#like that kind of thing needs to be talked about I’m grateful that she not just doesn’t shy away from it but puts it in your face like that

[ocdhuacheng]

I have… lots of thoughts on milsiril and kabru and the commentary on mixed-race family/adoption, in particular white parents with children of color. I think it’s really cool kui incorporated this into the story because lots of (particularly white) people just think adoption is this pure altruistic thing and don’t think about the negative affects it has on kids (again, kids of color) to not have people of their own culture to grow up with.

[happy74827]

Butterflies

[Harvey Specter x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You know you’re screwed when you feel them fluttering in your chest {GIF Creds: jeysuso}.

WC: 717

Category: Fluff

For all my Harvey lovers out there, I made a cute fluffy quickie (I’m seeing a lot of my fics being swarmed with love so why not add to it 🤗)

『••✎••』

It happened over a bottle of bourbon. A spilled bottle, actually. But a bottle of bourbon nonetheless, and that is important to note.

You didn’t mean to spill the alcohol all over your date, but he had made some comment about how you shouldn't be wearing a dress with a plunging neckline, so you just… happened to tip the entire thing over him.

The man was furious, of course, but he left pretty quickly after that. And you were left with a mess on the floor and a waiter hovering at the side, asking if you wanted another bottle.

You told him no. You just wanted to go home.

You didn't want a new date; you didn't want to sit at this stupid table with the stupid white tablecloth, the stupid, gaudy candlesticks, or the stupid waiter with the stupid, expectant look on his face.

"Miss?"

"No, thank you," you say, a little more firmly, gathering up your things and leaving as much cash as you can on the table. If you were smart, you'd have brought an umbrella, but you're not smart, so you'll just get drenched like an idiot.

But, fortunately for you, the person calling your name knew you well enough to know you weren’t that smart.

Before a drop of water could even hit your hair, a tall, dark figure steps out in front of you and blocks the downpour. Some might consider this a gentlemanly action, but you knew the man, and he was hardly ever gentle.

"You're welcome," Harvey says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You're a pain," you reply, but you're grateful for the cover.

"And you're dateless. So, I see two options: we can have dinner and a drink back at my place, or we can do dinner and a drink back at mine."

You can't help but laugh. "Did you use this on Scottie? I see why she left. That line was bad."

"You're not going to ask how I knew you were here?"

"Nope. You probably had Louis stalk me."

"Don't talk about the puppy like that."

"So you did have him stalk me!"

"I prefer the term 'make sure you were alright,'" Harvey replies, and he holds out his arm to you. "Guy was a douche. Let me buy you dessert to make up for it. And I don’t mean in the biblical sense, although that can be arranged, too, if you'd like."

"Harvey, you’re such—"

You turned to him, ready to tell him exactly what you thought of him, but the words died when you met his eyes. Those same eyes that allured you into taking his offer at Pearson Hardman. The same eyes that made you agree to work with him on the case despite your better judgment.

In a flash, you saw the whole thing: your first meeting, the cases, the laughs, the looks, the touches. And now, the moment.

When you were younger, the term butterflies had never really made sense to you. The idea of feeling them in your stomach seemed ridiculous, and yet, there you were, feeling them for the very first time.

They were all fluttering around inside of you, and all you could think was, "Oh, no."

And as if the universe had heard you, it suddenly stopped raining, and you both stood there in the middle of the street, the moon casting a warm light on your faces.

Harvey noticed it, too, and his expression softened. His usual cockiness was replaced with a gentle concern. "You okay?"

You nodded, biting your lip. "Yeah."

Harvey reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his hand lingering a moment longer than it needed to. He gave you that signature grin and asked, "You look like a velvet cake kind of girl. Am I right?"

He was right.

Goddamnit, he was right.

And as he swaddled you in his coat to keep you warm as you both went back inside, the anger and confusion you felt earlier melted into a quiet, warm glow.

Date night had not gone according to plan, but when his lips met yours and your hands slid through his soft, brown hair, you realized that, perhaps, sometimes, it was good to deviate from the plan.

The butterflies seemed to agree.

[theonottsbxtch]

MILLION DOLLAR WOMAN | OP81

an: i head to france tomorrow guys, today is my final day of freedom rip. this was so fun to write because imagine just finding out your partner is a millionaire fr, based off of this request

wc: 2.5k

Oscar could see her sitting at the dining table through the floor-to-ceiling windows as he parked his car. The quiet of their home in Monaco always took him by surprise—no revving engines, no buzz of the pit crew. Just her typing away on her laptop with her usual cup of tea. She looked up as he walked in, gave him a quick smile, and then returned to her screen. Always so relaxed, even as he walked in carrying the tension of a bad training session.

"Good day?" she asked, barely looking up. He nodded and mumbled something about a corner he'd taken too fast. She listened but didn’t pry. She never did. That's how she was. She was more interested in weekend hikes than race standings, in cooking simple meals than joining him at fancy team dinners. It was a refreshing kind of simplicity, though sometimes a little mystifying. She didn’t ask about the sport or his schedule, never got jealous over the fans, and didn’t seem to care about the lifestyle that came with dating an F1 driver.

In a way, it was...perfect. He didn’t have to worry about her growing tired of his schedule, or about her expectations getting out of hand. She worked her 9-to-5, met him after, and never asked for more. The fact that she paid for her own things when they went out had caught him off-guard at first, but she’d laughed and shrugged it off when he offered to take care of the bill. "I’m used to it," she’d said. And that had been that. No strings, no expectations.

Tonight, she must’ve been finishing something for work, because she was typing away with focus. He walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water, glancing over his shoulder at her every now and then, content. The glow of her screen was the only light in the room; the apartment was quiet but comfortable, like this was all they’d ever need.

“How’s work?” He asked as he shut the fridge.

She briefly looked up, “Long” she sighed but smiled at him.

As he walked past her he placed a brief kiss on her forehead and slid onto the sofa, stretching out and letting the quietness of home sink into his bones. She was already back to her typing, nodding to herself as she worked through whatever was in front of her. It was one of those things he found himself both fascinated by and grateful for—she didn’t need him to fill the silence. She seemed just fine with her job, her laptop, her little rituals that didn’t have anything to do with him.

Oscar watched her for a moment before pulling out his phone, scrolling through emails and messages. A lot of them were about his upcoming sponsorship deal, a whirlwind of numbers and logistics. He thought about calling his manager to check the final figures but decided against it. Just thinking about it wore him out.

He read email after email as he heard the scrape of a chair, he looked up to see her stand up and take a call in their terrace, something he adored about this house.

Then his phone rang, Mark, he picked up automatically. “Yeah, hey,” he said, voice still soft from the calmness of the evening. As he talked through the details with him, he realised he needed to jot something down. With no pen or paper in reach, he glanced over to the dining table where she always kept a notepad beside her tea.

Oscar rose, walking over to her seat, quietly picking up her pen. But as he did, his eyes fell onto the screen of her laptop, where her banking app was open.

It was one glance, just a flicker of his eyes, but enough for him to catch sight of the balance there. He paused mid-sentence, his own words catching in his throat.

That number didn’t look right.

Surely it was missing a decimal.

Wrapping up the conversation with Mark, he wrote down what he needed, and looked at the screen once more. In that time, she’d walked back into the room, her feet padding on the cool granite of their dining room floor.

Oscar couldn’t take his eyes off the screen.

"Hey," he said, voice a little strained, still trying to process what he was seeing. "Uh…how much money do you make?"

She blinked, the corner of her mouth lifting in that effortless way of hers. "Enough," she said with a little laugh. "Why?"

Oscar blinked, struggling to wrap his head around it. This was his girlfriend—quiet, low-key, not a trace of the usual high-gloss life he’d always associated with wealth. He’d seen people obsess over money, hover around him just because of it, make a whole lifestyle out of it. But her? She was the woman who insisted on bringing packed lunches to work, who chose thrift shops over boutiques, who still wore her decade-old watch without a second thought. She was content. Comfortable. But this…

"That’s…a lot of ‘enough,’" he said, pointing at the screen, unable to mask the amazement in his voice.

She just shrugged and closed her laptop, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "I guess I don’t really talk about it, huh? Not exactly first-date conversation."

He leaned back against the table, watching her with a strange mix of awe and curiosity. "Not even, like, fourth-date conversation."

"To be fair, I didn’t ask what you make, either," she pointed out, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Money’s not really…our thing."

He felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. She was right, and yet, here he was, dumbfounded. She’d been living in his world all this time, never asking him for anything, never trying to claim any part of the lavish life he could provide. Now, he realised, maybe she didn’t need it at all.

"So…why not mention it?" he asked, still trying to understand. "I mean, I just assumed…" He trailed off, feeling a little sheepish.

"I know," she said, her smile turning gentle. "I guess I liked that you assumed. It made things easier. It let me be just…me. No expectations, no need to fit into any box."

Oscar nodded slowly, taking that in. It made sense, but it still felt surreal. Here was someone who, from the very beginning, hadn’t wanted anything from him other than his time, his company. She wasn’t here for his lifestyle or his status, things he’d been conditioned to believe were a part of every relationship he’d ever have.

He glanced at her laptop again, unable to stop himself from wondering. “So, wait—what exactly do you do? Something like…senior management?” he asked, half-joking, his tone teasing.

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head as the absurdity of it all settled in. He was still trying to wrap his head around the whole idea—his girlfriend, his laid-back, thrift-shop-loving girlfriend, was apparently not only financially secure but really well off.

She raised her eyebrows, a sly smile creeping across her face. “Something like that,” she replied, taking a sip of her tea.

He squinted at her, suspicious. “Oh, come on, don’t leave me hanging. How high up are you, really?”

She glanced away, as if considering her words, and then said it, almost like a casual aside. “I’m the CEO.”

He blinked, the statement hanging in the air like a punchline he hadn’t quite caught. “Wait…CEO? As in, like, the CEO?”

She laughed, shrugging it off like it was nothing. “Just of a mid-sized company, Oscar. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Darling,” he said slowly, realising dawning. “What company?”

She paused, her eyes darting away, and he could see the hint of mischief there. “Ever heard of Catalyst?”

“Catalyst…wait, as in Catalyst Dynamics?” he asked, his voice growing louder with shock. “The same Catalyst Dynamics that sponsors my team?”

She pressed her lips together, trying—and failing—not to smile. “Do they?”

“Oh, you are kidding me!” he exclaimed, grinning in disbelief. “You’ve been secretly spoiling me this whole time!”

She shook her head, looking away as though he’d accused her of something scandalous. “Oscar, it’s a sponsorship, not a…spoiling thing. Besides, that’s business. I keep it separate from…this.” She gestured between the two of them, clearly trying to play it cool.

But Oscar wasn’t buying it, not for a second. “Oh, no you don’t.” Before she could say another word, he leaned down, scooping her up and carrying her toward the sofa.

“Oscar!” she yelped, laughing, half-protesting, but she didn’t resist.

He set her down on the cushions, pinning her playfully as he hovered above her, grinning with that spark of mischief that usually only showed up on race day. “You’ve been keeping this a secret, haven’t you? The big boss lady, looking out for me, pretending you’re just this regular 9-to-5 woman…”

“Oscar, I’m not spoiling—”

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” He grinned wider, fingers finding her sides as he started tickling her, his hands relentless. She burst into laughter, twisting and squirming, but he didn’t let up.

“Okay, okay!” she managed between laughs, her breath coming in gasps as he kept up his assault. “I admit it, I admit it!”

“Admit what?” he asked, pausing, a playful gleam in his eyes as he waited for her to say it.

“Fine!” She was breathless, cheeks flushed from laughter. “Maybe I had a tiny bit of a hand in sponsoring your team, maybe. But it wasn’t to spoil you! It was just…good business.”

He chuckled, finally letting up, settling beside her on the sofa. “Good business, huh?”

She took a deep breath, still smiling as she nudged him. “I mean it. I didn’t want you to feel any pressure…or obligation. This—us—is different.”

Oscar looked at her, his heart feeling fuller than he’d expected. “Different is right.” He slipped an arm around her, pulling her close. “Guess I’m just lucky to be dating a CEO with a secret soft spot.”

She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder, content. “And I guess I’m lucky to be with someone who never needed me to be anything but…me.”

As they settled into a comfortable silence, Oscar’s mind was still spinning, pieces clicking into place one by one. He glanced around their beautiful apartment—the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sleek, minimalist design. The place had always felt like an oasis, calm and understated, like Anna herself. But something new was nagging at him now.

“Wait…” He looked down at her, narrowing his eyes. “That’s why you won’t let me pay rent, isn’t it? You said this place was your dad’s, but it’s not, is it?”

She bit her lip, trying not to smile, but the faintest hint of a smirk gave her away. “Well…okay, maybe it wasn’t technically my dad’s. He…may not have anything to do with it.”

“Sweetheart!” he said, laughing as he sat up, staring at her in mock betrayal. “So you’ve just been letting me think I’m staying at this family-owned place when all this time you’re the one paying for it?”

She shrugged, looking at him with playful innocence. “It’s already been paid for. Besides,” she added, her smile widening, “I like the idea of you feeling at home here without any pressure.”

“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m onto you now. You may be this relaxed, low-key CEO, but you’ve secretly been spoiling me this entire time. Admit it!”

She laughed, a bright, carefree sound. “Fine, I admit it—I may have bought this place. Technically. But it’s still your home, too.”

Oscar pulled her close again, marvelling at how effortlessly she balanced everything—her high-powered job, their quiet, easygoing life together, her uncanny ability to make him feel like the luckiest man in the world. “You know what?” he murmured, looking into her eyes. “I don’t care if you own half of Monaco. You’re still my love.”

She grinned, leaning her forehead against his. “Good,” she whispered. “Because you’re stuck with me.”

They stayed like that for a moment, her nestled into him, the quiet warmth of the room settling around them. But Oscar couldn’t resist one more question, the thought gnawing at him.

He tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, a smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, one last thing, Miss CEO.” He paused, eyes twinkling. “Is your net worth bigger than mine?”

She tried to stifle a laugh, her eyes darting away as if avoiding the answer itself. “Oscar…”

He gasped, leaning back in exaggerated shock. “Oh my god, it is, isn’t it? You’ve got me beat!”

“I’m not answering that,” she said, biting back a smile as she pressed her lips together stubbornly.

“You don’t need to,” he replied, grinning even wider. “The silence says it all. Here I thought I was the big shot, and my girlfriend’s out here just quietly sitting on an empire.”

She laughed, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Well, maybe I just like watching you think you’re the fancy one.”

He pulled her close again, laughing softly. “Alright, fine. But don’t think I won’t bring this up anytime you try to sneak the bill.”

She grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Deal.”

Oscar chuckled, still shaking his head in disbelief. He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling as if he’d just pieced together some incredible mystery. “You know, our kid is going to be spoiled,” he said, the words slipping out with a grin.

He felt her shift beside him, and when he looked down, her expression had softened, her eyes faraway, a little spark of excitement in them. “They won’t,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Humble start, just like we both had.”

“Oh, so you’ll be the strict parent, then?” he teased, arching an eyebrow. “The one laying down the law?”

She laughed, giving him a gentle shove. “So I’m the bad cop?”

“Absolutely. I’m not budging on this.” He grinned, taking her hands in his as he leaned in close. “You’ve been lying to me for four years about practically everything. I think that officially makes you the bad cop in this relationship.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was warm, even a little shy. “Fine, I’ll take ‘bad cop’… but only if you’re ready to be the softie who gives in.”

Oscar laughed, wrapping his arms around her, feeling that sense of joy settle in even deeper. “Deal, I was already planning on it” he whispered, his voice full of promise. And as he held her close, he realised he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Oscar pulled her even closer, his hands resting gently on her cheeks as he took in the warmth of her gaze, her face illuminated softly in the low light. The playful edge between them softened into something deeper, and the laughter faded into quiet, shared breath.

Slowly, he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a soft, lingering kiss that held all the words they hadn’t said. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling there as she melted into him, and for a moment, everything—the teasing, the surprises, the whole world around them—faded away.

the end.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi !!!! I’m sorry if this is bothering you and if so you can totally ignore this but…

I’ve been thinking about how Ghost would react to reader gradually pulling away from him because she gained some weight and is self conscious and ashamed and doesn’t want to be seen by him, so sculpted and beautiful… but of course he’s feeling low because he wants to be close to reader and so he asks and she finally explains it to him (ready to be broken up with…)…. And I’d love to read your take on it !

You can make it female or gender neauteal I don’t really care !!!! Thank you anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wildflowers Grow in Ruins

(Ghost x F!Reader, word count: 5 k)

Summary: Reader tries to break up with Ghost because she thinks she's not good enough for him.

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, soft sensual smut 🔞, hurt/comfort, light angst, Jealous!Ghost, Soft!Ghost, self-loathing & self-body shaming. Good girl talk/praise kink. Reader is female and wears a skirt for smut plot purposes.

A/N: I hope you like this take & I hope you don't mind that I tweaked this request just a little bit!) Also: JFC I'm wordy. The "I need to explain why they're fucking!" meme comes to mind every time I write anything.

Wars are exhausting. 

You know fighting for something can empower people. Fighting against something usually just depletes your strength.

But waging a war against yourself… 

Now that is pure hell. 

It started somewhere in your youth. You thought adulthood would take it away; that reason and tolerance would take it away. You were supposed to feel more confident in yourself, more positive about life. And for a moment, you thought you might just succeed.

But standing beside a god of war is no easy feat.

He came into your life like a walking myth, swept you away, and you only laughed as you went. It was fun at first. He was supposed to be your savior, the solution to all your problems. If a man like him found you attractive, perhaps it was the world that was crooked and not you.

But then you got soft: you started to gain pounds. Meanwhile, he became even more magnificent. It reminded you that it had all been just a dream.

Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to worship you, that seemed to look past your every flaw. Perhaps it was the hands which never seemed to get enough of your skin. Whatever it was, it was too much. And at the same time, never enough.

The day has finally come to let him go.

You think yourself heroic. It's like it should be: it's only right that you finally release him to someone better than you.

But inside, the noble feelings twist and turn and curl around your throat and stuff your stomach full of ice - the kind they fill glasses of mojito with. The drink you'll always remember him by because he teased you about it: that you wanted an ice-cold summer drink even in the middle of winter.

Now you feel cold all over, and wish he could warm you like he used to. 

You would forsake all the mojitos of the world to keep him. You would renounce the whole drink if it came to that; if you could make him yours.

But he's not yours. He never was: he was just on loan to give you a taste of what it would be like to have a man like him. That taste should be more than enough for a lifetime. You should feel grateful.

So why is it so hard to let go?

The key on the front door turns, and your heart shoots up your throat: you're supposed to settle this thing once and for all. You're supposed to let go of him today. 

And still, when he arrives, you can't find the courage to say what you need to say. The words are stuck in your throat, but tears are not. He should already be a memory, but you find yourself suffocating on memories as you cry. You've learned to do even that in silence, like the rest of your suffering.

You take a few deep breaths, wipe the tears away, shove the rest of them down your throat – you save them for later, later, when he's far away and you can finally curl up and cry your heart out without no one there to look. Fucking later.

Good. 

Good.

Great.

You put your heaviest armor on. It protects weak and soft flesh because you can't meet him all bare. Then you step forward with the knowledge that you’re a thoroughly wounded guerrilla while he is a seasoned, well-rested veteran. The fight is nowhere near even, but it's ok. You are not meant to be in the presence of immortals anyway.

The man looks at you warily as you finally enter the room. That haunted look has followed you for some time now as the distance between you has grown. 

It should be easy, what is about to come, because he hasn't touched you in weeks. You haven't wanted him to.

Or you have… But it's not easy to have his hands on you when your body is only a vessel you hate. How can you even think about pleasure when all you think about is how it must feel for him to caress something as awful as this?

The man is a vision, and he settles for a peasant. It should be against the law, but it's not… so you figured a some time ago that you should simply find the strength and grace to do ii: do what's right.

"I need to talk to you." 

Your voice comes out neutral, and it makes you more confident, if only for a second or two.

He lifts his chin: already knows what's coming, because he's not stupid. You've been shutting down for weeks, and he hasn't done much about it. But when the thunder rolls in, he doesn't flee. Probably because he fears nothing.

"Go ahead then," he says, equally as neutral, equally as icy. Got his armor on, too. 

This should be easy…

It's really not, so you decide to rip the band-aid off in one yank.

"I think we should go separate ways."

The following inhale from across the room pierces the air like a bullet. You can hear his breaths gain depth and speed all the way to where you're standing.

"Ok."

It doesn't look or sound like he's ok. If anything, he looks like he's trying to process the sudden storm. 

"Ok…" His eyes are on the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. Then he starts to pace around the little kitchenette you've shared for almost six months, just before you started gaining weight.

He stops to look out the window, then turns to you, and the hurt in his stare comes through like a thousand needles pushing through skin.

"Is it because of my work?" 

"No."

"What is it then?"

Your breaths are getting out of hand, too. He looks like a lost, tired creature in an abandoned animal shelter for a moment, and it breaks your heart. It squeezes the organ inside a flaming fist until it shatters like it has never been nothing more than ice.

Your lip starts to tremble, and he notices, as per usual. Nothing escapes this man, except perhaps the true reason for your anguish.

"Hey. Hey."

He comes to you and hugs you like it's the only thing that matters: to comfort you when he sees you're about to cry, no matter how crushed he's feeling himself. The sudden warmth, the intimacy after weeks and weeks of pain is knee-buckling. 

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

His voice is soft, so soft… The tears rush forth now; there's no way of stopping them. What the hell can you even say to a question like that? That you wish he could grab a magic wand and turn you into someone gorgeous, the woman he deserves?

His embrace feels good, kind of. It also feels smothering because your self-hate makes you want to disappear from existence entirely. His eyes are equal to physical touch, a probing scan that sees every little flaw, not to talk about massive faults, the ones which make you feel like you're simply disgusting. His touch only reminds you how you must feel like to him: soft, too soft, weak.

And he must hate weakness.

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything," he tries with a parched throat, then swallows. 

It's fucking horrible. This isn't going at all like you had imagined.

"It's not about you," you struggle out of his hold, and he lets you go with reluctance. You have to basically fight your way out of a bone and steel prison. Why would he even want to hold a pathetic woman who's on the brink of ugly crying on top of everything?

"What do you mean?"

He's slightly breathless – and restless as fuck. He's usually so calm; nothing can get to him, nothing can rattle the tower of raw strength. Now you've not only pierced some invisible armor; you can hear pieces of it falling on the floor.

"Have you found someone else?"

What the…

"No." You put as much weight on that word as you possibly can. To imagine that he thinks you are cheating… Fucking cheating on someone like him. "Jesus Christ…"

He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, sighs out relief, perhaps. Then his razor-sharp stare fixes on you again, and you can see the fear turning into something akin to concern. You suspect you have to tell him the truth, otherwise he will dig it out of you. 

"I'm just…" 

Jesus, this is just humiliating. 

"I'm just not your type."

"What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, the impending fury giving way to momentary surprise. 

He gets intense sometimes. This time, the ferocity is born of barely concealed distress. He's broad and magnificent, even in despair. He’s just so fucking fine… The perfect man, someone you had never even imagined yourself with. Pulled down to the world of puny mortals, evidently stressing about losing one. 

Losing you.

"If you have someone new, you can just bloody well tell me."

"It's not that. You don't understand–" 

"Try me."

"I just…" A tear escapes down your face as you finally break for him. "I'm fat. Okay? And ugly. And–"

"Stop right there."

The look on his face is just… It's priceless, you suppose.

"Bloody fucking hell…" 

He looks at the floor, then runs his fingers through the short cut hair on top of his head. You've yanked those blonde strands more times than you can count, nearly every time he's been between your legs, and you miss it – you long for it, like fallen angels long for heaven. 

And if there was a time this man was rendered speechless, you would say you were witnessing that moment right now. His brows knit together, then he looks up at you again with blaring disbelief.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"This is the reason you wanna break up?"

Ugh.

"Yes?"

His voice grows rougher with every question until it resembles thunder, and you suspect this is the commanding tone his soldiers are used to hearing. 

But you're not: it's gravelly, harsh, and betrays the feeling of having been insulted. You feel even more devastated with yourself – it appears you can do nothing right.

"Where has this… idea even come to your head?"

"I don't know." 

"And you never thought to ask my opinion?"

"Would you please stop yelling," you whisper and blink back some putrid tears. His mouth is snapped shut, his head pulls back just a little as he realizes what he's done. 

"Sorry," he says with a half-whisper, and you catch the strain in his throat. You've never seen him cry, but now his voice is suddenly thin and frail. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step, then another, places fingertips on the counter as if to take the faintest support.

"Can I touch you?"

You don't really want him to do that, but you feel pity for the man. He's trying to find a way through this mess, and you want to help him.

"Yes," you whisper, and he immediately comes and takes you in his arms again. Hot tears disappear into his shirt, and you sniff a few times. He feels so good, so safe, even when you're about to lose him. His hold tightens around you, and the kitchen is silent; the whole world is silent. You don't know if you're being put to a grave or if you're in a deaf womb, waiting to be reborn.

"Now I don't know who's said this shite to you but ugly is the last fucking thing I'd call you," he declares above you. As if it was some bully whose fault it is that you were this way, a bully he could deal with with his fists or a gun. If only things were that easy…

"Have I said or done something? To make you feel this way?"

Then the blade is turned against himself. The man desperately searches for a culprit so he can deal with them.

"No," is the only thing you can say because it's true: he has never done a thing to make you feel like you weren't good enough; quite the contrary. But then again, he doesn't have to. It's enough that he exists and resembles a god.

"Then why do you think you're not my type?"

"Because you're so perfect," you hear yourself wail, no, cry into that shirt that smells of sweet safety and familiar musk – his scent, another thing you have missed like it's the only way to heaven.

"That for sure ain't true."

"But it is."

He seems to have the utmost difficulty in grasping what the issue here is. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head with a rusty, laborious creak.

"Can't believe you wanna break up because of this," he finally says. You've chipped his pride, the ego that lives off of pleasing the ones he loves: the few chosen ones who he wants to give his whole life to. 

"To me, you're perfect," he then says, and you simply… You stop breathing. "You're like… my dream woman. Ever thought about that?"

It can't be true, even if you vehemently, desperately want it to be. You reach out to his words like they're precious food after years of famine. Like they're sun and spring rain after being buried in the cold, dark soil whole winter.

"No…?"

"Never occurred to you that I might find you fucking beautiful?"

"Stop," you whisper, because it's too much to take in. He sounds so serious, so sincere.

"No, I don't think I will."

He pulls back a little and cups your face. Brushes away a tear, looks at you with so much love that it physically hurts; you feel like it's a lance that slowly drives through your heart.

"How about I kiss every part I love about you?"

You let out a soft little whimper. Fuck, that you want him to… 

It would also be uncomfortable as hell. To try and let him love you and your body, which you have grown to loathe.

"It's gonna take all night, though. Wanna be as thorough as possible."

"Simon–"

"Love. I want you. Thought I'd made it pretty clear, but apparently I haven't. If you only knew how much–"

He sighs deeply. The man is frustrated with his shortcomings, thinks that this is all his fault. You cry a tear or two just for the sake of how absurd it all is. 

"I don't want you to go. I fucking love you. Everything about you."

For the second time this afternoon, your lower lip starts to tremble as if this was some stupid, romantic movie. He can be so soft when he wants to, more romantic than the soft-spoken gentlemen in Jane Austen's novels. It doesn't even require any effort: underneath the cynical surface, there's fiery emotion, so powerful and raw that it almost bleeds out of him. Fuck… Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"I love you too," you whisper back, and the warmth that starts to bloom in his eyes is an entire sun on its own. It's hope, and you believe him, almost believe him.

"Then I'd say it's a bloody bad idea to break up."

You chuckle while few more tears push through to the surface.

"Simon…" You sigh and look back up at him, your armor falling to the floor too. "I feel like a wreck."

You allow him to see the pain, all of it. His breath is sharp as it hits him, but he still doesn't waver.

"Then let me help you."

The arms around you gain more strength, and you're crushed against a chest made of power. He tries to turn shit to gold, and threatens to succeed. You allow yourself to soften in his hold. How good it feels to be supported – no, loved.

"You don't even let me touch you anymore."

It's a filed complaint, but also heart-rending, soul-wrenching longing. You have evaded him for weeks now – hell, this shit began months ago and has escalated gradually, stealthily, until the moments together were a rarity, the space between you was full of frost; and not the crispy, happy summer drink kind.

"I thought you'd found someone else. Could've found out if that was the case in minutes, but honestly, I didn't wanna know."

Oh my God…

Has he lived with a growing suspicion and dread all these months? 

That would explain why he has avoided you too…

He has allowed you to go to your supposed lover, has given you space to be alone and without too much attention. The man has shielded himself from pain. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a strained little breath. "I swear it's nothing like that. I just… I feel like a mess."

"Never seen such a gorgeous mess." 

He speaks on your skin, the kiss on your forehead feels like an absolution. 

Then you notice it's not only his words which try to assure you. He's growing harder by the minute against your stomach, just from a simple hug. Just from being pressed against you like this, after weeks of dry, bitter longing.

"Miss your taste," he murmurs to your skin, his voice like sand wrapped in burning velvet. "The sounds you make when you want it hard."

Oh God–

"Miss your smile when we go to shower after."

"Hmh…"

"Don't wanna live without that smile."

You don't have to. 

God, you don't have to…

"How about we make a deal," he draws fingers down your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His eyes are stripped from the cold distance that greeted you just moments ago: now they are filled with warmth that spreads to your chest and belly and bones. You drink him in like summertide.

"You come to me every time you feel bad and I'll make you feel good. Alright?"

"...Ok." 

He tilts his head a little to the side, not entirely satisfied with your shy little answer.

"Come on. Make me believe it."

"It's a deal," you say with more grit to it, even if you're nearly crying again, this time from relief.

"That's my girl."

Oh fuck…

He knows exactly what strings to pull, the good girl talk being one of the things that instantly makes your legs feel like jelly. 

And why does he always have to use that voice when he calls you a good girl or his girl, that sultry smoke that makes you want to swoon until he catches you and carries you to bed?

The man seems to be a mind reader as well, because he sweeps you off your feet and does exactly that: carries you to your bed which has mainly seen silent tears and painful sleep last months.

"Poor thing doesn't even know how lovely she is."

He sounds amused in the face of your darkness: sees it in full and still doesn't fear at all. He's ready to battle your demons for you, and you feel like shaking: from his touch and that voice, from the stress and loneliness that starts to release as he lays you down on the bed.

He looks so different from the man that has haunted this place for the past months, the complete opposite of the reserved soldier retreating into the shadows.

He moves to kiss you, and it's been – what? Weeks since your last kiss? And even that was only a quick peck, nothing like this… Wet, and desperate; a devouring. It makes you clench around nothingness, and you finally surrender. 

No one can fake such fervor.

You try to accept it: accept the fact that even if you hate yourself, he does not. For some reason, he adores you. His breaths hit your face hot and urgent, and he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. They wander over your waist and hips, they even risk to steal a feel of your breasts, and then he groans in your mouth.

"I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you..."

You taste notes of burning leaves; tobacco, his only weakness. You fantasize on the thought that you might be another weakness, too.

"Remember when I fucked you in my office?"

"I've missed you too," you utter softly in between the kisses that threaten to turn into a sloppy mess. "So much..."

He smiles at that, and it makes you weak, even when lying down like this.

"Yeah…?"

"You were so loud I had to put a hand over your mouth."

His voice is thick as he laughs a short chuckle. Your inner walls clench again at the sound, you throb among the warm syrup surrounding you.

"Never seen you so wet. Almost dripped all over my gear."

"It's that stupid mask you wear," you hear yourself breathe like you've just been underwater. Feel yourself throb some more, feel a burning sensation in the nether areas from the scorched desert turning wet again. You want him so much that it actually hurts down there.

"Knew you'd like it. That's why I kept it on."

If this man keeps talking, your underwear is going to be utterly ruined. And of course he does; of course he continues to pour more love in your ear.

"Everyone looked at you like you were a queen," he grunts in your ear, sounding almost… pissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," you try to form sensible words. It's only a faint breath, really, but he huffs at your modesty. 

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head, love."

Wow… He is a bit pissed.

Had they checked your ass out when you visited him? 

It was the first and, what you thought, the last time you got to visit him at his workplace… but you never would have guessed the reason for him not asking you to visit again would be jealousy. 

"Don't worry. I put those fuckers in their place after you left." 

Whoa. 

Ok…

First, he had fucked you senseless in his office – a highly inappropriate move for a man in his position – then got jealous because some soldiers had checked you out as you left with his cum practically dripping from your cunt.

You put yourself in his shoes for a moment: he's had to live with thoughts of you running to some other man's arms when he's not home, and then watch you waltz around his workplace after making what was supposed to be the last effort to make him love you… When he has loved and adored you this whole time, has watched the sway of your ass with the rest of those home-deprived, horny soldiers, thinking you had fallen out of love and were on your way to go see some other guy.

Had he invited you there to try and win you back, too? By showing himself to you in all his puffed up, masculine glory? A desperate man in a skull mask, hoping to get love from you…

There's so many misunderstandings; they rip your throat. A sob escapes, and he stops his caress.

"Love… Tell me to stop if you–"

"No. No, I don't want you to stop." 

Your request comes out with such demand that he hesitates only a second or two. Then he moves on top of you and tugs your skirt up. You don't even have time to realize what is happening before he has worked himself out of his pants.

He's hard and heavy between your legs, and your eyes go wide as you realize he's not going to bother to take your briefs off. He just slides a hand under the skirt and draws the fabric aside, and the fat tip of him is pushed in the middle almost clumsily. It's hot, and slips down to your opening with ease.

Oh f–

"Been jerking off to you nearly every night at the base," he says just before he pushes himself in. 

"Uh–...."

Your thighs spread wide as he fills you slowly, inch after inch. The sound that leaves him is starved: a dry, painful sigh. He's been waiting for this for god knows how long, and you're just as hungry to take him in. He seems endless, the way he finally works himself fully inside, spreading you even wider as the thickening base of his cock reaches its end. 

"Thought you were getting railed by someone else while I only get to fuck my hand."

"Oh god…"

There's really nothing else to say as his balls press against you, heavy and taut. He's not going to last long.

"Yeah. Imagine that," he admits, breathless like you. 

You look at him with what must be the most helpless stare of longing in your eyes. Then he moves, and you want to grip him to keep him inside. The first thrusts are divine, they're pure heaven, and your head sinks deep into the pillow as you try to get enough air, try to not scream from pleasure already. Somehow, all you are able to utter is a desperate little whisper.

"Simon–"

His cock is good enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're starving too, you're pulling him in with fierce hunger, and he groans, then nearly falls forward, his weight pressing against you, swallowing you, until you feel like you're an idiot for thinking that you're too big. The thickness of his chest rubs against you as he makes love to you with passion that echoes the first times you did this.

"Just wanna adore you, love." He's panting desperate somewhere above you. A god and a man, both furious and gentle. "I wanna adore you. Just like this."

You answer him with what must be those sounds he told you about, the sounds you make when you want it hard. 

You want him to fuck you, to wreck you after weeks of loneliness and hate. To love you until you break into a million pieces.

"Simon," you whisper. "...Love me."

He halts, huffs in your neck. It's almost a sob. There's so much emotion and desperation in the air that it could be scooped up and sold in the streets.

"Always," he rasps in your ear, then moves to kiss you again. "Always."

The promise echoes around you, it coats your lips as he loves you with all he has. It's been so long, and he feels so good that you nails dig into his shirt, his shoulder, you try to hold onto him even though he's the wave that rocks you.

"You feel that?" He goes deep; he's out of breath and desperate, even more desperate than you. "That's love. You feel it, yeah?"

"Yes," you sob in his shoulder, tears trying to escape your waterline as you're going dumb from the pure sensation, the sensuality of it all. 

"That's it, love. That's a good girl," he turns to your neck and gruffs in your ear as you whimper and moan. "Always such a good girl."

Shit…

"I, I'm gonna…"

Your legs wrap around his middle, your muscles twitch and your hands reach and grab – they claw and yank and tug everything they can: his back, shoulders, shirt, something sturdy to keep you from drowning in a glorious orgasm.

He laughs in your neck and continues to grind you through your climax even when you're shattering, sighing, moaning, writhing under him. He just laughs, the man who never laughs: from witnessing you respond to him calling you a good girl.

Fucking bastard…

Lovable, infuriating bastard who knows you to your core. 

You're an overstimulated heap by the time he comes as well, not long after you, but long enough to make you feel like you're only a tender bunch of nerves. Your legs have fallen to the side, he has open access to take what he needs: you, your love, all of it.

His whole middle goes tense as he cums, he groans and swears somewhere deep into your neck, rolls his hips over and over again like it's a must that his balls press against you with every thrust that shoot his load. 

Then he falls slack, nearly collapses on top of you, reminding you of what it feels like to be small under a giant like him. You're throbbing together, you're full and fulfilled, and he is still lodged deep inside you, panting and broken in a sweat.

"Jesus Christ…" 

He sounds dazed. 

Relieved. 

"Should've done this weeks ago."

You laugh at seeing him so done – a man in love, torn by jealous yearning, finally taking what's his. You stroke his neck, his back – it's so good to have him finally there… So close, with no barriers in between.

"I should've talked to you weeks ago..." 

"Yeah. You should have."

"Are you going to punish me?" You giggle a little – the flirt is light and frees your heart further from its recent jail. He moves to look at you with all the tenderness there is. It's too much... His love is too much. But you won't run from it anymore.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna spoil you some more."

He spoils you right away with a kiss. You surrender to his treatment with happiness: happy tears, even. 

The medicine to your anguish has been the exact opposite to what you had first tried, what you had originally thought. The true remedy for your sickness is mercy. Perhaps some spoiling…

And love.

[pixiecaps]

recapping a bit of what haru said on stream

haru on her stream spoke about how shes had a really awful past five years and all her experiences just from this past year has been incredible. she gave a massive thank you to everyone and that she has no regrets.

“i never imagined i’d be where i am right now and i mean it with all my heart thank you so much. i had a very good time and i hope to have made you guys happy.”

she mentioned that since she was young shes always wanted to make content that makes people happy because she felt the world was missing a lot of love so shes happy to have given the world a piece of her heart. she mentioned how shes met so many incredible people who motivated her to see the good parts of life. to have found even this little bit of sunshine has left her so grateful. she says thank you for all the kindness, all the moments, all the memories, all the words, everything. shes very happy and mentioned this has been a very special experience for her. she reminded her chat that theres always another day and to enjoy life to the maximum, to live, to love, to talk, to hug each other, to be happy always, and that all the beautiful happiness we’ve given her will be returned back to us. she continues to express her gratitude. she mentioned this is one of the most beautiful communities shes ever had the pleasure of meeting in the entire world. she goes on to include the spanish, portuguese, french, english, german, and korean community in that statement.

“there is love in all types of languages and that love needs to be shared.“

she said her words will never be enough to express all her gratitude. she gave a reminder to always keep being kind. her voice falters a couple times from all the emotions. she mentioned shes cried enough and didn’t want to keep crying since she had something to do tomorrow and she didnt wanna have swollen eyes lmao.

she then shares a more personal moment. paraphrasing here.

“after i lost my dad i swear i felt like my life was falling apart. i never thought i’d be able to recover. after that many things happened and in those things, i wasnt destined to meet two people, this is a story i’ll always remember because i wasnt destined to meet these people. … they tell me hey the actor for this little thing didn’t show up and i say no way seriously? tell them to let me be it, tell them please because i want to be with you guys (harus two friends who were apart of the project). and i didnt think they’d agree… and they said yes. and i met two very important people and honestly (starts crying) thank you so much. thank you so much nussa. thanks to you i was able to meet them. i never imagined this would happen i promise you. thank you nussa. it means a lot to me that you decided to put me (into the leo spot). the only major thing in my life, i started being so happy, i started enjoying all the moments in my life as if it were the last, thanks to all this i’m here. and could meet you all. such a beautiful community.” she goes on to keep thanking nussa while crying and saying it was written in the stars. she goes on to say that shes gonna tell this as a story some day to her family, who doesnt know what she does or that she streams, and she’ll tell them about all of this with so much care and love. shes very thankful to have learned so much english and more about so many different cultures. she again reiterates shes very happy.

she also teases that she wants to go to brazil!!!! which… might be soon… and that theres little things being planned so hopefully if all goes well…👀 (an egg admin meetup would go so hard)

NOW GO SUPPORT HER ON TWITCH @ HarumiVT

[zyk1ng]

I was gonna make this post way way earlier but I forgot lol but Uhm

I have played through the splatoon 2 story fully and am replaying it (for a future post bc a lot of the dialogue is rlly funny) and honestly while I absolutely loved it it makes me even sadder that splat 2’s story mode was kinda tossed aside (for valid reasons ofc) because it’s so Cool.

Excluding the gameplay, I think they did marie so well, because she sells the desperation of someone who’s got nobody she knows by her side. While she of course keeps the sassy attitude of sneak dissing her best friends (agent 3) and also telekinetically telling you to fuck off if you talk to her too much it’s very clear she genuinely cares so much about agent 4 and is so grateful they’re doing what they do.

these are only two screenshots of 8(?) of Marie randomly being really sentimental to 4 because this stranger chose to help her in her time of need rather than just ignore this GROWN WOMAN hanging out on a sewer drain

It’s like heavily emphasized multiple times that Marie could not be more grateful for 4’s help in retrieving not just the zapfish but also her cousin.

But then revealing that 4 knew about Callie the WHOLE TIME (I have a lot to say about this part but it’s mostly hc so) which is so KIND OF THEM???? this random woman recruits them into a secret military agency and hides the fact she rlly misses her cousin but they help anyway bc they WANT TO. (They didn’t even know either of them were famous btw) Marie shows a lot of gratitude toward 4 ESPECIALLY after the big reveal.

(You could make arguments for 3 being similar bc an old kook made them do it but this isn’t about them..)

And it’s not just being grateful for the one time, she genuinely enjoys 4’s company and wants to be better friends with them and chat after the zapfish and Callie are saved 😭😭😭

It’s so cute too, because 100%ing the game and even just being a little nosy is something that Marie picks up on, and remembers way later in the game. (More abt this later)

god I love this socially inept squid woman and her adopted child soldier that likes finding pieces of paper

Speaking of said soldier! I think the way they characterized 4 via the actual gameplay rather than art/statements/whatever is so cool

4 doesn’t have many illustrations besides the chaos splatfest and that one group photo where they’re being funky in the corner (and the apartment) but I feel like the reason for that is the fact that a lot of Marie’s dialogue as well as how splatoon 2’s hero mode is structured/designed speaks a lot about how they wanted to represent 4.

From a realistic standpoint, of course splatoon 2’s story mode has to be more creative both prompt wise and secret wise. But it feels like the reason its that way is because both 4 and Marie are separate types of people from Craig and 3.

The bosses help a lot with this too, being more gimmicky and weird (subtracting stamp.) Octo shower and samurai being bosses where you have to either react well or change your positioning to effectively beat them. (Octo shower is my fave btw I loved fighting it the first time)

The level design also shines in this aspect because if I’m honest I remember none of the splat 1 levels significantly besides the few octoling ones. Splatoon 2’s levels are very detailed (and also insanely pretty) and have some rlly fun puzzles in a handful of them and even the more fast ones are a blast to play through

And then all the little extras (sardiniums and scrolls alike) are hidden so well and you usually have to go out of your way to find them and even the secrets that aren’t either of those things have substance

Small note, a lot of extras are also made so that it flows well with the levels design (like the first dualie request mission) which is also extremely fucking cool.

the way marie touches on those little discoveries is so smart too because it (as I said before) characterizes 4 as someone who loves to look for things even if it’s on a whim especially since the sunken scrolls in the game are so much harder to find than in splat1.

And the fact that unlike splat 1, you can (technically) 800% the game by playing EVERY SINGLE LEVEL WITH EVER SINGLE WEAPON TYPE. to me it feels like it deepens the fact that 4 likes to be really thorough. marie goes “you have a problem.” When you break like two hidden egg crates in this one level and it’s so great.

I love what they’ve done with 4, whether it was intentional or I’m over-analytical.

Nothing gets past them, looking in every nook and cranny whether or not there’s secrets to be found. They’re too nosy and thorough and they like to be around marie after completing missions, they don’t know who the squid sisters are, hate balloons, may or may not be ok, have impulsive secret finding, partake in many extracurriculars, can be needy at times, go with the flow and they apparently smell better than agent 3.

Agent four, of the New Squidbeak Splatoon.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

aaron hotchner x jacks nanny/babysitter

she’s got a crazy ex that stalked and threatened her so she moved far away to live a simple, under the radar life and started working for hotch. he knows her situation and does his best to look out for her, maybe she’s like a live in nanny ? neither of them is bold enough to make a move first until her ex finds her and hotch and the team race to save her. ends with love confessions and all the sappy stuff

could be a one shot or a short lil series i’m sure whatever you write will be amazing !

༉‧₊˚. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨-𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

— pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size babysitter!reader

— summary: your new life as a live-in nanny was wonderful, and with your dark past behind you, there was nothing that could ruin this. but as they say, what goes around comes around.

— warnings: heavily detailed violence BEWARE, surprisingly light angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, physical hurt/comfort, mutual pining, abusive ex's :[, guns, and a horribly written action/fight scene (forgive me).

— wc: 1965

⋆ a/n: okay this is a heavy fic so beware once more, but aside from that this takes a fully turn! i don't really have anything else to say besides enjoy!

masterlist | AO3

“Backpack? Check. Lunchbox? Check. Shoes are tied? Check.” 

You placed your hands on your hips triumphantly, a proud smile on your face as you examined the little boy. 

Being a live-in nanny came with being organizational and making sure that Jack was ready for school everyday without fail. It wasn’t like Aaron was super strict on you; he understands when you have your days where things are a bit out of place, but honestly it was a personal preference, and totally not because you have a big fat crush on the FBI agent.

You had been very skeptical about your babysitting position at first because of your ex who was absolutely bat shit crazy. It was a situation you had barely escaped from, and it had taken almost everything in you to get where you were now, so you were a little afraid of men in general. But Aaron was kind, and welcoming, and fatherly, someone that you felt safe with.

And then, you fell in love.

It had scared the shit out of you of course, but now it was a feeling that you welcomed with open arms, even if you couldn’t act on it. 

Your phone began to ring as you searched for the car keys, the contact name read ‘Aaron <3’.

“Morning!” You greeted with a smile as you picked up. “Good morning. How are you guys?” The older man asked. “We're doing just fine, as always,” You successfully found the keys. “How are things?” You knew better than to ask how he was, because if you had the kind of job that he did, there was no way you could answer positively. 

“We pretty much have everything we need, so we’ll probably be able to wrap this case up early.” 

“Oh Aaron, that's great!” You cheer happily and make your way back to where Jack was waiting for you. “You ready to go, little man?” Jack looks up at you from his toys. “Is that daddy on the phone?”

“Yeah buddy, you wanna say hi?” 

“Yes!” Jack’s answer was full of excitement, and you can’t help but smile. “As much as I enjoy talking to you, it looks like I’m handing you over.” You swear you could hear Aaron chuckle.

Yeah, this was a life that you could get used to.

Having the house to yourself was weird.

With Jack away at his aunt’s for the weekend, it was strangely quiet due to the emptiness of the child’s presence. You suppose you’re grateful for the break even though taking care of Jack really isn’t as tiring as one might think. 

Despite Aaron rarely being home, he’s managed to raise the boy well when he could, and it’s honestly very admirable. It’s one of the many things that made you fall in love with him. You gaze down into the wine glass at the thought, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Ugh, why does love make you such a loser?

Your bashful train of thought was stopped by a suspicious thump coming from the back of the house. Your smile dropped and a feeling of anxiety and worry twisted in your gut as you grabbed your phone that was lying on the kitchen counter.

You’re quick to dial Aaron’s number and your fingernail finds itself in your mouth as you chew on it anxiously. It’s an old habit, one that you had picked up back in your old relationship.

“Hello?” Rasped Aaron. 

You knew he had just recently flown in from wherever he was because you could hear the foot traffic of everyone grabbing their luggage from the plane’s storage.

“Hey,” Your greeting was nervous and it was something that Aaron easily picked up on. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” He asks with a furrowed brow. “Yeah, just um - I’m just hearing some weird things so I just wanted to know when you think you might be getting home.” I miss you.

“Honey what type of weird things?” Before you were able to answer, there was a loud crashing sound. You instantly dropped to the floor to hide behind the counter; you cradled the phone to your ear, “Okay uh - change of claim,” You attempted to joke. “Someone is most definitely in the house.”

Aaron tries not to panic at the way his insides turn cold, “You remember what to do, right?” He asks with a hardened voice. You gulp, stretching slightly to peer over the marble. You stare out into the darkness and a frightened shiver shoots up your spine. 

“Get to your room and enter the safe.” You reiterated what he had told you almost a year ago when you had first moved in. You’ve never shot a gun before but tonight might be the night where you learn how too.

“That’s right, and do you remember the code?” 

As you went to answer him, you were snatched up by your hair and a scream rang out and into the phone. Even though you weren’t on speaker the others that were currently standing outside with Aaron could hear it.

Aaron desperately calls out your name, and with your silence he takes off without any explanation, but his team knows to follow close behind.

“So, this is what you’ve been doing since you tried to leave me?!”

You cried out as another blow was delivered to your gut but a heavy boot. Your lungs burned and there were tears streaming down your face. He had pulled you so hard over the counter that it made your scalp burn, a blistering headache beginning to form at the base of your skull.

“Fuck you!” You spat as you attempted to prop yourself up on your elbows. 

There was a fine line between anger and fear, and this was one of those moments where they blend together. If you ended up dying tonight, at least you didn’t go down in vain.

This time he punched you in the face before snatching you up by your arms. There was a metallic taste in your mouth, a bruise already developing near your eye. “Why’d you leave me, huh?! We had a good thing going and you just… you just ruined it!”

“I didn’t ruin shit asshole!” You screamed and pushed at him but it was no use. “We were gonna get married but you… but you wanted to play house with an old man, really?!”

“You’ve been watching me.” You said in disbelief. It made your stomach twist in nausea and horror at the thought of him watching Jack, what he could’ve done to him. You had actively put the man you loved kid in danger and it devastated you.

“I had no choice!”

“You’re fucking crazy!”

“Put your hands where I can see them.” Aaron’s voice rang out throughout the house.

Before you knew it you were spun around with a gun to your head, his arm locked against your neck, faintly strangling you.

“Aaron!” You called out in relief, but it turned into a grunt as you tugged further into your ex’s chest.

Aaron’s gun was raised steadily, his eyes focused on your attacker, but he doesn’t hesitate to cast you a reassuring look. When he sees your bloody and bruised face his jaw tightens, the vein in his neck popping and visible through his skin.

“Boyfriend to the rescue, huh?” Your ex sneers into your cheek. You shudder. 

“Put the gun down.” Aaron continues to coax, and out the corner of your eye you can see Morgan approaching through the darkness. 

“Why do you want to save this slut? Don’t tell me you’ve already -” A shot rings out into the fair followed by a scream of pain.

Your ex collapses to the ground, cradling the gunshot wound in his knee as blood spills through his fingers. Aaron was the one that pulled the trigger and Morgan is already in the kitchen by the time he’s tugging you away and into his arms.

“Oh God.” You finally cried. “You came, you came…” His arms are wound tightly around you, purposefully tucking your face into his chest. “I’m here, I’m here.” He shushes and rocks you side to side in order to try and lull you.

Aaron – softly – orders you to sit down while he cleans up the blood when the rest of the team has already left.

You can’t help but watch him from where you’re sitting on the couch with his sleeves of his white button up rolled up and his hands gloved. “I’m sorry.” You decide to say, because you really were. “I’m sorry for everything.” There was so much more you wanted to say, but you felt your throat tighten with unshed tears.

“No, don’t apologize.” He says softly, abandoning the rag that he was using to scrub up said blood. “No Aaron you don’t understand. I put you and Jack in danger because of my bullshit and I thought that I had put it all behind me and I don’t -” 

“Stop.” It’s a bit firmer this time. “I knew exactly what I was getting myself into when I offered you to live with me and my son. Nothing that has occurred tonight has swayed my trust or opinion about you, you know that, right?”

“Right.” His hand holds your cheek and strokes the soft skin of it. “Good.”

Your eyes flicker down to his lips before peering back into his eyes, “If I asked you to kiss me, would you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I promise this isn’t like a trauma bond thing. I’ve liked you for as long as I’ve worked for you and I didn’t want to tell you because I have nowhere else to go if you say no. Plus,” You sigh, “I just don’t want to make things difficult or uncomfortable for you.”

“You could never do that, feelings reciprocated or not.” He reassures.

“Well are they?”

He grins at your question, “I’d be an idiot not to feel the same way.” You laugh and he leans forward to join your lips together.

A warm feeling spreads in your gut and you knew that this is what love was supposed to feel like.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna @moonysreid

[thistlecatfics]

Talking about Incest in Public

(both the painful traumatic kind and the hot fictional kind)

As it turns out, lots of the people who read and write taboo fiction have survived some deeply fucked up shit. After talking about incest with other survivors on the Moon, Sun & Stars discord and answering questions, I decided to share more about my experiences and the things that helped me survive and the things that helped me heal, because there are a lot of us, and a lot of us feel very alone, and maybe there are other people who aren’t incest survivors but who might want to know more to better support the survivors in their life.  

–

Incest is not just a sexual act between two family members -- it's a larger system of absence of boundaries within a family, and it's almost always part of multiple incestuous dynamics, even if only one might be the obvious or explicit dynamic. 

If you’re an incest survivor, you’re almost certainly not the only one in your family. 

-

“The true characteristics and dimensions of incestuous abuse have been masked by the taboo and silence that have surrounded its occurrence. Recent research demonstrates that incest occurs regularly in our society, perpetrated by individuals who, for the most part, would otherwise be regarded as fairly normal. The taboo on incestuous relations is a deterrent to some would-be perpetrators but not to others. The taboo contradicts the reality of incest prevalence, a fact which led Armstrong (1978) to comment that th taboo has been on the open discussion of incest and not on its perpetration.”

-Christine Courtois, “Healing the Incest Wound: Adult Survivors in Therapy” 

–

To use my family as an example - 

My (similarly aged) brother did sexual things to me as a kid, and I had a range of reactions to it including pleasure and enjoyment. And confusion. And fear. I do not think he is bad or even what he did was bad. I think we were both two kids who existed in a family with incestuous dynamics, and we were both shaped by those dynamics and trying our best to survive. 

From a young age, I existed as a physical comfort object to my mom (when she was sad she'd get into my bed to hold me until she felt better while I dissociated), and I took on the idea that my role in the family was for my body to be used to make other people feel good. The sexual behavior by my brother felt like an extension of how my mom held me. 

My mother was the victim of incest from her uncle, and her parents sided with her uncle over her when she spoke out about it (even after he was facing legal consequences for his behavior with kids outside of the family) (even after he fled the country). She didn't know how to emotionally regulate herself, and I don't think she had (or has) the capacity to understand a child's need for physical autonomy and boundaries because her own were never respected. 

There were other incestuous behaviors and dynamics within my family which I'm continuously discovering and unpacking. I think my mom’s uncle abused my grandmother too but I’ll never know for sure. It’s deeply uncomfortable to look back on a happy family story or a childhood nickname and see something sinister underneath and wonder if you’re being paranoid or if it’s actually that bad.  

–

Things that have helped: 

Long term relational therapy (5+ years). EMDR. Adopting a cat. Adopting more cats. Antidepressants. Reading about incest (realistic, terrifying, academic). Reading about incest (fictional, hot, amateur). Being a competitive athlete. Getting a graduate degree. Going on long walks late at night. Telling my family I had Covid so I could skip a family vacation. 

These books specifically: Healing the Incest Wound by Christine Courtois, The Myth of Normal, Dissociation Made Simple, Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents, The Narcissistic Family Unit, Clementine Morrigan’s writing x1000. 

The protector parts: Eating disorder. Self harm. Drinking. Perfectionism. Depression. Suicidal ideation. I’m grateful to these imperfect protectors I’ve leaned on over the years. 

Things that have not helped: 

You will be shocked to hear that people on the internet yelling about how people who find fictional incest hot are disgusting and bad and dangerous did NOT in fact help me unlearn the belief that experiencing incest made me disgusting and bad and dangerous. Luckily, I’m built of spite. But it certainly did not help. 

(If I think about my vulnerable pre-teen/teen self reading those things, I become deeply angry. How dare you hurt her in the name of protection.)

- I don’t cater to all these vipers Dressed in empath’s clothing God save the most judgmental creeps Who say they want what’s best for me Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I’ll never see

-Taylor Swift, But Daddy I Love Him

-

After I discovered fanfiction in middle school, and then after I realized that there was a world beyond OFC/Draco Malfoy fic, I read a lot of Blackcest. I devoured any I could find, hopping through rec lists on LiveJournal. 

Reading Blackcest fics, first Bellatrix/Sirius then Sirius/Regulus mostly, allowed me to see my experiences reflected. Those fics gave me a way to contextualize my family and my role in it. I hate the expectation that kids who experience bad things should go to a safe trusted adult rather than find art that romanticizes their experience. The whole point is that there isn’t a safe trusted adult. The whole point is that I needed the art. I got to hold the romanticized narrative until I got far enough away that I could put it away in a box until I had enough therapy that I could safely open the box and build a new, more honest story. 

Obviously plenty of people love incest smut and fic and art. It’s taboo! It’s angsty! It’s a classic! Probably most of those people don’t have direct personal experience with incest in their families. I’m glad they read and write fics too. 

But for me – have you ever experienced something you believe so strongly you will never be able to say aloud? That any time you see your secret referenced it’s in shock and disgust and revulsion? You can pretend – you’re very good at pretending – but you know it’s real, and you know it’s your secret you’ll hold onto for the rest of your life while the world reminds you how disgusting you are? 

Then you find that people are writing about what you experienced in a thousand variations that all contain some nugget of your truth.

I cannot express in words how important it was that I found those stories at that time. 

I never commented on a single fic. I never made a single account on any of the sites I read fanfiction on. I clicked the “yes I’m 18” box without hesitation every time. I wish I could go back in time and have my adult self articulate the enormity of my gratitude for each and every author who helped save me whose work exists on sites I can only revisit with the Wayback Machine. 

I understand why people might feel horrified at the idea of a 11-12 year old reading smutty incest Harry Potter fanfic. People aren’t wrong for feeling that way. 

That said, I truly don’t care what people who aren’t incest survivors think.

I’m so proud of that child for finding a way to survive. She might have hated herself, might have fantasized about death, but she survived and kept the truth of her experience wrapped up in a fictional world where it could be safe to explore and kept it there until years and years of therapy made it possible to engage with it in reality. 

- I’m a real tough kid I can handle my shit They said, babe, you got to fake it till you make it And I did

-Taylor Swift, I Can Do It With a Broken Heart -

No one is writing about incest the way Clementine Morrigan is right now. I’m so grateful for her. I’m not sure this little tumblr post would exist without her essay series. 

"Incest functions as a spell of unreality. A structure of nothingness. A completely normal and unremarkable family life in which something unnameable is ominously and terrifyingly wrong. You know in the summer when you can see the heat making the air go squiggly? Imagine those squiggles as an indication that in the seeming nothingness, there is something there. Incest is like that. Subtle, pervasive, unthinkable, unnameable. But present, felt.

As a teenager I came up with this metaphor: Imagine you are in a house full of bugs. There are bugs crawling all over all the walls and all the furniture and in your food and even on the fork you are lifting to your mouth. And you feel disgusted, you feel like something is really wrong. But your whole family is acting completely normal, laughing and eating and talking as bugs crawl over their faces and into their mouths. When you tell them you think there are bugs in your food your family says it’s just pepper and not to worry about it.

There is no way to talk about incest without feeling that you are lying. This is because incest lives in the realm of unreality and everything in the realm of unreality cannot be thought or said or named. When you speak of things that happen in the realm of unreality it will always feel like a lie and be treated like a lie. You are breaking the fundamental rule. You are not allowed to talk about what goes on in the realm of unreality because it isn’t real."

Read more and pay for her writing if you can on her substack.

-

Without a doubt, the not-explicitly-sexual incest from my mom fucked me up more than the explicitly sexual incest from my brother, but I only feel confident claiming the incest survivor label because sexual stuff was done to me by a family member, and I still feel like I’m lying sometimes because it wasn't bad enough to count. 

I’m a literal mental health clinician who can map out various incestuous dynamics within my family and who has clear memories of a family member doing sexual stuff to my child body, and I still feel like I’m lying. 

I believe you if you feel like a liar because I bet you do. I believe you if the incest never included anything directly physical. I believe you if you enjoyed it. I believe you if you don’t remember but feel like it’s true. 

I love us. 

If we’re monsters, I love our courageous monstrosity.

If we’re liars, I love the way we make up stories to survive when reality is impossible. 

If we’re an uncomfortable truth, good. 

-

It still impacts me. I’m not over it. 

It’s very difficult for me to imagine love that does not include violation. To be loved and to be allowed to maintain a self. 

But I’m open to learning otherwise, and that openness is new. 

-

I was so, so good at living in unreality. I could make myself perfect, such a flawless object until I couldn’t think of anything except killing myself, but even then I still maintained the image of perfection my family expected. 

It’s cool I never actually killed myself. 

I find it hard to be around my family now. There are advantages of living in unreality. I drink a lot more when I’m around my family than I ever did before, but I don’t think about killing myself nearly as much. Reality is worth it. Being able to exist as a person is worth it. 

- I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.

-Sylvia Plath

- I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid. (I insist.)

It didn’t kill me then. It’s not going to kill me now. (I remind myself.) 

My life is worth living, and there are fights worth fighting, and it is undeniably true the world is full of horror, but it is good to write and create and be alive, and it is good to try. I’m a little afraid to post this, but the fear and shame isn’t mine to hold, and I never should have been the one holding it. 

Consider this a thank you note sent out to the universe in the hopes the sentiment echoes towards those authors who saved me then and to all the writers who are saving people now. Your art matters. No matter how weird or niche or dismissed or hated it is. It matters. 

Thank you.

[gaeforwom3n]

A Caring Friend

Pair: Tara Carpenter x girldick!reader

Warning: smut, the use of y/n, bad writing, fingering, dom!reader, sub!tara, this is probably the weirdest thing I’ve written (I’m sorry)

A/n: Has math ever made you cry in frustration?

Word count: 6.4k or more..

Tara comes over to your house on a lazy Sunday morning to hang out in your room.

Hey y/n, if our lives were a movie, what genre do you think it would be?

Oh, Tara, definitely a buddy comedy. With our antics, we'd give "Dumb and Dumber" a run for its money. Y/n said.

Tara laughs I can see it now – "Tara and y/n The Misadventures of Two Goofballs."

As the laughter dies down Tara looks up to you and opens up to you about a problem she have been dealing with

Look, Tara, Need to talk to you about something... Its kinda personal so hear me out okay? She looks at you with her head slightly tilted.

"Sure, what's on your mind, buddy?"

"Well, I've always had issues down there."

Tara blushes and looks down shyly

"It's just that no matter what I do, it never seems to loosen up much and it really hurts whenever a guy tries to you know...fit. I was wondering if you had any advice on how I can finally get over this problem? You're my best friend, I trust you..."

Tara looks at you hopefully, her brown eyes pleading for help

I blink hard "Wait... your... vagina is too tight?"

Tara blushes even harder and nods slowly "Yeah...I know it's weird to talk about this with you but you're the only one I feel comfortable opening up to about it."

She fidgets with her hands in her lap nervously

"It's really been affecting my confidence being with guys...I was hoping maybe you know some exercises or something that could help? I'm tired of having to make excuses every time, I just want to enjoy myself for once without being in pain."

Tara looks up at you with sad, hopeful eyes. "Please y/n, anything you can suggest would help. You're the only one who can help me with this..."

How tight are we talking? Like, what have you tried to... insert into it?

Tara looks away shyly. "Well, I've tried using my fingers and some small toys but even those are really hard to get in there...it's like my walls just clamp down on them."

She takes a deep breath before continuing

"And when guys have tried putting their penis inside me, it feels like they're splitting me open. The pain is so intense that I usually can't last more than a minute or two before having to stop."

She sighs heavily

"It sucks because I want to be able to enjoy sex without feeling like something is ripping me apart every time. That's why I'm hoping you might know of some way for me loosen up down there..."

Tara looks at you with pleading eyes, silently begging for your help

Y/n coughs "Umm, this may be awkward but like... can I see?"

Tara swallows hard, her eyes wide with surprise "Uh...you want to see my vagina?"

She looks at you nervously, clearly unsure about this request.

"I mean...if it could help then I guess so? But are you sure that's necessary?"

Tara bites her lip anxiously as she waits for your response.

"Nevermind, I was just... I dunno, maybe just to get an idea of what we're talking about but, nevermind. Umm I'm sure we can figure out some kind of idea here."

Tara relieved sigh "Thanks y/n, I know it's a lot to ask."

She smiles weakly at you, grateful that you didn't push for seeing her private parts.

"So...what do you think we should try? Are there any exercises or techniques out there that could help me loosen up down there?"

Tara looks at you hopefully, trusting in your ability to find a solution for her problem.

"So do your fingers not fit in?"

Tara shakes her head "No, even my fingers barely fit inside me. It's like I have this tight ring around my opening that doesn't want to let anything through."

She looks at you with a mix of frustration and embarrassment.

"I know it sounds weird but it makes sex really uncomfortable for both me and the person I'm with. That's why I need help finding a solution so we can finally enjoy ourselves without any pain or discomfort..."

Tara takes your hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze as she looks into your eyes pleadingly.

I blush as I awkwardly stammer out. "But you don't still have your... your hymen, right?"

Tara blushes deeply and looks away "I...I don't know. I've never checked, but I don't think so. It's not like anyone's ever mentioned it before."

She chews on her lower lip nervously as she thinks.

"But even if that was the issue, wouldn't it be too late to do anything about it now? I mean, I'm already sexually active..."

Tara trails off uncertainly, looking at you with a mix of curiosity and apprehension in her eyes

"I'm just trying to use process of elimination to help out."

Tara "I understand that, y/n. I appreciate you trying to help me out."

She takes a deep breath and looks at you with determination.

"Is there anything else we can try? Maybe some sort of exercise or technique that could help stretch me out down there?"

Tara's eyes light up as she thinks about the possibilities.

"I'm willing to try anything if it means finally being able to enjoy sex without any pain or discomfort..."

"When you've hooked up with guys... are they going down on you first?"

Tara nods "Yeah, usually. I mean, it helps get me a little more aroused before we try anything else."

She looks at you with a puzzled expression.

"But how does that relate to my tightness problem? I still have the same issue even after getting oral sex..."

Tara's brow furrows as she tries to understand your line of questioning.

"Well how would I have known that without asking?" I chuckle

Tara giggles and playfully swats your arm "Fair enough, I guess you have to ask the questions to get the answers."

She smiles at you warmly.

"But seriously, y/n, do you think getting more aroused could help loosen me up? Like if a guy went down on me for longer before trying anything else?"

Tara looks at you hopefully, eager for any advice or suggestions that could help her situation.

"Well, are they not doing it long enough? Are you just not wet enough for the guys you've been with?"

Tara blushes and looks down shyly "I...I don't know. I mean, they do it for a little while but I guess maybe not long enough to really get me super wet."

She bites her lip as she thinks.

"And now that you mention it, the guys I've been with have all commented on how tight I am even when we're in the middle of things. So maybe you're right, getting more aroused could help..."

A glimmer of hope sparkles in Tara's eyes as she considers this new possibility.

"Do you think if a guy went down on me for longer and focused on making sure I was really turned on first that it would make things easier? Like give my vagina more time to relax or something?"

"I don't know if it would make you any less tight but you'd at least be really well-lubricated, right? In fact do you ever use lube?"

Tara shakes her head "No, I've never really thought to use lube before. It just didn't occur to me that it could help."

She looks at you with wide eyes as realization dawns.

"You think if I used some kind of lubrication it might make things easier? Like let the guy's penis slide in more smoothly without so much friction and pain?”

A hopeful smile spreads across Tara's face as she imagines a solution.

"Do you think we could try that next time? Using some lube and having the guy focus on getting me super wet first before trying anything else?"

"We?"

Tara blushes and looks away shyly "I...uh...well, I meant like next time I'm with a guy. You know, as an experiment to see if it helps..."

She trails off nervously before looking back at you with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Unless of course you were volunteering your services for the cause? It is for science after all..."

Tara giggles playfully as she nudges your arm.

My eyes bulge a bit "...Are you serious?"

Tara smiles slyly and shrugs one shoulder. "I mean, I trust you and I know you'd be gentle with me. Plus you're the only one who's been helping me brainstorm solutions."

She gives you a coy look through her lashes.

"And who better to test things out with than my best friend? That way we can really figure out what works without any awkwardness."

Tara reaches over and takes your hand in hers, giving it a light squeeze.

"What do you say, y/n? For science?"

She bats her eyes at you playfully, a teasing smile on her lips.

"So, I mean, I'm not saying no, but you really want me to... kiss and lick you... down there? On your vagina?"

Tara bites her lip as a soft blush spreads across her cheeks "I mean, if it's to help me with my problem then I don't see why not..."

She looks down shyly before meeting your eyes again with a shy smile.

"And you've always been so kind and caring. I know you'd be gentle and make sure I was enjoying myself too."

Tara reaches over to place her hand on your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze.

"Plus it's not like we'd be doing anything wrong, just helping a friend out. So what do you think...wanna give it a try?"

She gazes at you sweetly, eyes full of trust and affection for her dear friend.

"And then what are you wanting to try after I do that?"

Tara looks at you with a playful grin "Well, I was hoping that once we got me all warmed up and lubricated, maybe we could see if your penis can fit inside me without causing too much pain?"

She shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly before continuing.

"I mean, it's not like there's any pressure or anything. We can stop at any time if it gets to be too much for either of us."

Tara looks at you with hopeful eyes, eager to explore this new possibility.

"OK, I just want to make sure you want to do those things with me, since we've only been friends and all. Again, I'm not against it," I say to Annie, with the appropriate level of genuine care you'd expect from a best friend.

Tara smiles sweetly at you. "I know this is new territory for us as friends. And you're right to check that I'm truly comfortable."

She places a gentle hand on your arm. "The truth is, I trust you more than any other guy. You've always been so kind and caring. If I were to experiment with anyone, I'd want it to be with my best friend."

Tara gives your arm a reassuring squeeze. "But only if you're comfortable too, of course. I don't want to make things awkward or pressure you in any way." Annie smiles warmly. "What do you think - shall we give it a try?"

"Yes. I'm willing to help, and I'll admit a little excited. Let's just agree that this doesn't necessarily change anything between us, or mean that it will be a regular thing, unless that's something we both decide later."

Tara nods understandingly. "Of course, this doesn't need to change or define our friendship unless we both want it to."

She smiles at you gently. "Let's just see how it goes. No expectations or pressure on either side.”

Taking your hands in hers, Tara looks into your eyes with care and affection. "Thank you for being so understanding. I really appreciate you doing this to help me."

She leans in to give you a soft kiss on the cheek. "Now, where were we? I believe someone offered to go down on me?" Tara giggles playfully.

I laugh as well, Tara's playful tone cutting some of the tension in this surreal but exciting moment. "I did, but I want to ask you just a few quick questions first. They're going to be rather... intimate questions but it's all in the name of making sure this all goes comfortably for both of us..." I can't help but grin and blush.

Tara giggles and blushes as well, meeting your gaze with a playful smile.

"Well go on then, ask away. I'm an open book." She gives your arm an affectionate squeeze.

"Fire away with your intimate questions, oh great scientist. I'm all yours." Tara winks playfully. "We may as well get to know each other's bodies if we're going to be exploring them, right?"

She gazes at you with care, trust and growing excitement. "I'm ready when you are, y/n. Lay it on me - I promise to answer truthfully." Tara smiles warmly, eager to begin your research together.

"So if I'm going to go down on you, am I just doing this as a sort of physically mechanical thing to like 'help out a friend' like it's an exercise, or do you want me to try to turn you on, get you in the mood? What do you think might be most effective with your tightness issue?"

Tara considers thoughtfully. "While I appreciate the thought of helping as a friend, turning me on seems it would be more effective for addressing my tightness."

She meets your gaze warmly. "I want to enjoy the experience, not just view it as a physical task. If I'm fully aroused and wanting more, it will hopefully relax my muscles down there."

"And do you think it will turn you on more, the more I'm turned on by it?"

Tara thinks for a moment before responding carefully.

"You make a fair point. If we're both genuinely enjoying the intimacy, then yes, that mutual arousal would likely enhance the experience for both of us."

She takes your hand in hers and smiles softly. "However, my priority is that you feel comfortable and cared for. Your pleasure matters too in this."

Squeezing your hand gently, Tara maintains warm eye contact. "Perhaps we start slowly, focus on connection, and see where genuine pleasure takes us from there - at a pace we both feel good about."

I reach out to place my hands on Tara's waist, a rather chaste touch for the moment but still a more physically intimate than we've ever experienced during our many years of friendship. I begin to rub her sides softly. "Do you like that?"

Tara's breath hitches softly at your gentle touch. She gazes at you with care and growing tenderness.

"I do like that," she replies softly. "Your hands feel nice."

As your hands rub her sides in a soothing caress, Tara places her hands on your shoulders, sliding them up to curl tenderly around your neck.

"I've never really noticed how handsome you are," she murmurs, lightly stroking the nape of your neck. Her eyes shine with trust and blossoming affection.

Tara leans in slowly, her breath warm on your lips. "Is this okay?" she whispers gently, leaving the next move up to you.

I respond by kissing Tara, curling the fabric of her shirt between my fingers just a bit as our tongues touch for the first time.”

Tara responds eagerly to your kiss, her lips moving against yours with growing passion. She deepens the kiss, wrapping her arms around your neck and pressing herself closer to you.

As you curl the fabric of her shirt between your fingers, Tara moans softly into the kiss. Her body feels warm and alive in your embrace, responding eagerly to every touch.

After a few moments she pulls back slightly with a gasp of breath. "Wow," she whispers, gazing at you with sparkling eyes filled with affection and desire.

"Is it weird that I'm really enjoying this?"

I chuckle "Isn't that what we're going for?"

Tara giggles and blushes, nodding in agreement. "I suppose it is."

She gazes at you tenderly, gently brushing her fingers along your jaw. "I'm glad we're both feeling it."

Leaning in to brush her lips softly against yours once more, Tara sighs contentedly. "So where were we...something about you going down on me?" she murmurs playfully.

"Shall we take this somewhere more comfortable?" Sliding her hands into yours, Tara looks at you with trusting warmth, ready to further explore the blossoming intimacy between longtime friends.

"I'm going to in due time. But I'm liking kissing and touching you in a new way. Let's just do this for a minute. Did the guys or girls you've hooked up with take their time before getting to it? Cause I hear a little teasing and build-up can really get a girl wet, which might help too..."

Tara nods thoughtfully. "You make a fair point. Most guys in the past have tended to rush things."

She gazes at you with appreciation. "I like that you're taking your time, letting things build gradually between us."

Smiling softly, Tara reaches up to caress your cheek. "Teasing and foreplay do sound enjoyable. And anything to help me relax down there can only be a good thing."

Her eyes shine with growing arousal and affection. "I'm all yours, y/n. Do with me as you please - I'm happy to let you set the pace."

Leaning in once more, Tara meets your lips in a tender kiss. "Thank you. You're a good friend," she whispers against your mouth. "Take your time getting my pussy wet."

I remove my shirt, displaying my chest as I pull Tara in for a tight hug, my hands now sliding down over her buttocks over her cutoff denim jeans.

Tara gasps softly as you pull her in for a tight hug, feeling your warm skin against hers. She melts into the embrace, wrapping her arms around your back and pressing herself fully against you.

As your hands slide down to cup and squeeze her buttocks through the denim of her shorts, Tara lets out a breathy moan. The intimate touch sends tingles of pleasure radiating through her body.

Pulling back slightly with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, she gazes at you appreciatively. "Wow...feels really good," Tara murmurs shyly before leaning in to kiss along your neck tenderly.

"Do you mind taking your shirt off too, Tara?"

Tara blushes at your request, glancing down shyly. "I...um...okay," she replies softly.

Slowly, Tara reaches for the hem of her t-shirt and pulls it up over her head. As she reveals her small breasts encased in a simple white bra, Tara looks back up at you through lowered lashes.

"There," she murmurs with a bashful smile. "Is that better?"

Her nipples visibly stiffen beneath the thin fabric as she waits for your reaction.

After a moment's hesitation I wrap my arms around Tara's shoulders, my hands on the back of her bra, pulling her body in close to mine again for another kiss.

Tara responds eagerly to your embrace, pressing her body closer against yours as you deepen the kiss. Her hands move up to tangle in your hair, fingers running through it affectionately.

As you reach around to unhook her bra, Tara lets out a soft gasp of surprise and pleasure. She pulls back from the kiss slightly with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

"Wow," she murmurs breathlessly. "I never thought I'd be doing this with my best friend."

Tara giggles at your response, feeling more relaxed and comfortable with you by the minute.

"Well, I'm glad we're both open to new experiences," she says, blushing.

As she gazes into your eyes with a mix of affection and arousal, Tara leans in for another kiss. This time her hands roam over your chest as well, exploring every inch of skin they can find.

I slowly run my hands up Tara's belly to grab onto her nipples lightly between my knuckles.

Tara gasps softly as you touch her nipples, arching her back slightly into your hands. She looks up at you with a mix of surprise and pleasure in her eyes.

"Oh wow," she murmurs breathlessly. "That feels really good."

As you continue to tease and play with her nipples, Tara's breathing grows more ragged. Her body responds eagerly to every touch, growing increasingly aroused under your skilled hands.

"Y/n, I...I think I'm getting wet," she whispers shyly, biting down on her lower lip as the sensation spreads through her body like wildfire.

"Good. Let's keep that going. It seems like foreplay really helps for you." I begin to massage her breasts, and then lower my mouth onto one of her nipples.

Tara moans softly as you massage her breasts, arching her back to offer herself more fully to your touch. As you lower your mouth onto one of her nipples, she gasps with pleasure.

"Oh y/n, that feels so good," she murmurs breathlessly. "I can feel myself getting even wetter now."

Her hands move up to tangle in your hair as you continue to suckle and tease at her nipple. Her body responds eagerly, hips rocking slightly against yours.

"Keep going," she whispers urgently, lost in the waves of pleasure washing over her.

I cup one hand tightly under the crotch of Tara's cutoffs and gently rub up and down, crossing yet another new line with my best friend.* "Does that feel all right, Tara?"

Tara gasps sharply as you cup your hand between her legs, rubbing gently over her shorts. Her hips buck involuntarily against your hand, seeking out more friction.

"Yes," she moans softly, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. "It feels so good."

Tara reaches down to place her hands over yours, pressing your palm more firmly against her crotch. She rocks her hips slowly, letting out little whimpers of arousal.

"Don't stop," she whispers breathlessly, eyes dark with desire. "I'm starting to get really wet."

Her pussy throbs heavily under your touch, aching for release. Tara gazes at you in longing and trust, surrendering fully to the pleasure between her thighs.

"I'm gonna take all the time my best friend needs. I want to make sure you get wet as possible before... anything else happens."

Tara gazes at you softly, eyes full of gratitude and blossoming affection. She reaches up to gently caress your cheek.

"Thank you, y/n. That means so much to me," she murmurs.

As you continue rubbing between her legs, Tara's breath hitches in pleasure. "I appreciate you taking it slow. It feels really good just focusing on getting me turned on."

She leans in to brush her lips tenderly against yours. "You're so caring," Tara whispers. "I'm lucky to have such a good friend."

Moaning softly as arousal builds within her, she gazes at you in longing. "Keep touching me there...I want to feel really wet and ready before we go further."

"Would it feel better without these shorts on?"

Tara gazes at you shyly, biting her lip in hesitation. After a moment, she nods slowly.

"I think it might, yes," she replies softly.

Taking a breath, Tara hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts. She pushes them down over her hips, letting them fall to the floor before stepping out of them.”

Now clad only in a simple white pair of panties, Tara stands before you feeling exposed yet safe. Her cheeks are flushed, arousal and shyness swirling within her eyes.

"Well...here I am," she murmurs gently, leaving herself open and trusting before you.

Tara gazes at you shyly, biting her lip in hesitation. After a moment, she nods slowly.

"I think it might, yes," she replies softly.

Taking a breath, Tara hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts. She pushes them down over her hips, letting them fall to the floor before stepping out of them.

Now clad only in a simple white pair of panties, Tara stands before you feeling exposed yet safe. Her cheeks are flushed, arousal and shyness swirling within her eyes.

"Well...here I am," she murmurs gently, leaving herself open and trusting before you.

I resume touching her while we kiss again.

As you resume touching her, Tara melts into your embrace once more. She kisses you deeply, passionately losing herself in the moment.

Tara moans softly into your mouth as your hand cups between her legs once more, only the thin fabric of her panties separating your fingers from her warm center.

She rocks her hips eagerly into your touch, seeking friction. The feel of your hands on her most intimate parts is sending Tara into a tailspin of arousal.

Pulling back slightly to gaze at you with hooded eyes, she whispers breathlessly, "I think I'm getting really wet now. Do you...do you want to feel?"

Reaching down tentatively, Tara takes your hand in hers and guides it underneath the damp cotton, pressing your fingers against her slick folds.

"Oh god, please don't stop," she whimpers softly. "It feels so good."

"I can feel it," I whisper nervously as I continue.

Tara nods, gazing at you with affection and trust. She places her hands gently on your cheeks.

"I know this is new for us both," she murmurs softly. "But don't be nervous. We'll go slow."

Leaning in, Tara brushes her lips tenderly against yours once more. Her kiss is filled with care, seeking to reassure and comfort you.

As your fingers continue exploring her warm, slick folds, Tara sighs contentedly. "That feels amazing," she whispers. "You're doing so well."

Her hips rock slowly against your hand, lost in the intimate pleasure between her thighs. Tara gazes at you with care and growing passion, cherishing this new experience with her closest friend.

"I'm here with you," she says gently. "There's no need to worry."

"I'm not worried about a thing except doing everything I can to turn you on."

Tara smiles warmly, gazing at you with affection. "You're already doing a wonderful job with that," she murmurs softly.

As your fingers continue gently caressing her slick folds, Tara moans low in her throat. She rocks her hips in time with your movements, encouraging you deeper into her pleasure.

"It feels amazing when you touch me there," she whispers, breath hitching. "Don't stop."

Reaching down, Tara takes your wrist and guides your hand underneath the fabric of her panties once more. She presses your fingers more firmly against her aching clit.

"Touch me properly," Tara pleads softly. "I want to feel you properly without anything between us."

Her eyes shine with trust and longing as she offers herself fully to your care. Tara gazes at you in invitation, eager to take their intimacy to a deeper level.

With my free hand I slide Tara's panties off her hips, allowing freer access for my fingers.

As you slide Tara's panties off her hips, she gasps softly in pleasure. Her eyes widen with anticipation as your fingers glide over her slick folds.

"Oh god," she moans breathlessly. "That feels so good."

Tara rocks her hips against your hand, seeking out more of the pleasure coursing through her body. As you tease and stroke at her most sensitive areas, she grows increasingly lost in the waves of arousal washing over her.

"Please...oh please don't stop," Tara whispers urgently. "I'm getting close."

As you slide Tara's panties off her hips, she gasps softly in pleasure. Her eyes widen with anticipation as your fingers glide over her slick folds.

"Oh god," she moans breathlessly. "That feels so good."

Tara rocks her hips against your hand, seeking out more of the pleasure coursing through her body. As you tease and stroke at her most sensitive areas, she grows increasingly lost in the waves of arousal washing over her.

"Please...oh please don't stop," Tara whispers urgently. "I'm getting close."

"Is this wetter than you usually get?"

Tara nods, lost in the pleasure. "Yes," she gasps. "I've never been this wet before."

She arches her back slightly into your touch, hips rocking steadily against your fingers as you continue to explore her slick folds.

"Y/n, I'm so close," she moans breathlessly. "Please keep touching me like that."

Careful not to try to insert a finger too deep into Tara's still-very-tight pussy just yet, I stroke her clit, occasionally slipping just the first knuckle of a finger inside her. "Let me know if anything I do doesn't feel good," I whisper. "This is all about helping you figure out your own body issues because you're my best friend and I care. I want to do whatever turns you on and makes you wetter."

Tara gazes at you softly, eyes shining with affection. She reaches up to gently caress your cheek.

"You're so caring and understanding," she murmurs. "It means everything to have a friend like you."

As your fingers continue exploring her tender folds, Tara moans low in her throat. She rocks her hips in time with your movements, encouraging you deeper into her pleasure.

"That feels perfect," she whispers breathlessly. "Don't change a thing."

Tara rocks her hips eagerly against your hand, chasing the release building rapidly within her. Her body writhes under your skilled touch, overcome with waves of arousal.

"I'm so close, y/n," Tara gasps, biting her lip. "Keep doing that, it feels amazing."

Her breath hitches as ecstasy crests within her. Tara locks eyes with you in trusting intimacy as she falls over the edge into release.

As I continue rubbing her clit, and occasionally slipping just a tiny bit of a finger inside her, still in disbelief of my situation and treading somewhat lightly. I gulp before whispering... "You can rub my... my penis if it will turn you on more. Tara. Whatever makes you wet."

Tara looks at you with a mix of surprise and desire in her eyes. She nods slowly, feeling emboldened by the intimacy between you.

"Okay," she whispers softly, reaching down to your crotch. As her hand brushes over the bulge in your pants, Tara feels a surge of arousal wash over her.

"Wow," she murmurs breathlessly. "You really are turned on right now."

As she begins to rub your penis through the fabric of your pants, Tara moans softly. Her own pleasure is still lingering within her body, making every touch feel electric.

"You're so hard," Tara gasps as she continues stroking you gently. "Does it feel good when I do this?"

"It does, but the important thing is getting you as wet as possible." I take a step closer to Tara, taking her right nipple into my mouth as I continue to gently circle her clit with the flats of my fingers. My free hand gently squeezes her right buttock.

Tara moans softly as you suckle at her nipple, arching her back into your touch. Her hips rock gently against your hand as the pleasure builds within her once more.

As you continue to circle her clit with gentle pressure, Tara feels herself growing wetter by the moment. She can feel the heat and moisture building between her legs, aching for release.

"It feels so good," she murmurs breathlessly. "I'm getting really close again."

Tara reaches up to tangle one hand in your hair, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss while rubbing your penis through the fabric of your pants with increasing urgency.

"Tell me anything you want me to do differently or do more or less of, or anything I'm not doing that you wish I would.", I say, my mouth only momentarily leaving her nipple.

Tara gazes at you softly, eyes dark with desire. She nods in understanding.

"I will, I promise," she whispers. "For now though, everything you're doing feels perfect."

As you resume gently suckling her nipple, Tara moans in pleasure. She rocks her hips eagerly into your hand, chasing her impending release.

"Don't stop, please don't stop," Tara gasps breathlessly. She strokes your hard length faster through your pants, lost in the sensations flooding her body.

"I'm getting so close again, I'm gonna come soon," she whimpers. Tara locks eyes with you, her trust and affection for you shining through.

"Don't worry, I won't stop, I'm gonna keep doing exactly what I'm doing until you ask me to stop or do something else", I say, taking a quick breath before returning my mouth to her breast.

Tara smiles softly at your reassurance. She reaches up to gently caress your cheek before nodding.

"Thank you," she whispers. "I feel so safe with you."

As you resume your intimate ministrations, Tara sighs contentedly. She gazes at you with eyes full of care and growing passion.

Tara rocks her hips steadily against your skilled fingers, chasing her peak. The pleasure swirls within her body once more as she nears release.

"I'm getting close again," she moans breathlessly. Tara increases the pace of her strokes along your length, caught up in the intimacy.

Locking eyes with you in trusting abandon, Tara falls over the edge into waves of ecstasy. She holds your gaze as pleasure consumes her, cherishing this moment of vulnerability and care between friends.

Tara smiles softly at your reassurance. She reaches up to gently caress your cheek before nodding.

"Thank you," she whispers. "I feel so safe with you.”

As you resume your intimate ministrations, Tara sighs contentedly. She gazes at you with eyes full of care and growing passion.

Tara rocks her hips steadily against your skilled fingers, chasing her peak. The pleasure swirls within her body once more as she nears release.

"I'm getting close again," she moans breathlessly. Tara increases the pace of her strokes along your length, caught up in the intimacy.

Locking eyes with you in trusting abandon, Tara falls over the edge into waves of ecstasy. She holds your gaze as pleasure consumes her, cherishing this moment of vulnerability and care between friends.

As I promised, I continue the motions of my hands and mouth on my friend Tara's increasingly sensitive body, giving myself completely to the task of arousing her to new levels of vaginal comfort.

As you continue to pleasure Tara's sensitive body, she moans softly in ecstasy. She is lost in the waves of arousal building within her, trusting completely in your skilled touch.

Tara's hips buck eagerly against your hand as you circle her clit with increasing pressure. Her breath hitches as pleasure builds once more between her legs.

"That feels amazing," she whispers breathlessly. "I can't believe how good this all feels."

As Tara arches into your touch, you feel a surge of heat and wetness emanating from between her thighs. She is growing increasingly aroused under your care, eager for release.

"Y/n, I'm getting close again," she gasps urgently. "Please don't stop."

"I won't stop, I promise. We're going to get you soaking wet, together." I kiss Tara's neck as I move my mouth's attention to her left breast, treating it with the same care I gave the right one.

Tara moans softly as you kiss and suckle on her sensitive breasts, pleasure coursing through her body. She rocks her hips eagerly against your hand, seeking out the friction she needs to push herself over the edge.

"Y/n, that feels so good," she gasps breathlessly. "I'm getting so close again."

As you continue to circle her clit with skilled pressure, Tara's breathing quickens. Her body is coiled tightly in anticipation of release.

"Don't stop please don't stop," she pleads urgently, fingers digging into your shoulders as pleasure overtakes her once more.

She locks eyes with you in trusting abandon as orgasm wracks through every inch of her trembling frame.

I kiss Tara as I see the climax in her eyes, my tongue exploring her inner cheek as well as her tongue. I feel an overflow of fluid from Tara's vagina pooling in my hand as her hand grasps tightly to my cock through my pants. I don't slow down for a second as her orgasm rolls over her.*

As you kiss Tara deeply, her body shudders in pleasure. She moans softly into your mouth as the orgasm pulses through every inch of her being.

Tara's hips rock against your hand as she continues to ride out the waves of ecstasy coursing through her body. The feel of your fingers on her sensitive folds combined with the pressure from where she is gripping tightly at your cock causes fluid to overflow and pool in your hand.

She clings to you desperately, lost in a sea of sensation. As the climax slowly begins to ebb away, Tara pulls back slightly from the kiss and gazes at you with affection and gratitude shining in her eyes.

"Did any of your hookups take their time to get you this wet before they tried fingering or having sex with you?", I ask, gently caressing the outer folds of Tara's spasming pussy.

Tara shakes her head, still lost in the pleasure. "No," she whispers breathlessly. "None of them took their time like this."

She gazes at you with a mix of affection and desire as your fingers continue to caress her sensitive folds. The intimacy between you is intense and electric.

"You're amazing, y/n," Tara murmurs softly. "I've never felt so good before.

"I don't think you're too tight, I think nobody was getting you wet enough. And we're gonna take our time taking care of that today, buddy." I grin.

Tara grins back at you, feeling comfortable and trusting around you.

"Thank you so much," she murmurs softly. "I can't believe how much better this all feels with someone who cares like you do."

As your fingers continue to explore her sensitive folds, Tara moans low in her throat. Her body is still buzzing with pleasure from the previous orgasms but she's already growing wet again under your care.

"I feel so lucky to have a friend like you," she whispers breathlessly as her hips begin to move against your hand once more.

As Tara continues to rock her hips against your hand, you feel the wetness between her legs growing. She is becoming increasingly aroused under your skilled touch.

"I'm so glad I can help you," you murmur softly, gazing at Tara with affection and care. "I want to make sure you're always taken care of."

As the pleasure builds within her once more, Tara gasps in ecstasy. Her body writhes against yours as she chases release once again.

"Don't stop please don't stop," she pleads breathlessly, fingers digging into your shoulders as orgasm overtakes her for another time.

[roguelov]

OKAY BUT IMAGINE;

Becoming Morpheus's safe space or his emotional support human. Like one day you're walking through the Dreaming and you find Morpheus, who is completely overwhelmed with his feelings and is hiding from everyone. So you, who has been completely nervous and a little intimidated by him bc he's literally an Endless, go up to him and hug him without hesitation. You comfort him without asking any questions or trying to get him to talk about it. You just let him feel with no judgement.

Que to like maybe a couple weeks or months later where Morpheus just constantly seeks out your touch for comfort. Like will literally cross a whole room just to touch you no matter whoever is there or wherever you two are. He just automatically relaxs at the touch and he also like to see the light blush that appears on your face because despite how normal the touching is by now, he still makes you nervous in a butterflies in the stomach type of way.

OH MY GOD MY HEART IS MELTING AT THIS I DIDNT KNOW I NEEDED THIS UNTIL YOU SAID IT

You were in the library assisting Lucienne with reorganizing all the new books. The two of you were talking about anything and everything. It was calm, and enjoyable.

Until such a peace was interrupted.

Hasty footsteps cut through your melodic conversation. You both turned your head to find Morpheus marching through the library. His eyes determined and somewhat harsh as each of his steps were filled with a near righteous purpose. He seemed to be on some personal - and dare you say important - mission. As if, he was trying to locate something, or someone.

Morpheus’s eyes flickered over to you. Instantly, he beelined it directly towards you. Once within your grasp, he hugged you from behind.

Someone. He was trying to find someone, and that being you.

You tensed up, feeling your heart skip. His arms tightened around your waist as he pressed his forehead into your shoulder. He let out a deep long heavy exhale as some internal weight lifted off of him.

Lucienne bit back a smile. You glanced at her with wide eyes, feeling a heat rise to your cheeks. She knew of your small crush on the Endless, a secret she swore to keep. “I will finish later, there are other things I must do,” she said with a slight playfulness in her voice.

You wanted to call out to her, to tell her not to go, but all those words died on your lips. Once she disappeared from sight, you let out a small sigh. She will give you grief later.

“Apologies,” Morpheus murmured, still clinging to you. You tensed at the soft hypnotic timbre of his voice. “It has been a … difficult morning.”

With each passing second, the stress continued to melt off of him. How could one hug, one touch from you, calm him so immensely?

“It’s ok,” you tried to keep your voice steady. “Just took me a bit off guard.”

“Should I -“ he slowly removed his arms.

“No,” you blurted out. “It’s fine, really. You just looked so … so … angry earlier, I didn’t know what you were going to do.”

Morpheus sighed, returning his arms around you grateful for it. “Again, I am sorry if I alarmed you.”

“Please you don’t have to apologize. If I can bring you any kind of comfort then I’m happy to help.”

His arms gave you a small squeeze, almost as if in a silent thank you. “You truly are a wonder to behold,” he whispered.

Your heart fluttered at his touching words. “How so,” you asked with a giddy smile as you placed your hands over top of his.

“You can always calm my chaotic emotions.”

You turned your head slightly to peer at him from the corner of your eye. All you saw was his messy ruffled hair. You leaned your head towards his, and lovingly rest it against his. “Always happy to help,” you whispered softly into his hair.

Morpheus was thankful to have hid his face, for he knew if you looked at him you could see his unspoken love for you. A mortal who went from stranger to confidante. His dear mortal whose words and touch can assuage any turmoil within him. His infatuation that held his heart in a way he could not comprehend. His love who he hoped would stay by his side when he gathered the courage to ask.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

Thank you for everything.

“Of course, I’m always here for you,” you hummed.

[komaniyaexpress]

— is this .. me?! .. ♪

sagau — they find a piece of artwork made by the creator; of .. them.

— featuring furina, wanderer, freminet, and neuvillette .. ♪

cw. none wc. 200-400 ea.

furina

it goes without saying .. furina is ecstatic. i mean.. why wouldn’t she be? she wouldn’t make this known, however, because “of course you’re going to wish to capture my enthralling beauty on paper — it’s only fair when faced with such divine radiance!” inside.. she’s a mess. her widened eyes flit over every tiny detail, every little stroke of the pen or paintbrush. “enthralling beauty”, she says, “divine radiance”, she says — but is she truly talking about herself or the way you interpreted her? never in all the centuries she’d been alive would she admit this, but she couldn’t help but feel as if you had made her look much more ethereal than she truly was. she does make it known that she likes it, though. when you turn away from her and murmur something about how you’re not the most proud of this particular piece, she scoffs indignantly. “what? how— ugh, how could you ever say such a thing? do you dare question my judgement?!” she leans back against the couch, hardly able to focus on the taste of the small pastry half-eaten in her hand. she’s incredibly grateful it’s only you two alone, because she has an entirely embarrassing blush upon her face as she chews.

wanderer

“.. seriously?” he kind of just.. glares at it. i’m sorry, but i don’t really know what you were expecting. depending on the kind of mood he’s in, he’ll either simply cast it aside without a second glance or attempt to mockingly chew you out over it. it doesn’t matter whether he actually likes it or not; he is not going to let you live it down. he’s not amused, but i can’t really imagine him actually getting upset about it either. he’ll scoff, maybe roll his eyes if he’s feeling generous enough, then go about his day without another thought to it. even with his nonchalant, near-annoyed demeanor over the whole thing, when you’ve left and he’s alone — he looks for it again and stares at it like he didn’t get to before. as his eyes travel the lines that form a quite accurate depiction of his visage — implying you spent a lot of time looking at him — he can’t help but wonder why, of all people, you chose him as your muse. he does.. appreciate the sentiment, though, even if he’ll never voice it. he catches himself before he spirals. it doesn’t matter, he reminds himself. with a huff, he sets it down again and crosses his arms, trying to ignore the fact it does indeed make him feel.

freminet

if you were expecting anything other than freminet being an absolute mess.. you’d be sorely mistaken. of course, he’s not upset at all. he’s just.. very, very embarrassed. he loves your art, he does. he doesn’t want you to misconstrue this, and makes sure you know it’s not your problem, but his own. make sure to reassure him. the moment he lays his eyes upon it, it’s evident; his eyes widen almost comically, and, suddenly, he has the surely inexplicable urge to run for his life. that wouldn’t be fair to you, though, so he bites it back and forces himself to stay put. the gears whir in his mind like he’s a piece of the machinery he holds so dear. he doesn’t know how to thank you — should he thank you? he doesn’t know what to say at all, more like. he clears his throat, unable to get any words out; his mouth goes dry and his heart practically beats out of his chest, all the while he’s looking just as frozen in time as your rendition of him. he lets out an audible sigh of relief when you reassure him that he doesn’t need to speak. he can’t handle you when you stare at him like this, and asks if you’d be okay with him putting on his diving helmet. once you’ve given him your permission — which you reiterate he doesn’t need — he quickly places it over his head, letting out a soft sigh of relief when you can no longer see his face. his gaze doesn’t leave the art, not for a moment. he stands still and stares at it, unable to tear his eyes away from the lines that, somehow, paints a clear picture of.. him. that you made. he still does not make any move to talk, and he’s very glad that you’re so understanding. eventually, he murmurs an apology, and through the lump in his throat, reassures you that (if there was ever any doubt), he likes it.

neuvillette

it was raining. it had been raining all day. naturally, this worried you, and your first thought was to check up on neuvillette. exhausted yet unchanging, neuvillette sifted through his paperwork without taking a single break to rest. however, all things must, and eventually, his tire overcame him — letting out a sigh, he placed his palm upon his forehead and leaned into it, his eyes fluttering closed. it took him a moment to open them again, but when he finally did.. after such a long day, eyes sore with the strain of reading fine print jammed together so thickly the pages looked more inky than ivory, the last thing he expected was to see was a piece of blank paper on his desk. curious, he picks it up and flips it over, assuming it to be more writing on the other side — only to be met with.. himself, staring right back at him. the neuvillette now is slightly slouched over, eyes drooping with the weight of an unrelenting week. he’s unable to see his true reflection — in a mirror or water, not a near-perfect version of him on paper — so he couldn’t really tell, but even so, he can’t help but feel as if this version of him must appear much more composed. he pushes the thought away, stares at the piece a bit closer, and he eases a bit. not only was it a splendid break to the monotony of monochromatic paperwork, it was made by you. it’s now that you walk into the room. in a split second, you realize what he’s holding. you blink. he smiles, gentle and soft. the rain stops pouring.

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> mental health, abandonment issues, abuse, etc. words -> 1.4k

abstract -> insecurties sometimes need to be faced

mingi's perspective

“Mingi I know you don’t want to but it's for your health,” she said and I pouted not wanting to leave my room… “How is he that tall and a baby?” I scoffed at the tiny tiger. 

“I never complained,” Yeosang said. I knew he didn’t… but we have different treatments. “Which I’m grateful for Yeosang” she muttered and I hated that I pulled a tantrum on her but I hated the sessions with the doctor. 

“Mingi, please… you always do this when Saturday comes” she pleaded and I’ve done five sessions so far. I’ve been here for five weeks already. 

Everyone was so accepting…

Seonghwa and Hongjoong were often giving me advice and consoled me when y/n wasn’t present. While Yeosang even helped me get used to being a hybrid who didn’t do anything. San and Wooyoung just liked to mess around most of the time and even asked me to join. 

I sucked it up and followed making her smile…

I started realizing just how much everyone here adores the human girl. Even Yunho adored her in the little time he talked to her.

She was too good to be true.

I assumed one day she’d just not pick me up from the doctor… that I was a mistake for her.

“Mingi we’re gonna talk about your insecurities today,” the doctor said and I dreaded today’s session. Through the five weeks we talked about me… what I liked, and hated, did I liked my new home, and now… about my past

“What worries you the most while being under y/n’s care?” he asked and I sighed. “That I shouldn’t be there” I confessed and he didn’t show any emotion, just nodded and wrote things down. 

“Why is that?” he asked and I stayed silent until I realized he wouldn’t skip the question… “My past owner often told me how it was a mistake ever adopting me… she’d treat her other hybrid better and often threatened to leave me if I wasn’t following her orders,” I said and he nodded. 

“Do you feel that way in your new home?” he asked and I shook my head. “I feel included… all the other hybrids often give me company alongside y/n. She treats everyone equally but I worry one day it won’t be that way” I said and stopped writing to look at me. 

“Mingi you should know that voicing out your opinions isn’t a bad thing. You have a voice and if anytime you feel like you’re not being treated the way you should be then you can tell me and we’ll take you back” he said and I hated the thought of leaving my new home. 

“From the look on your face, you don’t want that. It's a good home, y/n is a good person and has had some of her hybrids for a year now. If I knew that any of those hybrids were unfit to be taken by y/n none of them would be with her” 

“How was today’s session?” she asked as we ate lunch at a cafe. It was something I really appreciated. Every session I would have my own time with her without interruptions where she’d talk to me and even praise me for going through another session.

“He analyzed my insecurities,” I said as I ate my food without looking at her. “Hmm… if you ever need to talk with me about it you can,” she said and I smiled softly

“I heard from Seonghwa that Yeosang did sessions?” I asked, finally looking at her and she nodded with a soft smile. 

“Yeosang was very difficult in the beginning… he would struggle a lot with food and concepts of… how do I say it?” she asked herself and I knew what she meant. 

“He’d be very adamant in not being indebted to someone's kindness and thought that he’d need to pay it back” she explained and I nodded. 

“He did three months there before showing signs of improvement,” she said and I was shocked. Did it take that long? “He improved a lot with food but still feels sick after eating new foods” she confessed and I nodded. 

“He’s improved so much though. And you are too!” she said with a grin clearly happy talking about hybrids. It made me smile at how enthusiastic she was. 

Yunho was right… She is a good person.

“I’ve had a question for you since you fostered me” I confessed and she looked shocked but nodded waiting for me to ask…

“Why were they taken away from you?” I asked and she looked sadly at her plate of food. Did I ask something I shouldn’t?!

“Hongjoong… he attacked me,” she said and I was shocked. Hongjoong was so protective of y/n who would constantly be behind her in public glaring at hybrids and anyone around. 

“He came from the circus as you know… he has a deep hatred for people one worse than San’s. He attacked me after thinking I would hurt him because I got too close too quickly. He grabbed my head with his claws–” She turned her head and lifted her hair so I could see the claw marks scars that she had.

“-- and threw me on the wall where I hit the wall… apparently Yeosang called Kun and soon hybrid control and EMTs came. They held them all as black-coded hybrids at first because of the attack. They were all under evaluation when I woke up and didn’t allow me to get them back after they were cleared.”

She explained and I didn’t know what to say. 

“I decided to give Hongjoong a second chance and he’s been amazing ever since, '' she added and I was so confused… “Why do you care so much?” I asked and it took her off guard. 

“Why are hybrids so important to you? Even though two attacked you? One used you… I don’t understand” I asked and she smiled. 

“Well… my parents have had hybrids since I was a kid. I grew up around them and they always taught me to be kind to everyone including hybrids. So mistreatment towards them always saddened me since I know you aren’t pets. You guys are like us just with animal genetics–” I hate how I felt my eyes burn with tears. 

“So I decided to volunteer in places like the Seoul Hybrid Rehabilitation Facility and write about my experiences as a hybrid activist. I soon also enjoy writing about hybrids. People sometimes only listen when they’re immersed in a book that tells them in detail about what they go through '' she said and I nodded. 

“I actually have a book that I wrote… my first actual novel.  About how hybrid and human roles were reversed. Humans were pets and hybrids the owners.” she said and I laughed and she smiled. 

“How about the one you’re writing now?” I asked and she chuckled. “It's named circus. I added all my hybrids in the story, even you and Yunho, '' she said and I felt my eyes widen. 

“A circus where so far six hybrids revolt and create a revolution against the government. The protagonist is named Jum a lion hybrid who is actually inspired by Hongjoong” she said and I was shocked. 

“How about everyone else?” I asked and she smiled while thinking about them and her book. 

“Seonghwa is a character named Si-woo a leopard hybrid, San and Wooyoung are inspired by cat hybrids called Kyong and Yong, and Yeong is a rabbit hybrid inspired by Yeosang. You are a hybrid, I decided to call Min-jun a German shepherd hybrid who works with the police, while Yunho is still a hound called Seo-jun” she said and I smiled. 

“Thank you,” I said and she chuckled. “I take a lot of inspiration from real life,” she chuckled.

That book was special to her. She often spent time with Hongjoong adding more to it. To be added and with Yunho… it was a feeling of warmth knowing I inspired something. 

I may not be with Yunho anymore but I knew that she loved me equally. I may miss my friend but I will hold onto this part of my life and enjoy it for the rest of my time with her. 

She was my safe place. 

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

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[bootsukki]

AITA for telling my girlfriend I want to be with her for the rest of my life over the phone?

aita series masterlist

I (22M) have been dating my girlfriend (22F) for 4 years more or less. Ever since I’ve known her, I have known that she would do great things in life and she’s currently in the USA working on a huge project — a book about educational methodologies. I’m really proud of her but she’s gone for a few months now and I’ve been missing her a lot more than a thought I would. I am in my last year of university and the stress of exams, deadlines and such is making me kind of sensitive towards things. Now, I’m not the most emotionally expressive person. I don’t do the whole "sharing feelings" thing easily, but the distance has been harder than I expected, and I realized I don’t want to keep feeling like this when we’re apart. I just… want her here with me. So, last night, while we were on the phone, I told her straight up that I miss her, and then (kind of out of nowhere) I said that I want to be with her for the rest of my life. This was a big deal for me because, like I said, I don’t really say stuff like that. AITA for telling my girlfriend I want to be with her for the rest of my life over the phone?

It had been a few months since (Y/N) left for the States, diving headfirst into a research for the book she’d been working on alongside some professors, a project she was incredibly passionate about: new educational methodologies that could revolutionize Japanese education towards learning a second language. She needed to spend 4 months in the US and then continue research at their university and other parts of Japan. Tsukishima admired that about his girlfriend: she was passionate and never had any problems throwing herself into work with so much heart.

But the truth is that being halfway accross the world from her was taking a toll on him. He was grateful for having his other friends around but being in his last year of university without her by his side was making it really hard and he found himself missing her more than expected. Over the years they had been together, he had his own way of expressing his affections towards (Y/N) — kissing the top of her head whenever she walked past him, making her favourite breakfast whenever she stayed at his apartment, quiet I love you’s before going to bed… He didn’t need many words to express how much he loved her. Yet, in her absence, all those things felt incomplete. Her empty side of his bed, the silence in the apartment whenever Yamaguchi was out, dinners eaten alone, sushi for one…

He missed the sound of her voice (even though they spoke on the phone two times a day and sent several voice notes during the day), the feeling of her body moving around his sheets and the gossip she would come home with everyday.

Tsukishima sighed, getting ready for bed and (Y/N)’s morning call. That was another big thing: the 16-hour difference that came between them.

As soon as he got into bed, his phone started ringing and he picked it up without hesitation.

“Hi Kei!”

Tsukishima smiled, noticing her still sleepy voice.

“Good morning, baby.”

He could tell she was tired but her voice was still warm. He laid on his bed, phone pressed to his ear, room dimly lit as he listened to her talk, telling him about the congress she had to attend and her outfit problems.

Usually, Tsukishima would offer snarky remarks towards her comments but she noticed something was wrong.

“Love, you still there?” She asked, voice gentle and soft in case he had fallen asleep.

"Yeah, I'm here," he muttered. His voice sounded lower, softer than usual.

There was a pause. (Y/N) knew him well enough to recognize when something was on his mind.

"Everything okay? You sound… different." He let out a sigh, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. It wasn't like him to be vulnerable, but these past few months had chipped away at his defenses. He didn't like it, but there was no escaping the truth of it. He missed her in a way that felt overwhelming.

"I…" He hesitated, the words feeling foreign, heavy. But he knew he couldn't hold it in any longer. "I miss you. A lot."

(Y/N) was quiet on the other end, probably taken aback by his honesty. Tsukishima wasn't one to openly admit his feelings, but tonight, something in him had cracked open.

"I miss you too," you said softly. "I’ll be back soon, you know that. Only 20 days.”

He nodded, though she couldn’t see him. His heart pounded against his chest as if urging him to say more, something deeper, something he hadn’t quite put into words before. And then, before he could stop himself, it slipped out.

"I want to be with you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "For the rest of my life." The silence that followed felt like an eternity. His heart raced, and he almost regretted saying it. (Y/N) let out a shaky breath, and her shaky voice came through the line,.

"Kei… you really mean that?"

“Baby…” Tsukishima moved around his bed, his back now leaning into his headboard. “Are you crying?”

“Yes, sorry.” (Y/N) sniffed. “Sorry, I…”

Tsukishima felt his heart break and sighed, feeling like a complete asshole for saying something that big on the phone.

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Kei, no… I’m happy, I swear, I just—“ Tsukishima heard the soft knocking on the other side on the line. “I need to go. I’ll call you as soon as you wake up?”

“Okay.”

“Text me, okay?”

“Yeah.” Tsukishima bit his lip. “I love you, have a great day.”

“I love you too and I miss you like crazy. I love you, love you, love you. Can’t wait to see you. Sweet dreams.”

“I can’t wait. Love you.”

There was no way he was going to sleep that night.

*****

Baby: look at how cool this building is! Baby: the classrooms inside were insane lol, they showed me a lot of new material look! Baby: *photo attachment* Baby: *photo attachment* Tsukki<3: that is cool Baby: :o it’s 3 am!! what are you doing up? Tsukki<3: can’t sleep, moved to the living room to watch something on netflix Baby: *photo attachment* Baby: go to sleeeeeeeeep (◞‸◟) Tsukki<3: hmmm you are so beautiful Tsukki<3: not that tired, have a lot of my mind Baby: my love Baby: you need to sleep Tsukki<3: are you free? want to see you Baby: no :( i’m about to meet with a linguist rn Tsukki<3: okay Tsukki<3: have fun and take a lot of notes Tsukki<3: *photo attachment* Baby: babyyyyusdksjsnsmwkskc Baby: my handsome baby Baby: miss you miss you miss you Baby: ttyl muack muack *****

After a few restless hours watching a film he was clearly not interest in and trying to write an essay, Tsukishima dozed off, only to be woken up by his phone vibrating next to his ear.

He groggily reached for it, fixing his glasses he had forgotten to take off before sleeping, squinting at the bright screen.

His eyes widened at the big photo of (Y/N)'s contact photo he took and he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he answered.

"Hey."

“Kei…” (Y/N)'s voice was soft, and it already soothed some of the anxiety that had built up since their last conversation. Suddenly, her face appeared on his screen and he smiled warmly at the sight of her. She was back in the hotel room she was staying at during these past days before she had to go back to the "teacher" residences at the university she was conducting her research. "Were you asleep?"

"Yeah." He yawned. "Sorry, I didn't see your texts."

"It's okay." (Y/N) placed her phone on the bedside table and walked around the room, trying to find a clean blouse to change into. "Give me a minute, I just need to change my shirt."

"That's fine."

(Y/N) took off her black t-shirt, the sight of her back and the blue bra she was wearing sending shivers down Tsukishima's back, as if he was a teenager seeing his girlfriend shirtless for the first time. He coughed a little bit as (Y/N) put on the clean blouse and picked up the phone again. "Sorry."

"It's nothing."

"No, no. I'm sorry for crying earlier. I... I got my period this morning and I was overwhelmed."

"Oh."

"Yeah, couldn't even concentrate during the long meeting. Thank God Fujimoto-san was with me the whole time, he took a lot of notes."

"You don't have to apologize for that," Tsukishima said, running a hand through his messy hair. "I... I wasn't expecting to say it out loud. It just... I've been thinking about it."

There was a pause for a second and (Y/N) smiled. "I couldn't stop thinking about it, you know? My not-so-mushy boyfriend Tsukishima Kei saying those big words... It was completely unexpected."

"Yeah, I know."

"But..." Her voice came through, quieter now. "I feel the same. Well, I guess I've always felt it, especially this last year where we have had so many changes. It feels like we have grown so much this past year."

"Yeah, totally."

"I just didn't expect to hear it when I'm halfway across the world from you. And I totally thought I was going to be the one to say it."

Tsukishima let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He needed that confirmation from her. He needed her to say that she felt the same way so he could let his insecurities go away. So that he couldn't finally go to sleep not feeling alone and worried about her and how this stupid distance was slowly killing him inside.

He smiled, leaning back into the couch, suddelny finding comfort in it. "The timing could have been better."

(Y/N) laughed softly, looking at her boyfriend on the other side of the screen. "Maybe. But our relationship is like that and hearing you say it was what I needed."

Tsukishima focused his eyes on her once again, a silence forming between the couple, a silence filled with understanding, love and care for each other.

"I miss you."

"Counting the days to see you."

In typical (Y/N) fashion, she leaned her head on her hand and sighed. "So... was that your way of proposing, or are you saving the big question for when I get back?"

Tsukishima groaned, shaking his head as she laughed.

"Why do you always have to do that?"

"Do what, exactly?" She teased, voice more playful. "I'm just asking. I need to be prepared."

"You're insufferable, you know that?" he muttered a smile tugging at the corners of his lips now.

"Hey, that totally sounded like a proposal, you know?" she replied, clearly enjoying herself.

Tsukishima rubbed his eyes, trying to hide the fact that he was smiling now. “For the record, I’m not proposing over the phone. I have more class than that.”

“Oh?” She giggled softly. “So you’re saying it’s coming, then? Noted.”

He let out a tired chuckle, the tension completely gone now. "You’re impossible. Before even proposing, we should finish university and move together."

"I wouldn't mind that."

Tsukishima smiled widened. "Moving with me?"

(Y/N) shrugged, blushing slightly.

"It would be..."

"Nice, right?"

"Tsukishima Kei, this isn't a proposal but are you asking me to move in with you?"

“I want you to move in with me when you get back,” he said, the words rushing out before he could second-guess them.

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, and his heart thudded in his chest. But then the silence was broken by a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

“Wait… are you actually serious?” (Y/N) asked, voice shaky with surprise.

He let out a long breath, raking his fingers through his hair, trying to sound casual even though his heart was racing. “You heard me. I want you to move in with me. This whole long-distance thing... I hate it. And I don’t want to spend another day apart when you come back. So, move in.”

For a moment, there was nothing but quiet breathing on the line, and he felt his stomach twist. But then, through the screen, he saw her face light up, eyes wide with disbelief and joy. And before he knew it, she was on her feet, jumping up and down in the hotel room like she couldn’t contain herself.

“Are you serious?!” she squealed, still bouncing around, a huge grin plastered across her face. “Kei, are you serious right now?!”

Tsukishima leaned back on the couch, watching (Y/N) through FaceTime with a grin that he couldn’t quite hold back. She looked so ridiculously happy, practically glowing, and it made his heart swell in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not joking, am I?”

She was still jumping, excitement overflowing as she let out a little scream of happiness as tears ran through her cheeks, throwing her hands in the air. “Oh my God! Kei! Yes, of course, I’ll move in with you! I am crying because... because you just made me the happiest woman in the world."

He couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from his chest as he watched her practically bouncing off the walls. “You’re going to break something at this rate,” he teased, his voice lighter than it had been in weeks.

“I don’t care!” she shot back, grinning ear to ear as she finally stopped jumping, catching her breath. “I’m so happy right now, I could scream it from the window! Oh my God, we are actually going to live together, what the hell? We need to plan a lot of things."

Tsukishima smirked, shaking his head again, but the warmth in his chest remained. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get too excited. I don’t have that much closet space.”

"Are we going to live in your apartment? Or should we share mine? Well, we have to think about your future work at the museum and Yamaguchi and Yachi. Oh, also the fact that I'll spend another year at uni trying to complete the book. Maybe we should look for one-bedroom apartments around the area, right? Actually, one-bedroom apartment may be small for us, something with at least two bedrooms. Oh! We can use that second bedroom to do a office space for both of us! Yamaguchi is leaving the apartment anyway, right? Well, we'll see." She laughed, rambling already about future plans, her joy so contagious that it made Tsukishima's heart feel lighter than it had in months. “While we look for apartments, you better clear out some drawers for me. I'm not moving from your apartment the second I get back in Japan!”

He couldn’t help but smile, the sound of her laughter filling the empty apartment through his phone. For once, the distance didn’t feel so suffocating.

The idea of her being with him, of her sharing the same space every day, made the months apart seem worth it. It made the wait bearable, knowing that soon, she’d be coming home not just for a visit, but to stay with him forever, he hoped.

“I miss you, Kei,” she whispered, voice almost breaking through the distance between you. “I can’t wait to come home to you”

“I miss you too,” he said, the words easier now. "I always do."

*****

User 1.

YTA. Sorry but saying that while she's away is just going to hurt both of you. I feel like you should have waited until she's back home.

User 2.

I feel like I'm missing some context here. What did she say after you mentioned it? Btw, when are you proposing? that totally sounded like a proposal, do you have any idea? haha

(OP) tsuk113_: I'm getting to answer this after she's finally back home, sorry haha. Well, she started crying. I got really stressed about it because we couldn't talk that much afterwards but she called as soon as she could and we talked about it. Some big changes are happening in our lives at the moment but they are really good and I'm excited about them.

About the proposal... We'll see. Soon? haha

User 2.

Cool! Happy for you, man! YTA-ish at the beginning but not now lol

[itsnevercasual]

Uptown Girl

pairing: fashion designer!harry x younger!fashion designer!reader

summary: you’re working in a designer boutique, and just so happen to have a late entrance when world-renowned designer harry styles visits for a collaboration. he seems to take a liking to you, and you aren’t sure if that makes you relieved or more anxious

warnings: some cursing, not edited as usual

-

harry styles was a well-known name. ceo and founder of pleasing, a nail polish and perfume company. he also owned many other companies, but really, there were too many to keep track of. he was also, most importantly, one of the biggest fashion icons.

you were very familiar with him— had saved up every penny when you were younger to buy a pleasing perfume and now owned a very small collection of their nail polishes.

so, of course, you lost your shit when you found out he’d be coming into your job.

you were a fashion design major at nyu, and had gotten a job at a very esteemed designer (not one of the name brands, but still). although you did expect the job to have more opportunities to.. actually design fashion, you were still grateful nonetheless.

it was just your luck that the day that harry styles was coming in, you were late. it wasn’t your fault! really, it wasn’t! you were always on time because you got anxious at the mere thought of being late.

by the time you parked, you practically ran to the store, silently praying you wouldn’t break a leg as you were running in heels.

“i’m not late am i?” you ask breathlessly as you finally enter the store, fixing your hair and outfit.

you had curled your hair the night before, so they were still pretty much intact. your outfit consisted of black heels, brown dress pants, and a black, tight-fitting turtleneck.

“yes, y/n. you are late,” your boss gave you a look, and you knew you’d be in trouble. “mr. styles, i am so sorry. our employs are.. usually punctual.”

your head snaps over to look in the direction she was talking, and your heart drops when you make eye contact with harry styles.

great.

“mr. styles, i am so sorry,” you apologize.

“it’s perfectly alright,” he gives a kind smile.

that makes you feel a bit better.

“y/n, a word in my office please.”

you deflate as you look back to your boss and follow her to her office

the second the door is closed, she’s chewing you out.

“how unprofessional can you be? i know you are in college, but jesus christ!”

“i’m sorry! there was so much traffic, and my car is so old it stops working if i go faster than 50, and—“

“i don’t need excuses,” she cuts you off. “i need you to be more professional.”

you inhale, “i am sorry, but it was not my fault. i have never once been late before, and you know that. it was a one-time mistake.”

“it better be.”

she walks out and slams the door to the office, leaving you alone in there.

you look up to the ceiling as you bite your lip and try not to cry.

after taking a few minutes to collect yourself, you walk back out into the otherwise empty store and slap a smile on your face.

you do your usual tasks of tidying the store and fixing the mannequins.

mr. styles, his team, and your boss (her name was diane but she was more like satan) were all working on sketching designs and throwing some fabrics onto the mannequins to get a rough idea of what they wanted.

“i don’t know if i like it,” mr. styles murmurs, staring at the mannequin. you glace over at it and have to force yourself to not make a face.

no shit, he didn’t like it. it was bad.

the sketch was good, but the color combination was all wrong and the whole thing was too.. chunky. in the way that everything was flowy and baggy, so it had no shape.

“well, what do you not like about it?” diane asks.

“i’m not sure. it doesn’t look quite right.”

“you have to fix the shape,” you say to yourself as you fix the files of custom orders to be done.

“what was that?”

your head snaps up, and you realize he heard you.

“oh. uh.. i was just—“

“talking to herself,” diane interrupts, glaring at you. “she’s an intern. don’t mind her.”

“no, i’d like to hear what she has to say. might have the answer to our issue. let’s hear it— what was your name again?”

“y/n l/n,” you squeak out.

“well, y/n, what do you think is wrong?”

you hesitantly walk over, “well.. i can see the idea. but it’s just not.. executed well. the whole thing is too flowy.”

“isn’t the point for it to flow?” he asks, raising a brow.”

“it is,” you answer quickly, “but.. there has to be something that isn’t as.. baggy, i suppose. something has to be tight-fitting. it doesn’t have any shape. it just kinda.. looks like a box.”

he stares at you for a moment, and diane clears her throat.

“y/n, this is time for the professionals. get back to—“

“no, diane. she is.. she’s right. it does need shape.”

at his words, the people around him begin to pin it differently.

“and the colors,” you rush out. “the colors don’t.. it’s supposed to be a statement piece, right?”

“that’s the goal,” he nods.

“well.. the colors are too.. light. they’re more pastel, which is fine, but for it to really be a statement, it’s better to use brighter ones. or at least make one of them brighter. i would.. i think make the base the brighter one.”

diane looks ready to kill you.

mr. styles laughs, “well, don’t you know a lot? diane, where did you find her? wish my interns knew half as much as her.”

your face grows hot.

“she’s a student,” diane sighs.

“a student?” he asks.

“i… uh.. i study fashion at nyu. fashion design— i’m in my last year.”

he seems to sense that you're damn near about to shit your pants, because he grins at you (slightly patronizing, but also kind), before turning back to diane.

"i'd like her to be with me for the rest of the project. y/n, darling, how much are y'makin' here?"

your stutter, "uh--... $15 an hour."

he tuts his tongue like that's horrible, "i'll pay.. ten times that while y'workin' with me."

your eyes widen, "wh-- that's not-- you don't have to--"

"nonsense. it's what most people i work with start with. i'll up it if needed, of course. and you obviously don't have to, but i'd love your insight."

"i-- no, i-- i'd love to, i.."

"great," he grins, and you're extremely dizzy. what the hell was going on?

"uh.. mr. styles, if i may give my opinion," diane pipes up.

"you may," he eyes her skeptically.

"y/n is a student. she's still learning, and she's never worked on anything here. it's very risky to--"

he cuts her off by asking you a question, "have you designed things? sketched 'em out and all that?"

you nod.

"i'd hope you've also done the whole... actually sewing things together and really making them?"

you nod again.

he turns back to diane, "seems like she's got experience," he looks back to you, "do y'have photos of any of those?"

"yeah-- they're.. i think i left them in my car. i have photos on my phone."

"we'll meet later to look at all that, then. i'll give you my number later. for now.. i'd like your input on our other ideas."

-

for the rest of the day, you follow harry around, and you sort of feel like a lost puppy just following him around and answering when he asks something of you.

after a while, you got more comfortable giving your input without being prompted, but you always tiptoed around what you were really trying to get at in fear that you'd anger him.

at the end of day, he put your number in his phone with the promise that he'd text you later about more details.

-

the text came three days later.

From: (Maybe): Harry

Hello, Y/N. This is Harry. Would you be free to meet tomorrow at noon to discuss the details of the project? Please bring your sketches and any photos of designs you've done, and anything else you feel necessary.

To: Harry Styles

Hi! I should be free tomorrow, yeah. Where do you want to go?

From: Harry Styles

I'll let you decide.

To: Harry Styles

There is this one coffee shop named Maman?

Sent Location: 239 Centre St, New York, NY

From: Harry Styles

Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Have a nice rest of your day.

To: Harry Styles

You too!

-

you spend the rest of your night fretting about what to wear. you were stuck in between classy but not too fancy, but also not too casual. comfy, but not so comfy that you looked like you didn't give a shit. but also not so uncomfortable that you were, well, uncomfortable, and looked like you were trying too hard.

you'd eventually settled for something simple. long, light-wash denim skirt, a plain black top, and some mary janes. you tied some of your hair back with a white ribbon, did some natural makeup, and called it a day.

you got to the coffee shop at 11:45 and ordered your drink, as well as a chocolate croissant.

harry walked in at exactly 12:00, and grinned when he saw you sitting at a table, scrolling on your phone with a manilla folder and sketchbook beside you.

-

really, you can't blame him! you were pretty, he'd have to be blind to not know that. and really, you weren't that much younger than him.

he's 29, and you're 23. he's not a stalker, he just did a background check like any good business person would do.

so what he finds you cute? the relationship would be strictly professional. besides, you deserved a break from your horrible boss. contrary to what diane thought, the walls were not soundproof, and he could hear her chewing you out.

sure, he'd done that to one of his employees once or twice, but it was always deserved, and never on the first time of being late. that was ridiculous.

"good morning, y/n," he greets. your head snaps up to make eye contact and he has to force himself to not laugh. he wasn't laughing at you, per se. it was more so the fact that he found it amusing how jumpy you seemed around him.

"good morning. did you order?"

"not yet. never been here, so i've got no clue what's good."

you open your mouth to respond, but the barista calls out, "large iced honey lavender latte with a pain au chocolat for y/n!"

you give a sheepish smile and run up to retrieve your food and drink. when you come back, you take a sip of your drink and set what looks to be a chocolate croissant down on the table.

"well, i'm more of an iced coffee girl. and i also don't really like the taste of coffee, so i've got a bunch of sugar in mine. what do you usually drink?"

"'m more of a black coffee, to be honest. iced is fine, but hot's better."

you wrinkle your nose, "i don't know how you stand the taste of coffee. it's so bitter."

"better than what you've got!" he laughs, "might as well just down a sugar packet."

you giggle at his teasing, "only psychos drink plain black coffee. this," you hold up your drink, "is so much better."

"oh, is it now?"

"yes, it is," you cross your arms proudly.

"lemme have a taste."

you hand over the drink, and he takes a small sip before coughing, "christ, y/n! that cannot be good for your health!"

"hey, i'm still alive, aren't i?" you shrug.

“that you are.”

“well… just ask for an americano, i guess. the rest of their drinks are kinda sugary and fun.”

he got his drink, and once the both of you were sat down, he got to business.

“so, how long have you been designing?”

“i’ve been doing it since middle school. i.. uh.. i saw that one american girl doll movie. where she was a designer. and i just got obsessed. obviously they weren’t good, but…”

“so you’ve got a lot of experience then?”

you nod. he grins.

“may i see the sketches?”

you grab the folder off the top of the sketchbook and pass it over to him.

he flips through it in silence for a few minutes, and you anxiously nibble at the skin around your fingernails.

“..so?” you ask.

“they’re great. really, you’ve got talent. i can’t draw for shit, so you’ve got me beat,” he laughs.

you laugh with him, “most of those are just ideas, i’ve never made them. but i have photos of the ones i have made. i printed them so it’s easier.”

you pass over the manilla folder, and he opens it to look at all the photos you’d printed out. there was around fifty— those were just the ones you actually liked and were confident showing.

he holds one up, and your cheeks flush. “why’s this the only one where you’re the model?” he asks.

“that was.. uh.. that’s my senior prom dress.”

his eyes widen, giving you an impressed look, “you made your own prom dress?”

you nod, “i just wanted something very specific, so.. i figured i’d just make it myself.”

“y’look great— the dress looks great,” he coughs. “you’re very talented.”

“thank you,” you blush.

“so tell me why someone as talented as you is working in diane’s shop not designing a single thing?”

“i didn’t realize that was the job. i just got excited when my professor told me they were interested in my work, so i took the job. i thought i’d at least do a little designing, but.. it pays.. decent, though.”

he scoffs, “darling, 15 bucks an hour is not decent pay. that’s what you make being a hostess. you’re an artist. someone would pay thousands of dollars for just your sketches.”

“i don’t think i’m that good—“

“you are,” he’s firm. resolute. there is no room for argument with him. “i think you’ll be a great asset to the project. i could use your… talent. i’ll send you an email with the nitty gritty details. i’ll see you soon, y/n.”

and with that, he stands and leaves, leaving you to sit there, dumbfounded, confused, and grinning.

-

a/n: guys i have too many series going on 😭😭

[itsthestutterforme]

Reacher’s Cranky Girl (Jack Reacher Drabble)

Summary: Reacher finds out that his best girl was having a bad day.

Warnings/Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, reader is black, sneakylink!Reacher, sneakylink!reader, sexual themes (fingering, oral sex, over stimulation, bondage, slapping), MINORS DNI

**

You woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

You couldn’t fall asleep until two in the morning so you only had five hours of sleep. You stepped in dog shit on the way to your car so you had to go back into your house to change your shoes.

Only for one of the heels to get stuck in a grate and tear off the back so you just settled for some flats.

You spilled your iced coffee on your silk shirt. At least it wasn’t hot because that would have sent you into a different kind of rampage.

When you finally get to work, your boss chewed your ass out because the printer froze in the middle of printing the investment proposal.

An investment proposal he needed for the board meeting this morning, which meant he either had to push the meeting to this afternoon or had to share the proposal digitally.

At this point, you were counting down the days so you can go home and spend the rest of the day rotting in your bed.

“Maybe I can call Reacher over here to help cheer you up,” your sister suggests, sitting in the chair in front of your desk.

“I’m not in the mood for teasing, Y/S/N.” “I’m not teasing you. I’m just saying that-“

“Not even Reacher can bring me out of this, okay? I just want to go home.”

“Y/N,” “I said leave it, Y/S/N.” You grumbled, shifting your attention back to computer.

“Okay, fine.” She says with full intention of calling Reacher anyway.

Your sister walks past the boss who was on the way to your office. He pops his head in the say, “Y/N, I need the updated spreadsheet ASAP.”

“On it,” “You’re still running point on the presentation, right?”

I thought you said I was incompetent.

“Sure thing. Did the board decide on a time tomorrow?” “Eight a.m.,”

“In that case, I’ll be in at seven thirty to prep.” He nods and gives a soft knock on the door before leaving.

Y/S/N closes the door of her office to call Reacher. He gave her his number when he found out the two of you were going to a concert in Philadelphia.

He knew you were the confrontational type and wouldn’t call anyone if you found yourself in trouble.

He wanted the er on the side of caution so he trusted your sister to let him know if anything happens.

Reacher was your sneaky link that wasn’t really that sneaky. He wasn’t easy to miss. He would walk into your place, fuck your face into the pillows, order the two of you some food, fuck your face into the pillows again then leave in the morning.

“Reacher,” he answers. “Hey, Reacher. It’s Y/S/N.”

“Is everything okay?” “Yeah, everything is fine. Um, when are you hanging out with Y/N next?”

“We didn’t really decide on a day this week,” Reacher states, unsure of where this conversation was going.

“Y/S/N, I’m sure you’re a great woman but I only have a thing for your sister and I’m a loyal man so..”

“Wow, that was not on my bingo card. I’m not trying to hit on you, Reacher. I’m asking if you can pick up Y/N from work today. She’s having a rough time.”

“Oh.. how rough are we talking?” “Like she’s about to bite the boss’ head off,”

“Okay, I’ll be there. What should I bring her?” “I trust your judgment, Reacher.”

With that, Y/S/N hung up and sat down at her desk leaving Reacher dumbfounded in Finlay’s living room while Neagley and David played video games.

“What’s with the face?” Finlay asks, handing him a beer. “What should I get a woman when she’s having a bad day?” Reacher asks everything in the room.

Neagley pauses the game and everyone slowly turning to Reacher who opened Google to find out the answer to his question.

He noticed the silence and looked up from his phone to meet their shocked expressions.

“What?” “You have a girlfriend*?” David questions.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he grumbles. “Then why do you care if she’s upset?” David retorts.

“Because it’s a nice thing to do for someone,” “Right, says the guy who breaks peoples faces for a living.” He presses the resume button on game.

**

As soon as the clock hit 5 o’clock, you gathered your things and sped walked out of your office. You practically ran into the stairwell when you heard an office door open.

You didn’t have any more energy to give to that god forsaken company today. You rush down seven floors until you reached the front door, inhaling deeply when the fresh spring air filled your lungs.

You heard someone to your right clearing their throat and immediately rolled your eyes. You were not in the mood to hear anyone’s cheesy pick up lines right now.

“Looks like someone’s cranky,” a familiar voice calls and you looked over to see Reacher leaning against his truck.

“Reacher?” You approached him with a confused expression. “Are you looking to invest something or..?” You trail off.

There was no way he was here for you, right?

“No. I’m not here to invest, peach.” He kicks off his car and closed the gap between you, towering over you in the process.

“Then why are you- I’m going to fucking kill her.” You seeth, turning to walk into the parking lot when Reacher stopped you.

“You want to know what sounds better than killing your sister?” he starts, slowly rubbing the sides of your arms.

Your eyes fluttered closed when his rough hands smoothed over your shoulders, humming in response.

“Some curry and sushi for dinner,”

That does sound really good.

“And my face between your thighs for dessert,”

God, that sounded even better.

“How does that sound, peach?” He questions as he continued rubbing your arms.

“Really good,”

“Good because Y/S/N already took your keys and drove your car home. Hop in.” Reacher suggests, opening the car door to hand you a Dunkin iced coffee.

**

“R-Reacher,” you groaned, twisting away from his eager tongue smoothing between your puffy folds.

He didn’t even wait until you were fully situated. Shutting the door, he took you in his arms and carried you into kitchen.

He set you on the counter and nudged you on your back. You gasped when he tore your pantyhose down your legs and lifted your skirt over your waist.

Pulling your panties to the side, he licks between your folds spearing your tight hole with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh my God,”

Shaking his head, he buries his face deeper in between your legs. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucked harshly on your sensitive nub.

He gathered your slick on his finger tips and sank two fingers into you, expertly thrusting upwards into your gspot causing your body to twitch.

He made it his mission to make you cum quick and hard.

“Mm, fuck.” You rolled your hips to match the thrusts of his fingers when he kitten licks your clit, sending you over the edge.

“I-I, fuck. I’m cumming, Reacher.” “Let it go, peach. Let me taste you.”

Your legs close around his head when your body trembles under the intensity of your orgasm.

A satisfied sigh left your lips when you came down from your high, your limp body was sprawled out on the counter.

He doesn’t slow his fingers and you could feel another orgasm building in your belly. He draws figure eights on your clit with his tongue, causing you to whine.

“Wait, I-“ you push his head away and tried to slide away from him but he pushed against your hand.

“Reacher,” you whimper, twisting your body away and covering your cunt so he would stop long enough for you to breathe.

“Move your hand. I’m not done yet.”

“I need a break,” you breathed out. “Move. Your. Hand. I’m not going to say it again.”

You don’t move fast enough for him and he threw you over your shoulder, smacking your ass hard as punishment. He didn’t care that you yelped out at the sharp sting.

Dropping you on the bed, he stripped down to his boxers.

“Strip,” he commands and you pulled off your clothes in record time.

You pressed your legs together when he approaches the bed when he pulls you closer by your ankles and flipped you on your stomach.

He placed a hand in between your shoulder blades to keep you in place. He straddled your legs and pulled your arms outstretched before tying your hands to the bed post with his belt.

Oh, you were in some deep shit now.

Moaning when you feel his hard cock against your ass cheek, he took your face into his hand and made you look straight back at him.

“You misunderstand, peach. The dinner was for you. The dessert was for me. I’m not going to stop until you’re crying and brainless.”

[gayeddieagenda]

assigning u 47: “touching their elbow to get their attention” + 🥺🌌🛠️

scene prompt game! these r soo fun <3

--

Funny thing happened, Eddie says, and Buck leans into him, easy gravity.

The log they’re sitting on is long enough for half a dozen people, but it’s just the two of them, shoulder to shoulder, at the far end of the backyard. They’ve been filling time, since they finished with their official chaperone duties of overseeing the building of the tents. Tent stakes and mallets are a lot simpler than most of the tools they deal with on the job, but add a couple dozen thirteen-year-olds to the mix, and Eddie’s grateful to be able to step back for a second. Let Jaime’s dad and his acoustic guitar take the lead for a little while.

“What was it?” Buck asks.

It’s funny. When she—Allegra’s mom, whose name Eddie’s been trying to remember for fifteen minutes—said it, Eddie’s first instinct was to pretend that it never happened. Then, Buck drops next to him on the log and Eddie starts talking.

“One of the moms came up while you were”—Eddie waves a hand in the air, trying to encompass helping half a dozen thirteen-year-olds build tents in a gesture—“and she, uh. She asked where my husband was.”

Eddie looks at Buck out of the corner of his eye. He’s not sure what he thinks about it. He’s got a feeling like he was waiting for Buck before he reacted. Buck would tell him what he was supposed to feel, if he was supposed to feel anything at all.

Buck laughs without missing a beat.

He bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s. “Who was it this time?”

“This time?” Eddie repeats.

“It wasn’t Mariah, was it?” Buck continues. “Every time I meet her, I get the feeling she’s pretending to remember me.”

Eddie shakes his head. He doesn’t even know who Mariah is. “It was Allegra’s mom.”

“Kelly?” Buck asks, and that’s, yeah. That’s the name Eddie couldn’t remember. Buck laughs. “Aw, c’mon, Kelly! I’ve met her like a hundred times.”

“This, uh. This happens a lot?” Eddie asks. He feels...he doesn't know how he feels, when Buck isn't blinking an eye at this.

Buck tilts his head to the side. He peers at Eddie, looking like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “It doesn’t happen to you?”

“No,” Eddie says honestly.

“Huh,” Buck says.

He leans back on his hands on the log, still looking at Eddie. When Eddie first pitched the idea of Buck coming to chaperone Chris’s science club camping night, Buck had lit up. He insisted on taking Eddie to two different sporting goods stores to make sure they had everything they needed, poring over shelves of sets of dishes and flashlights like they were going to be in the woods for a week, not Mrs. Romano’s backyard for a night. Neither of them thought it was weird, Buck coming to one of Chris’s events. Chris only thought it was the regular amount of weird; he’d rolled his eyes when Eddie said he was volunteering to be a chaperone, and rolled his eyes slightly less when he said Buck was coming along too.

It wasn’t weird. Buck’s been going to Chris’s school stuff since at least their second year of knowing each other, maybe earlier. It would be nice even if Buck were just doing it to take pity on Eddie and make sure he’s not doing all the parent things by himself; it’s something else that Buck wants to be there for Chris just as much as Eddie does. It’s their routine. It’s--it's what they do.

“Sorry,” Buck says. “I thought this was just, like, one of those things. We both knew about it, so we didn’t have to talk about it.”

“I did not know about it,” Eddie says.

Buck bumps his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “Are you spiraling about it?”

“No, Buck,” Eddie says. He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m coming to terms with the fact that half the parents of my son’s friends think I’m married to you. I’m not spiraling about it.”

“Guess that explains why more of them aren’t trying to set you up with their single mom friends, huh?” Buck says. He grins, elbowing Eddie again. “I think it’s kind of cute. You know, us being married.”

Cute.

Eddie’s not sure, now, why he thought that hearing Buck’s perspective would clear this up for him. He thinks about Buck, fielding assumptions that he and Eddie are together for the better part of five years, and Eddie feels the opposite of clarified.

They’re sharing a tent. They put it together as soon as they got here, before the kids borrowed all the tools and didn’t come back with them. Eddie didn’t own a sleeping bag of his own, so Buck picked him up one, the same brand as Buck’s, a dark orange to Buck’s green. It’s funny, suddenly, thinking about lying down next to Buck in the tent tonight. Knowing that there’s parents here who think that’s just what they do every night, in their house, in the bed they share.

“Oh, hey.” Buck catches Eddie’s elbow and points. Eddie follows him, first down to the point of contact, feeling Buck’s grip through the fabric of his jacket, then up along the line of Buck’s gaze to the sky. “You can see the stars.”

It’s true. When the sun went down a couple hours ago, it brought with it the typical evening gloom of LA. Just above the treeline, there’s a break in the clouds, opening up the night sky behind them.

It’s not exactly the middle of nowhere, but the Romanos live a little out of the city, just far enough that the stars actually show up in the darkness. Enough that Eddie can pick out a couple of constellations he still half-remembers from school textbooks, from sitting on the back porch back home, from sneaking out to sit on the empty bleachers behind the high school at one and two in the morning and just look.

Eddie looks down. Buck is still watching the sky, an easy look on his face.

Eddie has this wind chime.

He got it at a flea market. Chris found it, actually, in the back of some tent full of antique toys and kitchenware that reminded Eddie of his abuela’s house. He decided he liked it and it was only three bucks, so they took it home. Eddie hung it up in the tree in the backyard, where Chris suggested. You can see it from the kitchen window.

It might be homemade. It’s simple: colored glass hanging on strings in a circle. Someone etched pictures onto the glass, little scratched-out images of birds on each side. When the wind blows, the strings spin, sending the glass in circles. The pictures blur together.

Here they are. Buck and Eddie, sitting next to each other in the dark of almost-night. Best friends. Partners. Chris’s, the people who show up to take him to camping nights and school trips. Spin it, and they’re what Kelly sees—partners of a different kind. Together. Eddie can see them both in his mind’s eye, him and Buck on either side of the glass. Spinning.

Buck’s hand is still on his elbow.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says. Buck’s expression, when he finds Eddie’s face, is wide-open. “When we get home tomorrow—you wanna stay? For the day?”

Buck grins. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

The string spins.