar, the holster falling was completely inspired by my dear @zae-heeyyy's Piquancy (II)! I thought it would fit the comical aspect of the scene eheh (go check it out)

tag list: @a-court-of-valkyries, @redwritr, @cassietrn, @esquilone, @starlightt180, @narcoticv3nus, @thoughts-of-bear, @emjiroki, @prettyundeadgirl, @eternalsams (I tried to tag people who had shown interest in a part2, really sorry if I missed anyone!)

[imujings]

[b.sk] boo seungkwan’s guide to love

synopsis | an easy, four-step guide on how to win anyone’s heart—written by yours truly, boo seungkwan! (or, the three times seungkwan is determined to set up the perfect way to confess, and the one time he realizes all he has to do is be himself.)

♯ pairing(s) | bestfriend!boo seungkwan x gn!reader, non-idol!svt & gn!reader ♯ genre(s), wc | best friends to lovers & fluff, 5.4k ♯ warnings | cursing, friendly banter (someone save dino), two stupid silly sexual innuendos, some kissing, a few silly misunderstandings (sorry!!! They're Idiots <3), whisper of the heart spoilers!!, reader chokes on water

jay’s musings | HAPPY BIRTHDAY RANIA-BOO @wheeboo !! this one is ALLL for u!!!! and i mean it. ur genuinely SUCH a sweet and loving person, getting to know u has been such an honor. i love our daily convos and interactions, and am just so so so glad to have met u :) always remember that u! are! made! of! stardust! i hope u enjoy this, mwah <3

Boo Seungkwan needs to get a fucking grip.

He’s sprawled across his living room couch, eyes tracking a ladybug as it crawls across his ceiling. How the little creature somehow managed to be birthed in a winter as cold as this one, he will never know, but Seungkwan prays to whatever stars above that this is a sign of luck for the impending doom laying ahead of him.

Chan, Seungkwan’s roommate, ambles into the room with a bag of chips. He sits down on the chair perpendicular to the forlorn boy and interrupts his overthinking session. “Sulking isn’t going to make the perfect birthday gift for them suddenly appear, you know.”

Seungkwan blows a raspberry into the air. Curse Chan and his ability to read the room.

Okay, here’s the current dilemma: your birthday is coming up. His birthday is coming up. He’s known you for three years now, and for all of those three years he’s been painfully, crazily in love with you. So much he doesn’t think he can survive another year without bursting at the seams. (Chan says he’s being overly dramatic, but Seungkwan knows the racing of his heart and the permanent smile on his face whenever he’s around you are very life-threatening symptoms.)

Therefore, Seungkwan has made it a personal mission of his to finally confess this year, preferably before he succumbs to his feelings once and for all. Problem is, he doesn’t know how. Or when.

“At this point, just wrap yourself up in ribbons and present yourself to them as their gift. They’d love anything you give them, you unfortunately included,” Chan continues around a mouthful of potato chips, scrolling through his phone as he chews rather loudly.

He glares at his roommate. “You can’t be serious.”

The other boy swallows—Seungkwan makes a face at this—and Chan finally turns to the brooding man, his voice becoming earnest.

“Kwannie, I have been the victim of your lovesick rants for three years. And for every one of those three years, you two have endlessly pined after each other with the excuse of ‘just being best friends.’ I mean like, come on, dude. Hansol’s constantly sending me screenshots of his conversations with them, asking why he’s the one being texted when he says that you’re the one they’re dating. I had to tell him—like, just last month—that you two are in fact, not together, and then he didn’t even believe me and almost asked them right then and there. I stopped him before he could. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Seungkwan listens with a frown at his roommate’s fed-up tangent. The ladybug that was on the ceiling is now perched on top of one of their shelves, wandering across the pot of a plant you had gotten him as a gift. Snake plants reflect good luck and resilience for growth, you had told him with a smile, and his mouth curves into a deeper pout.

“Channie-ah, if I’m going to confess, it needs to be perfect! It’s not like I can just throw myself at them and hope they’re willing to jump my bones too,” Seungkwan makes a half-hearted attempt at a joke, his hands hitting the sides of the pillow he’s holding with a thump.

Chan mutters something under his breath. The green, fuzzy pillow is chucked towards his head in response, and the boy shrieks.

“I heard that, you idiot.”

“Then you should know that they like you too, you idiot,” his roommate shoots back, tossing the pillow back towards the couch. “And please don’t talk to me about jumping their bones. That is something I do not want to hear about.”

Seungkwan catches it easily and rests the pillow on his stomach. “If they like me back then that’s even worse,” he bemoans. “That means it needs to be more than perfect.”

He’s not exactly oblivious. Seungkwan’s known now for a little bit that you might harbor some sort of feelings for him back, which is why he’s even allowing himself to move forward with a plan as bold as this in the first place. However, the idea of you still rejecting him—whether it be from unrequited feelings, or even worse, because his confession was pathetically lame—gnaws away at his heart with unrelenting constancy.

“I don’t think it needs to be perfect,” Chan tries to reassure and comfort to the best of his ability, but the way Seungkwan frets makes him doubt he’ll have any influence on the older boy at all. “Like I said before, they’d be happy with anything you’d give them. Especially a confession. I think you could FaceTime them right now, ask them out on a date, and they’ll say yes. Fuck timing, you know?”

It’s as if his words had fallen on deaf ears. His face lighting up with an idea, Seungkwan nods, determination set in his jaw.

“You’re right about timing. I’ll just have to choose the right moment, with a foolproof plan,” he declares dramatically, going to type up a plan in his notes app.

Chan runs a hand over his exasperated face at his friend’s awfully selective hearing, and the ladybug seems to take this as its cue to fly to another room.

┊ Step 1: Choose the right place and time for a private conversation!

Seungkwan determines that the first ideal moment to confess is when you and him are at your favorite cafe, comfortably catching up after a week of not seeing each other.

The cafe is in a lull at the moment, the only other customers being an old couple sitting in front of the large bay windows. You’re donning a comfy sweater and thick woollen scarf, one that was given to you by Seungkwan some few birthdays ago, and his face flushes as he tries to focus on the conversation again. Some story about your closing shift at work and coming home to your dog way later than you had anticipated.

It’s… oddly intimate, Seungkwan thinks as your hands make little gestures while you talk.

The soft, warm overhead cafe lamps make your eyes shine and his breath catches, too afraid to exhale. He thinks if he breathes too harshly he’ll wake up with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

God, he’s so nervous, fidgeting with his fingers and counting the seconds in his head on how long he should be making eye contact with you so as to not come off as suspicious. You smile while recounting the excited way your pup greeted you as you finally had trudged through your front door and the corners of Seungkwan’s mouth arch in turn. Bracing himself, he reaches over the marbled tabletop, grasping a hold of your hands in his as you ramble on and starting to play with your fingers.

Your voice falters for a moment.

Seungkwan traces his thumb along your knuckles and raises an eyebrow, doing his best to look unaffected and not like he wants to press kisses to the pads of your fingertips. When all you do in the end is smile at him and pick up where you left off, he makes a mental fist pump, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

Now, all Seungkwan has to do is somehow turn the focal point to him. Maybe wait for a natural pause in the conversation, or–

His brain goes haywire as you run your own thumb along the side of his hand. “Something on your mind?” you tease, though he’s quick to notice how your eyes flit between your intertwined fingers and anywhere but his face.

Interesting.

A boost of confidence surging through him, Seungkwan waits a beat before replying smoothly. “Nothing other than you.”

The hopeless romantic in him cheers.

The larger, more realistic part of him is completely mortified.

He watches with a clenched jaw as your face morphs into one of surprise, to disbelief, and then your face is warming to a hue he, frankly, didn’t know was possible. Seungkwan worries he’s faring not much better, clearing his throat and reassuring himself that he can save this somehow.

I wanted to talk to you about something, is what he wants to say.

“Uh,” he says dumbly instead.

There’s an embarrassingly long period of silence between the two of you, clearly both caught off guard by the other. Your hands are still clasped in his.

He tries again. “So…”

The barista calls your name, a matcha latte and iced americano sat side by side on the counter next to some of your favorite pastries on a cute little tray. As if a spell was broken, the pair of you jump apart like you were caught making out rather than just holding hands. You look at him apologetically. “Sorry, Kwannie. Hold that thought.”

Seungkwan is so, so close to banging his head on the table after you stand up and turn away from him. He momentarily wonders how much the hospital bill would cost.

Miraculously enough, he manages to hold himself back. By the time you’re sliding into the booth, giving him his order and inquiring about what he wanted to tell you, Seungkwan has dreadfully made up his mind to postpone the confession for another day. Cafe confessions are overrated, anyways.

┊ Step 2: Express your immense gratitude and appreciation for your relationship!

The next time Seungkwan decides to try his luck, it's over the course of a few days.

Chan, as per usual, treads into their living room with a snack; this time it’s a bag of sour gummy worms. He blinks in surprise at the sight of his roommate carefully arranging a bouquet of flowers on their table as if he’s approaching a baby deer in the wild. Seungkwan’s eyes are practically slits while he snips away at the ends of the flower stems, tongue caught between his teeth in utmost concentration.

The younger boy hovers near him, a little nervous about interrupting his focus and the consequences that would occur if he did. “What kind of flowers are those?”

“Lilacs,” Seungkwan replies immediately, never losing the attention he has on plucking some of the more wilted leaves off of a particular stem. “With some lavender and baby’s breath.”

Chan lets out a low whistle. He then regards the gift basket sitting next to Seungkwan with a small, knowing smirk. “What’s that in the bag?”

His roommate scowls at him as he ties the bouquet together with a soft, white ribbon, the bow the perfect finishing touch. “None of your business.”

“Who are you giving it t—”

“Channie-ah,” Seungkwan warns in a high, sugary sarcastic tone, and said man only smiles wider. “Don’t you have a gym you should be at right now? Or just somewhere else other than here at home?”

Shrugging, Chan pops the last sour gummy worm in his mouth and hastily crumples the empty bag into a ball. “Guess I could see if Soonyoung is up for going to the gym.”

He disappears into the hallway leading to the bedrooms, leaving Seungkwan to his own devices, and your best friend takes this chance to go over his carefully crafted gifts. He bites his lip. He hopes the flowers are to your liking.

His eyes roam over to the simple wickered gift basket on the table, filled to the brim with your favorite snacks. A handmade card sticks out on the side and he cringes. Maybe he shouldn’t have made that on three hours of sleep. He can see the places where the pen in his hand wavered a little too hard, little imperfections that make his skin crawl.

“Goodluck with your confession, Kwannie-ah,” Chan’s amused tone snaps him out of his thoughts.

He's dressed in more socially acceptable going-out clothes now, opting for a heavy winter jacket over a tank top and sweatpants instead of his favorite fuzzy plaid pajama pants. His gym bag is thrown over his shoulder, a water bottle hastily pushed into one of the side pockets. Seungkwan wrinkles his nose as he catches the sight of the silver chain sitting around his neck. He always told Chan they looked a little tacky, but he never listened. To each their own, he guesses, turning back to the dark oak table.

“Yeah yeah, don’t stay out too late,” Seungkwan waves him off.

Chan throws out a laugh as he steps out the door. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back. Y’know, so I’m not interrupting anything.”

The door clicks shut before the man can snipe his roommate with the pair of garden shears he’s holding.

Lee Chan was so fucking lucky he helped pay rent for a comfortable apartment nearby their work and in walking distance from a grocery store. Otherwise, Seungkwan swears he would toss the boy into the street without a second thought.

He still had an hour or two before you arrived; you had texted him earlier saying you would stop by after your work with some takeout, excited for a night in with him to catch up on the dramas neglected lately due to busy schedules. Usually, by this time, he would be sending random voice notes to you pestering you for taking so long and doing an improv song about waiting for a long lost love. Now, though, he blesses the stars that you love to take your sweet time on the train, knowing you spend the minutes with music blasting through your headphones as you gaze out the window lost in thought.

So Seungkwan spends his own time fussing over his appearance, switching from casual clothes to comfy pajamas to business formal (you never know), before he finally settles on some wide-legged joggers and a layered hoodie. That way, he reasons as he fixes his hair for the thirtieth time, no matter if you wanted to go out for a stroll or stay in and cuddle—assuming you accepted his confession, of course—he would be ready to go.

A brrring! from his phone startles him. He rushes to the living room as a muted knock on the door sounds, indicating your arrival.

Okay, Boo Seungkwan, he sucks in a breath. Play it cool.

The first thirty minutes or so go relatively peaceful. You’re fresh in your work clothes, greeting him with a tired smile and your guys’ favorite ramen takeout place. Light, easygoing chatter about your day calms his nerves, making himself comfortable on the couch with your leg pressed against his. It’s moments like these that Seungkwan really cherishes; your skinship and his eagerness, your careful attentiveness and his long rambles, your laugh and his joke being the cause of it.

Photographs and miscellaneous wall prints hang from his walls and watch over the two of you comfortably as you slurp down your ramen, giggling over who can make the most noise. His apartment is homely and he takes pride in it—he never lets anyone forget the amount of hours he spent pouring over what shade of green to paint the walls—but somehow, having you here only makes the place more lively. More homely.

As you’re cleaning up the living room table, a song spilling from your lips, it takes everything in him to not grab you by the waist and kiss you breathless. Instead, Seungkwan makes an excuse to retreat briefly to his bedroom, snatching the flowers and gift basket he had carefully stashed away under his desk.

You look up when he returns and halt in your efforts in stretching his favorite throw—a quilt his mother bought for him—across your body. Surprise is plastered all over your face, and he nervously bites his lip. He really hopes he doesn’t look as whipped for you as he feels right now.

“Hi,” he starts, bowing his head awkwardly and setting the gift basket on your lap. “These are for you.”

Your hands reach for the flowers, lips parted slightly and eyes wide with innocent bliss. Your voice echoes his in a question. “For me?”

“Ah, yeah,” he scratches at his neck and sits down, not wanting to hover over you like some intimidating guy at the bar. Your name falls off his tongue like it was there waiting to be let out. “I wanted to thank you. You um, mean a lot to me, you know? You’ve truly made my life so much more worth living. Whenever I’m sad, you’re right there to hold my hand through it, and whenever I’m happy, it’s like you take that joy and make it tenfold. I truly… don’t know where I would be without your kindness and support. I say this all because… well…”

The words get caught in his throat and he feels himself freeze in panic.

“...Seungkwan?” your smile is puzzled and his gaze pierces you with an intensity that makes you shift in your seat. “Uh, thank you, but my birthday isn’t for another two weeks.”

“I totally understand!—oh.”

He didn't exactly predict you misunderstanding this interaction as one of the thousands of possible outcomes during his nightly overthinking sessions, so he has no idea how to respond. “Uh. Um. This is for another reason other than your birthday, actually.”

“Oh, okay,” you pause. “Then what is it all for? Did you finally snap the friendship bracelet I gave you? You know I can make you a new one; kinda knew it would break with the amount of crap you put it through.”

Before Seungkwan can respond, there’s a heavy series of clunk!-clank!-clink!’s at the door, followed by someone very obviously jingling a set of house keys.

“Seungkwan!” someone sing-songs insufferably from outside the door, and the mentioned person can quite literally hear his jerk of a roommate turning the doorknob multiple times without actually opening it. “My lovely roommate and best friend, I’m home! I cannot wait to tell you about my very productive time at the gym with Soonyoung!”

Lee Chan has his grand entrance through the front door of their apartment, making a show out of kicking off his shoes and bumping against every piece of furniture possible. He doesn’t notice the way you two are fixated on him until he’s face to face across the coffee table with Seungkwan’s deadpan stare and your astonished expression. Chan stops mid-yell, arms falling limply to his side as his brain processes the fact that you two are currently not kissing each other with renewed fervor at the unconcealing of long-held feelings.

“Oh, shit. Was I interrupting something?”

Seungkwan decides right then that being homeless is better than having Chan as a roommate, and that he’ll terminate his lease first thing tomorrow morning.

┊ Step 3: Be honest and direct about your feelings!

After that disastrous last attempt, Seungkwan has sworn off trying to confess—at least, for the time being. He needs time to lick his wounded pride better, and in the meantime, Chan owes him daily morning coffee for a month as an apology.

However, it’s like it's your personal job to make it hard for him to keep his mouth shut.

“God,” you groan and miserably throw your head back against the couch. “Their love is so sweet. I’m so sick of them.”

The pair of you are wrapped up in the thick, white comforter on your bed, your laptop screen illuminating your faces in flashes of bright colorful pastels. Whisper of The Heart is a familiar movie to the both of you, having only watched it millions of times—yet you crawl back to it around the same time each year, heart squeezing excitedly at the life lessons of soul-searching and love taught in the Studio Ghibli film.

It’s the end of the movie, and as you delightfully wring your hands in anticipation for the confession scene, Seungkwan shamefully admits to himself that he spent more time watching your reactions than the movie itself. He can’t help it, eyes flickering to you every time you’d giggle or gush at Shizuku and Seiji’s antics. You were particularly fond of the story Shizuku had written, and he had marveled at the way you couldn’t stop yourself from pausing the movie to explain your analysis of the anecdote to him. He knew your theories inside and out, but he hung onto every word that fell off your lips like it was life or death.

You sigh dreamily and startle Seungkwan out of his thoughts. Your hands are now clutching one of the various stuffed animals thrown haphazardly around your bed. On the screen, Seiji’s arms are wrapped tightly around Shizuku, his words ringing loud and clear through your laptop’s speakers. I love you!

“First loves are so powerful,” you sigh again loudly as the credits begin to roll, the recognizable Country Roads playing. “I wish I got to experience something like them. When is it my turn?”

Time slows down.

Seungkwan knows it’s supposed to be a rhetorical question. That he’s supposed to roll his eyes and tell you to stop playing into your delusions; maybe even joke that you should just download a dating app if you’re this desperate. Perhaps it’s because it’s late into the early morning, or because he had one too many of the devastatingly delicious cookies you two had baked earlier—whatever the reason, he doesn’t even think twice before he’s huffing and throwing his arms around your shoulders, his cheek pressed to yours.

“I love you!”

Oh. That wasn’t how that was supposed to go.

You look at him, eyes wide. He can feel your breath against his lips and it makes his brain short-circuit, pulling away as fast as he had hugged you. The air is suddenly so thick it makes his throat feel choked up, like there’s something dry stuck in it, and he’s desperately reaching for some pathetic excuse as to why he just did what he did.

The credits end and the classic Totoro stares at you two for a brief moment on screen, before going black. It’s eerily silent in your room, your clock ticking like a time bomb on your wall. It’s dark except for the little squishable duck nightlight perched on your dresser, and he watches the way you swallow in the dim lighting.

“Stop messing around,” you ultimately laugh, shoving him away hard in the shoulder and reaching for your bottle of water.

He takes note of the nervousness in your giggles. Messing around? Messing around? He feels a mixture of irritation and frustration well up inside of him, pent up from the past few weeks of misfortune. Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “For goodness’ sake, I’m literally not. I’m serious. I love you.”

A choke.

You’re coughing violently and he’s at your side immediately, rubbing your back in soothing circles. The plushie you were holding is replaced with a proper pillow to keep you upright. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone?”

It’s as if you don’t even hear him. You inhale a final breath to steady yourself and gawk at him. “Are you serious?”

“Serious about what?”

“You loving me.”

And it’s as if something in him finally snaps.

“Yes, I’m serious,” he whines, theatrically falling on his side and draping his arms over his quickly reddening face. “But this wasn’t how it was supposed to go! It was supposed to be perfect. I had a whole masterminded plan, where we would go to the park, and there’s no one around but us and we sit on a swing set reminiscing about youth, and then the sun would be setting and you’d look at me and go ‘It’s beautiful,’ and then I’d look at you and go—”

Seungkwan stops when he hears your giggle.

He slowly brings his hands down from his face, staring at you with bewilderment.

You’re laughing. He just confessed his undying love for you and you’re laughing.

“Kwannie,” you gasp between fits of laughter, clutching your side with one hand and covering your mouth with the other. “Oh my God, Seungkwan, hold up. Give me a second.”

After your laughter subsides, you gently take his hands in yours. Highlights from the sole source of lighting line your hair in a halo-like glow. Your grin is as wide and as bright as a crescent moon; though his heartbeat is going wild at the what-ifs screaming in his head, he vows that’s going to be his favorite phase of the lunar cycle now.

“Seungkwan,” you start again, tone raw and sweet as honey, “I love you, too.”

You love him. You love him. Fireworks are going off in his brain, and his heart is rejoicing at the fact that you feel the same as he does. He swears he can hear the band that’s playing the congratulatory tune.

“But…” you trail off, and his eyes widen. “Wait, relax. Just listen to me.”

“All that stuff you said–about your confession being perfect. I hope you realize that I don’t need perfection from you,” he opens his mouth to protest, but you stop him with a look. “I’ve never wanted it, either. In fact, I’ve only ever wanted you. This… okay, this is super cheesy, so look away.”

Seungkwan scoffs. You give him another stern look, and he pouts, his gaze zeroing in on your laptop that’s been discarded off to the side. There’s a moment of your hesitation—palpable, so tangible he could hold it in his hands—before he feels the plush of your lips against his cheek.

“You didn’t make me fall for you by being ‘perfect,’ you made me fall for you by being yourself,” you finish, pulling away and ducking your head shyly.

“I—” Seungkwan pauses, his breathing a little shaky. “God, wait, I wish I had a do-over! Hold on.”

A thousand and one thoughts, all incoherent, are running through his mind at lightning speed. You wait patiently as he racks his brain for anything remotely put together.

“Can I kiss you?” is all he ends up asking. He gives up on being eloquent in his speech for now—his mind can’t really function anymore, only focused on one goal, and you giggle as his palm cups your cheek.

Your eyes meet his, shining. “Of course.”

When his lips press to yours, he swears he can see songs and hear colors. If there’s one thing that didn’t go wrong about this impromptu confession, it’s your lips moving against his, soft and tender and everything else he had imagined. You pull away first and he finds himself following, hoping you’ll indulge him in a second one; when you do, smiling against his lips, he feels like he’s made true inner peace with himself.

“Okay, I know this changes things, but please let me have a do-over,” Seungkwan gripes, finally breaking away and resting his forehead against yours. “Let me ask you out for real.”

“Alright, Kwannie,” you laugh and give him another peck on the lips. “When?”

“When?” he echoes, grinning mischievously. “Honey, the surprise is the best part. If I tell you when, it makes it less than perfect.”

┊ Step 4: Pray they don’t reject you Respect their response, no matter good or bad!

On the day of your birthday, you have your first date with Boo Seungkwan.

It’s confirmed when you and him are out on a leisurely walk, meandering around the park near your place and talking about the meanings of life. There’s not much to it; you’re dressed up in your favorite winter clothes, a scarf once again wrapped around your neck, your nose tucked into it to keep it from getting too cold. Your voice is muffled but pleasant to his ears, a warmth biting away the brisk air as the day winds down.

He’s jittery and he knows it. His gloved fingers brush yours every so often, hesitating before pulling away, and his eyes are embarrassed every time they meet yours. You had looked up at him earlier with mirth swimming in your eyes, giggling. “Nervous ‘cause we’re on a date?”

Seungkwan pouts. “Well, yes, actually. Simple as it is, I’d like this to be our first date of many.”

He sees the shock cross your eyes before it's replaced with pure joy. You tuck your face more into your scarf and Seungkwan physically feels his fists clench with the sudden urge to pinch your cheeks.

“Okay,” you mumble, reaching for his hand and locking your fingers together. “Lead the way, then.”

Seungkwan giddily tightens his hold on you. He simply can’t believe his luck. The love between you two feels like second nature, like something he’s known how to do all his life, and he wouldn’t trade the feeling of your hand in his for the world. You’re his go-to point of contact. His best friend. His partner in crime. His person.

The January sun, long and painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink, is dipping behind the city buildings when he stops. He didn’t really have a spot in mind for what he wanted to say, instead basing it off of how many steps he could take before the golden hour light hit your face just right.

He wants to kiss you again.

You quizzically raise an eyebrow as Seungkwan rubs his glove-encased thumb along yours, his brown eyes warm. “I know you said I just have to be myself, but being myself includes being totally and immensely in love with you to the point of having to confess twice. Also because my pride still can’t take that I confessed earlier than I wanted to.”

You’re laughing, and he is too, but he wipes away the tears welling up in his eyes and returns his hands to yours, proceeding. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. I’m so grateful and blessed by the stars to have had you in my life as a friend up until now, and I promise you, I’ll do everything I can to return the happiness and more.”

He says your name, soft and precious. Your eyelashes flutter. “Will you let me have the honor of being your boyfriend?”

No hesitation laces your reply.

“Yes, stupid. For you, it’s always yes.”

Sharing giggles, you throw your arms around his neck, lips brushing his before closing the remaining distance. The kiss is just as sweet as the first few, however a little colder due to the frigid winds picking up around you. He feels your smile against his lips and knows his expression is mirroring yours. It's silly and profound, and you would think with how dramatic he’s being, he just proposed to you for life. Shit. He’s getting ahead of himself, and stuffs the thought away for another time.

He pulls away this time and clutches you close to him. “Let’s go inside now? I actually had more to say, but I’m freezing.”

You throw your head back in a mellifluous laugh and nod vigorously. Smiling, Seungkwan firmly believes he’ll never get tired of the sound, just like he’ll never tire of his life being entwined with yours.

┊ Bonus:

Your teeth are chattering and your skin tingles as you step into your wonderfully heated and dimly lit apartment. “Wow, it’s so cold out—”

“Surprise! Happy birthday!”

The lights flicker on as you shout, scrambling back into Seungkwan’s arms. Your friend group stands in various corners of your living area, some holding party poppers and wearing poorly suited birthday hats. Seungcheol holds a cake in his hands that’s frosted with your favorite color. When they see the two of your guys’ interlocked hands, a second round of cheers erupt, and you laugh in disbelief.

“Just so you know, you can thank me for you two finally getting together,” Chan exclaims happily from his spot next to a smirking Jeonghan, pumping his fist in the air with the excitement of a kid who just got told he can stay up an hour past his bedtime.

Seungkwan lunges for him.

“Okay, but am I wrong? Stop it—ow, wait, ouch, stop—!”

[gaytommykinard]

(this...got long. there's a lot of backstory and two OCs. bear with me)

ok i was brainstorming in the gc about this bucktommy different first meeting au thats canon divergence from s2 which would begin with buck as a single dad to a 4 year old

because one day he wakes up and social services is at his (abby's) door like surprise! you have a child! or at least that's what it feels like because buck never knew about the kid's existence because the kid's mom did not deem it worthy to let him know. it's not like she couldn't track him down, they were facebook friends. but she still kept this from him? which would cause him so much turmoil, like, that she didn't want her kid to know buck is her dad? local area man loses last shred of self esteem he already had a strenuous grasp on.

but now she's dead, so he can't even talk to her about it, and yeah, there's a 4 year old girl in his house who is missing her mom and not liking this new stranger at all. buck is trying so fucking hard to not break down in front of her but he comes close several times. like, is he ready to be a dad? hell no! he's not now (27) any more than he was when she was born (23) but the point is he IS a dad and he's trying so hard to be a good one. (listen, if you know more about the system and you think this is all wrong: i am sorry. this is a romcom and/or romdrama genre type of story. okay? cool!)

so this woman, someone he knew briefly, and they didn't exactly date, but it wasn't exactly a one-night-stand either, but this woman put him on the birth certificate because she was planning to tell the kid when she was old enough and let her decide if she wants to meet him. she wasn't planning on having kids this soon (28), but it happened, and she decided to keep it, she had a decent job and her own place and an adorable, grumpy old cat who stuck himself to her 24/7 when she was pregnant. her parents were well off and yes, of course they were disappointed, because they wanted better for her, but they got over it quickly. and she really liked evan, but he was three states over by the time she found out, and it seemed like a headache to try to coparent with the fuck buddy you hardly got to know for the month and a half you were together, anyway.

the tragedy is that buck will never really know that. this is very much a putting him in a jar and shaking it around scenario. the point is... buck is struggling. a lot.

and then he meets tommy one night. a rare night out (it's taken him a while to get everything sorted, get his daughter registered in a preschool, find a reliable babysitter (who knew childcare is so fucking hard to arrange when you're estranged from your family and your friends are either the people who work alongside you or your ex-(frat house)-roommates?) but he's getting a handle on things) and chimney invites him out one night because he's going stir-crazy at home recuperating from the near fatal stabbing and buck owes him for all the babysitting favours (there were like. 3 instances, if that. and chimney volunteered because he's actually good with kids, which totally surprises buck but he trusts chimney. and he trusts hen a little more)

anyway. he shows up at the bar and there's chimney and a total stranger. a very handsome stranger. a very funny, charming, handsome stranger.

and tommy. ten minutes into the conversation (work calls, chimney wanted to know, he has terrible fomo), chimes in with, "wait, you're the probie!" because he'd heard a thing or two from chimney, they kept in touch after he transferred, no one, not even canon, can take away my chimneytommy bestfriendsim from me, okay? like chimney would text tommy "can't believe you abandoned us. the probie just stole the ladder truck to get laid" so tommy does not expect this guy to be that guy from chimney's stories.

and yeah. buck had barely finished his probationary year before he got custody of his daughter. and it's been maybe half a year of trying to parent a grief-stricken 4-year-old with more energy than she knows what to do with (once she warms up to buck, she comes out of her shell, and quite literally wreaks havoc in the new house, which isn't in the best state to begin with anyway). and he's so tired. there's like permanent bags under his eyes and a preschool-slash-childcare calendar floating around in his brain 24/7. he maxes out at two beers and then switches to a glass of wine tommy recommends and nurses it for the rest of the night.

because the two of them stay and keep talking long after chimney heads home. tommy listens as buck rambles on about remy. offers to bring her around harbor and he'll give them both a tour. and buck lights up at that. he's totally enchanted by tommy (and he can't really figure out why just yet)

tommy gets a text from chimney the next day asking if he got lucky. and oh my god he fucking wishes he had gotten lucky. he was so tempted to ask if buck wanted to come over. have another drink with him at home. (if buck was into it, then yes, he'd be totally down to fuck. if he got awkward, tommy would have clarified that it was merely a friendly invitation. it's schrodinger's preposition). but he chickened out at the last minute, because yes, he's out now, but still not as confident as he'd like to be, not brave enough to ask out another firefighter, and definitely not a friend of a friend.

but buck calls him about that tour and tommy is more than happy to show them around. he talks to remy like she's his equal, and she warms up to him right around the end of the tour, finds her voice and asks tommy how high can he fly and tells him she can fly higher than that. tommy finds that adorable. (enough to buy her an RC helicopter for christmas. he "was at the shop buying stuff for the toy drive anyway, evan, it's not a big deal! you're the one who said she asked santa for a helicopter!")

it is absolutely a big deal. buck is like. a puddle on the floor. god help him. and yes at some point it occurred to him that he likes tommy. like-likes him. so buck invites him over on christmas eve eve when they're both off and accidentally-on-purpose catches him under the mistletoe and kisses him.

evan buckley started the year as a straight, single man and a probationary firefighter. and he's finishing it a bisexual dad to his 4 year old daughter, and a "we'll see how it goes but yeah i'll be your date for new years eve" man by his side. and i think that's hilarious.

[fritzes]

and away we go! here are my two cents on the australian open draw. as always I try to be as unbiased as possible... but sometimes that isn't very possible. anyways, here it is:

wta:

I gotta say it's really weird not seeing iga in the top spot on the draw. so massive props to aryna. the fact that she's #1 is indicative of how great she's been, especially on hardcourt. she's the clear favorite, and her draw only supports that. her projected quarterfinalist is qinwen, her known pigeon. mirra is also lurking in this quarter, but when she beat aryna at rg aryna was very clearly ill, and she just beat mirra in brisbane. however, the bane of aryna's existence, donna vekic, is in this quarter but she's on the other side and could be beaten by someone like diana or qinwen. a lot of interesting names in this quarter, but I don't think any of them can beat aryna

coco was in great form at the united cup, but she's got her work cut out for her. her record against jess, the projected quarterfinalist, isn't great, and marta and paula being in the quarter is a little concerning. however, there are a bunch of players who could normally be threats that are completely neutralized by coco (I'm thinking karo, leylah, and penko), so that's a lot of seeds that are out of her way. naomi is also in this quarter and obviously has a great record at ao and has shown that she can do some damage at slams. if she's healthy, she can potentially make a run here

aryna vs coco is so interesting right now, and I think they can both get to the semifinal. aryna is #1 and this is truly her tournament, but coco's improvement over just the last few months has been great, and she was beating aryna even before that

I've already been seeing people write off jasmine, and I think that's a mistake. people forget that her first slam breakout was at ao24, not rg24, and she proved at united cup that she's very competent on this surface. that being said, a healthy elena is a pretty bad draw for her. she beat elena at rg and the wta finals, but elena wasn't fully fit and those were slower surfaces. I think this quarter has the weakest field (not to say there aren't good players, but the other three quarters have more). maybe dayana will make a surprise run again, or madi will have one of her random slam runs, but I'd for sure take the top seeds over the field here

and finally, iga's quarter. at the bottom of the draw. I'm still getting used to that, it's weird. it's interesting because if this draw came out a few months ago, I'd say emma navarro is super dangerous and could be a threat, but she's been in legitimately terrible form lately and I could honestly see her losing first round. if this draw came out a few years ago I'd say maria would go far, but she's been so lost for months now. I think ons jabeur could make a surprise run in the top half of this draw, she's been having some good wins lately and we know how capable she is at slams. I also think there's an opportunity for anna here, as well as vika who is known for being great at this tournament

jasmine has steadily been making her matches with iga closer, and this is a surface iga isn't comfortable on, so I think if that match did happen it could be pretty close

interesting r1 matches: sabalenka/stephens, tomljanovic/krueger, gauff/kenin, osaka/garcia, bencic/ostapenko, navarro/stearns, osorio/sakkari, alexandrova/raducanu, siniakova/swiatek

atp:

I swear they're giving jannik meme draws now. adm? bvdz?? holger??? hubi???? matteo????? TALLON GRIEKSPOOR????? strangely enough, the person who is the biggest threat to jannik is somehow stefanos tsitsipas, but he's on the other side of the draw and I highly doubt he will make it too the quarterfinals. besides, the last time he beat jannik really shouldn't have happened because of that line call in monte carlo. other than him, everyone in this quarter is someone jannik can comfortably, convincingly beat. I don't like to jinx players but he's the world #1 and this quarter is his to lose. on the other side, I do think adm can make the quarterfinals but based on that h2h with jannik, I'm not sure if he wants to

I think the second quarter is the most up in the air. taylor and daniil are both strong contenders to go deep in this tournament but with a lot of question marks around them. daniil because of his recent form and because his wife just had a baby, and taylor because of his mentality. we just don't know how he's gonna handle being a top 4 seed. this quarter is pretty stacked, with gmp, ben, lorenzo musetti, rublev, frances, and alexei. there are also some snaky contenders, like nakashima, shapo, arnaldi, and marozsan. to me, this is the hardest quarter to predict

I don't think I need to say anything about the projected semifinal. just look at the us open final scoreline. taylor has improved a lot since then, but he's just not at the level to beat jannik right now

djokovic/alcaraz quarter. I never thought we'd see the day. but there's a lot to get through before either of them can get there. opelka, who novak just lost to, is very close to him in the draw, as is tomas machac who beat him in geneva. grigor and jiri could also potentially make things difficult for him. on carlos' side, he has to deal with jack and korda who, despite his self-proclaimed greatness at wimbledon (and first round flopping), has actually done pretty well at ao. jack has some injury concerns, but when does he not? if we did get the projected quarterfinal and carlos and novak did play, I'd have to favor carlos but I'm honestly not sure? we haven't seen carlos play this season and ao is easily his worst slam, but novak just lost to opelka so. who knows

the last quarter is very frustrating and you know why. frankly I'm not in the mood to analyze it. I will focus on the top part though because there could be a major upset with felix and casper

interesting r1 matches: hurkacz/griekspoor, zhang/rune, tsitsipas/michelsen, shelton/nakashima, arnaldi/musetti, rindreknech/tiafoe, struff/auger-aliassimee

[its-crowning]

Rubbing your small bump, looking longingly into the mirror as you continue the movements, almost in a trance.

You hadn’t noticed it before, you were just idly getting dressed today and noticed you looked a little round near your navel. Not quite Foodbaby but also surprisingly…firm…

You tried to not think about it much. You hadn’t had any kind of sex in…

A month and a half…

No no…just your mind overthinking, nothing more. You didn’t have any symptoms, you probably just ate a lot and it’s sitting low.

Although that guy you last hooked up with did seem a little…off. Very animalistic with how he fucked you…but not rough just as if he was holding back a lot, haven’t seen him since in the local area…

You simply push hard on your belly which makes the bump go away and continue getting dressed.

I wonder how long you’ll be before you realise…

the detail about pushing the belly being enough to make it go away makes me so hot. eventually there will be no room for the pregnancy to hide in my hips, no amount of hands pushing down on the outside, or poking and prodding the belly in the mirror will make the steadily swelling reality go away.

it’s not long before it happens. the belly grows fast.

i’d wonder what’s inside me when i find myself cradling my now-modest bump. i’m still in denial—a tumor, a food allergy, some kind of intestinal disease? but deep down, as i anxiously rub at my belly, i know it’s life.

i wonder how long it’ll take me to realize it’s not human, though.

[demigodsanswer]

I need to see more modern royals percabeth babies

ask and you shall receive

There wasn't anything Percy could do. This was a full-blown toddler tantrum. Sofia had thrown herself to the floor and refused to be picked up or comforted. She just wiggled at Percy's attempts to hold her until she was left to her own emotions on the floor.

"This is all part of this developmental stage," Maria told him, trying to comfort him more than the child.

"Mamma!" Sofia called out again.

"Mamma is busy, sweetheart," Percy said, not sure why he was trying to rationalize his way out of this. Fifteen minutes ago, Sofia had decided she wanted her mother, who was in a meeting with her father and the Prime Minister. Percy knew if he sent someone for Annabeth, she'd be up to her baby in a flash, but this wasn't an emergency. This was just their baby going through a very frustrating developmental phase.

"Try offering her some water," Maria suggested. "They can't scream and sob while they're drinking something."

Percy scooted closer to where the future queen of Sweden had decided to lay, and extended her sippy cup to her. "Do you want your juice, sweetheart?" He asked.

Sofia stuck her little arm out and took one of the handles. "Let's sit up, okay?" Percy said softly. His daughter listened, sitting up as she took a big drink. Already her sobs started to fade, and when she stopped drinking, she just stared at him, her eyes big, wet, and green, as if she couldn't remember why she had been so emotional in the first place.

"You want a hug?" Percy asked.

Sofia nodded and ran over to him. He gave her a big squeeze, and used the moment to covertly check her diaper. She was wet, but he'd hold off on changing her until he was sure the odds of her throwing a fit mid-change were lower. She'd only just turned two last month, but, at least among the grown ups, the potty training conversation had already started.

Of course, circumstances as they were, there were about to be a few other big changes in Sofia's life. All of their lives.

"Do you want your baby?" Percy asked. Sofia nodded against his shoulder.

She'd always had baby dolls, but she'd become attached to this one in particular ever since they told her she was going to be a big sister. Percy and Annabeth were glad to see how gently she handled her baby, cradling it gently and kissing its head. Most of the time. Sure, sometimes she dragged it along by a limb, but that was because the baby doll was about half of her tiny size. She couldn't be expected to carry it all the time.

Percy cradled Sofia in his lap, as Sofia cradled her baby.

"When your baby sister gets here, she will need a lot of attention from Mommy and Daddy, but we'll still be here," he promised her. "And you're going to be able to help us take care of her, like you take care of your baby."

Sofia brushed the plastic-y brown hair off of her baby's forehead, before kissing her baby and shushing her dad.

"She's sleeping," Sofia said simply. Percy wasn't sure she'd listened to him at all.

"Okay," Percy whispered back. "Should we put her in the crib?" Sofia nodded. They placed Baby in Sofia's crib. Sofia looked sleepy herself, and she was due for a nap, but Percy needed to change her first.

Maria had set up the changing table for him. He maybe didn't let the woman do her job as much as he should, but she was still the most valuable help they had. Sofia complied with the diaper change. By the time Percy picked her up off the changing table her eyes were closing.

Percy kissed her forehead before he placed her in her crib next to baby, brushing her hair off her forehead as her eyes closed.

And then the nursery door opened. Annabeth opened it slowly, quietly peaking into the room, her belly entering first. Seven months in, two more to go. Her efforts to stay quiet were in vain. Sofia's eyes shot open, and then she was on her feet in the crib.

"Mamma!" She yelled, happy again.

Annabeth smiled and went over to her, pressing kiss after kiss to her girl's head.

"[It's nap time,]" Annabeth reminded her.

Sofia just lifted her arms, begging her mom to pick her up. Annabeth glanced at Percy, silently apologizing for undoing all of his hard work. But she picked her child up, resting her on her hip, carefully navigating around her belly, before getting into the plush rocking chair. Sofia babbled something in Swedish to her mother. Percy's Swedish had improved a lot in the last four years, but his daughter's babbles were a different language entirely.

"She says her baby wants to be rocked," Annabeth said. Percy handed Sofia baby.

"No!" Sofia yelled. "[You do it!]"

Percy looked at Annabeth, and then at Maria. And he realized he had two choices: rock the baby doll in his arms or risk another melt down.

"Thirty-two and already a put-upon grandfather," Percy said with a sigh as he started rocking baby.

[yezhi1k]

Flowers & Cherries chp.2 (Jinx x Reader)

Notes: alrighty, we have finished chapter two! Apologies in advance for any typos, I am very very very bad at proofreading. This is a SFW chapter! As per the last chapter, this one is also on AO3 (MisanthropicMoose).

Summary: Your partnership with Silco and your friendship with Jinx have been going great for months. That is, until Silco makes an absolutely outlandish proposition, and Jinx seem to know something you don't.

CW: description of needles/injections

That night, the Last Drop was a chaos of blaring music, strobing neon lights and sweaty bodies writhing against one another in motions loosely resembling dance. Sitting at the bar, you occasionally glanced out into the crowd, fruitlessly trying to focus on someone or something in particular, only for your vision to once again be overtaken by a cacophony of vibrant stimuli. It definitely didn’t help that every time you got to the bottom of your glass, a new one, filled to the brim, seemed to appear in front of you as if by magic. You weren’t in the habit of binge drinking under normal circumstances, but you haven’t had a night off in so long that you were practically itching for a hangover. Your head was spinning, and with every gulp the worries of the previous months melted away. You felt good. Alive.

As you brought the rim of your glass to your lips again your gaze shifted from the crowd back to Jinx. She sat on a bar stool next to yours, legs swinging rhythmically, sipping on something from a tall glass through a straw. You wondered if whatever she was consuming was even alcoholic. From the way she stayed perfectly sober after several portions of the mystery liquid, you assumed it wasn’t. Or maybe this girl could hold her liquor like no one you’ve ever seen.

“So, he comes up to me and goes, ‘Freeze! You’re under arrest!’. And I went, ‘Actually, you are under arrest!’. And he got all confused, had this stupid look on his face,” Jinx grimaced, presumably imitating the man in question, then took a big sip of her drink. You watched as she reached for the straw with her mouth, the way her lips wrapped around it, throat bobbing as she drank. You felt your mouth go dry, and suddenly a warmth was rising to your cheeks. It was just the alcohol doing its thing, you thought to yourself. Just the alcohol.

You cleared your throat.

“And what happened then?” you asked. Jinx’s eyes met yours, and for a second you read genuine confusion in them before she seemed to recollect the topic of the conversation again.

“Ah, well while he stood there looking all dumb, I chucked a bomb at him. And he exploded. And died. That’s sort of how all my stories end if I am being honest,” she stated matter-of-factly, but you could have sworn you saw her face drop a little.

Your brows furrowed. You knew a little about Jinx’s history, about Vander and the kids. You felt sad for them, for her. Someone told you the story once, and, at the time, it was sobering. It was one of those stories that taught you that power in the Undercity always changed hands violently, and that no one, especially not the innocents, was safe from the violence. Such a tragic waste too. From what you heard, Vander and Silco were very close once.

You shook your head a little, trying to rid it of somber thoughts. That was the past, the past that had nothing to do with you, the past you couldn’t change no matter how much you tried. There was no point in dwelling on it, not on one of your scarce nights off, not when you had a new friend sitting across from you.

“You okay?” Jinx seemed to notice your discomfort. She placed a hand on your shoulder and looked inquisitively into your face. You gave her the best smile you could manage, but you knew perfectly well that in your inebriated state it came out weird and crooked.

“Yeah. Just need to lay off the booze for a bit, I think,” you groaned, pushing the half-empty glass away lightly. Jinx’s hand was still on your shoulder, and you noticed her rubbing small circles with her thumb. It felt good. Comforting.

“Well,” Jinx’s hand travelled down your arm and grasped your slightly larger hand in hers, “I want to dance!”.

With that, she hopped off her bar stool, dragging you down with her. You were too drunk to object as she dragged you onto the dance floor. You just followed the sight of two blue braids swinging behind her, letting her drag you by the hand wherever she pleased. When you finally made it, you tried your best to steady yourself on your feet, dodging the sporadically moving people surrounding you. The next song started playing over the speaker. A man was rapping in a language you didn’t understand.

Suddenly, Jinx’s face came back into view. She was standing in front of you, having let go of your arm now. Everything else faded away, sounds became muffled. You could only make out the beat of the base, and as Jinx started moving, no, flowing around you, you mimicked her movements the best you could. Your body nearly missed collision with hers as you slithered around one another, fingertips sliding over one another ever so slightly. Blue ribbons of hair flowed behind her, circling her body, and you found yourself mesmerized by them. As she came closer, you could feel her heat, somehow different from the heat of every other body around you. In that moment, no one else existed. Only her, flashing lights, and the base of the song. It was entrancing, intoxicating, almost meditative.

The magic ended as you tripped over somebody’s foot and started on your trajectory face-first to the floor. Thankfully, your fall was interrupted as Jinx moved in closer to you, propping you up.

“You know, for someone so allegedly badass, you are quite clumsy!”

The song playing now was much louder, and Jinx was shouting over the music now, a wide grin plastered on her face as she looked at you mockingly. You regained your balance and let go of her.

“I just… I just can’t really dance,” you shouted back, trying not to let your embarrassment show.

Thank God for the mind-altering properties of alcohol. If it wasn’t for them, you would’ve been burning alive with shame right now. Instead, you started shuffling and flailing around wildly, trying to match the erratic rhythm of the music. Jinx watched you with a cocked head, openly giggling at your antics. When she had enough, she took your hand in hers again and dragged you back to your seats at the bar.

“I think that’s enough of that,” she laughed, “If people find out Smeech has such an epic dancer as his right hand, he might get too full of himself”.

The reminder of Smeech suddenly jolted you out of your drunken haze. Your eyes somehow regained the ability to focus, and you scanned your surroundings thoroughly, trying to see if anyone was shooting you weird glances. The Last Drop was a relatively safe place for people like you, people rarely did their dirty work in, or anywhere around, the place. But you still always had to be on the lookout. For goons from rivalling gangs, for spies, for assassins that could be tracking you down.

Your change of demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by Jinx.

“No, no, no,” she pouted, shaking you lightly by the shoulders, “don’t go all professional mode on me. I like you drunk and cute”.

You took one final look around the place. Satisfied with the fact that no one seemed to pay the two of you any mind, you shot Jinx an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

The blue-haired woman climbed back up on the bar stool, put and elbow on the table and leant her head on her hand.

“What do you have to worry about, anyway? You are essentially Smeech’s Sevika and I am, well, Silco’s Jinx. No one in their right minds would fuck with us.”

“If only everyone around was in their right mind.”

Over the next several months, you have settled into a bit of a rhythm. Your meetings with Silco were relocated from the empty chem baron meeting room to his own office. The transition was a little bit unsettling for you; after all, having to enter what was essentially the most dangerous room in the entire Undercity couldn’t be comfortable. The first time you showed up, a tall, muscular woman in a conspicuous cloak blocked your path and glared down at you in a way that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You knew of Sevika, of course. You knew what kind of lethal appendage was hidden under that burgundy cloak. Being in the presence of such raw physical power made you feel incredibly small, despite the fact that you knew your reputation was comparable to hers, albeit for different reasons. You introduced yourself to her and made the dangerous move of initiating a handshake. Thankfully, she used her human hand.

You and Silco have developed a close partnership, tweaking your deals whenever the need came up. Smeech’s protection services of Silco’s shimmer transportation routes became a permanent arrangement, proving to be more than profitable for the both of you. Having to do business with Silco kept you sharp; your collaboration did not mean that he was willing to be charitable, and you had to keep your foot firmly planted to ensure that your goons were not getting cheated out of their share. You harbored no illusions; Silco was a slippery, cunning man and most definitely not your friend.

The same could not be said about Jinx. Though you understood the conflict of interest that arose from your friendship, whenever she would catch up to you in the alleyway leading out of Silco’s quarters and beg you to hang out, you couldn’t say no. You weren’t sure whether this was entirely due to your affection for her as a person, or whether it was some strange unfulfilled older sibling complex left behind after the death of your family. Either way, you liked spending time with her. And you could say that you simply got cocky enough to allow yourself such pleasantries without worrying about the opinion of the criminal world. Being friendly with a member of a rivalling gang was the least scandalous affair in your circles.

The two of you would often meet at the Last Drop, though you would sometimes pop into Jinx’s workshop and watch her work on various projects. She never built weapons in front of you, you assumed under instruction from Silco. That made sense. And you didn’t feel like making things awkward by saying the quiet part out loud.

All went smoothly, until it didn’t.

One afternoon, as you were on your usual stroll to Smeech’s office, you heard a short, sharp whistle emanate from a nearby alleyway. You recognized the signal – Silco needed to speak to you. You approached the alleyway cautiously, and as you peered in you were able to make out Sevika’s looming figure. The two of you stared at each other for a moment.

“Is something the matter?” you asked. A sheer layer of cold sweat suddenly coated your palms. You had set times and dates for meeting Silco, the routine had been uninterrupted for months at that point. If he went out of his way to send Sevika for you, something out of the ordinary must have occurred. And in your experience, out of the ordinary was, more often than not, trouble.

Sevika made a beckoning gesture and retracted further into the alleyway, being quickly engulfed by the darkness. You followed. It was cool and humid in there, and the skin on your forearms erupted in goosebumps. Your eyes haven’t yet adjusted, and you stretched out your arm, trying to navigate, until you felt your fingers brush a mound of something, covered in fabric. You snatched your hand back; that was Sevika.

“Silco has requested you come see him tonight,” Sevika started in a hushed tone, “Come alone, don’t tell anyone where you are going. Not the goons, not Smeech, no one, understand?”

You squinted in the direction of her voice, trying to make out her figure.

“Why so urgently?” you asked, “Our next meeting was scheduled for Thursday.”

An annoyed huff reached you from the dark.

“Because he said so.”

You had nothing to retort. If Silco wanted to see someone, they had better come running. That was just the law of nature around here. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Sevika spoke again. Her tone seemed to have marginally softened, maybe she took pity on you. She could probably tell how nervous you were getting.

“Seriously, I don’t know. Silco’s planning something, but he’s not telling any of us yet. Except for Jinx, probably,” you noticed an edge of disdain in the latter part of her sentence. It was, famously, Sevika’s job to clean up Jinx’s messes, so the fact that she was always more in the know about Silco’s plans than even his right hand must have been infuriating.

You shifted on your feet, mind racing, trying to piece together as much as a theory. Silco was always planning something, no doubt about that. But why did he feel the need to talk to you, of all people? You were not his goon. You held your own set of interests. Was he seeking your council? Support? These were ambitious suggestions, to put it nicely. You were great at solo assassinations and business negotiation, but that’s where your list of exceptional strengths ended. You were not a raid strategist, you had nothing to offer him in that regard. You had no intel on any Piltover adjacent affairs. If he was seeking you specifically, it must have been something concerning Smeech. But what could that possibly be? To your knowledge, everything was going smoothly between your respective gangs. Were you wrong? Oh God, did Smeech fuck something up?

While you stood there, trying to collect your thoughts, you felt Sevika’s cloak brush your side. She didn’t say another word, just slithered past you and out into the acid-hue light of the Undercity. You were now alone in the dark, listening to water droplets fall monotonously somewhere deep in the alley.

Okay.

Okay.

There was no point in panicking just yet. You had no information to work with. Silco always had a flare for the theatrical, perhaps he just felt like disturbing your peace to keep you on your toes. Remind you of your place, and such. Maybe he has a new urgent deal to negotiate.

Having decided on that hypothesis, you slowly emerged from the alley and continued on your way. You found yourself with your hands shoved deep into your trouser pockets, kicking an empty can down the street as you walked. What was it? What could it be?

Nightfall came quickly, and you were now standing in front of Silco’s office door, trying to steady your breaths. Be cool, be cool. It’s just another meeting. It’s just Silco.

‘Just Silco’? Have you lost your fucking mind? The man will let his shimmer-pumped mutations rip you apart for looking at him weird. He will gut you, armpit to asshole, and then go to dinner with Jinx like nothing fucking happened.

You should have left a final note, you thought to yourself as the door to Silco’s office opened and you stepped in.

You found Silco sitting in his high-back plush chair, as usual. But to your horror, he wasn’t leisurely exhaling rings of smoke, as he usually did. Both of his elbows were planted on the table, he was leaning forward slightly. His jaw was tense. He was tense.

You shot Sevika, who was holding the door open for you, a pleading look. You didn’t know what you were pleading for, precisely. You knew she wouldn’t protect you. If anything, if you were to die in this room tonight, she would be the one to finish you off. She didn’t react to your silent cry for help, but you could have sworn you saw her eyebrow twitch. Did she still not know why you were here?

You were now standing in front of the Eye of Zaun. The flame in his obsidian eye burned you alive, you suddenly felt small. Vulnerable. Naked, even. You were trapped, had nowhere to run or hide, no one knew where you were. No one would come to help.

“Take a seat,” the man gestured to a chair opposite him. You approached it, legs suddenly the consistence of gelatine, and lowered yourself onto it in the most collected way you could manage.

A heavy silence filled the room, interrupted only by the ticking of a clock somewhere out of sight. You could barely hear it over the sound of blood rushing to your temples. You felt a migraine start coming on. You suddenly wanted to cry, not from sadness or even fear for your life, but out of frustration. You have done so many jobs, put your ass on the line so often, ran as fast as you could on the shitty fucking hamster wheel of assassinations, robberies, meetings, missions, just to stay afloat. To stay alive. And now, now that you finally got good at it, now that you finally pulled Smeech’s whole gang and yourself out the vat of shit you’ve been stewing in for years by your own fucking hair, this smug, scrawny, deformed fucker was going to take it all from you? And you couldn’t even put up a fight? What a waste, what a massive, insufferable waste! Of time, of blood, of life! If you knew it would end like this, you would’ve just laid down in that rubble with the rest of your family and froze to death. Now you wouldn’t even get to visit their graves for the last time.

“Do you like working for Smeech?”

Silco’s words sliced through the tantrum in your mind like a knife. Your brain fell deathly quiet. All that remained was a throbbing vein on your forehead, and dull pain spreading to the back of your skull. What did he say?

“What?”

“I said, do you like working for Smeech?”

The headache was now roaring like a forest fire. Feeling like you’ve got nothing to lose, you brought your fingers to both temples and massaged them roughly, closing your eyes.

“He is my boss. Working for him is what I do. Whether I like it or not doesn’t matter,” you muttered through gritted teeth. Your eyes were still closed, and you heard Silco shift in his chair. That’s it. He was coming to slit your throat.

You listened to him get up and walk behind you. You stayed seated. There was no point fighting. A wave of exhaustion, the like of which you have never felt before, crashed over you. Your temples rang.

A feeling of cold fingers on both of your temples jolted you out of your trance, like a bucket of ice water being tipped all over you. You tried to rip out of your seat, but Silco’s elbows came down on your shoulders sharply, keeping you in place. He rubbed small, gentle circles over your temples, and a sob choked in your throat. What the fuck was he doing? Couldn’t he just kill you normally and be done with it?

“Do you want something for the pain?” his voice cascaded down on you in muffled waves. You looked up at him. You knew there were tears glistening in your eyes, and under any other circumstances you would’ve been embarrassed, but you were way too tired for that. Without thinking, you nodded.

Silco glanced over at Sevika and cocked his head towards a cupboard propped up against the far-left wall. She opened it, and after a few moments of rummaging extracted a vile of neon purple, sparking liquid, and a syringe. Shimmer. You instinctively tried to rip out of Silco’s grasp again. You hated the thought of taking shimmer yourself, as hypocritical as it seemed when considering yours and Silco’s arrangements. You’ve seen what bad strands did to people. One particularly bad month several years ago, after a bad batch hit the market, you had to put down several of your goons as they descended into madness. Silco’s grip stayed firm.

“Don’t worry,” he assured, applying some more pressure to your temples, “It’s a pain killer. Completely safe. I take it all the time for my eye.”

The pain was so bad now you could barely move your jaw. All you could do was watch through heavy eyelids as Sevika inverted the vile several times, inserted the needle of the syringe into it and pulled back the plunger. She held the syringe needle up and tapped it several times, bringing any bubbles to the top. She then pushed the plunger, letting a small amount of liquid shoot out, taking the remaining bubbles with it. By all accounts, you thought, they were trying to inject you safely.

As Silco let go of your head and moved in front of you, he held out his hand in Sevika’s general direction. You saw her eyes widen in confusion a bit before dropping the syringe into his palm. He was going to inject you himself, it seemed. How sweet. He lied to you. It’ll probably make you go crazy, make your brain go all mushy bananas.

“I’m doing this intravenously,” Silco muttered, squatting down next to you and rolling up your sleeve, “Because Singed found that this stuff gets digested too quickly to make it to your brain. It’s different for the eye. Its right there, you just inject it, and it works.”

You winced a little as he pushed the needle into your vein. The purple liquid seeped into you as he pushed the plunger carefully.

“Why are you doing this?” every syllable took all your concentration and still came out wonky, “If you are going to kill me, just do it.”

His blue eye found yours, eyebrow lifted in barely registrable surprise.

“Who said anything about killing you? I want you to stop being in pain so we can talk.”

The shimmer was coursing through your veins now in glowing purple streaks under the skin. With every passing second, the pain ceased. Your vision cleared, and as you blinked away the last of your tears you saw Silco discard the syringe in a little bin next his desk and sit back down in his chair. You were now being re-filled with energy, and the embarrassment you were too exhausted to care about before now raged through you. You cried in front of him. In front of Silco. You found yourself wishing he had killed you.

Silco watched as life poured back into you.

“Do you have these episodes often?”

“Only when I’m really stressed.”

“Do you get this stressed often?”

“No, this is the first in a while.”

“And why were you so stressed just now?”

You breathed out through your nose slowly.

“Because I thought you were going to kill me. And I didn’t know what for.”

Silco studied you for a moment, then nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied with your honesty. He tapped the desk with his fingers.

“I called you here today,” he started, looking at you intently, “Because I want you to join my team.”

You blinked, struggling to understand what was happening. The pain was almost entirely gone now, but you were afraid your cognitive abilities were still lagging behind.

“But,” you stated carefully, “I work for Smeech.”

“I know. I want you to leave him, and start working for me,” he gestured towards himself.

Your eyes narrowed.

“With all due respect, I am not a rat. Smeech is not the best boss, I’ll admit, everyone knows that. I have a hard time working for him, he is lazy and incompetent. But he took me in. He put a roof over my head, clothes on my back, food in my stomach. Back, when I had nothing to show for myself. I worked hard to help make our gang what it is today, and I will not abandon it. I believe that the only way to build something worthwhile is through patience and integrity. Smeech is my cross to bear,” you realized that that must have been the longest you have ever talked at Silco. He didn’t interrupt, only listened closely, taking in what you were saying diligently. When you were done, he pulled out a cigar from the top drawer of his desk and lit it. A familiar scent of smoke filled the room.

“I don’t doubt your loyalty,” he sent a ring of smoke in your general direction, “Loyalty is the most important thing, I value it over anything else. But don’t you think it would be nice if Smeech and his goons repaid you with the same loyalty you show them? Wouldn’t it be nice for them to stick their neck out for you a little bit? Don’t you want better working conditions, to be treated with the respect you deserve? Sure, in my gang you will not be my right hand, Sevika is doing a sufficient job, but some little birds have told me that you are not after power or influence anyway. You will continue doing what you have been doing with Smeech, except without the extra responsibility of running the entire ship, and for better pay,” he paused and leant in closer to you, “As much as it hurts, sometimes we outgrow those we once shared a path with.”

The room fell silent again. Your thoughts swarmed. Silco’s proposition was tempting, of course it was. You have longed for the kind of lifestyle he described. But did you want it bad enough to throw away everything you’ve built, your reputation? To be known as the traitor that jumped ship when a better deal came along? Would Silco himself even be able to trust you after that?

“No,” you stood up from the chair and dusted off your pant leg, “I’m sorry, Silco. All of that is tempting, and I am flattered you would even make such a proposal in the first place, but I can’t do it. I may not have much as of right now, but I have pride. You must understand me.”

His mismatched eyes followed you as you turned to the door.

“The offer will stand up until the gathering tomorrow,” he called after you, “You remember that all of your goons have to be there, along with Smeech?”

He was talking about the big monthly gathering your gang had with Silco. A performance review of sorts. You nodded and turned your head to him.

“I remember. Everyone will be there,” you were about to get going, but then a tinge of guilt ran through you. You turned to face him fully.

“And thank you. For helping me today,” you gestured at your head, “I’ll pay you back for the shimmer. And I’m sorry.”

Silco waved at you dismissively. He didn’t say another word, and if you have known him any less you would’ve thought he looked… disappointed? But that, of course, couldn’t be the case. Sevika opened the door for you, and you slipped out into the night. Silco then dismissed Sevika. The office fell gravely silent.

Silco tilted his head up and looked up at the beam running along the roof above his desk. Off to the side, in the dark, a small, blue-haired figure sat silently.

“You heard her,” Silco called out towards the ceiling, “She made her choice. I did everything I could.”

The figure said nothing. It sat, hugging its knees, lightly rocking. Then, suddenly, it dropped down onto the table and dashed out the door at a superhuman speed. Silco only registered two long flowing braids flying past him before the figure disappeared into the night. He sighed and poured himself a drink.

You stomped through the crowded streets of Zaun, unceremoniously pushing anyone that crossed your pathway out of the way. All the fear, all the confusion, all the pain, all of it morphed into a deep, scorching anger that melted your stomach from the inside, burned up the walls of your throat. How dare he? How fucking dare he? Who did he take you for? A fucking rat, a snake, a worm? Why would he even make such a proposition to you? You have always been nothing but loyal to Smeech, that fact was the course of your pride. No matter how difficult, no matter how taxing, you made it work. And now he wanted to prance in, chuck you a bag of money, and expect you to follow him like a dumb sheep? Like a–

You were suddenly swept off your feet by some invisible force and thrown into the nearest alleyway. Before your eyes could adjust to the dark, your back was pressed against the cold brick wall, and another small body was pressing against you. You were about to shout, but a small hand with long nails clamped over your mouth.

“Shh, it’s me! Please, please just listen. Don’t say anything, just listen!”

You recognized the hushed, raspy voice. It was Jinx.

“Don’t go to the meeting tomorrow. Please just trust me, don’t go! Please,” she whispered inches away from your year, her breath ticked the crook of your neck. You pulled her hand off of your mouth.

“Jinx, what the fuck are you doing? Why shouldn’t I go? All my goons will be there.”

You finally made out her face. The dim light of the streetlight just outside of the alleyway reflected in the small beads of tears in her blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you, I really, really can’t. But you have to trust me! Tell them you are sick, tell them you got another headache, anything! Just don’t go,” she begged, pushing even closer into you. How did she know about your migraines?

You pushed her off you. Your voice was cold and stern now.

“Jinx, I am really fucking tired of the mystery games you and your daddy are playing. You either tell me what is going on, and why I shouldn’t go to my job, or I am going home. To sleep before an important meeting tomorrow.”

Halfway through your rant you realized you were being overly harsh. Jinx’s bottom lip was trembling and she latched onto you again. But you couldn’t stop yourself.

“I’m sorry… I can’t. Please!”

She was crying now, her voice breaking off into squeaks. You’ve had enough of this nonsense. You ripped her hands away from yourself again, her nails leaving red trails on your arms. Your head throbbed dangerously again.

“Jinx, please, I have to go home. We can talk about this tomorrow. I am sorry, but I am fucking exhausted from all the mind games. Goodnight.”

And with that, you stormed out of the alleyway, leaving Jinx behind. You knew it wasn’t right, you knew she was upset, and you should comfort her, but in that moment all you wanted was to sleep, for this nightmarish day to be over.

Jinx watched you leave, nervously picking at the nail of her thumb. The further away you got, the more hopeless the situation seemed. A tear fell onto her cheek.

And then, spontaneously, an idea was born. The girl quickly wiped her tears away, shot you one final glance, and started sprinting back home. She had a plan.

[obitez]

Bean's Birthday! 🐶🎂

Due to today being my wiener dog's birthday, here's another Bean fic!

Full fic on AO3

Tommy didn’t know when exactly Bean’s birthday was. He had taken the dog in when Bean was two years old, and was just told ‘oh, his birthday is in January.’ And since Tommy picked the little wiener dog up on January 9th well… 

It was pretty self-explanatory. 

Tommy celebrated Bean's birthday on January 9th. 

Bean was going to be turning five this year. 

🎂 🎂 🎂 🎂 🎂

It was no surprise to anyone that Tommy liked to spoil Bean. And really, it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. 

Other than his boyfriend, who Tommy also spoiled, he was a man in his forties with a very well paying job and no children. Despite California’s very high cost of living, sometimes he had more money than he knew what to responsibly do with. 

So he spoiled his dog. 

The only problem with spoiling Bean, was that Bean was very picky… and very hard to spoil. 

Most dog toys were too big for him to pick up in his mouth, and the ones that were small enough for him to pick up, half the time Bean paid no attention to them. Tommy didn’t want to know how much money he had spent on toys that Bean ignored because they were small but had no squeaker. He hoped the other dogs at the animal shelter liked them. 

Then there were the dog treats. If they weren’t either meat flavored, Bean would also ignore them. Even when Tommy tried stuffing the mini Kong full of peanut butter, Bean sniffed it only to walk across the room. Last year Tommy had bought those little specialty doggy cupcakes for Bean’s birthday, only for Bean to ignore those as well. 

Tommy supposed if he lived in a cold climate, especially with this time of the year, he could buy a new sweater or jacket for Bean, but with the lows being in the upper forties still, Tommy didn’t think they would be very useful. 

Truthfully though, the only person Tommy knew who could pick out good presents for the dog was Tommy’s mom. Bean loved  all of the presents Tommy’s mom sent him. Maybe it was his mom’s scent on them or something, he didn’t know, because when Tommy bought nearly identical toys at Target for Bean, Bean didn’t want anything to do with them. 

But the presents she had mailed over for Christmas Tommy had already given to Bean, and Tommy didn’t want to make it a big thing. Because the worst part about Bean's birthday was that it was right after Christmas. So after trying to think of Christmas gifts for his dog for months, he needed to turn right back around and come up with a birthday gift. 

Which again left Tommy in a conundrum. What should he do for Bean’s birthday this year? 

🎂 🎂 🎂 🎂 🎂

Buck hummed as he walked up behind Tommy as he stood at his kitchen counter. “What’s that look on your face for?” he asked. 

Tommy turned his head to look at Buck. “What look?” he asked. 

“You look conflicted about something,” Buck said. “Like you need to make a decision and don’t know what to do.” 

Tommy chewed his lip as he thought of a way to word what he was going to say. “Bean’s birthday is next week,” Tommy said. “I haven’t figured out what to get him.” 

Buck’s eyes widened as he took in what Tommy had just said. “His birthday is next week?” Buck asked. He walked around Tommy’s kitchen to look over at the dog sleeping on his dog bed in the living room. “Your birthday is next week?” Buck asked. 

Buck merely let out another snore as he kept his donut position sleeping in the dog bed, only reacting to people who were in the same room as him. 

“Yeah,” Tommy said, setting a dirty glass into the kitchen sink, telling himself he would clean it later. “His birthday is next week, and I don’t know what to get for him.” 

Buck hummed as he thought. “Did he like those treats I made him last month?” Buck asked as he referred to the candy cane shaped dog biscuits he made on Christmas Eve. Tommy was silent long enough for Buck to turn back to look at him. “Did he?” 

“N- Not really,” Tommy said. 

Buck’s mouth hung open. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked. 

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Tommy said. “You worked so hard at making them.”

Buck looked back at Bean and hummed. “What kind of treats does Bean like again?” he asked. 

“Anything with meat,” Tommy said. “Actually meat though, not meat flavored stuff.”

A couple days later, Tommy ended up stopping by a butcher shop to buy a large beef bone, one that he knew would take hours for Bean to finish. He had them cut it up though, he didn’t want raw meat sitting around his house for hours and for Bean to hide to bone in his bed. Hell, that was probably why he didn’t do this all too often for Bean. It made… kind of a big mess. 

Tommy also went by the pet store, again, because even though Bean didn’t like the toys Tommy got for him, that didn’t mean Tommy wasn’t going to get the dog a toy. Because what messed up dog owners didn’t get their dogs a toy for their birthday? Not the good ones. 

Tommy looked over the racks of dog toys of various sizes, bypassing the ones that would obviously be too large for the dog’s little mouth and paws, and focusing in on the ones that had little squeakers. He found a three pack of little plush ducks. They looked cute, and they were certainly better than the assortment of leftover Christmas dog toys. 

🎂 🎂 🎂 🎂 🎂

Tommy and Buck ended up meeting again the day before Bean’s birthday. Buck had set a small box on the counter in front of Tommy when he walked into his house. 

“What’s that?” Tommy asked. 

“For Bean, his birthday,” Buck said. Tommy lifted an eyebrow as he took the box and opened it up. Inside looked to hold some sort of dog friendly cake, with pieces of dried bacon on top. “It has real meat,” Buck said. “So he should like it, right?” 

“Yeah,” Tommy said. Then he passed it back into Buck’s hands. “You should give it to him.”

“What? But his birthday isn’t until tomorrow though,” Buck protested. 

“And you’ll be working tomorrow,” Tommy said as he turned Buck’s shoulder to the direction where Bean was sleeping in the living room. The dog slept a lot. 

“And don’t worry,” Tommy said. “I have other gifts to give him tomorrow, he can have this one early.” 

“Okay,” Buck said as he walked over to the dog and squatted down next to him. Bean lifted his head up to look at him and Tommy could see the dog began to wag his tail. 

Buck set the box with the cake on the floor in front of the dog. “Okay, Bean. Here we got an early birthday cake for you…”

As Buck spoke to the dog, Bean stood up and walked a couple steps closer to give the cake a sniff. When Buck sat back Bean very carefully picked the pieces of dried bacon off.

“You know… I’ve never seen a dog be so picky,” Buck said around a laugh. 

“Me either,” Tommy said from where he watched the two.

[kindlythevoid]

So anyway I wrote a thousand words of the next chapter in Rewind last night.

[hyaciiintho]

👍?

Send me a 👍 and I’ll draw our muses as one of those “Draw your OTP like this” pictures | ✿

🌸｡*ﾟ+. I decided on THIS prompt-- it was just very fitting :D He loves his ghost son SO MUCH !!

[astranauticus]

A thrilling and horrific tale of 5 strangers caught up in a mysterious supernatural conspiracy, will they uncover the secrets of the peculiar artefact bestowed upon them or will they fall to what lurks in the shadows? Find out in Curse of the Amulet, coming to a theatre (heh) near you this Halloween season!

[myimaginationplain]

imagine: professor utonium mentoring dexter vs professor membrane mentoring mandark

[bri-does-art]

i know this probably won’t do much, let alone anything at all, but i’m sorry for the stress this site has caused you and so many other creators here. i’m not asking for you to stick around on here, but i hope you know just how meaningful you and your art have been on here. you’re amazing. /pos

Hey, this ask has done a lot more than you would think. Thank you, you are very sweet. <3

I've kind of made up my mind about what I'm gonna do for a while now, but I've simply been... too busy and overwhelmed to take the time to let you guys know. I'm not going to delete my tumblr, there's just. Too much here that I don't want to lose.

So far the game plan is: keep my tumblr. But do not upload anymore art or writing on it - not because it's gonna get scraped, because it was already getting scraped anyway, AI company deal or not. It's pretty much unavoidable at this point, unfortunately. I simply do not trust Tumblr with my data, if they're going to sell EVERYTHING, including private messages and such, so I'm not going to give it anything worthwhile to profit off of. Instead, I'm going to start uploading my art exclusively on Ao3, for now. I'll answer any asks I receive here on there too, as well. I'll figure some kind of system out. 🤔

The cool thing about uploading to Ao3 is that anyone subscribed to my profile or to the containment series I will make will get a notification anytime I upload something new. Having my art and writing in one place is likely going to be more convenient for you guys too, since you won't have to move across platforms to get the full experience. 😄It'll be different... but a platform getting too greedy for its own good won't stop me from finding ways to share my stories with y'all. I'll just find another solution.

(I've also been entertaining the idea of joining or making my own Discord server but. That one is a little more delicate. The idea of joining a server that has hundreds of members like a lot of this fandom's servers have, just. Makes me break into hives, lmao. (I am in the Ghost in the Machine fic server. I muted it an hour into joining, it was way too intense for me. |'D) That is way too many people, I simply cannot handle it. I'd be way more comfortable in a smaller group with a less rapid-fire rate of posting and conversation. I am also. Very picky about which servers I join, which makes asking for recommendations doubly awkward when I shoot them all down, haha... And making my own... Err, I can hardly keep up with a server I helped create for another fandom and mod for, I don't think I could handle two of them - I would need other people to handle the moderation for me, and I wouldn't trust just anyone to be a mod. I'd need to know them well enough to know I could trust them, and I... do not really know anyone in this fandom well enough to do that, sadly. I take server moderation very seriously, as someone who has had experience modding for forums back before social media was a thing. I do not know if that would make for a fun experience for everyone, and anyone who hasn't known that kind of supervised experience. It is comforting to me. It may be intimidating for others. So that's still a very hand-wavy, 'eehhhh' kind of thing still.)

All of this to say, that this isn't the last you'll see from me, far from it. I'll restrict my creative output to Ao3 for the foreseeable future, and I'll let you guys on here know when I make a new upload, so those of you who do not have an Ao3 account know when something new has happened.

So there you have it. 😊

[danielnelsen]

there’s so much i wanna do this week/month/etc but i’m just too sick, i have no energy, i can’t sleep, i’m constantly nauseous and headachey and on the verge of a migraine, i’m stressed and irritable and impatient and panicky…….how tf did i survive nearly 5 years of high school untreated if i can’t even manage this when i don’t have any major obligations rn