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minefield-of-a-ninja · 7 months ago

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*images credited to Kim Kardashian Twitter, and CW photo stills

Anonymous Prompt: I really want demon dean stalking someone but I don’t know how to do that with consent? But guh just the thought of him.

Characters: Knight of Hell/Demon Dean Winchester x unnamed female character

Tags/warnings: 18+ only; this is not your mother’s Dean Winchester; stalking; exhibitionism; voyeurism; mutual masturbation; dirty talk; horny on aisle 3; fuck it, we ball

Words: 2,400

Author’s notes: #Mutual Masturbation for @jacklesversebingo

This did not turn out the way I'd planned, and it's not nearly as dark as I thought it would be. But I still love it! I hope you love it, too.

Thank you @brrose-apothecary @talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word @runawaydr3amerao3 @bigmouthlass for idea bouncing, and @stusbunker for the proof read and green light.

ENNUI

For some people, the passage of time is beautiful and magical; the smallest things are to be cherished. For others, time passing reinforces our connection with the world, marking each pulse of the rhythm of life. For her, time measures the loss and emptiness of what isn’t or will ever be again.

Today is a milestone birthday for her. The days leading up to it have been punctuated by discoveries of new lines, bulges, and other undesirable changes to her body that remind her she’s steadily failing.

Since she had just two appointments this morning, she decided to close her office early and hit the pool shared by her HOA. Her neighbors are mostly professionals without children, and it’s Tuesday; she’s sure she’ll have the pool to herself to languish in the wet heat of July in the Midwest.

That annoying fucking saying ‘it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity’, comes for her breath and doesn’t leave. It seeps into the lining of her lungs, heavy and damp, slowing and weighting each step she takes toward the south-facing bank of chairs. Once she reaches the chair she always uses, she drops her canvas tote to the concrete and shrugs out of the sheer wrap before shuffling out of her sandals.

She bends to rifle through her bag for her tanning oil, and a faint chill begins to weave its way up her spine.

Dean is sitting in the front seat of the Impala, swallowing the last bite of his Biggerson’s double bacon and cheese when she snags his attention. She walks with the measured confidence that speaks more of a dare than of enthusiasm. She’s alone, and everything about her vibe tells Dean that she’s more than comfortable with that.

She doesn’t miss a beat as she makes her way to a randomly chosen lounger in a line of another dozen exactly like it. She lets her bag slip from her grasp, and her robe floats from her straight shoulders to join it at her feet.

She’s small in stature but she looks strong and fit—thick thighs and sculted arms, a narrow waist, and curves upon curves. Dean's never cared much about short, tall, fat, thin; he likes women and sex, and if he hits it off with someone, he’s down to fuck.

But this woman is a work of art.

He watches her dig through her bag, dragging his gaze from her delicate ankles and smooth calves and thighs to the generous curve of her ass. He imagines wrapping arms around her, lifting her to carry her to... bed, most likely.

He chuckles to himself.

She takes a seat half-upright with her legs outstretched and applies oil to her bronze skin. He wishes he could rub it in for her. He lets himself believe she can read his mind, that she's doing this for him, putting on a show just for him.

Why not?

When she unties her bikini top to expose her full, heavy tits and dusky nipples, he doesn’t think twice about popping the button on his jeans and pulling his hot, persistently hard cock from his boxers.

As she had hoped, she’s alone at the pool. The small cluster of townhouses where she lives and the complexes on either side are as quiet as any Tuesday afternoon. Other than the birds and squirrels in the trees, she’s got the place to herself.

Well, and the old black Chevy parked at the Biggerson’s next door and the shadowy figure within. She may be cynical, but she’s self-aware, and she’s going to squeeze every drop of pleasure from this bland existence as possible.

She’s always been an exhibitionist, definitely a thrill-seeker. She pulls the tie at her neck until the triangles, scarcely covering her breasts, fall away. Then she splashes oil across her collarbones, letting it heat and drip down and around, and between her breasts.

She flicks her shaded eyes to the car before hefting and massaging the full mounds of flesh, then sighs and nuzzles into her lounger. She bites her bottom lip hard as she pinches and twists her puckered nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

She notices the figure shifting in the driver’s seat. They don’t start the engine or exit the vehicle. Instead, they lift a palm to their mouth and, she imagines, they spit before the hand disappears out of her sight once more.

“Fuck,” she whispers with a smile as she settles her head back against the plush headrest, dragging one hand down her torso and pushing it into her bikini bottoms.

That smirk.

Dean looks around the parking lot to find no one else around—it’s as empty as her pool area. He looks back to see that she’s planted her feet on the ground on either side of her chair, her legs spread open, and one hand working rough and slow in her bikini bottoms while the other pulls at her nipples.

“Fuck yes, sweetheart. Do it for me,” Dean mutters, twisting and pumping his cock.

He grunts and groans as she pulls her hand from her bathing suit and lifts it to her mouth. She raises her head, then, and pushes two fingers between her luscious lips. She sucks and licks her fingers, taking her time, and Dean wishes she wasn’t wearing those mirrored sunglasses. He wants to see her eyes.

Are they blue? Green? Brown?

Is she watching him like he’s watching her?

After what feels like the longest and most uncertain staring contest, she pushes her fingers back between her legs. She doesn’t immediately put her head back, though. This time, she licks her lips and grips the edge of her chair with the hand she isn't using to fuck herself.

“That’s right, good girl, show me how you like it.”

He grips the steering wheel as he pumps himself until her mouth drops open and she starts to tremble. Her gorgeous tits bounce and her hips undulate, and, before he knows it, he’s spurting hot over his fist.

She slams her head back against the headrest, sweating and panting even more than she was from the afternoon sun. She feels gooey and giddy, and light. She opens her eyes and heaves a sigh of satisfaction, pitching forward to look across the pool to Biggerson’s parking lot.

A flash inside the car lights a cigarette, and she catches the first glimmer of the dark stranger. He holds her gaze for a beat, the flame’s reflection dancing in eyes so dark they appear black, before throwing the zippo closed and roaring from the empty lot.

She sighs again as she sits up straight and ties her top back in place before standing, stretching, and striding toward the pool to dive in. The water is cool and calm as she strokes from one end of the pool and back again three times before barrel-rolling to her back to aimlessly float. A light breeze ruffles the leaves overhead, making the sunlight flicker like a strobe.

After a while, she draws a deep breath before tucking into herself to blissfully sink to the bottom of the muted 4-foot depth.

“Sure.” Dean nods and rolls his eyes as Crowley nags him on the other end of the line.

Crowley gave him a job, which is what brought him to her town, and he really should do it—to calm The Mark and keep the peace with the King of Hell—but he’d rather be knocking on her front door.

Seeing her yesterday has completely derailed his plans. It’s been years since he felt an instant connection with someone like he feels with her. Separated by the green vining through the black chain link and shade inside his car, he felt her. He wants to feel more.

“I’ll take care of it, OK?”

He isn’t lying, not really; he’ll take the guy out, just not right now. He’s... preoccupied.

“Now, Dean. Not tomorrow, not next week-”

“Yeah. I know. I’ll get it done. Bye.”

Dean cuts the line and tosses his phone to the passenger seat then looks up just in time to see her exiting her townhome. She’s wearing those stretchy kinds of pants women wear to the gym with heeled boots and a leather jacket. Dean has no idea what the fuck that outfit is all about, but her ass looks incredible. She takes even steps with her head held high. The view from behind her is infuriating. With every stride, her ass plumps and sways, and her wide hips tease him relentlessly.

He fires up the engine and puts the car in Drive before carefully pulling away from the curb to follow her.

He pictures what she’d look like bent over the hood of the Impala. He imagines yanking those stupid fucking pants down to her knees and kicking her heeled feet wide. She’d moan and arch her back, presenting her perfect, bare ass to him. He’d smack it, and she’d yelp, begging for more.

She’d beg. And he’d grab a fistful of her shiny black hair to twist and squeeze as he slammed inside her over and over.

“Fuck,” he groans, pressing the heel of his palm down onto his ever-present and now throbbing erection.

He watches her toss her hair as she turns into a storefront six blocks from her front door, and Dean slides into another parallel spot and waits.

The drugstore door closes behind her, and she’s instantly enveloped by artificially cooled air. One of the many things she despises about midwestern summers is the necessity of air conditioning. She procrastinates turning hers on inside her townhouse every season as long as possible, but when her clients begin to complain, she gives in.

She doesn’t waste time browsing for anything other than what she came for—eye cream. Yesterday’s existential crisis is a distant memory, surpassed by him.

She thinks it’s silly that he’s trying to be stealthy, parking a block down the road, like she didn’t see that ridiculous car of his in front of her house before she even opened her door. This game of cat and mouse is fun for her, though. There’s mystery and suspense. It distracts her from the mundane.

She pays for her eye cream and drops it into her handbag before replacing her sunglasses over her eyes. She doesn’t know the rules of this game they’re playing, but she’s never played by anyone’s rules except her own, so it doesn’t really matter.

Back out in the heat, she pauses before heading toward the restaurant to meet a friend for lunch. Sunlight beams off the chrome bumper of his car, making her squint even with her sunglasses on. She shields her eyes and tosses him a smirk, then turns to walk the other direction.

She sees him now, and she saw him yesterday.

That fucking smirk of hers is the guarantee he needs. Every step she takes and every move she makes is an invitation, and he has to think long and hard about whether that’s a good thing or not. Because he’s sure that not only does she see that he’s watching her, but that once she sees him up close and personal, she’ll see who he really is.

She’s a kindred spirit. He knows this as well as anyone knows when they find that person, that connection. He doesn’t know what the connection is exactly, but he knows it’s there, and it’s undeniable.

But can she hold her own with him?

He decides to follow her with renewed purpose.

After lunch, she stops at a consignment shop, the florist, and the liquor store. She wanders along the selection of wines, row by row, waiting. She doesn’t have to wait much longer, though.

“Lotta choices, huh?”

The ticking of her heart speeds up from the sound of his thick, masculine voice. It’s only been 24 hours, but she’s been on tenterhooks, willing him to approach her, and it’s finally happening.

Then she turns to face him and gasps.

He’s gorgeous—tall, broad-shouldered, perfectly proportioned, defined, angular jawline, thick eyelashes, and a mouth that has her rapidly dampening her underwear. But it’s his eyes that give her pause.

Sparkling obsidian. She wasn’t imagining what she witnessed yesterday. Then he blinks to reveal the most exquisite jade. Her skin crackles with anticipation. He’s like no one or thing she’s ever seen before.

She wants to know everything.

“Small talk? After all we’ve been through together?” she murmurs, shifting into him like he’s a black hole that will never let her go.

She can’t- won’t deny him.

He narrows his gaze and slowly tilts his head, studying her face.

“Honey, we can talk about anything you want.” He scans her bright, whiskey eyes and the straight bridge of her nose leading to the enticing pitch of her top lip. “But I’d rather do something else with my mouth.”

Her eyelids flutter and he chuckles, teasing the backs of his incisors with the tip of his tongue. He reaches for her, tucking one hand under the back of her hair and bringing her the last few inches closer.

“Like what?” she whispers, and he meets her trembling lips with a firm, insistent kiss.

“I think you know,” he mutters, turning and pressing her against the selection of Australian whites.

She hums, draping her arms around his neck. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Dean drags her flush against him by her waist and twists his fist in the back of her long, raven hair. And he tells her what she wants to hear.

“I’m gonna taste every inch of you.” He mumbles against her throat and lower. “I’m gonna suck those beautiful tits and bite your tight nipples.” He pushes a knee between her thighs and lifts until his leg meets the hot, damp crotch of her thin, stretchy pants, then scrapes his teeth over the shell of her ear. “And I’m gonna lick and play with your little clit until you're begging me to fuck you. And then I’ll lick you some more.”

She grinds over his thigh. “We gonna do this here?” she breathes.

Dean huffs a laugh as he steps away, setting her back on her own two feet. He holds her hand and her gaze. “Yeah, I know how much you like an audience. But I want you naked and I don’t wanna share you.”

She swallows and nods. “What’re we waiting for?”

Dean grins and spins toward the door, leading her out into the afternoon sun.

Dean Winchester Masterlist | MJ’s Masterlist

#cw: stalking #demon dean fic #demon dean smut #demon dean x reader #jacklesversebingo23 #flashfic 2023

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hydrochloric-hugs · 7 months ago

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Chapter 1

Old blog got reported and I really wanted my icon and background, so here's a repost of the first draft! I plan to edit bc I was out of my head trying to write flying by the seat of my pants, but for now, this is a bit more put together at least!

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: food, meal skipping mention, g/t. Additionally, while not shown in this chapter, this story will probably have non-sexual vore down the line.

“Shit!” Devon ripped his hand away from his unfinished project, attempted to shake the remnants of hot glue from his finger tip. The deep tan skin of his brow wrinkled in a wince, and he set the glue gun on a scrap of cardboard.

“Try to be nice to mice, and this is what it gets me,” He huffed, glowering at the minor burn he sustained. Something has been eating holes in his cereal boxes and pillow cases, and as a sophomore in college, he had to pinch every penny he could. Sure, for now it was barely a contamination concern, but he couldn't afford to call in sick to his job or buy new bed clothes if he let the infestation grow.

That being said, he was a biology major with a minor in keeping sane (read: art). Hence the contraption he had burned himself creating: a humane mousetrap. It consisted of a bucket, a ladder, a dowel rod, and some ingenuity. A large hole was cut in the middle of the bucket lid and a hot glue hinge attached the perimeter of the lid to the loose piece. Food is put in the middle, mouse goes for the food, falls into the bucket, problem solved. In theory, at least. He honestly should have looked up some sort of tutorial rather than building it off the dome. But Devon was nothing if not determined, even to his detriment.

“Whatever, it should be fine.” He put a bit of pressure on one side of the seesaw-like part of the lid and sighed in relief when it quickly gave way. He contemplated adding a sort of hide and using extra materials to secure one side, but after checking his watch, bulked. He knew rodents weren't brainless, but he didn't want to delay the set up of the trap for much longer. He'd already lost his appetite for his honey-nut cheerios after finding a hole in the box, he'd have to start skipping breakfast if he didn't avert the contamination of his precious corn flakes, too.

He stood on creaky legs, sighed. He had class in the morning, and he hadn't gotten enough sleep last night. He shuffled into the bathroom, mindlessly going through his nighttime routine until he threw himself under the dark red sheets of his bed. Rolling onto his side, he took deep, steady breaths, let the anxieties of the day flow out with each exhale, until one final thought left his weary mind. Tomorrow, I'm catching that dang rat.

Sunlight squeezed through a small crack in the mortar between brown-beige bricks and right into the eyes of a man sleeping in a matchbox full of cloth. He snorted awake, rubbing his eyes and staring blearily at his surroundings. Small ornaments, earrings, stamps, and dulled glass adorned the “walls” of his “room,” which was a section of inner wall he'd hollowed most of the insulation out of. Yawning, the man pushed himself up out of the box, shielding his brown eyes with a pale hand. He scooted to the edge, threw his legs over, and stood, a patterned rug shielding his feet from the cool concrete. He grabbed a comb made from straw and ran it gingerly through his short black side part, only glancing in the mirror piece mounted next to his bed.

“Beck,” He started at the shout, “you're gonna be late to the meet up and miss out on your trades!”

The man, Beck, let his shoulders sag. “Coming, Tallulah.”

He shuffled over to a drawer made of some sturdy fabric and picked out a fast outfit: a burgundy robe. A bit informal, but he was up later than usual. Plus, it's not like he would have to impress anyone. Beck had been living in the community for two whole years at this point. He could rock casual for one meeting. He slid on some sandals made mostly of cardboard, grabbing his burlap bag from the floor. Thank God he’d already packed it, otherwise he’d have to make the trip alone. As it was, he pushed open the door, the back of a remote’s battery case, to Tallulah.

“You’re lucky I hate you the least.”

“I feel it.”

She was a stout woman – well, more so than Beck – with long silver hair that framed the delicate features of her face. If one were so rude as to guess her age, they would be about a decade too low. She aged like wine, as she often reminded those around her. She wore a lengthy blue dress with flower print, perhaps literally from some drapes, with her own sandals with matching fabric going over top of the foot. In her hands was a sort of bucket full of sweet smelling, small, white crystals.

“Sugar?” Beck seemed to look at it too long, as she flicked his forehead with a sigh. “Ow!”

“Don’t even think about it!” She went off deeper into the building, exaggerated.

“Sheesh, you could have concussed me.” Beck rubbed his head with a smirk, latching his door shut before catching up. The gray, tunneled halls were well trodden, even and flat like a road. Because Beck was on the outskirts, it was less so until it intersected with another, more traveled path.

“Anything you’re especially looking for this week?” Beck asked, making room for some others passing them.

“You mean aside from ol’ Vernon’s face when everyone leaves his sweetener for mine?” She adjusted her hold with a smug look. “I sure ain’t looking for what you drag in, Mr. Under the Fridge.”

“That was a year and a half ago! How was I supposed to know why no one has ever brought ice to share?” He fiddled with his bag strap. “Besides, it was still water!”

“Yeah, dirty water even the gardeners didn’t want to take!” She stopped to cackle, careful to keep hold of the pot. “I’ll tell you what, you may not be good for trades, but you are fun to watch!”

Beck rolled his eyes, still tugging the belt.

“Come on, you know I’m messing with you.” She reached up and tousled his hair, perfectly restoring his bed head before he could duck away.

“Tally!” He complained as he worked on mitigating the damage, but the dimples on his cheeks betrayed him. “I know, I just don’t remember the last time I really got congratulated beyond pity points.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Becky, you’ve done plenty.” She said, then pointed her chin down the path. “The market’s just ahead, and you brought stuff, right?” He nodded, not meeting her eye. “Exactly. Even if you hadn't, and even if you never did and never will, you are a part of this community, Becky, and that makes you worthy.” She squeezed his shoulder. Then she punched it. “Now get set up fast because I ain’t setting this anywhere but a prime stall, pretty boy!” She proceeded to run with surprising agility, leaving Beck in her trail.

The man sputtered, shook his head. “God help me if I ever do understand her, it means I’ve lost it, too.” She may be right about him, but she was also right that he should get a move on lest he have to set up on the floor outside.

He entered a much deeper path, leading to the market site. It was in the very center of the building, and it led to an immediate, metal opening. Early birds sometimes had to open this mesh doorway themselves, but at this time, it was held open to welcome all. He stepped through it alongside a few others, and entered a large metallic chamber with grated side walls and a ceiling, unlike the solid steel of the entrance wall and the one Beck was facing. Before that wall, though, were dozens of people like him, but also in all different shapes and sizes. Most stood behind stalls with miscellaneous scraps and crafts, some sat behind their set ups, others just gave from their own hands as they passed. Tallulah was already at a dark wood table making faces at salt and pepper man with his own container of white shards, making Beck’s smile widen.

After a bit of searching, he discovered an unclaimed counter. He quickly made his way over, swinging his pack off onto the rickety birch planks. From the corner of his eye he saw others closing in, doubtless with their own goods to trade. He can’t leave them empty handed! He rummaged through his things before giving up and upturning it and letting everything spill straight onto the table. An abundance of soft white cloth, and another bag, this one sealed plastic, tumbled out. As the visitors strolled closer, Beck ripped open the opaque plastic, revealing its contents: several beige ‘O’ shapes, smelling distinctly of processed oats and honey.

“Come take a look at what I’ve brought,” Beck called to passers by, “There’s plenty more where this came from!”

#giant/tiny #g/t #vore mention #hugging writing

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khaire-traveler · 2 years ago

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Returning the favor- I’d like to know how you see the gods, too :3 Same guidelines or whatever ig lmao

Hey, Noah, thanks for the ask! @opatofazquack asked the same question, so I'm tagging them here.

I'll also answer will all...however many of my gods. This will include gods I don't actively worship if I have visualized them (23 in total). I'll just name them in a list and add a cut, for those who'd like to read. Warning: I may get poetic about it. 😂

Disclaimer: How I visualize the gods does not and should not invalidate how others visualize them. I'm just sharing my personal experiences, and if someone happens to have a different experience, that is more than ok. ☺️🧡

Greek Gods

Selene - Like the moon, her appearance varies quite a bit for me. Even now, I can't quite get a clear image of her. The only consistent thing I can pin down for her is an aura of bright, white light that surrounds her.

Helios - I see him as a black man with shoulder-length hair done back in dreads. His eyes are a deep brown but get light as honey towards the pupil. He has super cute freckles, too, and his face is kind and strong. His features are a bit sharper, and his nose is more of a hooked nose. He is VERY tall and toned - more of a slim muscular build. He usually has no shirt but has an ancient-looking cloth around his waist that goes down to his mid-thigh like a skirt, kind of. He does have a necklace, but doesn't wear much jewelry. He does have A LOT of cool ass tattoos, though! The shapes of the tats are hard to describe, but I believe one of them - on his shoulder or hand, can't remember which - is in the shape of a sun.

Leto - I can't get the clearest picture of Leto, but usually she has wavy medium brown hair, light tan skin, and beautiful white/silver eyes. She's usually a little chubby and gives off strong mom vibes. She has crows feet and smile lines, and it's clear she has lived a good life. Her smile is very sweet. Her features are more rounded, but her nose is more hooked. She typically wears a long white chiton dress with a purple patterned shawl draped over her shoulders. Can't see her shoes under her dress.

Hestia - She's definitely very tall for me lol. She has a plumper frame with rosy cheeks and a calm smile always on her face. Her skin is a deep olive color. She has a sharper face, though the rest of her features are rounded. Her eyes are a bright, glowing orange, like the flames of a fire, and they become more yellow as the color gets closer to the pupil. Her hair is long and wavy - a crisp dark brown - and she usually wears a long, off-white chiton dress of sorts with a bright orange shawl that has gold accents. She always has on pretty earrings and usually wears at least one gold bracelet. You can see the tips of her sandals poke out from underneath her dress, and they're usually gold colored.

Hera - For me, Hera is a tall, slender woman with a very regal air to her. She is usually paler than the other gods with wavy, dark brown hair and a hooked nose. Her features are sharp and angular. High cheek bones. She's usually standing in a very elegant position, although she does this comfortably, not out of formality. She wears a white chiton that has a top half that's been dyed purple. She has a gold shawl around her - looks to be fleece? Her dress is long and flows out behind her; you can barely see her feet underneath. She usually wears a lot of gold and crystal jewelry. The most common crystal I think I know the name of is an amethyst-like one - something that is a very vibrant purple. It matches her top! She also has her hair always done in an up-do of some kind and is wearing a very dainty, beautiful crown on her head.

Demeter - Honestly, Demeter changes a lot for me, but she usually has hair the color of golden wheat. Her features are a mix of sharp and round, and she has a kind face but definitely the energy of someone who knows her worth and power. She is a bit shorter and usually wears a light yellow and green chiton of sorts with either sandals or no shoes. She's got sun-kissed skin and light-colored eyes, though what that color is is up for debate lol.

Zeus - A very large man with the most epic beard you've ever seen in your life. All of his hair is white with a streak of grey the runs from his long, curly hair into his long, curly beard. He is very broad-shouldered and a bit heavier set but still very muscular. Kind of reminds me of a teddy bear, if that helps. He has smile lines and more of a rounded face with wrinkles placed here and there. His hands are very big, which I just think is cool lol. He's also very tall but shorter than a couple of the gods (to me, he's shorter than Hades). He has a big nose that's a little more hooked and piercing blue eyes that sometimes appear to have clouds of grey passing through them, as if the sky is contained in his eyes. He wears a purple and white chiton that has accents of gold as well as a pair of golden sandals woven with braids.

Poseidon - A taller slim man with a muscular build. He's shorter than Hades but taller than Zeus by, like, an inch lol. Dark olive skin with some wrinkles on his face. He always has a confident smile on his face. I swear his hair is always wet. It's long, jet black, and ends up looking straight, but idk if it's actually straight since it's often soaking wet. He wears this badass blue and silver armor with fish scales embedded into it; it's extremely difficult to describe. Sometimes he has a blue or gold cape. He also sometimes wears a silver crown with a few jewels on it. He usually has his trident with him, and my god is it cool. Idk, Poseidon definitely goes out of his way to look like a badass, and it works splendidly for him. Also, he sometimes has a beard and sometimes doesn't.

Hades - VERY tall (he may be the tallest), slender, and a bit lanky. His skin is almost grey in complexion and his hair is long, straight, and black. He has long and slender features with a hooked nose. His eyes have dark circles around them and are a very kind dark brown color, almost appearing black. His outfits change too often for me to mention any specific one, but he wears a mix of both modern and ancient clothing, which he's the only one of my deities who does that, besides Aphrodite. Sometimes he wears a dark suits, sometimes he's chilling in a bath robe, other times he's in a grey chiton - it varies greatly on his mood. No beard.

Persephone - Her appearance changes, but the one I am most familiar with is a medium height woman with wavy dark brown hair and a fair complexion. She has rounded features and a kind face with beautiful dark brown eyes. She usually has her hair done in some pretty way and typically has little flowers placed throughout her hair. It adds a lot of pretty color! Her outfits change a lot, too, but I typically see her in a shorter pale yellow chiton with flowers sewn into the rims. It's almost like a cute sun-dress type of thing. She is almost always barefoot in the outfit. She does also have a flower crown and sometimes a flower necklace, but other than that, she doesn't usually wear a lot of jewelry for me.

Apollon - Interestingly, he changes, but the changes are usually very small and difficult to describes - changes that you'd only notice if you were looking at him very closely, so I won't mention them. Mostly, he is an olive-skinned man with a fairly built body - muscular but not overly so. He has chiseled features, sharp and pointed, with a straight nose. He has this beautiful, shiny, long blond hair (golden as the rays of the sun) that's usually pretty wavy. And his eyes, damn... They're baby blue - blue as the sky - with speckles of gold sprinkled throughout them. There is a rim of gold around his pupil, too; it looks super cool. Clothing-wise, he usually wears what looks to be fashioned around the ancient Greeks...it's a cloth around his waist that's usually either blue or purple and is kept up using a golden pin. There are pretty beads and golden chains that accompany this cloth, also around his waste. He also wears a lot of golden jewelry (anklets, bracelets, piercings, etc.), and his hair is almost always in some sort of style, be it a hair bow, a braid, or even a man bun. He doesn't usually wear shoes.

Artemis - She's a little shorter than Apollo but just as cool lol. She has curly dark brown hair which she usually keeps in a bun, most likely for convenience. She has a pair of antlers attached to a fitness band sort of thing. She's got a rather toned, muscular build and is still pretty slim. Usually, she has this mud-colored paint on her face, specifically in a block around her eyes and stripes down her cheeks and arms. She also has a dark green paint that accents the mud-colored one, using it with stripes down her cheeks and arms. Her eyes are a very dark brown with specks of vibrant green in them, and her darker tanned skin matches them very beautifully. She's always wearing a short sleeve of some kind and wears what I'd call a short chiton, but I think it's a different type of clothing entirely; I just don't know the name for it. Something ancient. Whatever it is, it's usually colored green and brown, like the forest I assume she hunts in. She doesn't usually wear shoes, but when she does, they're very dark brown sandals. No jewelry for her. She also always carries her bow and arrow with her.

Aphrodite - I literally cannot pin down one specific appearance for her, but the best I can do is chubby woman with pale skin and rosy cheeks and very curly, strawberry blonde hair. Very pink lips. She usually shows up naked for me, but sometimes she was a light pink chiton with gold accents on it. She always wears pretty jewelry, usually pearl earrings with a pretty pearl necklace and anklet. No shoes. She does look super majestic to me, though, like seeing a unicorn in an enchanted forest.

Ares - Ares is very hard to describe. He is usually very tall and very muscular. A large man who still gives off heavy dad vibes. He has dark olive skin with curly black hair, though the color sometimes changes. His hair goes to his shoulders. He has blocky features with a chiseled jawline and a prominent hooked nose. His eyes are a vibrant red mixed with a cool crimson - difficult to describe. He usually has some stubble on his face, though no beard. He has a very stoic expression mostly, but it's not intentionally intimidating. Very thick eyebrows, btw. He usually wears gold or bronze colored ancient armor with his helmet resting atop his head. He used to not wear the helmet, but after certain events occurred...he started to. His armor is dyed the same red as his eyes on his chest plate, as well as other places that I can't remember right now. Sometimes he has a spear with him, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he has a shield with him, sometimes he doesn't. It really depends. Overall, though, that's how he looks.

Eros - Honestly, his image is pretty blurry to me, and I haven't had enough interactions to give a concrete appearance for him. From what I've seen, he has very curly, shaggy, strawberry blond hair and tends to be on the paler side. His face is more rounded and child-like, although he isn't a child. His eyes are a brilliant blue with pink accents and long eyelashes. He wears golden sandals that go up to his knees and that's about all I've got on him. I can't make out his other clothes, though he always has his bow and arrow with him.

Dionysus - His appearance changes but only his body type. Sometimes he's kind of scrawny, and others he's overweight - it typically shifts between these two. Otherwise, though, he stays the same. His eyes are his most striking feature, being wild and green like a jungle vine. Very vibrant green, too - unnatural by human standards. His hair is black, very curly, and long, typically going past his shoulders. His skin is a darker tan, and he always has cool ear piercings. It somewhat varies in terms of what he wears, but he ALWAYS has a leopard pelt sash across his chest. Usually, he wears more ancient-looking clothing, but it's hard to tell what he specifically wears underneath the pelt. Shoes are non-existent, most of the time, but when he wears them, they're ancient sandals. Also, he's big on gold jewelry - lots of bangle bracelets, amongst other things.

Athena - Athena has looked the same pretty much since the first time I "saw" her. She has long, dark brown hair that's straight and has a half-ponytail in the back. She has dark olive skin and kind grey eyes with specks of violin-brown in them. Her features are more rounded, but her eyes are very sharp and attentive. She always has a helmet resting atop her head and is wearing some sort of epic ancient Greek armor. It's usually either gold or bronze armor, but there are always bit of colorful fabric placed here and there. She sometimes carries a spear with her, but usually, she's without it.

Hermes - Ah, yes, the man of the hour lol. Hermes has an appearance that feels like it changes often, but in reality, he always looks the same for me. It's a weird feeling; idk how to describe it. Anyway, he has short, ultra curly hair. The color always changes but is usually either dirty blond or medium brown. His eyes are fucking cool, being blue and green mixed together. Very difficult to describe; they're almost multi-colored. He has freckles and is almost always smirking. His build is thin, toned, and shorter than all of the gods, but definitely still taller than me lol. He wears ancient clothing - helmet (more of a big, floppy, winged hat), sandals, even carries his caduceus with him or in a brown satchel he carries on his hip. He's usually wearing a hip-length, off-white chlamys with a gold and black rim on it. I can't usually make out details of his clothes under the chlamys. He ALWAYS has these golden wrist braces on, too, and sometimes wears golden earrings!

Thanatos - Like Selene, I don't get much when it comes to looks for Thanatos. He expressed himself much more through presence. Unfortunately, I have nothing to really say about his appearance. 😕

Hypnos - Very little has been given to me about Hypnos as well, but he does consistently have short, very curly hair and a big, sleepy smile. That's about all I've got for now.

Norse Gods

Sigyn - Golden blonde hair with a very fair complexion and rounded features. Gives off protective mom vibes. Typically, she's in an old dress - viking era - that has light pink fabric with white and gold accents. Sometimes she wears a dress that's darker in color, but I don't know what color it is exactly. It's hard to describe. Her eyes are light, but I can never pin any one color to them. She has a soft smile and very pretty figure. Very short, especially in comparison to Loki, who is a literal giant lol. I haven't seen her wear jewelry, but it's been a while since I've envisioned her, so idk.

Loki - BIG, POOFY, WILD red hair! Like Ida from The Owl House. Cool single braid with some beads tying it off. Very angular and sharp features with a long nose and point ears. Vibrant green eyes that sometimes have cat slits in them. He usually wears an old-timey dark green shirt with an old-timey leather braided vest over it. There are tufts of fur on the shoulders of the vests. He wears old-timey brown pants and these really weird but cool looking boots that I don't know how to describe lol. He has earrings on usually but otherwise isn't big on jewelry. Oh, also, he's probably the tallest god I worship; he is very tall! And lanky, too.

Odin - I've only ever really seen his face. Older man with a cool black eye path over one eye and thin, long white hair. Long but thin white beard. His features are more rounded, and he tends to have a lot of wrinkles. His eye is a dark blue color, reminding me of the deepest depths of the ocean - as limitless as the depths of his knowledge, I'd imagine. I also remember him being muscular and wearing armor, but that's about all I can recall.

Hope you liked this answer! Enjoy! Sorry in advance for typos lol.

#asks #answered asks #helpol #personal experiences #norpag #upg

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sobookobsessedreader · 4 months ago

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I have a tan line on my feet from my sandals. I have striped feet.

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xtruss · 1 year ago

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Living in Two Cultures! The Asian American and Pacific Islander Experience

— American 🇺🇸 Experience | NOVA—PBS

Andrew Lam is a California-based journalist, short story writer, and National Public Radio commentator. In this interview, he shares his thoughts on Vietnam and America.

How did you come to the U.S.? I left Vietnam on April 28, 1975, two days before communist tanks rolled into Saigon. My family and I were airlifted in a C-130 cargo plane out of Tan Son Nhat airport and a few hours before Vietcong shells bombarded the runway and effectively stopped all other flights from taking off. My father was an officer in the South Vietnamese government and he got us passage out of the country. He himself stayed behind and left on a Navy ship on April 30, 1975 when he heard on the radio that General Duong Van Minh, acting president of South Vietnam, had surrendered.

I remember spending a few hours at Clark Air Base in the Philippines, wondering what had just happened. I also remember eating a ham sandwich and drinking milk, my first American meal. It was the best sandwich I ever had in my life though I didn't like the milk. Next we flew to Guam where a refugee camp was already set up to receive tens of thousands of Vietnamese refugees. I was confused, frightened, and from all available evidence -- the khaki army tents in the Guam refugee camp, the scorching heat, the long lines for army food rations, the fetid odor of the communal latrines, the freshly bulldozed ground under my sandaled feet -- I was also homeless. I was 11 years old.

My family and I spent three weeks in Guam and then we went on to spend another week in Camp Pendleton in Southern California. It was freezing there. I had never been out of Vietnam before, and it being a tropical country, well, I was not used to the weather, to say the least. We all wore army jackets given to us by the GIs and mine reached down to my ankles. Luckily, my family was among the first few families who were sponsored out of the camp. My mother's sister was living in San Francisco at the time and she drove down and took us back to San Francisco with her. I went to summer school and entered the 7th grade in autumn and became an American.

Andrew Lam

What was it like for Vietnamese in America when you came? What is it like today? There were no Vietnamese in San Francisco to speak of when I came here in 1975. There was my aunt's family and five other families, and there were diplomats or foreign students who remained in the U.S.. That's how small the Vietnamese community was here.

In school, kids always asked whether I had killed anybody in Vietnam or had seen dead bodies and helicopters being blown up. It was interesting: Vietnam was the first television war and though traumatized by that war, everyone in America knows something about Vietnam. It gave me an entry to the American imagination that was not otherwise available to a kid, say, from Sri Lanka. The truth was that I had not killed anyone but yes, I have seen dead bodies, and had seen burnt out helicopters and villages during the war, being an army brat. I became a story teller. But after a few years, I fit in so well with my American life that I stopped telling my stories. I stopped speaking Vietnamese altogether. Not until college, not until I started dreaming about Vietnam and my childhood again, not until I wanted to become a writer that words came back, language came back, dreams came back, Vietnam came back.

The America that received my family in the mid-70s was not an America that could have imagined a Pacific Rim future. It was an America which had retreated from the Far East, traumatized by its latest adventure abroad. Vietnamese living in America had little access to Vietnam. It was the height of the Cold War. It took six months, if at all, for a letter to reach that country. We were cut off from our homeland in the United States. We adjusted quickly to life in America because of it.

Luckily the first wave of refugees were among the crème de la crème, as they say, of the south -- doctors, lawyers, government officers, professors -- and, having experienced far less trauma than what Vietnamese boat people experienced later on, and having no experience of life under communism (where children of the bourgeois class were deprived of schooling) we adjusted rather quickly in the United States. But we also managed to create a little community and gathered for various occasions, most of which were very political. We rallied each April 30 in front of City Hall in San Francisco and demanded freedom and democracy for Vietnam and so on. We celebrate Tet, Vietnamese new year, together. We mourn the loss of homeland and the fate of being an exile. In other words, we share a particular history, and were very close.

Andrew Lam as a child

Much has changed a quarter of a century later, in a globalized and post-Cold War world...

Today I can e-mail my cousin in Vietnam and I can send him money via a bank. I do not have to hide it in a tube of toothpaste. And movement back and forth between Vietnam and the U.S. is the norm after normalization. Vietnamese newspapers in the States freely advertise flights to Vietnam and phone cards so you can call home to talk to your grandmother anytime you like. If we all considered ourselves exiles in the late 70s, only a small percentage do so now. Now the picture of the Vietnamese community in the United States is a very diverse one. There are still a staunchly anti-communist faction, especially those who suffered life in re-education camps and whose family members were killed by the Hanoi government. But there are also foreign exchange students, tourists from Vietnam, American-born Vietnamese who have no memories of the war, people who go back and forth, and even those who went back to live and work in their homeland, and so on. It's estimated that more than 200,000 Vietnamese living abroad return to Vietnam every year during Tet. I myself have gone back eight times as a journalist. I am more familiar with Saigon than Los Angeles.

America, too, has changed dramatically. Years ago, for instance, it was impossible to find fish sauce, the prime element of Vietnamese cooking. Now you can go to Safeway and get it. Vietnamese and other Asian populations in California have indelibly changed its cultural landscape. America is more accepting of Asian cultures than ever before. When the Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh spoke at Berkeley last year, there was standing room only, and most of the people who attended were white Americans. Buddhism is on the rise here and the longing for the Far East is growing. Witness the number of Asian directors now working in Hollywood. What was once considered private or ethnic culture is moving into the public sphere... I was interviewed on NPR when Campbell soup decided to make Vietnamese pho -- beef and noodle soup. "How did you feel?" The interviewer asked. "Well," I said, "it seems inevitable. Think of pizza and burritos. Grandma still makes it best, but in America, if it's good, it's appropriated and mass produced." If I associated pho with a particular geography, I have to change my mind. It's an age of open borders and perceptions are shifting very quickly.

As a journalist, what is your perspective on Vietnamese-American community issues? There are several issues that the community is struggling with. There's the language problem. The older generation speaks Vietnamese and the younger English. This is particularly problematic when a person from the older generation speaks no English and the younger person speaks no Vietnamese. How can you communicate? There is a communication gap. Many books written by Vietnamese in the United States are written in Vietnamese, but a generation of Vietnamese born in the United States can not access them. Many turn to libraries as a way to find out about their own history. But books in libraries don't address the South Vietnamese experience. The South Vietnamese are losers in history and very little is devoted to their plight. North Vietnamese have the upper hand. Hanoi rewrites history and that history is now being accessed in the U.S. I met several Vietnamese American kids who asked me to tell them how they got here. "Don't your parents tell you?" I said. And they said: "No. All they said is that we lost a war and that's why we're here. I want to know more." And they should know more. The responsibility of the older generation is to translate or have their works and testimonies, i.e.. life in re-education camps, boat peoples' experiences, adjustment to American life -- translated so that it's accessible to the new generation.

The other issue is the question all diasporas tend to ask: how to sustain a community over time? There are several diasporas that the Vietnamese community can learn from: the Chinese, the Jewish, the Indian. These have been in existence much longer and can provide models for fledgling ones.

What are some of the areas of difference between Vietnamese and American cultures? I think Americans are fond of saying "I love you." Vietnamese are not. Vietnamese don't share words of affections very easily. In fact, it was unusual to see in Daughter from Danang the mother being overly affectionate and saying "I love you" repeatedly. My mother who loves me dearly never says "I love you" in such a way.

It's more typical for Vietnamese to demonstrate affections through gestures. When I went home to visit my parents, my mother would fry a fish as it's my favorite dish. And to show her I love her I would have to eat the whole fish. When I won a journalism award a few years ago, my father was very proud. But he couldn't find the words in Vietnamese to say this so finally he shook my hand (which in itself was very unusual) and said in English: "I'm very proud of you, son." It was the first time I heard him saying something like this and it was in English. In some way, English is used when Vietnamese words fail us. And they tend to be words like proud or love.

Many American-born Vietnamese have complained to me that their parents don't love them. "They never say 'I love you' to me," they'd say. But they don't understand: it's not the standard practice in Vietnam. You have to read affection through gestures and actions.

When I first came to the United States, I also failed to look at teachers in the eyes. In Vietnam it's a sign of disrespect when you look at someone in the eyes. In the United States you are shifty if you don't look at people in the eyes. Even now I tend to shift my focus when I look at someone too long in the eyes. I feel as if I am invading their privacy. Strange but true.

What cultural differences have caused the most difficulty for Vietnamese immigrants to the U.S.? Vietnamese culture puts a strong emphasis on being part of the We. Your individualism is below the need of the many. This is how families survived traditionally. Children are duty-bound to take care of their families. When I went to school at Berkeley, more than half of the Vietnamese student population majored in computer science and electrical engineering. Many told me they didn't want to. It was competitive and difficult. A few wanted to be artists or architects and so on, but their parents were poor or were still in Vietnam. They needed to find a solid footing in America in order to help out the rest of the family.

America, on the other hand, tells you to look out for number 1. It tells you to follow your dream, to have individual ambition. Take care of yourself first. Go on a quest. The Vietnamese American conflict is one where he has to negotiate between his own needs and dreams with that of his family.

I myself was lucky. My parents found jobs and moved us to the suburbs when I was in high school. I didn't have to make money to send home to someone in Vietnam. I was the youngest in the family. There were no big demands on me. I was free to decide what to do with my life. But if my parents had been stuck behind in Vietnam and living in the New Economic Zone, I would have been an electrical engineer by now.

In some way, for Asian immigrants, to learn to negotiate between the I and the We is the most important lesson to learn, a skill much needed in order to appease to both cultures.

Immigrants always face the challenge of how much to assimilate to American culture and how much of their native culture to keep. How has this played out in the Vietnamese American community? I think in many ways normalization with Vietnam has helped boost a revival of Vietnamese culture dramatically. I know young Vietnamese Americans who went back, or visited for the first time, and came back speaking Vietnamese whereas they didn't speak a word before. These totally Americanized kids suddenly feel connected to another place and it gives them an edge over their American counterparts.

I think all Americans would love to have another country connected to their history. Ireland, Italy, China, whatever. To have a hyphen connected to your identity makes you feel cosmopolitan and sophisticated, a bridge to some other place. You have something that you can call your own. This is a recent phenomenon. Before the idea of a melting pot was still the aim, at least by the institutions. But now it's chic to be ethnic, to speak another language, to feel connected to another culture, to another set of values, to a sensibility. It's a post-modern age where options are far more available than they were to someone who lived in America in the mid-20th century. And far more individualistic. You pick and choose. Stay traditional as you want or be as modern as you want. Options are available at your beck and call.

Besides, the pressure to assimilate is no longer as heavy as before. If anything, all Americans are learning to assimilate to new cultures that keep showing up at the American shores. In San Francisco, blacks, hispanics, whites, all know how to use chopsticks. Go to Bolsa in Orange County and see non Vietnamese eating pho and buying Vietnamese groceries. My mother complains that I speak to much English in the house, but as the most conservative member of our family she, too, has changed. She goes to the gym, does aerobics. She prays to Buddha, but bets on football. I don't watch football, but she's fanatic. So who's more American than whom?

Is it true that one of the areas of cultural divergence is the relationship with authorities such as police? Yes, that's true. The problem is that in Vietnam you cannot trust the authorities. In dictatorial countries, there's no good news when the police come calling. You function best when the authorities leave you alone. And worse, in poor countries like Vietnam, petty corruption is a daily event. A cop might stop you and say that you have violated some traffic law. What he means is: "Give me five dollars for breakfast and I'll let you go." The idea that the authorities are on your side is such a novelty that it does not occur to the newly arrived refugee or immigrant to the United States. If you call the police they might arrest you instead of the criminal. There's always a risk as everything could be deemed illegal in Vietnam (and nothing is). Everything can be settled with grease money.

It takes a while to learn to live in a civil society. It takes a while to have the idea that the police work for you sink in. At least that's the idea. In some neighborhoods, the inner city, for example, that may not be true. Also, many Vietnamese are afraid to fill out forms. Census or otherwise. They have this fear that the government will know everything about them and will use the information against them. And even in the United States, given the post 9-11 scenario, there is some valid justification for that fear.

Another is in the difference in health and mental health issues? There's a big difference. You must understand that traditional Vietnamese are Confucian bound. We worship ancestors. We light incense and pray to Grandpas and Grandmas long dead. That is to say, we talk to ghosts. Once I worked as an interpreter and there was a case where a Vietnamese woman was suffering from depression and told the psychologist that she kept seeing her dead husband. He thought she was having some kind of disorder. But I told him it's actually typical. Mind you, I was stepping out of bounds as an interpreter, but I couldn't help myself. My grandmother, when she was alive, saw her dead husband, in dreams, or late at night sitting in his old chair for a brief moment, and there was nothing wrong with her. Practically all old people talk like that lady. It was a way for her to say she mourns her losses. It took a while, but I think the American psychologist came around. They have to: they can't put an entire population in the insane asylum, can they?

The other classic example in terms of health problems is the one that I'm sure that's well recorded in medical school. A little Vietnamese boy showed up in school with red marks on his back. "Who did this to you?" the teacher asked. "My father," he answered. His father was immediately arrested. Having no idea how to explain what he did, his English limited, and lacking money to hire a lawyer, he ended up serving time in jail. He was so frustrated he hung himself. What he did was a typical thing: Vietnamese practice cao gio -- a kind of therapeutic massage for people who come down with a cold. They scrape the skin on your back with a spoon or a coin, using an ointment. He wasn't abusing his child. He was helping him, but nobody believed the man.

Had the U.S. prepared at all for addressing any "culture shock" that the airlifted Vietnamese children might have experienced? I think there was an assumption on the part of the Americans who wanted to adopt those Vietnamese children. That they will assimilate and become Americans. That they will forget Vietnam. That their personal history is not as important as the new reality in which they found themselves. What they were not prepared for is the hunger of memories. Many of those babies may adjust well to America as adults but they also long for their Vietnamese past. They want to know where they come from, who are their relatives, and how can they learn to connect to that past. They will always look, they will always search, they will never be satisfied until they have all the fragments of their life put together. It's an inevitable human impulse.

What parts of Vietnamese culture do you see thriving in Vietnamese-American communities? The wedding is the biggest event in Vietnamese American community. It's the time where people dress up, meet, exchange information and show off their children, meet new people, and so on. Vietnamese in the U.S. live for weddings and a typical wedding has about 300 people at the reception. Five hundred people came to my brother's wedding and it's not the biggest. People invite themselves. They want to come.

Vietnamese newspapers, television shows and magazines are thriving. So much so that the San Jose Mercury News has a Vietnamese language weekly. Vietnamese read quite a bit and they thirst for information regarding Vietnam. Go to any Vietnamese restaurants in the Bay Area and you'll see three or four give-away newspapers full of news on Vietnam.

Vietnamese love their Vietnamese singers. Some Vietnamese American singers make quite a bit of money singing in Vietnamese communities in Los Angeles, San Jose, San Diego, Dallas, Houston, New York. Tickets can go as high as $40 a pop.

Food is thriving. Vietnamese restaurants are packed. I know a Ph.D. student, an American-born Vietnamese. She speaks very little Vietnamese and is a feminist and a vegan. But she has a dark confession: she eats pho soup. Sometimes she can't help herself. She's got to have that beef broth

In a newspaper article, Heidi Bub's adoptive mother, Ann Neville, dismissed the importance of cultural differences, saying, "...we're all part of the human race..." Do you agree? I think we are all part of the human race, but differences will always remain. That's what makes the human race interesting. If everything is merged all you get is a bland, uninteresting picture. It's easy to dismiss other cultures when yours is the dominant one. It's easy to dismiss other sensibilities when you assume yours is the only one that's important, and that it's the only one that matters. We're all part of the human race, but we are different by degree -- and that difference will never go away.

In the film, Heidi rejects her brother's request for financial help. Is Heidi's response personal or cultural? It's expected of you to help your family out, no matter what culture you're from. In the Vietnamese case, it's even more so considering that those who left for the U.S. are in general far more wealthy than those they left behind. An average income in Vietnam is around 400 dollars a year. A Vietnamese American coming home for the first time will always save a few hundred if not a few thousand dollars to give to his family and relatives. For him to leave Vietnam in the first place the family had to sacrifice quite a bit -- gold, land, dollars -- to purchase a seat on a boat for him to escape. He owes them. Many Vietnamese living overseas become an anchor person — someone who will help the rest back home when they make it abroad.

Heidi doesn't understand that tradition or that kind of arrangement at all, having been raised in an American family. And her Vietnamese family didn't understand that she barely knew them. That, in essence, she was a stranger, not someone who was raised by them and shared their belief system. But I think Heidi was also overwhelmed by the needs of her family and though she didn't say it, she herself is not wealthy, or so that was my impression when I watched that movie. She held on to her fantasy of being reunited with her original family without being open to the possibility that it's not all rosy, that they have fantasies of their own.

Heidi did not experience much family closeness growing up. In Vietnam, she was amazed at the love and unity her family there showed. What are the ties that bind a Vietnamese family together? Love and a shared belief system and in many ways poverty. You don't leave at 18 just because you reach 18. You live with your family until you're married and even then you might not have enough money to buy a house for yourself and your spouse. So you create a three-generational family and to do so you must learn to suppress your individualism. You cannot get everything you want because you have to share resources to survive. You learn to live well together and you learn to suppress your own desire. You learn to sacrifice a lot to live in harmony with a large family. But in return, what you get is a kind of insularity that many Americans don't have. You know you'll never be alone. You know that you will be taken care of no matter what. You make that kind of promise to each other. You make that kind of promise to your ancestors' spirit. When you break away from all that, you are seen as selfish or unfilial, and of course, anti-Confucian.

Is it true that opening a gift in front of the giver is considered rude in Vietnam? Does this explain Kim and Vinh's awkwardness in the film about Heidi's gifts? I suppose it might be rude, but I'm also very Americanized and my family and I open Christmas gifts in front of each other all the time. But it's true, traditionally you don't open it in front of the person who gives it to you, though you can ask for permission to open it. I don't' know if Kimand Vinh's awkwardness came from that or rather that they had never received gifts from America before and they were simply awed by the experience. I was, when I was a child in Vietnam and received my first Sears catalog gift from an uncle in the U.S. It was like a miracle. The gift wrap was so beautiful. And the smell of my new pair of jeans was out of this world.

Toward the end of her stay in Danang, Heidi says, "this is not what I had pictured." Was there a way to prepare her for her experience? Hers is not a typical Vietnamese reaction. Vietnamese Americans gossip among themselves and prepare each other for the "shock" of returning. The heat, the mosquitoes, the smell, the needy relatives. You come back with a certain level of cynicism built in. But Heidi, being so disconnected from the community experience, did not have any of that. I think Tran Tuong Nhu, the journalist and interpreter, should have prepared her for it instead of just teaching her "I love you" in Vietnamese. Nhu should have been more savvy as to what happens to the naive returnees.

Do you think Vietnamese Americans might have a different response to the film than non-Vietnamese Americans? I can't say for sure. In some ways Heidi is a non-Vietnamese American with a Vietnamese American dream. Non-Vietnamese Americans can watch her experience unfold and say: yup, I would feel that way too if I were her. I would feel overwhelmed. I would probably run out and look for a McDonald's and get away from the heat. But a Vietnamese American who watches the film might say she should have known better. She should have prepared herself. Poor naive woman. What do you expect when you go to a Third World country that is yearning for a better life. Of course, they would have seen you as a life saver in the middle of a turbulent sea. Between Heidi and her birth family is a gap and it needs to be filled with stories: stories that Heidi needs to tell and stories that her mother and sisters and brother need to tell. They need to bridge that gap before they can make familial demands on one another.

#American 🇺🇸 Experience NOVA—PBS #The Asian American and Pacific Islander #Daughter From Danang #From The Collection | Article

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domi-scu · 2 years ago

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You’re my lobster

First things first- we very carefully checked Alex’s sunburnt legs and feet from yesterday. They look uncomfortably swollen and way too red to attempt any kind of long walks in the sun.

After applying copious amounts of panthenol, he very slowly walked down the stairs for breakfast where I finally gathered enough courage to try the yoghurt. With great success I must say! It’s now over 12 hours later and I didn’t shit myself! Oh the things you get excited about in your late 20s…

Shade by the pool seemed like the safest option for the moment so that’s what we did. Alex used my sarong to cover his legs and nearly cried with every movement. And I laughed and laughed and laughed because no matter where he’s actually from and what the UK Home Office say, he could not be more English right now. Who else burns so quickly with the highest SPF there is? I wonder if we can use this as evidence in support of his British citizenship.

I ended up getting bored of the pool very quickly. Mainly because of the annoying couple that took over our favourite spot with their towels but actually only spent about 10min there. There’s a special place in hell for people like that. But because it was midday, also known as the time of day we need to avoid to not kill Alex, I left him in the room to cool down while I got my nails done next door. Why wouldn’t I for £15??

After this, it was time for him to suck it up, put on his sandals (as those are the only shoes that currently match his tan lines) and at least spend the rest of the day on the beach. As the Ao Nang one is way too loud and crowded, we took the water taxi over to Ton Sai again which is possibly our new favourite spot here. It was nice and quiet and after a quick lunch, we moved over to the bar for a quick cocktail before a swim.

Exceptt the moment we came to the beach, the sea decided to leave and all we ended up with was the view of the rocks for couple hundred meters and we had to stay in the bar to drink away the disappointment. We had a chat with a fellow bar visitor- a Canadian that lives in Cambodia who was nice enough to offer his help finding cheap accommodation and cool things to do when we decide to visit. Too bad he didn’t bother leaving us his contact details, so I suppose we’ll just visit and hope to randomly bump into him one day.

The couple we met on the water taxi yesterday told us that there is a path over the hill from Ton Sai to Railay Beach that is very walkable. And definitely walkable if you have sandals! Too bad I only took flip flops and a husband who’s in pain with every step he takes. But we didn’t really feel like looking for enough people on this empty beach to fill the boat back ‘home’ so we figured we’ll at least check it out. I have given up on flip flops (but not the husband) very quickly and just did the mini hike barefoot.

If I don’t count the few times I stepped on particularly sharp stones, it was surprisingly fun and easy and we arrived at Railay just in time to watch the sunset and tiny crabs digging their tiny holes in the sand.

We walked up the main (and probably only) street in Railay that is really just made up of 90% weed/ shroom cafes, 5% restaurants and 5% shops. But it looks very pretty and has a very chill vibe. Not sure what might be causing that. A decision was made that since Alex managed the mini hike here, we should try and climb up to a Lagoon near Railay tomorrow. Very highly recommended by my sister although she did say they ended up with a few bruises and scrapes. I would be wary of this with how unfortunate Alex has been health-wise but considering that she always somehow seems to end up needing medical attention when she travels, I think we might live.

With that in mind, we agreed it’s time to go back and get some rest. Unfortunately, at night, the boats are only happy to take back groups of 8 people to make it worth their time and as we only found 2 more in the 20min we waited, we ended up paying 500 baht for the trip back instead of 200 which was a rather annoying note to end the day on. But hey ho, we’ll know better for tomorrow and try to get out of Railay a little earlier to save some money.

On the bright side- today, I also joined the club of extremely white people who don’t know how to tan with burnt spots in the most random places across my body- half of my right shin, one shoulder and a stripe in the middle of my back. It’s not even a bad sun cream job, it was just the sun going ‘fuck that piece of skin in particular’.

#thailand-2023

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edwardslostalchemy · 5 years ago

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After spending so much time at the beach cleaning it up/training, Izuku would be tan af and would have tan lines. Thanks for coming to my TEDx talk.

#izuku midoriya #bnha #fran talks #dont @ me #i only accept constructive criticism in cash or debit #i was thinking about this the other day and #hed also have a sort of beach smell #like idk it just sticks to you??#if you could feel a smell then itd feel very calming #anyways who needs a gym when you got a beach ye yey #i know its the anime and all but realistically speaking hed be pink or red or tan or #anything other than white #idk i dont want to make this about skin tone per se #its more like #idk i walk every day to school and i have a tan line around my neck #and my feet from where my sandals cover them #and also my arms from my shirts #and im pretty sure my legds do as well #mom has tan lines on her legs from walking to work every day #idk i want this boy to have tan lines

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holygayrightsbatman · 3 years ago

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i hate gardening but i cleared part of the garden that been overgrown for 10 years literally quadrupled the size of my garden 💪

#i now have horrific tan lines on my feet from my sandals #jay.txt

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springfallendeer · 6 years ago

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This dog is amusing. I wiggle my toes and she comes in to accept pets.

Plus; you can hear my birds being little musical assholes.

#My feet are dirty from doing housework #but I actually do have tan-lines on them from wearing sandals #this is how the dog will request pets #by laying down upon me

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reclusiverisottonero · 3 years ago

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How La Squadra waits almost 6 hrs in line with you to get stuff at the Hello Kitty Cafe Truck that hasn't been in your area for two years bc of COVID.

Is this platonic, romantic? I don’t know but I DO know this is one million billion percent self-indulgent because today I waited in line by myself for the café on my feet in the sun all day w/o water or food and this concept wouldn’t leave me alone!! It was like a fever dream by the time I got to the truck. Also I’m fine I got food and stuff but I have tan lines on my feet from my sandals whoopies.

No warnings on this one, but as always if you think they need it let me know!

🍈MELONE — Will wait with you 100% because he’s a slut for Hello Kitty and the other Sanrio characters too. Little Twin Stars are probably his favorite. Will want to get there early for the line and bring fold-out chairs with the drink holders and umbrellas and give anyone who makes fun of you two a semi-friendly lecture about how bad it is for your body to stand for prolonged hours at a time. Observes the people who try to instigate stuff for data to input into Baby Face later. Takes turns with you to keep place in line so you both for bathroom breaks and food. If your feet get tan lines from your sandals he’ll tease you for it and think it’s hot but keep that bit to himself (at least until you get home). Will compliment cosplayers and want pictures with them. Won’t pay for your stuff because he needs the money to pay for his own merch.

🥓PROSCIUTTO — Doesn’t care much about Sanrio or wants to wait in long lines for this stuff, but joins you because he doesn’t like the idea of you being in crowds of people for such a long time alone and in the sun. Totally not doing it because he thinks it's endearing how much this stuff means to you. Will also have the fancy folding chairs and gets umbrellas for you two and won’t be nice about it if anyone there tries to give sass about it. He’s a polite smoker so people don’t complain (to his face) too much about him chain smoking. Will try to charm people into letting the two of you cut in line. Again taking turns to hold spots in line but he’ll go out more for you and let you sit. Compliments the cosplayers he thinks put in the most effort. Secretly his faves are Tuxedo Sam and Pompompurin. Tries to strong-arm you into letting him pay for your merch.

✂ RISOTTO — Pouts silently when he finds out there’s no Kuromi stuff and it’s exclusively HK merch. You compromise by shopping online on your phones for Kuromi merch while in line. You’ll have to be the one to remember to bring chairs and umbrellas, because with his endurance/fitness standing around like this for so long won’t be a bother for him so he wouldn’t think he needs it. Might feel a bit out of place at first but when he sees other emo/goth/alt adults in line he relaxes some. Won’t say anything to cosplayers he likes because he doesn’t want to come off as creepy. Refuses to let you leave the line unless it's for the bathroom, he’ll go get whatever you need without complaint. Might be slightly treating this as a date because he hardly gets to spend time with you since he’s so busy with Passione. Will want to pay for your merch but won’t be pushy about it if you refuse (which you should bc the amount of Kuromi merch he just bought is kinda alarming).

The rest are under the cut! 😊

🎣 PESCI — Doesn’t know anything about Sanrio or Hello Kitty, but that Hangyodon character you showed him was super cute! Goes with you simply because you asked him and also maybe because Prosciutto advised him it would be a good way to get to know and spend time with you. You bring the chairs and umbrellas, he brings the water. Will offer his chair to people close in line to you if he thinks they need it more. He won't let you leave the line either, and will get food and drinks for you AND anyone in line that asks. Just remind him they have to give him money before he runs off. Finds movies for the both of you to watch on his phone. Won't offer to pay for your merch because he's too shy and thinks you'd be insulted. He'll get lectured by Prosciutto later for that though.

❄ GHIACCIO — Will complain the whole drive up to there and internally looses his mind at how long the line is. Why didn't you two go earlier?! Oh yeah, because he was complaining about how early it was when you woke him. You'll have to bring any amenities you'll need to wait in line, but at least he'll hold your spot if you need the bathroom or food. If you're settled in and don't need him to be a place holder he'll take the opportunity to go shopping around the area. Might be buying you little trinkets as a way to apologize for not staying in line with you but the ability to stay still is almost physically impossible for him. Texts/calls you to check up on how you're doing. Won't offer to pay for your merch, he does make you sit down to rest and wait for him so he can bring the car around to pick you up though. Looks up the Sanrio characters and goes on a rant when he finds out Cinnamoroll is a dog and not some kind of bunny.

🧀 FORMAGGIO — Goes with you because why not? He has a Gudetama keychain you bought him and he thinks the character's design is hilarious. Will bring the chairs and beer and whatever drink you want while the two of you shoot the shit in line. Ends up making friends with everyone around you two. This may or may not be subtle manipulation on his part to see if your new 'friends' will let you cut the line. Holds your spot if you need to leave for a bit. Doesn't think about it until after you're on the way home (and YOU payed), but he could've used his stand to just sneak into the truck to steal all the stuff you wanted. When he tells you that you both start groaning at the hours you've wasted. At least you had fun?

✨ ILLUSO — Absolutely will not wait in line with you, because why would you need to wait? Out of all of them, he's the only other one besides Formaggio who can use his stand to just take what you want from the truck while the employee's backs are turned. Once he gets what you wanted, you two go on a little 'shopping' spree at the plaza. Neither of you have to spend a penny that day. Well except for maybe to get food.

#risotto nero x reader #prosciutto x reader #pesci x reader #ghiaccio x reader #formaggio x reader #illuso x reader #my writing #idk what im doing lmaooo

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years ago

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a kiss from the moon | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: All these years, all these summers, Jeon Jungkook has loved you. His problem? You have no idea. Mostly because he has always said it far too platonically and thrown up in your lap after saying it. Drunk. Fuck. Oh, yeah, and you're also Park Jimin's best friend since preschool. Shit.

warnings: language; alcohol consumption; pining; JK gets distracted by (your) tits during his quest, typical; non-idol!BTS - purple-haired!Jungkook x sleepy af, noona!reader, ft Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung radiating big soulmate energy; childhood friends-to-lovers

yes, it's JK from the 'Butter' beach photos

“I love you!”

You lifted your head out of the mountain of pillows, groggy and hazy, squinting at the moonlight filtering through the floating curtains. The night breeze was warm, drifting in softly with the low hum of cicadas. But what was that other sound? That other sound was familiar, wasn’t it?

You heard your name being shouted, followed by, “Wake up!”

You made a face and stumbled out of the bed, sticking your head out of your bedroom window, your own hair flying back and smacking you in the face.

“Yah! Jeon Jungkook, are you trying to wake up the whole damn neighborhood?!”

“Get down here!”

You put on your best disgruntled expression and peered down at the form on your front lawn, shoving your own hair aside.

“What are you going on about?” you muttered, seeing Jeon Jungkook looking up at you, puffing his cheeks, long wet purple hair fading to gray because of the chlorine from swimming all night at that party Park Jimin had invited you to earlier today, to which you had responded, no thanks, I’m going to sleep all day, I worked three double shifts in a row and I have zero desire to be flung into your family’s swimming pool at this time, but I will acknowledge that your offer is very generous, and then promptly passing out for a good – you glanced at your phone with the pink bunny case Jungkook had given you two summers ago – ten hours and it was still not enough for you to comprehend why your best friend’s best friend was standing on your front lawn yelling at your parents’ house that you were watching for a month while they were in Italy getting drunk on far too expensive wine and eating cheese they probably couldn’t pronounce.

Jungkook was shirtless, clad only in orange swim shorts and sandals like a fucking hooligan. He was clutching a plastic red Solo cup and he threw it at the house, yelling your name again.

“Oh my fucking God, don’t litter, you idiot!” you bellowed back, throwing yourself away from the windowsill and crawling on the floor to your bedroom door like the evolution of mankind, making it from all fours to two legs by the time you got to the stairs – good thing too, you might have broken your neck if you were still disoriented – and you dragged yourself downstairs, yanking your white slip dress straight. Not your choice of pajamas. Your mom’s, who told you to be more ladylike, whatever the fuck that meant, and who also informed you in the same breath that it was your only choice of pajamas since they donated all your clothes from high school.

Awesome.

You go to university and your parents yeet all evidence that they had a child and go vacationing.

Good for them.

You wrenched your front door open and shoved your feet into your dad’s giant brown sandals and clapped your way over to the pink-faced, mildly drunk, shirtless man in swimming trunks on your front lawn.

“It’s two in the morning. Why are you standing here drunk and professing your love like some kind of deranged Romeo?” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. “Why aren’t you at Jimin’s?” You spied the red Solo cup and picked it up, whipping your head back to Jeon Jungkook.

He was staring at you with his mouth open.

Charming.

He didn’t say anything for a good ten seconds.

“Alright, fine, let me call my loser of a best friend and tell him to pick up his loser of a best friend, so I can go back to sleep,” you muttered, about to turn around.

Jungkook seemed to sputter back to life. “Wait, um, noona–”

“He speaks! He’s not dead.”

“A… Ah… Um…”

You squinted at him and reached up to knock the side of his head. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

Jungkook blurted out, “I love you.”

His breath smelled a lot like alcohol.

“Yeah, I got that. You also said that when I got you through your Chemistry and World History exams. Both times. You also say that to like, what, six of your guy friends? Don’t get me started on the amount of times you’ve said it and thrown up in my lap right after. Don’t do that this time,” you added sternly, prodding at his chest. “I’ve got one set of pajamas because my mom forgets that human beings change clothes, so throw up on the grass.”

“Uh… that’s pajamas…?”

“Lady pajamas,” you grumbled sarcastically, lifting the lid and chucking the crumpled Solo cup into your parents’ trash can. “Since I’m not lady enough apparently according to my mom, even though I’m ninety-nine percent sure giant band t-shirts are completely unisex but, whatever, it’s just a dress, not a big deal.”

“Um.”

You looked at Jungkook, who looked back at you, who put your hands up and gestured him to say something, who in response rose his hands and flapped them in confusion, giving you absolutely zero helpful communication. The movement reminded you he had gotten his right arm and hand tattooed in the last couple years, the black ink standing out against tan skin. You hadn’t seen him too many times during your university years, too busy completing research papers and staying late nights in laboratories, only to now end up working on hospital software and sitting on your ass all day. Life, eh? These past three days were spent on working through bugs for the next software update and you had maybe lost all social skills as you attempted to unravel lines of code that you stared at for forty-eight out of the past seventy-two hours.

Fun!

“Do you need a cookie? A shower? The Bible?” you offered, waving your hands. “Maybe tell me why you’re here, yes?”

He was staring and you realized you were slightly bent over in your gesture, your breasts firmly pressed into the cups of the slip dress. You straightened and Jungkook’s wide dark brown eyes went back to your face.

“I… I didn’t realize you had come back, noona.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? I told Jimin last week. He said he was hanging out with you and Taehyung. I figured he’d just tell you guys then.”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, gray-purple hair flying about. He pointed to the left, where Jimin’s house was several blocks over. “He only mentioned it just now, when he was throwing up in the bathroom from doing eight shots in a row because Taehyungie dared him.”

“…. Maybe he needs the Bible…” you muttered, shaking your head.

Then the realization hit you.

“Did you walk here from Jimin’s and straight up abandon the party?”

Jungkook tilted his head and thought about it. “Yeah.”

You looked around to find the camera and see if you were being pranked, but there was no camera because this life wasn’t purely for entertainment, right? Nah, this wasn’t The Matrix.

Mhm.

“Hah, well, what’s wrong? Are you upset I didn’t go to the party or something? I had three double-shifts this week, I wasn’t going to be any fun passed out before actually drinking–”

“Yoongi-hyung was passed out before drinking.”

“In some ways, I swear that guy and I are the same person,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t go and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I really banked on Jimin not being an airhead, but once again he is, so maybe I should reconsider him as my best friend…”

“Noona, I…”

You looked up from your mental consideration of Park Jimin’s pros and cons, the first pro being he punched that ex of yours that cheated on you with some Tinder hookup and that was already enough to stop contemplating, so you blinked at Jungkook curiously, looking into wide brown eyes, long strands of ash-purple floating around his handsome face from the night breeze, brushing against his parted lips, highlighting the mole underneath them, placed perfectly in the center like a kiss from the moon itself.

“Can I take a shower and sleep it off here?”

You tilted your head. “Yeah, sure. You can borrow my dad’s clothes. You should call Jimin though. You don’t want him to panic that he lost you.”

“Y… Yeah, okay…”

Jeon Jungkook really thought he could say it this time.

Collected all his courage and ran, ran as fast as he could, couldn’t believe Jimin had neglected to say she was coming home over the summer for more than a day, days without her reminding Jungkook that he was a coward for not saying it when he could have, having lost his most important person in the world because he was too afraid of telling Park Jimin that he was in love with his best friend.

He remembered that smile wearing nothing but a large t-shirt, sitting on Jimin’s bedroom floor, crushing all of them at UNO and cackling as Jimin blew up for ending up in last place for the third time in a row, yelling that the game was rigged, and Jungkook remembered thinking, I should tell her tonight.

And he didn’t.

He remembered her saying to Taehyung that she just wasn’t into girly things. They were having this argument over pizza and Taehyung was waving his around saying she should at least try a dress on every once in a while, never know, might actually like it, and her rolling her eyes as she shot back that she didn’t have to do anything just because it was stereotypical for her gender. Taehyung told her to stop using big words and waved his hands, accidentally flinging his pizza slice into her lap, and Jungkook remembered thinking, I should tell her after we clean up.

And he didn’t.

He remembered seeing her prepare to leave for university once again, holding a small package from the internet and handing it to her, a small but practical belated birthday gift, both of them surprised when she opened it, not the matte black phone case he had ordered, but somehow mixed up with a pink bunny phone case that had no business being owned by someone who didn’t like girly things.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t order this–”

And she laughed, shaking her head. “That’s okay, I gotta go, thanks anyway, Jungkook!”

The years went by and every year Jungkook told himself, this is the one, and every year he just couldn’t say it.

He thought he could say it now, drunk and furious at Jimin for not preparing him for this moment, but on his way here Jungkook figured that perhaps this was preferred, that maybe it was better that he couldn’t sit around nervously overthinking what to say.

But, of course, the problem was…

He had already said it in a platonic way.

Shit.

He really fucked himself throughout the years.

Jungkook sighed, now wearing borrowed clothes, holding the note of her handwriting as he rubbed his hair with the towel.

I washed your shorts and they’re hang-drying now. You can sleep in the guest room. I left a glass of water and some hangover meds. If you need anything, I’ll be asleep but you can attempt to wake the dead if you want.

He walked down the hall, towel around his shoulders. Her bedroom door was open. He stood outside the entrance, sighing, seeing her sleeping form and her bedside table, her phone sitting on the charger.

His breath caught in his throat as he recognized that pink bunny phone case.

“Where’s Jungkook?”

“Probably at her parents’ place, confessing his love,” Kim Taehyung snickered, picking up the beer bottles left behind next to the pool.

“Hah, of course he would leave without cleaning up,” Park Jimin grumbled, pushing the recycling bin along as Taehyung tossed each bottle inside.

“You think he’s gonna tell her?”

“He didn’t even tell me,” Jimin muttered, shoving used napkins into the bag hanging off the side of the recycling bin that he was going to toss into the trash later. “I had to find out from you. I think he’s hopeless. Why does he like her anyway? She’s fun to be around, yeah, she’s good at school, yeah, knows a lot of random facts, yeah, if you get into philosophy with her like Namjoon-hyung does, you begin to question humanity and reality, yeah, but other than that…”

“You hitting on your best friend, dude?”

“I mean, she’s kinda hot, she wouldn’t say no to me.”

Taehyung snorted.

Jimin smacked him in the ass with the recycling bin.

“Anyway, he’s probably just standing in her bedroom creepily watching her sleeping.”

Jungkook stared down at her sleeping form.

He looked up, looking out the window into the late, late night. He was tired, and yet he couldn’t sleep, too busy wondering.

I don’t deserve her if I’m not brave enough to say it.

“Jungkook?”

You squinted at the large form in your bedroom.

“Why are you just staring moodily out the window?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “Is something wrong? Are you hungry? I can make you a snack…”

“Noona, do you know what the worst feeling in the world is?” he asked softly, still looking out into the warm night.

You grunted and scrunched up your face. “Stepping on a Lego?”

You heard Jungkook laugh and you smiled a little despite your groggy state, hearing a little bit of his old self, the younger Jungkook hanging out with you, Jimin, and, later, Taehyung, the four of you getting up to no good. Somehow, in the past few years, he had gotten quieter and quieter, at least around you, but then again you only came home to visit for a day or two before going back to university.

“Have you ever been in love, noona?”

“Yeah, with the red bean popsicles they used to sell at the ice cream trucks, but then they stopped, those assholes, I’ve never been so heartbroken in my life,” you grumbled, remembering the day where the ice cream man told you they were sold out and your young teenage heart shattering.

“I love you, you know.”

Was this a fever dream? Why did he keep repeating himself? You looked over to his back, still looking outside onto the street, the street where you all used to run and laugh every summer, pretending you were surviving in the wild and not in the middle of a suburban neighborhood, sitting around sipping lemonade and complaining about the heat even though you all could have gone inside, lighting sparklers at night and seeing whose would last the longest even though such a thing was only based on chance anyway.

“Is that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?” he added quietly.

“The worst thing I’ve ever heard was accidentally hearing Jimin jacking off. Twice.”

Jungkook finally turned around, giving you a disgusted look. “What?”

You placed a hand on your face and sighed heavily, trying not to remember. “For some reason he thinks the bathroom isn’t echoey or something, like, at least do it in the shower, so the water masks the sound…” You chuckled, shaking your head. “Anyway, I would much rather hear you say you have love for me than listening to Jimin getting off.”

“I don’t have love for you.”

You raised your hand from your face and shifted your gaze to him, half-smile lingering on your lips from remembering Jimin’s carelessness. You made eye contact the second the words left his mouth, those brown eyes shrouded in shadows, but still so clear, a little helpless, a little sad.

“I’m in love with you,” Jungkook whispered softly.

Your eyes widened.

A soft breeze swept through the window, lifting the purple-gray strands from Jungkook’s face, revealing his lost, desolate expression.

The cicadas hummed.

A car alarm honked loudly, screeching through the night.

Both you and Jungkook jerked to face the window. You bolted out of bed and you both threw your hands onto the edge of the window, yanking it shut, wincing at the loud noise.

“Ah, jeez… what the hell…?” you groaned, slumping to the ground.

“What’s with people…?” Jungkook muttered, falling to the floor beside you, yanking the towel off his shoulders.

“Fuck, I pressed the wrong button!”

“Taehyung, what the hell, turn it off!”

“I was just trying to put the tangerines your parents gave me in my car!”

“I don’t care what you were doing, turn it off!”

“Anyway, sorry, you were saying something important and you got interrupted by some dumbass,” you sighed, nudging Jungkook with your shoulder.

“Uh… well, that was it…”

You blinked at him, tilting your head. “What, that you’re in love with me?”

“Y… Yeah?”

You blinked some more.

“Not the, want to go to the arcade and see who can get the highest score in PAC-MAN or go watch shitty action movies and rate the unrealistic plot lines or dare each other to eat whatever expired delicacy is in Taehyung’s fridge, kind of love?”

Jungkook made a repulsed face. “I regret eating that tofu. Don’t think I can ever look at uncooked tofu without gagging a little now…”

You leaned over and caught his eye.

“Do you mean the… want to date and get married and make babies, kind of love?”

His lips parted and the moonlight lit the small mole placed perfectly underneath his lower lip.

A delicate kiss from the moon itself.

Then you realized he was staring at your tits.

You yanked the neckline up a little and Jungkook started, looking back up at you with wide eyes.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to you in a dress, sorry, I’m being really rude–”

“It assures me that you’re at least interested in the making babies part,” you chuckled.

His ears turned red and he reached up to cover them, trying not to look down. “S… Sorry…”

“So…?”

He chewed on his lip, messing with his earrings with his fingertips. “Um… yeah, that kind of love. The latter kind.”

You lowered your hand. “You’re not messing with me, right? I swear, if this is one of Taehyung’s elaborate ideas to mess with me, I’m going to ki–”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, purple hair flying about. “I’m not joking around. I wanted to tell you for a long, long time, but…” His eyes darted about, panicking a little, before looking back to you helplessly. “You’re Jimin’s best friend, besides Taehyung, and what if… what if you thought I was gross or something and then I don’t think I could hang out with you guys anymore, but then you went to that prestigious university far away and I thought, I’m so stupid, I should have said something, anything, but every time I could even think about it, I didn’t know what to say, nothing seemed right…”

He let out a big sigh and tapped his head against the windowsill, closing his eyes.

“Also, I said it before and threw up in your lap right after, so that kinda fucked me up.”

“Can’t say I was really feeling the romance, yeah.”

He groaned and covered his face with his hands.

“I’d date you though. For real.”

Jungkook removed his hands and blinked at you. “What?”

You chuckled. “Why are you acting so surprised? I’m not going to date Jimin, blergh, I’ve known that guy since I was in preschool. I’m not dating Taehyung, I’m pretty sure he’s on a different brainwave than other human beings.”

You smiled at him and turned around to pick up your phone, holding it up.

“I don’t like girly things or cute things very much, but I kept your gift because it was from you and, funnily enough, I think it made me realize that I was rejecting femininity because society puts such a negative connotation on things young women like and because my friends growing up were primarily male, thus I wanted to seem cool or relatable so I rejected stereotypically feminine concepts…”

“… What?”

Now it was a confused what.

“Uh, never mind,” you laughed awkwardly, putting your phone back on your nightstand. “Anyway, Jungkook, you made me realize things about myself, and I love being around you, but I thought a handsome guy like you would want to date a pretty girl, and I’m not really that.”

Jungkook furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about? You’re the prettiest girl in the world. No one could ever be prettier than you.”

You felt your neck heat. “Yo, don’t inflate my ego when it’s not the truth,” you chuckled sheepishly, waving a hand. “You’ve been drinking anyway. Alcohol makes everyone prettier.”

“It’s the truth.”

Was he drunk or were you drunk? Why was Jeon Jungkook getting closer?

“Would you really date me?”

You stared into those chocolate eyes and smiled.

“Yes, I would.”

And you leaned forward and kissed him.

His eyes widened, staring at you and you closed your eyes, pressing your lips to his, inhaling his scent, memories of hot summers and mirthful laughter filling your head, standing beside Jungkook and kicking Jimin and Taehyung’s ass at table tennis even though Jungkook was doing most of the work, finishing a movie together after Jimin and Taehyung had passed out on the couch on top of each other and talking excitedly about it until you both fall asleep, getting lamb skewers after Jimin and Taehyung went off to eat ramen in a huff, unable to agree on the same meal as a foursome, but it was fine, no, better than fine, perfect even.

Because you were with Jungkook.

You broke the kiss and opened your eyes, smiling at him.

He blinked slowly, looking down at you.

“Noona…”

His hand raised, fingers spreading out longingly. You quickly reached up and pushed it back down.

“Jungkook, I swear, I do want to touch you in a less than holy way, but maybe not when you’re wearing my dad’s clothes, including his underwear, because that’s really fucking weird.”

Jungkook looked down at the brown t-shirt and beige shorts. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“You know, come to think of it, I feel like Taehyung has slowly stolen Jimin from me over the years, so maybe this was fated…” you mumbled, remembering at the moments you had shared with Jungkook were because your other two friends had abandoned you.

“I feel you, sometimes I feel like a third wheel…”

“I’m so sleepy.”

“I’ll tuck you in first, but I’m going to get us some water so we don’t die tomorrow morning.”

“Ugh, Jimin, bring another pillow please.”

“Hah, fine, but you’re buying breakfast tomorrow…”

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x noona #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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bedbugbiting · 2 years ago

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I have so many strange tan lines on my body, which is something that I don't recall happening in my 26 years of living in the Pacific Northwest. You can see where my capri running leggings end and also a lattice pattern on my feet from my stretchy sandals.

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y0itsbri · 3 years ago

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shameless summer series - lifeguard au 🥽🩲🌊

debbie has her eye on the new lifeguard at the public pool. unlucky for her, said lifeguard already has his eye set on a different red-headed gallagher.

(think like s2 era)

also happy a.u.gust! @gallavichthings

words: 1.7k

"Debs, why do I gotta take you to the pool again this week? I thought you already fixed whatever was the problem with that blonde bitch," Ian whined, shoveling cereal into his mouth. Two tubes of sunscreen sat on the table in front of him.

"It's not about her anymore." Debbie retorted, like it was the simplest thing.

"Okay. Then what is it about?"

"Nothing!"

"Ask her boyfriend." Carl yelled over his video game in the living room, taking any opportunity to embarrass his sister.

Ian and Debbie's voices overlapped with a "Boyfriend?!" and "He's not my boyfriend-- Carl I'm going to fucking kill you!"

Debbie tossed a fork at Carl's head.

"Oh, now I'm definitely in," Ian laughed and winced before Debbie could throw a fork his direction.

The walk to the pool was relatively quiet aside from the rhythmic smacking of their sandals against the gravely pavement.

Debbie leapt a few strides, trying to outrun her shadow and failing each time. Ian chuckled, pulling the towel around his neck and swinging his keychain with the other hand.

Now that it was just the two of them, he tried again.

"Soooo," he drawled. "What's with this secret boyfriend?"

Debbie sighed. "He's not my boyfriend. Well, not yet."

"Hmm?"

"He's one of the new lifeguards since Justin got attacked by that dog last week."

Justin still owed Lip a beating for something or other so Ian was glad he didn't have to deal with Justin today, at least.

"You think this new lifeguard is a little too old for you?" Ian wondered.

Debbie shrugged. "Not like it matters much."

Ian couldn't argue with that logic. "I'll kick his ass if he bothers you, yeah?"

"Please. He doesn't even look at me. Even when I was fake-drowning." She skipped down the sidewalk, nearing the pool entrance.

Ian shook his head. His sister was something else.

After they set their towels down, Ian's eyes scoured the lifeguard chairs immediately. Too-tan-Toni, shrimp-speedo-Sam, and holy-fucking-shit. Was that Mickey Milkovich?

Ian hadn't let himself think about Mickey since he left town. But it was hard not to now that he was right in front of him again. Shit.

Mickey spread out across his chair, sunglasses low on his nose, watching the newcomers and he smirked before glancing back towards the pool. He blew his whistle and yelled at some kid to 'slow the fuck down unless you wanna bust your ass -- and I ain't fixing you up!'

Ian was brought back to the moment by Debbie's hands waving in front of his face. "Helloooo, earth to Ian! Sunscreen?"

Ian could've sworn he heard a chuckle coming from the direction of the lifeguard chair as he dug the sunscreen out of his shorts pockets. No. He was just being paranoid. His cheeks blushed regardless.

"Is that...?" Ian nodded his head towards the raven-haired man.

"Shhh!" Debbie slapped him on the arm. "Don't make it obvious!"

Ian rolled his eyes at her ridiculousness.

He covered Debbie's back and shoulders in the high resistance sunscreen before she took off towards the side of the pool with the diving board, eager to show off her skills.

He yelled after her. "Wait, fuck, Debs you forgot..." He glanced around.

His eyes definitely locked with Mickey's now.

Fuck.

Mickey hopped off his chair, waving his hand to dismiss his crowd of moon-eyed preteen girls and middle-aged women in scandalous bikinis. Ian would have shuddered at the thought if Mickey wasn't making a bee-line directly towards him.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuuuuuck.

"'Sup, man? Been awhile..." He smirked. "Raggedy Ann run out on ya?" Mickey bowed his leg out on his final step towards Ian, a little closer than he expected.

"Uhhh...." Real smooth, Ian. His words were bound to fail him again with the man in such close proximity to him, so he simply held up his bottle of sunscreen and shrugged.

"Toss it here," Mickey coolly demanded.

Ian was thoroughly confused, but threw it anyways. "What?"

"You heard me, Red. Turn around, I'll get your back."

"Protecting and serving the local ginger kids at the pool?" Ian joked weakly, finding his voice again.

Mickey huffed a breath. "Fuck the pigs. The only thing I'm protecting is your ass from a sunburn."

Ian was still confused as to why Mickey was offering to rub his back at a very public pool when he would have literally beaten his ass for looking his direction before.

All of Ian's thoughts subsided as he felt sturdy hands push the warming liquid around his shoulder blades, up his neck, then down his spine. Mickey's thumb digging deep into his muscles. He suppressed his urge to shiver despite the rising temperatures of the hot Chicago summer.

At least he thought he had suppressed it. A huff of air on the back of his neck said otherwise.

Mickey started pulling his hands away and Ian leaned back into them again. Mickey whacked the side of his head before tossing the bottle of sunscreen onto the chair in front of them.

"No free massages, man. Just sunscreen." Mickey licked the corner of his mouth and looked from the ground up to Ian's eyes.

He had to know how devious he looked. Ian didn't want to be presumptuous, but he just held eye contact.

"Unless," Mickey veered, slowly backing away, "the favor was returned in one way or another." He winked.

Ian stood, mouth agape as Mickey turned and waved again to the group of girls who still hadn't taken their eyes off of him. He hopped up onto his chair, whistle in mouth in no time like nothing had ever happened.

What the fuck was going on?

Ian spent the next few hours very much Not Looking At Mickey despite feeling a heated stare on him.

Even when he was having a breath-holding competition with Debbie, his brain couldn't stop the endless stream of Mickey Mickey Mickey.

After Debbie's third win, Ian felt like he was on the verge of passing out, so he returned to his towel, chugging his water bottle.

In a moment of weakness, he glanced at Mickey, only to find him already staring. Mickey tilted his head towards the main building and quietly dismissed himself to go on his break.

Ian knew.

He wasn't that stupid. He knew Mickey wanted him to follow. And he knew that it wouldn't be a good idea. All the while, his feet took him closer.

The building felt even hotter than the outside, the AC must've gone out and no one bothering to replace it.

This was a bad idea.

Ian was just about to turn around and leave when he heard the click of a lock.

"'Bout fuckin' time," Mickey stalked forward, eyes raking up and down Ian's body appreciatively.

Ian was putty.

He groaned as he let himself be pulled forward by the hips. "Didn't know you were a lifeguard?"

He sighed as Mickey toyed with the band of his shorts in between his tattooed fingers. His nails scraping dully against his sides.

"Dad got shanked. Family business went under. Had to go legal." Mickey's hands moved upwards as he raked his fingers through the sides of Ian's still-wet hair, gripping onto the back of his neck. Ian slid his own hands up Mickey's back, pushing his red tank top up with it, exposing his pale skin.

"Missed this." It was a whisper.

Ian attached his lips to the side of Mickey's neck briefly, tasting remnants of salt, chlorine, and sunscreen, before Mickey sunk down to his knees. Ian's hands were now gripping dark hair, and he was sure that the rocky pavement of the unfinished building had to be digging into Mickey's skin, but he made no sounds of discomfort.

Sure, he missed this, but he missed him more, not that he could say that.

On the walk home, the sun was hanging low in the sky and both Gallaghers' cheeks were sunburnt pink.

"Did ya have fun?" Ian asked, knocking his empty water bottle against the top of Debbie's head.

She scrunched her face up, but replied with some pep in her voice. "Yeah! Today the hot life guard actually looked at me! Maybe bringing you around was good luck."

No way in hell Ian was going to out Mickey to his little sister, let alone out himself. He put on a big-brother reassuring smile and changed the subject.

"Good luck for you maybe. I lost literally all of our competitions today!"

She giggled, "That was all skill, not luck. Frank's been helping me practice!"

Frank? Maybe Ian needed to spend a little more time at home. On the other hand, maybe it was a good thing Ian hadn't been spending a lot of time at home.

Ian left after dinner unannounced, taking his well-worn trail to the baseball dugouts.

When he approached the field, he noticed a small orange flame illuminating the man's face and a cloud of smoke fog through the chained fence. He smirked.

"Couldn't get enough the first round?" Ian taunted, announcing his presence as he leapt over the fence, an old habit.

"Fuck you, man," Mickey scoffed and blew his smoky breath in Ian's grimacing face.

"Oh I think you plan on it." He stepped closer.

"Is that so?"

"Mmhmm," Ian plucked the cigarette out of Mickey's fingers. "Can't have you with bad lungs, then what will all the poor defenseless swimmers do without a capable lifeguard?"

"Let 'em drown," Mickey smacked Ian's cigarette out of his hands and closed the distance between them.

"It would crush your groupies to know you care so little," Ian murmured against his neck.

"This is a bad idea," Mickey breathed, tugging at Ian's crumpled shirt.

"The worst," Ian yanked his shirt fully off.

Mickey pulled back, eyeing Ian's now-bare back.

"Mmm, no sunburn. That would've ruined my plans." Mickey smiled smugly.

Oh shit.

Ian swallowed. He was already way too far off the deep end. Luckily for them both, Mickey knew how to swim.

#every time i write it gets slightly smuttier skskjfndkjnf #my posts #gallavich #a.u.gust #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #debbie gallagher #carl gallagher #ian x mickey #shameless fanfic #shameless fanfiction #gallavich fanfic #gallavich fanfiction #shameless

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fictionfunshop · 4 years ago

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Art Lessons

** Sorry not sorry

UPDATE - woke up to over 30 like for this thanks everyone 😍 drop me a message if you have a dirty Matthew/Reid request! **

I took in all the colours in front of me, slashes of black with hints of green and peeking specks of yellow. Something was soothing about standing in front of it, my eyes darting around the canvas, trying to see all the colours and shapes, hoping to memorise every stroke. Life at a marketing agency kept me busy, but I loved to explore the city I called home for the last three years. One weekend you could be in Central Park on the Loeb enjoying a champagne brunch, the next you could be enjoying some hip restaurant in the West Village on your books New York has opened your mind since you first landed so much that nothing phases you anymore, and you thank her for it every morning you wake up and stare out your window to the river.

This Saturday was a relaxing one; I had already treated myself to my favourite croissant from a local French bakery for breakfast, browsed a book-store I always pass on the way to the office but never get the chance to visit, before you headed into the gallery to feed your eyes on Picassos and Monets. You were aware he was standing next to you, his body heat radiating from him.

"Did you know that this is one of the last pieces Pollock painted?" Even though his voice was in a low rasp, it broke the quiet tension of the gallery space.

You glanced over at him, noticing him for the first time. A bold patterned blue shirt made the light tan of his arms and chest pop; his slim jeans hugged his lanky frame perfectly. His chestnut hair was messy; the attempt to tuck strands behind his ear had been futile. His eyes were like conkers, shiny and holding some childlike innocence behind them.

"I did – did you know that he was in a car with his mistress when he died?" you whisper back. He grinned at your bold reply.

"I did not, but I'll remember it to impress the next time I'm at a gallery."

You fully turn to face him now, "do you usually go to art galleries and scare people with facts?"

"I'm trying not to make it into a habit", he chuckles, "you were standing here for a very long time."

It's now you notice his height, the top of your head barely grazing his shoulder. "It's a big canvas; every time I look at it, I see other colours I haven't picked up on before or a shape I want to decipher."

"I'm Matthew, by the way," he extends his hand out to me

"I'm Mia," you capture him in yours, gazing into his eyes. "I'm guessing you're not from around here?"

"I live in L.A, originally from Vegas," He starts walking to the next frame, and you follow ", and you're not from New York either."

"Nope, I moved here a few years ago. I lived in Chicago my whole life."

We stop and look at the painting in front of us, trading whatever information we know and more prodding questions. I had found out; surprisingly, he was ten years older than me, an avid reader and a painter himself just like Pollock. After the final frame, he asked you to join him for coffee around the corner to trade more art secrets you accepted.

"So what brings you to New York?"

"Visiting some friends and I have a few work meetings", he replies, taking a sip of his cortado. "what brought you to New York?"

"I'm a client Director for a marketing agency here. I worked at their Chicago office for a few years before I got this promotion. What do you do?"

The more you took in his features, he looked familiar.

"I do a bit of everything; I direct, I write a bit, I act here and there…"

"Anything I might have seen?" you were intrigued; you figured he must be successful if he has coastal meetings on his career. That and you noticed a woman in the corner of the café staring at him since he slumped into the wooden chair when you arrived.

"I'm in the show Criminal Minds? I've directed a few episodes too."

"That's cool. Are you here for the show or something else?" You hoped your reply came off breezy, but inside, your heart was hammering. It's not often you meet successful, handsome actors let alone spend hours with them in a gallery and now sharing a muffin and some coffee.

"I'm working on a book right now, so I've to meet the publishers. I figured while I was here, I would visit some friends and galleries, maybe meet a beautiful woman to talk to."

He says the last line with no shame, staring into your blue eyes and relaxing into the chair. While you never thought you were ugly, the line still made your cheeks warm.

"Thank you; it's not every day for me that I get famous actors flirting with me." Building since you first traded facts, the tension is now undeniable and hanging thick; you can see his eyes dart from your lips back to your eyes.

"If you've no other plans today, I have a few art books at mine you can have a look at?" you take the last gulp of your coffee. He nods his head, knocking back the last of his. He throws down some cash on the table and stumbles out of his chair, following you outside. You hail down a passing yellow taxi and jump in. You give your address to the driver before you turn your head, him sitting so close to you now you pick up his light cologne smell. His hand grips the back of your head and smashes into your lips. After a few hard kisses, you let a low moan escape when his tongue touches yours for the first time. Your hand finds his chest, your fingers teasing his exposed skin, which lets out the guttural groan. From him as he moves his hands from your neck to your waist, practically forcing you to sit on his lap. The taxi jolts to a stop, forcing you both to untangle. You hand the driver a wad of notes before you hop out, slightly embarrassed that he had seen that display between you both. He jumps out the other side, follows you inside your building and up the 4th floor to your apartment. Behind closed doors again, he pinned you against the wooden frame, his fingers tangling in your hair before drawing his thumb across your full bottom lip. His eyes are practically black now, and his hair an even bigger mess than before; you twist a finger around an escaped curl on the nape of his neck.

"You are so fucking gorgeous." He presses his lips against yours with the same neediness as in the taxi.

His hands can't stay in one place, moving from your cupping your ass and hips to moving up your ribcage to your heaving chest. Your nimble fingers make work on the buttons of his shirt before he shrugs it off your shoulders.

"Turn around." He growls, and you comply, your centre now throbbing. He finds the small zipper of your dress and pulls it down. His hand snakes under the material while the other slides the thin straps from your shoulders and lets the material now pool at your feet. You press your back into his chest, his fingers now pinching your nipples, biting your lip to stops the moans from escaping. His lips find your bare shoulder, sponging kisses up to your neck where he nips at the flesh. You barely have your clothes off, but Matthew already has all your weak spots mapped out; maybe there is some truth in older men being better lovers that your friends tried to explain once. You break away and guide him to your bedroom, pushing him onto the bed gently where he props himself up on his elbows. You slide out of your sandals before kneeling between his legs. He sits up straight, dipping his head to meet yours in a kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair, waiting for your next move. You sponge kisses down his chest, nipping at his nipples, earning a groan from him while your hands loosen his belt and jeans. He helps slide them down his legs, and you untie his converse and throw them across the room.

"Do you have odd socks on?" your eyes widen in shock and add a playful air to the sexual tension.

"Good luck charm", he smirks back. You go back to teasing him, placing quick kisses across the band of his boxers before you make small work of them, adding to his pile of clothes now in the corner. You grip his erection in your hand, and you can feel how painfully hard he is, the tip already leaking with pre-cum before you get to work. You take long licks from the base, circling the top before you cover it with your lips and let it slide down your throat. Your hand jerks the bottom you can't cover.

"Fuck…" He mumbles, his fingers tangling in your hair and guiding the pace. You moan in response as you take him further in your mouth, inch by inch. Soon, you feel him hit the back of your throat, and his mumbles have turned into full-on moans, bouncing against the four walls. You know he's close, his cock is twitching in your mouth, and you can feel his grip in your hair tighten.

"So close, feels too good." You look up at him and set your eyes on him, his chest now glistening with sweat, his teeth pulling at his bottom lip, trying to contain his moans.

You keep his eye contact as you watch him come, some swear words tumbling out of his mouth. You swallow every last drop of him before he pulls you by the arm to join him in your bed. He kisses you again as he pushes you down on your mattress and positions himself between your thighs. His hands cradle your hips as he slides your underwear down your legs and tosses them to the side. He sits up and places chaste kisses on your thighs before he settles himself between your legs. Your head cranes back in the pillow as your hand grips the sheets at the first touch from his tongue, flicking lightly against your clit. He then sucks it between his lips as your hips lift off the bed; he holds them down as you grind into his face, now desperate for release. One of your hands played with your nipples when his fingers joined in, moaning his name so loudly you were sure you'd have a noise complaint tomorrow. Your hand moves to his hair as you can feel yourself tighten around his fingers before you feel yourself come, screaming his name one last time. He emerges, licking his lips before climbing back up and kissing you, letting you taste yourself. His kisses now were slow and deep, a shocking comparison to earlier but one you welcomed while you recovered.

"Do you have protection?" He rasped in your ear. You pulled out your top drawer on your nightstand and handed him the small silver packet, now thanking yourself that you kept stock. He made light work of putting it on before he settled back in between your legs, sliding the tip down your slit before he guides himself into you, not breaking eye contact. He pulls his hips back and slams into you, your nails finding his back and digging in. He set a quick pace, the sound of your hips crashing into each other filling the air. His lips find your chest, and he sinks his teeth into your nipples once again, earning a yelp from you. He notices the grip your nails have on his back release a little, so he uses this chance to pin them over your head.

"You still feel so tight around me."

"Hmmm…Matthew…so close" I feel my hands loosen their grip, letting me rub my clit as he continues to pound into me, his strokes now sloppy telling you he was near too. You were the first to go over the edge, tears coming from your eyes as you clenched around him a few strokes later, and some dirty encouragement he followed. He collapses on top of you for a few moments afterwards, steadying his breathing before he peels himself off you and cleans himself up. You could already feel yourself ache all over, but you needed him again already.

"So that was unexpected," he laughs.

"Yeah, I could still show you the art books if you want?"

He shakes his head. "I thought you could give me your phone number, and we go for dinner tomorrow?"

You nod you're head. You couldn't wait.

#mgg #spencer reid #matthew grey gubler #spencer reid smut #mgg smut #mgg oneshot #criminal minds #spencer reid gif #criminal minds spencer reid #dr reid #dr spencer reid #smut spencer reid x reader #smut spencer reid

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