#no lie I listened to sleep token while writing this

[rougepancake]

Just hear me out, (if you write fem character(s) x fem reader) Arlecchino x Shenhe x reader temperature play.

Shenhe playing with your nipples while her hands are ice cold, and arle eating reader out while heating up her mouth (or the exact opposite)

And if I (s)creamed??? This is beautiful, ty.

FT. Shenhe, Arlecchino, AFAB!Reader

WARNINGS: Minors and ageless blogs dni. Sexually explicit content ahead. Temperature play, nipple play, oral sex (f!receiving). I’m sorry if this is bad— I haven’t written smut in SO LONG.

SHENHE

Her fingers slide gracefully across your chest. Each touch was calculated, each tap was thought out. Needless to say, she knew what she was doing. And you had no complaints.

“My love, I have an idea,” she whispered gently, her eyes meeting yours. You swallowed thickly. Were you scared? Only a little. Shenhe was prone to experimenting in the bedroom. Pleasuring was her specialty when it came to you. Though, surprisingly, she had yet to use her vision.

You had a strong feeling that’s where she as headed.

“What are you planning..?” You asked slowly, eyeing her with caution. It’s not that you didn’t trust her. On the contrary. You were excited.

“Hush now, my love, I promise that you will enjoy it,” she spoke softly as she adjusted herself. With a bit of patience, she moved behind you, her chest pressed against your bare back. You sat between her legs with her head nestled in the crook of your neck. Her delicate fingers slid across your chest once more, leaving an icy feeling in their wake. You shivered. A soft whine left your lips. The coldness of her fingertips had been a pleasure you hadn’t expected to enjoy so much.

She took your perky nipple in between her fingers and pinched it, evoking another, louder, whine from you. Her other hand trailed down your stomach just lightly enough to make the skin jump. You did your best to lean into her touch, but she only pushed you back. The cold, icy feeling returned, sending goosebumps across your skin. A cold finger dipped into your folds, and you jumped. A moan escaped you. Your head fell back against her, resting your head against hers.

Slowly, she slid her cold tongue across the skin of your neck. As she did that, she pushed two cold fingers into you, her other hand groping your breast with such care. You shivered and squirmed. In all reality, she hadn’t even done anything, but the cold intrusion was a welcomed sensation. Shenhe waited a moment before slowly pumping her fingers in and out. Such control of her vision required severe concentration, but you made it rather easy for her.

She picked up her pace and tugged harshly at your nipple. You jumped once again at the cold coming in contact with your skin. “Shh…” she consoled you as she moved her hand from one breast to the other. Out of curiosity, she tilted her head back, giving her more room to attack your neck. She bit into your flesh like it was her last meal, lapping at the mark softly with her freezing cold tongue. The intensity of the chill was stronger than before. Much stronger. Her fingers worked you open, sharp movements reaching right where you couldn’t. Your back arched. Oh you were so so close. Just a little more…

ARLECCHINO

The two of you sat in the library, each in your own respective chair. You didn’t mind, however, seeing as you simply just enjoyed being in the presence of your lover. Things had been going smooth enough, aside from the fact that you were horribly frustrated. No not that kind of frustration. You see, you craved release of the purest form.

Unfortunately, you wouldn’t be getting it soon with how long Arlecchino had her nails this time. It was to painfully tease you, of course, but you didn’t see it as fair. She had never been fair when it came to these things.

You closed your book gently and looked over at her, observing the way her eyes scanned over the words on the pages. Everything she did was smooth and calculated.

“What’s got you staring?” She asked without looking up from the book. You wanted to mock her, but knew better. She’d only prolong your suffering if you did.

“Nothing…” you trailed off and attempted to go back to your own book.

“Don’t lie, my dear. Lies make for cracks in any relationship,” she snapped the book shut and looked over at you. She smirked. “What is it that you want from me, hm? Do you want me to touch you?” She chuckled darkly. What was she planning? “Come now, how am I supposed to please you if you don’t tell me what you want?”

“I want…” Suddenly you felt nervous. What exactly did you want?

“Come sit on my face,” she beckoned you over with a singular finger. You froze and looked at her, your eyes widened slightly. “I don’t have all day, darling. Get over here.” Her sultry tone caused your face to flush. Quickly, you rose from your seat and shed your bottoms. The article was thrown carelessly across the room as you walked over to her seat.

You did your best to adjust yourself atop of her, slowly putting all of your weight onto her upper body. A sudden heat was pressed against your core, causing you to moan loudly. Your entire body convulsed at the feeling. Two incredibly warm hands groped your thighs as a warm tongue delved past your folds. You shuddered. The heat was causing your skin to flush, and you began to sweat as you hopelessly rode Arlecchino’s tongue. With each lap of the warm muscle you felt yourself growing closer to release. Oh how you needed this. You needed her.

A loud moan escaped you upon your release, followed by the sound of heavy panting. You looked down at your partner, who appeared to have no intention of stopping any time soon. The heat grew stronger and you arched your back in response. A breathy whine passed through your lips as you threw your head back.

What would you do without her?

[cntloup]

Worth It

Fem!Reader fluff, angst, pregnancy A/N: This is my first fic and English is not my first language so bear with me please. Also I was listening to "Drag Me Under" by Sleep Token while writing this :)

Simon is sitting on the edge of the bed as you lie down on the silk whites, your hand with the wedding band on its finger laid atop your swollen belly. His gorgeous brown eyes admiring your angelic features as a gentle hand caresses your glowing cheeks so softly as not to wake you up. He’s trying to engrave this image into his memory and wonders how he got so lucky to have such a beautiful, caring and patient wife, a loving family; something he never thought himself capable of having amidst the chaos that is his life and mind. You've mentioned to him countless times that he’s a wonderful husband and father, but his self-doubt never fully faded away and gets the best of him sometimes but not now; now he actually sees it. In this moment, he believes you. He takes a last glance at your peaceful face then goes to leave the room so you can get some much-needed rest.

He goes into the living room and suddenly your 4-year-old daughter who's sitting at the table with a coloring book yells “Daddy! Daddy!” “Shh sweetheart, mommy is sleeping.” then she whispers with a pout “I'm hungry”. He kisses her temple with a chuckle “You up for a sandwich?” she nods and grins gleefully clapping her hands then he reminds her to stay quiet then she puts a finger on her nose going “Shh!”. As he makes her the sandwich, he takes a look at his adorable, lovely daughter and wonders the same as before. She starts munching on the sandwich happily then he turns the tv on and puts on a cartoon for her and asks her to stay quiet and be good while he goes to work on his car in the garage.

As he’s busy and focused on the task at hand, his daughter interrupts bursting into the garage and shouting “Mommy’s crying!” then he’s alert and on his feet in an instant asking “What? Why?” as he picks her up and runs through the door towards the room where you were lying peacefully when suddenly a wave of painful cramps hit and you wake up with a loud groan and start crying as they get worse and worse. Your husband and daughter come barging inside asking “What happened?” and you choke out “cramps” through your sobs. He sits her on the bed and sits down beside you as you curl into yourself from agonizing pain. He rubs your back gently “Breathe for me darling... just breathe”. His soothing words calm you down as the pain starts to fade. He takes you into his arms and you melt into his embrace then he kisses your forehead and utters “I'm sorry you have to go through this. I wish I could take your pain away”; you notice the guilt in his eyes as if it’s his fault you have to endure this pain. “We both decided this. It’s not your fault, silly!” he chuckles at that and leans in for a tender kiss "I love you" "I love you too, Si". Your daughter comes to hug you and asks “Are you ok mommy?” “I'm ok sweetie just some cramps” “But you were crying! Was it too bad?” she says as she nuzzles her cheek on your belly “Well, your brother is a big boy! And no nothing I can’t take. It's all worth it in the end.”

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

[mischievous-mayhem-is-upon-you]

LISTEN I DON’T WRITE FICS CAUSE THE ADHD CANNOT STAY FOCUSED ON THINGS FOR TO LONG.

BUT THIS IS ALL Y’ALL VAMPIRE JOLLY THIS, VAMPIRE JOLLY THATS FAULT.

Is it good? I have no idea, but y’all set off the brain thot and it needed it out.

TW: blood mentioned, grinding, biting?

Definitely NOT edited soooooo I guess a warning for that too I guess 😂

MAY I PRESENT VAMPIRE!Jolly x Reader MDNI

Your breath catches as his lips slowly trace up your neck, his breath ticking you as he takes his time admiring the softness of your skin. His hair slowly cascading around you, fallen from the bun in his hair caused by your hands when you finally pulled him into your bedroom.

You lay there in his arms with your mind going a million different directions at once wondering if it’ll hurt, will it not? What will it feel like to have him drink from you? What if he looses his control? There’s a moment of panic that deeps into your chest as his mouth finally makes contact with the curve of your neck with an open mouthed kiss, and you feel yourself tighten in his grasp instinctively.

“Relax Käraste, we can wait till you’re ready” he chuckles leaning back to read your face. He looks serene in the dim lighting, the scarf over the lampshade tinting the room into a dark mauve makes his already intense stare even more alluring. It always tugged on the back of your mind why you never found him as terrifying as he should be, a lethal creature with the will and power to kill you if he wanted…maybe it was the gentleness he had when he caressed your face when you pretended to sleep during his visits. Or the small gifts he always left behind as a token of his devotion for you, even if you didn’t understand why.

You didn’t realize you had been staring a while lost in the train of your thoughts until he shifts further back, assuming you were ready to tell him to leave for going too far. Reaching out to grasp his face gently you hold his gaze, and let your thumb graze along the edge of his jaw. You feel the weight of his head shift as he leans into the curve of your palm to playfully nip at your thumb causing you to giggle softly.

“There’s your smile, mitt hjärta” he makes no attempt to move any further away or closer to you, waiting for you to tell him what you need.

“I’m still a little nervous…I guess” you mumbled out, your eyes trailing over his face to meet his dark eyes. His soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I understand, if you’ve changed your mind you can tell me. I would never want you to feel as if you have no choice, Käraste.” His right grasping your waist tightens as if to be reassuring. “To have a piece of you now, just as you are is better than to not have you at all….It will hurt at first if you let me, I cannot lie to you. But I will keep you safe, and I will not break that promise.” His gaze heavy, showing complete honesty and tenderness before leaning down to softly peck at your cheek and forehead.

He stills for a moment resting his forehead upon yours, inhaling deeply before softly asking “May I kiss you?”, all you can manage is a small nod before he brushes his lips across yours the small action alone making you sigh out against him. When his lips finally catch your own he steadies himself, deepening the kiss while keeping the pace slow allowing you to melt back into his embrace once more. Before long you feel as if you’re on air, his body shifted once again to be slotted against you as you writhe against him when he presses his hips against yours. Your hands buried in his hair, every movement he makes against you feels electric as you both moan into the kiss. Slowly lost in your own body giving into his, you hardly register the sound of your own voice pleading out please as his mouth begins to trail across your jaw again. When you feel him tense in an attempt to regain his composure unsure if he should, you give his dark locks a tug to continue and twist you head to bare yourself for him.

When he continues to pause with hesitancy, you recite your pleads again. “Please….I trust you…just please Joakim” you can’t see his face, but you feel his entire body shudder above you and his breath hitch for a moment before his voice is able to return to him. “I promise to distract you from the pain, if it’s too much I need you to tell me…..can you promise me?” With his own resolve cracking along side your own, all you can manage is a soft nod and another small please.

Within seconds there’s a shift in the air, his presence becoming more intoxicating as he drags his open mouth across your neck once again. The hotness of his breath and soft moans trickles across your neck and ear adding to your own pleasure. His hips grind deeper into yours as your own body wraps around him, legs over his waist in an attempt to keep him close, hand gripping his hair while the other is wrapped around his shirt to anchor yourself. With his movements deepening against you, trying to pull as much pleasure from you before he settles into your neck, his one arm shifts to cradle you into his own chest, hand slipping into your hair to hold you in both a comfort and in place.

Finally between a mix of open mouth kisses and harsher pecks, you finally begin to feel the subtle pinches of teeth meeting flesh which ignites a new flurry of higher pitched moans from you until you feel a much sharper sting, and the wetness of his tongue cascading along you. Upon finally tasting just a hint of your blood, his demeanour shifts and a slur of loud groans fall from his own mouth as he continues to make small pricks against your skin. His neediness builds, adding into your own desperation until he tightens his grip around your head and finally sinks his teeth into place.

You had been expecting a large shock of pain to occur when he would finally bit into you when it was discussed earlier. Yet in this moment, if there was pain beyond a pinch you hadn’t noticed. Too lost in the sensation of his body enwrapped around you, dragging himself across your core moaning blissfully against your neck. The whole ordeal was leaving you breathless in a way you had never experienced, with the added sensation of him feeding off of you, you finally started to feel a peak building inside of you. Desperately chasing your release you let go, writhing and moaning with as much need as he was. You didn’t care if anyone heard you, all you wanted was to fall apart against him and give him everything.

Sensing your shift, Joakim finally lifted himself from your neck looking blissed like a god in his own form to stare down at you. The small smear of blood across his open panting mouth, his was stare burning into yours animalistic like.

You couldn’t help yourself from dragging him into a heated kiss, roughly slotting your lips together and grabbing on to anything you could. His hips were beginning grind sporadically losing any semblance of rhythm against you as his moans were turning into whines matching your own. It only took minutes before you both were grunting and crying out into each other’s mouths, climaxing together in a heated mess.

You both lay there still entangled together, his head coming to rest upon your chest briefly as you hand softly strokes within his hair. The silence is enjoyed among you both, with only the sounds of your breaths steadying, and his enjoyment of hearing your heart begin to settle. When you finally begin to feel the rush of sleep crash into you, is when Joakim finally lifts himself from you and assists you in cleaning you both up, taking extra care to be sensitive with your neck as he placed kisses on each marking he left behind and mumbling his praises against you, before changing you into new clothes for bed. When you finally crash into the bed, he drags you into his embrace and begins to hum quietly while running his hands slowly over you to lull you to sleep. When your eyes finally close you hear him whisper “Jag älskar dig” before sleep takes you over.

[sodomizer-dew]

Hey! Here I am!

I'm finally here and can publish my old writing.

But it's.. terrible thing, probably, haha..

Anyway, here's the sketch.

!TW: suicide!

All the characters and everything written below is fictional.

I came to her house early in the morning, when there was dew on the grass and leaves of trees and bushes, it was pleasantly fresh, not hot at all, although it was in the middle of summer. The birds sang quietly, hiding somewhere in the foliage. Not a soul on the street, of course, at such an early hour, all normal people are still sleeping.

When I was at the door to her house, I pressed the bell. I thought that if she was sleeping at that moment, then the call would wake her up. No, she will not be angry with me, I know, because we have come to a mutual agreement that we can come to each other at any time, we even exchanged the keys to our houses. I remember well the moment we sat in the evening at my house, in the kitchen. Before that, she had a big fight with her friend.

"- You can come to me anytime really, Alice," I suddenly say, putting my arm around her shoulders with one hand, with the other handing her another napkin so that she wipes her tears.

- Is it true? - she takes a napkin from my hand and looks at me, not believing my words.

- Yeah. We can watch movies or series, whatever you want. Do you want me to even give you the keys to my house, do you want? You can come here anytime even if I'm not at home, as long as it's more comfortable or safe for you, okay?"

Then we exchanged keys as a token of mutual trust.

Returning to that same morning on July 17 .. I waited for several minutes, then I thought: “So she’s not at home? Since she didn’t go to the door ..”

I always carried her key with mine. I tried to open her door, but...it was already open. This stressed me out. Or maybe she just took a shower? Or... busy with something and can't come... Anyway, I entered the house, closing the door behind me. Just in case, he called her.

- Alice? It's me, Chris! I got lonely, I'll sit with you for a while.

After waiting a little, there was no answer to my words. No extraneous sounds in the house, only deathly silence. Something clicked in my head and I immediately began to search the building, inspect every room in search of a girlfriend. Something is wrong here...

In her bedroom, by the bedside table, I found a sheet of paper, a page of a notebook on which something was written. I took the paper in my hands and skimmed through the text. Panic gripped me. No no no, how is it...

"Hey Chris, hi! I hope you're doing well? When you find this note, I hope you came to my house not with negative thoughts in order to experience them in a calmer environment and with someone who has always supported you at any time, that is, with me! ^^"

I fly out of her cozy pastel-coloured bedroom already breathing faster and harder.

"Listen, yes, I understand, I am a very dear person to you, just like you to me, really. And I remember that I seem to be the last person after your mother who can conscientiously support you always, always."

I hurriedly climb the stairs to the attic.

"Just please don't blame yourself, ok? It's not your fault at all, really. And please don't be mad at me. I know it's going to be hard. But I know you can handle it even when you're faced with this. You're strong, dude!"

With a little difficulty, it turns out to open the passage to this very attic.

"But I felt terrible more and more often, I didn't know how to tell you this, and even now I don't know how to explain it more clearly."

I kept telling myself that this was a lie, not true, now I will climb into the attic and she will sit in the corner, waiting for me, and then she will come out, giggling, and say "surprise! Stupid Chris fell for the prank! Don't be afraid, I'm here, I next .. sorry, went too far. "

"Chris, I just can't take it anymore. I just want to get this over with. I just want to say that I'm really lucky to meet you! Thank you for being there all this time, thank you for trusting me.

The main thing is not to give up, you're stronger than you think dude i'm sure you'll be the best guitarist in your band..yes in all history you'll be in the top of the best!I love you silly chris.live, create, and i'll be waiting for you here, on the other side Goodnight forever, your Alice.

Attic."

My hopes were not justified ... a terrible sight met my eyes. Her fragile little body in a ridiculous blue pajamas with penguins hung in a loop from the ceiling. The sleeves of her pajama top were rolled up to her elbows. And from the elbows to the wrists there were large wounds, from which even now the blood managed to slowly drip. There was one large pool of blood on the floor due to her veins being cut open. I pick up a stool lying on the floor, stand on it and, hugging her hips, somehow manage to remove her body from the loop. She has already turned cold and turned pale .. all pajamas in the blood.

I descend from the stool with Alice in my arms and fall to my knees, starting to sob and scream hysterically, I don’t even remember what I screamed ...

By the time I found her, as the doctor said, she was already dead, so there was nothing I could do ... only if I had come earlier.. if I had been there that evening ... Alice would have been there ...I miss you, my little star.

[spoiledleaff]

for the ask game (if you haven't answered these ones already :'0) <3

🍌 in your opinion, what’s the funniest joke/reference/pun you’ve made in a fic ?

🍑 if you could make a connection between your favorite character and another work you care about (whether a crossover/fusion or a wonderfully “pretentious” literary reference) what would it be ? how would it work ?

ahh! thank you so much for indulging me, my darling! 💚💚 and you're good! these are alllll new questions, hehe!

🍌 — 'in your opinion, what’s the funniest joke/reference/pun you’ve made in a fic?'

✿ — haha! i feel like almost all of my fics have some kind of silly little jab at someone, haha! i think my favorite jab is at terzo in one of my mushy may entries :>

“Oh? And whatever shall I receive in return for tapping into my childhood poetry lessons?” Terzo smirks, those painted nails dipping back down between his folds to cup the base of his clit in between the space of his forefinger and middle. “There is quite a bit of untapped trauma, amore mio. It best be something nice.”

haha! i do love teasing terzo! he's my favorite papa, for sure! and he was frontman when i initially started to listen to ghost :) sooo, naturally i gotta make fun of him, haha!

🍑 — 'if you could make a connection between your favorite character and another work you care about (whether a crossover/fusion or a wonderfully “pretentious” literary reference) what would it be? how would it work?'

✿ — i won't lie... i still have no idea what this prompt is asking, haha! maybe my brain's just a little bit fried from apartment hunting, haha! so, i'm gonna interpret this as an inspiration sort of ask? i'm so sorry! :'D but, the inspiration behind my writing style is actually from reading a lot of poetry, haha! one of my favorite collections is 'crush' from richard siken. i always have a copy of it in my bag! :D but, one of the lines that struck me the most while reading is,

"Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine. / I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time."

this line just... sticks with me for some reason, haha! i love siken's poetry dearly, and i heavily credit his style of poetry specifically from this collection for helping me develop a good part of my own writing style, as well as for providing me a window into this kind of romance. especially when writing the ghouls, and even for my sleep token wips, this kind of style of real and gritty poetry helps set the scene, if you will, when i write my own attempts at romance, haha! i hope this... is kind of related to the prompt? haha!

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(Clone Wars) Fives x Reader: My Star

   (Author’s Note:  What a week.  I’ve tested positive for coronavirus and am under quarantine.  The last few days were soooo frustrating because I had all this time to write, but felt too crappy and drained of energy to produce anything!  Well, today I finally made something happen, and I hope to write some more in the next week or so depending on when they summon me back to work.

This fic had me sitting here with a dopey smile on my face, so I hope you enjoy it)

   You snuck a glance over your shoulder, ensuring that no one from camp was following.  The evening was relatively quiet except for the occasional chatter of troops.  It was getting late, so some were starting to turn in for the night.  The glow of campfires shone around the boulders that were scattered across the stony ground behind you.

   The air held a chill that would have caused you to shiver if not for your cloak.  You pulled the dark material tighter around your form as a cold breeze moved through.  It wasn’t long before you reached your destination, a small clearing that was just far enough away from camp to not be spotted.  Just as you set foot in the space, a shadow on the right caught your eye.

   The familiar presence filled your senses, and you smiled.

   He was right in front of you, raising a gloved hand to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger gently.  “There’s my favorite jedi,” he murmured.

   “Fives.”  You reached up to take his other hand in your own as you met his affectionate gaze that was complemented by a warm smile.  “You’re here early.”

   “So are you,” he pointed out, leaning in to brush his nose against yours.  “I couldn’t wait to see you.”

   “Hm, me too.”

   “It felt like we’d never get this...to finally be alone again.”  He pulled you closer and pressed a kiss to your lips, making you melt into his embrace.  “Although I have to say it’s nice to be on a campaign with you.”

   “True,” you agreed.  “It’s better than being on the other side of the galaxy wondering and worrying.”  You leaned in to kiss Fives again, sighing as he returned it.  Both of you were reminded of those times you had missions apart, and it made this moment all the more special as he held you so tightly.  His ARC trooper armor wasn’t the most comfortable, but you couldn’t care less.

   “I brought you something,” you told him, pulling away to reach into the pocket of your robe.  You showed him a bundle wrapped in preservative paper.  Even though the baked treat wasn’t hot from the oven anymore, it still carried a delightful scent.  “I thought it would be a nice change from the usual rations.”

   Fives’ eyes lit up and he unraveled the baked treat to inhale its scent.  “Where did you get this?”

   “There was a stand selling these on Coruscant.  I picked one up before we shipped out.”

   He took a seat on a nearby boulder, patting the empty space beside him.  “Split it with me?”

   “I brought it for you, Fives.”

   He gave you a playful nudge as you sat down next to him.  “It’d make me feel better if you had some too.”

   “Alright, alright.  Just a piece.”

   He took the first bite, sighing at the flavor.  The look on his face was rather priceless, and you tried to conceal your giggle with your sleeve.  Of course, the realization that he amused you only fueled him even more.  He shot you a sideways look and took another bite, letting out an exaggerated groan that caused you to burst into laughter.

   “What?”  He feigned innocence as he mumbled through a mouthful of the sweet bread.

   “You are something else, Fives.”  You chuckled and leaned over to take a bite.

   “But you love me for it.”

   “That, I do.”  You leaned against his side, eyes fluttering closed as you exhaled.  Sounds of the night around you flooded your ears.  Chirps and pebbles being scattered on the rocky ground with each breezy gust sounded.  Fives had finished the snack and was simply enjoying your company.  You focused on each relaxed breath he took, the chest plate of his armor rising and falling gently.

   “You know,” he spoke up.  “I’ve been in space so many times.  Been on so many planets.  I never get tired of looking at the stars.”

   You glanced up to see his face lifted toward the night sky.  You followed his gaze to admire the dark canvas decorated with twinkling lights.  He was right.  No matter how many times you’d seen them, they never got old.

   “There are so many out tonight.”

   He hummed in agreement.  “I’m lucky.  I’ve got one sitting right next to me.”  He looked back down at you, lips quirking up in that charming smile of his as your cheeks grew warm.  You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you merely leaned up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss.  You pulled away to take in his tender expression before pressing your lips to his again.  His gloved hand trailed along your jawline to the back of your neck to draw you closer, sighing when you responded.

   “Fives,” you breathed against his lips.

   “Yeah?”

   “Nothing.  I was going to say something cute, but forgot.”

   You felt him smirk and stroke your cheek with his thumb.  “Come on, you didn’t forget.  Let’s hear it.”

   You chuckled, lowering your head a bit in embarrassment.  “I was going to say that you’re my star and I never get tired of looking at you.”  Finally, you lifted your eyes a bit to see him grinning back at you.  “I know, I know.  I tried.”

   “That was a good one,” he offered.  His tone would’ve been more convincing if that cheesy grin wasn’t still plastered on his face.  Still, there was no missing the look of endearment in his eyes as you tried to hide your face in his shoulder again.  “No, really, that was sweet.”

   “Oh, I’m sure.”

   He tipped your chin up, the grin replaced by a softer look.  You pressed a kiss to the patch growing on his chin before meeting his lips once more.  

   For a while, the two of you talked about different things.  The mission at hand was the subject of conversation for only a few minutes before you moved on to other topics like some of the cultures you’d visited and foods you’d tried. You shared funny stories and listened in amusement as Fives shared some of the mischief he’d witnessed in the barracks with pranks and whatnot.

   The night grew colder, and soon it would be time to get some sleep.  You didn’t want the time to end, but eventually troops might notice his or your absence and ask questions.  You’d still get to sit across from Fives at one of the campfires and see him, but it wouldn’t necessarily be the same.

   “We should head back,” he whispered, planting a kiss to your forehead.

   “Yeah, we should.”  You nodded.  “This was fun.”

   “Sure was.” 

   A groan left your lips as you stood to your feet, your rear cold and achy from sitting on the boulder for so long.  You stretched and watched as Fives did the same.

   His gloved hand went to your waist to pull you in for a final kiss, but you held onto him tighter and returned the token of affection with eagerness.  The spark flared up as he then moved his lips against yours over again.  Finally, he pulled away, breathless.

   “You make it so hard to leave,” he chuckled.

   You gave him a peck on the cheek.  “Well, so do you.”

   Both of you separated, and Fives stepped aside to let you return to camp first.  He’d follow shortly after to not raise any suspicion.  As you went back the way you came, you stole a glance over your shoulder and blew a kiss at the ARC trooper who stood watching to make sure you made it back safely.

   “Hey ________,” Echo’s voice made you jump the moment you entered camp.

   “Oh, hey Echo.  You startled me.”

   He gave an apologetic smile.  “Sorry.  I was just wondering if you’ve seen Fives?”

   “I just saw him.  He should be around here somewhere.”  It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly admitting that you’d had a secret meeting with said trooper. The answer seemed to be enough for Echo because he simply gave a nod and continued on his way.  

   Moments later, Jesse waved you over from a group of troops sitting around the campfire talking.  Some had fallen asleep, but some still sat and watched the glow.  It must’ve been later than you thought.  You greeted them with a smile and gratefully took a seat amongst them.  While Hardcase filled you in on the conversation, you saw Fives talking to Echo out of the corner of your eye.

   You were careful to not let your gaze linger and instead turned your attention back to Hardcase.  Even though it was another ordinary night for the others in the GAR, it wasn’t for you.  You still heard the whispers, felt the kisses, and breathed in his scent.  They would be with you during the day and would even chase you into your dreams.

[obeyme-sinners]

Love languages with the boys (pt 3)

And finally, we have come to the undateables... not gonna lie, these were a struggle for me since we don’t see as much of them in the game, but I did my best based on what I’ve seen and what my own headcanons are for them! We got Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon here!

(I swear that someday I’ll stop writing in the time past midnight, but tonight is not that night)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Diavolo

Receiving

All he wants~ is your time~ and your touch~ like seriously, he will actually melt whenever you show up out of the blue to hang out with him. He’ll make the time to make sure that you two are undisturbed, and he’ll love to just sit around and listen to you talk as he plays with your hair. Or he’ll help you out with homework but you’ll have to keep him from just telling you the answers so that you’ll have some more leisure time with him... you’ll probably have to talk him out of moving you to the castle so you won’t have to make the walk from the House of Lamentation and back so often.

Second tier stuff is gifts and words of affirmation. He’s generally not a huge person for gifts, because people will just buy him like, whatever is super expensive or flashy. But if you give him something personal, like something that means something to you, or something that you made yourself?? He will treasure it for the rest of time, seriously. And really, he’s generally pretty confident... but for the few times where he starts feeling really stressed about all his goals and dreams, nothing will help him feel better like you do when you just give him some encouragement and help him work through his thoughts on the matter.

His bottom thing is acts of service. He just... doesn’t entirely see the point of it, when he has a legion of servants (and, uh, Barbatos) to help him out. It’s nothing you need to worry about, really! Everything that needs to be is covered, and the small mountain of paperwork is really just... something that needs his signature, so he has to do that stuff on his own (unless he decides to give Lucifer some of the pile, but he doesn’t entirely like having to do so)

Giving

Honestly, this guy just wants to have you around him all the time. And he wants you as close as he can get you... at all times. Because honestly to him there’s no way to show your affection like being able to hold the object of your affection. Like, as the honorary ruler of the Devildom (honestly at this point he might as well be crowned King with how long his father has been sleeping) he can do whatever the hell he want - and if he wants you in his lap, you’re gonna be there. At least, as long as you’re alright with it. He draws the line at forcing you into anything, because honestly it’s no fun if you’re not willing. But during meetings, while he’s working on paperwork, even sometimes during meals, he’ll have you in his lap and will continue working smoothly around you. He’s talented like that. And kind of an add on to this - gifting. His gifting is ridiculous when he really gets invested. He will shower you in everything you could ever want, and just add on a uhhhhh fat stack of cash on top of that just in case there’s something that you want that he somehow missed.

After all that, his lesser language is words of affirmation. He’s pretty good with his words, but sometimes after long days of meetings and speeches and working out school events and administration issues and whatever concerns teachers or students might have brought up... he just wants to chill out and stop talking for a while. He’d rather just hold you close and snuggle up to you. But when he does start talking, watch out because he will make you turn as red as his hair with his silver tongue. Also probably one of the best people ever to talk you out of emotional ruts, if you need it.

Lastly, once more, his bottom language is acts of service - unless sending someone else to help you out counts? He’s lived as royalty all his life, he’s used to getting minor things taken care of at the wave of a hand. Anything that really requires him in particular is usually more for necessity than anything, so he doesn’t really see it as an affection thing.

Barbatos

Receiving

With this guy, be prepared - any time he may or may not get away from serving Diavolo (or anyone else, for that matter) that happens to line up with your free time is going to be monopolized by him. He’s always working, but he craves to spend what time he has with you, and it grates at him when he can’t. But when you show up at the castle just before dinner and meet him in the kitchen while he cooks for Diavolo and his guests, he can’t help the smile that finds him. He’ll probably be smiling all the way through his time as he gets to talk to you and hear about your day. Along with that, he’s an absolute sucker for praise and though he might not show it, little reassurances that his service and his efforts are appreciated and not so taken for granted will really lift his spirits.

After that, his next languages are touch and acts of service. He enjoys the little ways that you show your affection, with little brushes of your hands against him or a quick hug given as a hello or goodbye, it’ll always leave him craving a little more and thinking back on it while he works. And really, if you even just offer to take on some little task for him, it is always deeply appreciated, though depending on what it is he may... or may not end up wanting to watch over you and help you through it.

His bottom is gifts! He loves getting little baubles and trinkets from you, but they really aren’t necessary to him. He’ll still thank you for each one and make sure to keep them on his shelves or something so he can see them when he’s getting ready for the day and start it off with a smile.

Giving

Maybe at this point it’s kind of ingrained in him or maybe it’s the thing that he knows that he can do best - but his top love language is acts of service. He just like... automatically finds himself falling into habits around you so that he can help you along with anything that you might need, though he’s much less formal with you than he usually is when with company. You can definitely tell that he’s doing it for you and not because he’s being told to by a superior. Also with that, gifting! Be ready to find little tokens of his appreciation in the places where you’re usually sitting or hanging out. Dried flowers, crystals and gemstones, rings or necklaces or other little pieces of jewelry that aren’t too conspicuous - he’ll leave them when he passes by wherever he knows you will be later, even if it’s as little as a few minutes later. No one dares touch said gifts for fear of him coming after them. 

This is where quality time and words of affirmation comes in for him~ as said earlier, when he knows that you both have some free time that lines up well, he’ll be there to hang out for as long as possible. And if you’re feeling down, he’ll do his best to get Diavolo to release him from his daily duties early (not too hard, though Dia is always reluctant to go without his cooking at dinner) so that he can head over and comfort you. He’s rather elegant with his words when he wants to be, and boy can he flirt, even - and especially - when he’s giving sincere compliments. Anything that he says you can take as truth, because honestly? He wouldn’t lie to you, and you can trust him with that at least.

His bottom language is touch. Though he does always want a little more from you, he’s kind of taught himself out of really needing it with his frightfully busy schedule - he’ll take it wherever he can get it, though.

Solomon

Receiving

For Solomon, his top languages are words of affirmation and time. He really just... likes to know that he is actually hot shit to someone (he’s not particularly self-conscious but when you’re constantly surrounded by incredibly powerful magical beings that would swat you like a gnat... it does shit to your perspective) and even if it isn’t about his magic! He loves to know that he really is someone that you care about! And really he just loves hanging around you - he spends a lot of time simply observing the world around him, and if you were to join him in doing so, he would thoroughly enjoy that (though it might turn into the two of you shit-talking others at some point. He’ll have you cackling along with him in no time when that happens)

Next up for him is physical touch and gifts. He loves getting little things from you, and most of the time he’ll be able to put whatever you give him to work in some form or another - using them to assist in his magic, potion-making, and whatever day-to-day things that he’ll find to use your gifts for. And, but for the times where he’s working his magic, he’ll love having your arm around him or having your fingers intertwined with his own while you’re sitting in class together.

For our magical lad, his bottom language is acts of service. He’ll appreciate it if you offer to help, but he generally prefers to do things himself.

Giving

First up, his top languages when he’s showing his love and appreciation for you is going to be words of affirmation and touch. Like, be prepared for him to be leaning close to you to whisper in your ear whatever compliments come to mind - they mind end up being a little... off the wall, and more than a little random, but they’ll usually get you to laugh along with him (probably while also getting you to blush). And he’ll also just want to have you wrapped around him at all times when he has the time for it. He loves having you in his lap, especially if you’re the right height for him to set his head on your head/shoulder. Top tier headrest right there.

Next up is gifts and quality time. He’ll probably show up to whatever dates you go on with some sort of magical item for you to have (or for you two to experiment with 030) and really... prepare to gather quite the collection of various magical items and potions. He’ll make sure to label everything with the appropriate usages and warnings so you know everything you need to about whatever he gives you~ and again, he really just likes spending time with you, watching people as they pass and snickering to you about how bad their outfits are. Shit talking king.

Once again, his bottom is acts of service... unless you consider the processes of making all the stuff he gives you acts of service, lol. He just thinks that there are better ways for him to show you his appreciation.

Simeon

Receiving

Wooo, finally to the precious angel~ now Simeon’s top love languages are gifts and acts of service, though really he’s not incredibly picky with any sort of love language you might use with him. He feels so incredibly happy when he gets something from you, whether it be something as simple as a cool rock you found or something that you made, or something that you spent money on for him - he will love each and every thing you give him. He just finds the things you give him so interesting, with the way you react to them. Each little thing is something for him to learn something about you through, and he couldn’t be happier because of that. And really, he feels especially appreciated when you put in the effort to help him with whatever he may be struggling with - you’re spending more energy than you should have to, just because you care about him.

After that, it’s touch and time (a popular pair, let’s face it). He adores spending his time with you, and he loves being able to even just hold your hand as the two of you walk around the Devildom. He’ll have his arms wrapped around your shoulders/waist with his head resting on top of you if possible while you’re standing together, eyes closed as he just takes in your warmth and your presence. And he especially loves movie nights, where he knows he can get comfortable for long periods of time with prolonged contact with you.

For him, his bottom one is words of affirmation - call it an angel thing, but he tends to just... already know what you’re trying to convey. He already knows for certain just how much you care for him, it’s obvious in all the other ways you show your affection for him.

Giving

When Simeon is the one that is showing his appreciation for you, his top languages are acts of service and words of affirmation! He’ll end up running little errands for you if he notices that you’re feeling overwhelmed, or if he just wants to be nice and lighten your burden just a little bit. And when he tells you of his affection for you, it will most often come in the form of little love notes. He most often will find proper cards to write on, but he’s not so picky that he won’t tear off a corner of a notebook page and pass you notes in class. Simeon has the most floral and sappy way of writing, too... so much pretty prose to describe just how deep his affection runs.

Next up isssss guess what, quality time and physical touch. Again, he just wants to be close to you - you’re so interesting, as a human and as someone who also just kind of got dumped into the Devildom. Based on the fact that you didn’t have any warning, he thinks that the way that you adapted to life there is simply incredible and he’s always wanting to find out more about you, in all the ways he can.

His last language is gifts - but as I mentioned earlier, he’s going pretty strong in all of these! He’ll still make little trinkets for you to fiddle with, bookmarks, little pieces of art or things that he thinks you could use. Really, he’s very thoughtful and will probably spend ample time making sure he’s got a handle on your personal style before he goes out of his way to give you anything.

[avengemebuckyy]

Be Careful

Summary: 

You tell Bucky to be careful with your heart. Too late he realizes you should have been careful with his.

or:

You’re awkward,odd, and not the most conventionally attractive yet you’re the only woman that Bucky sees

Warnings: manipulation 

Authors note: Back from the dead lmao. This is probably trash but I just needed to force myself to finish something it order to try to get back in the groove! Feedback is more than greatly appreciated, it’s what keeps me writing tbh...

PS. You ain’t shit in this lmao

---

You weren’t the most eye-catching. You didn’t look like the girls Bucky used to chase after in his younger years, or the girls on the internet he’d find himself staring at once he’d discovered Instagram, endlessly scrolling through picture after picture, lost in a sea of beautiful bodies and faces. You didn’t look like the tall slim blonde agent he’d always make a point to hold open the door for, or his neighbor’s daughter in Wakanda, who had had dark skin so smooth and a face so perfect he’d never managed to say more than two words to her.

You were slightly awkward, with a slightly odd sense of humor, always cracking jokes that sometimes no one laughed at but you. But you didn’t care, you would laugh at them all the same. You wore baggy clothes, and not the fashionable baggy kind either. Your favorite outfit was baggy camo print cargo pants and an old grey band t-shirt, logo so faded it was almost impossible to decipher.

At first Bucky didn’t pay you much attention. He wasn’t rude, but he treated you with the same gruff stoicism he treated everyone with. Well everyone besides Sam, Steve, and Natasha. Besides he only saw you rarely, you were a high level agent thanks to your skill, but you didn’t work closely with the team very often. Until you did.

One mission with Clint was all it took to have your name thrust forward when Fury was looking to fill a coordinator position. Suddenly you were everywhere. Coordinating their positions on missions, even going on missions with different members of the team. You fit in well with the team, your corny jokes and generally happy disposition make you easy to like. Your apartment was five minutes away, thanks to Tony, so you would often eat breakfast with the team and stay at the Tower well into the night, often crashing in a room designated for you, also thanks to Tony.

You were like a deceptively shallow river Bucky would think after. One minute he was wading through your shallows, next moment he was being taken under by your currents, realizing too late that he was in deeper than he thought possible.

It started slowly, you would make an effort to make conversation with Bucky, never seeming off put by his non answers. Bucky found himself coming to you with numerous questions on how to work social media, you would give such long winded explanations he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself with asking questions. Soon he found himself seeking you out for more than explanations. Funny thing is you were the one who introduced him to Instagram, to the  beautiful women on the app but eventually he found himself unable to see any woman but you.

Bucky found himself sitting with you at lunch, looking out the window in the mornings waiting to catch sight of your army green jacket. He’d sit with you in the afternoons as you did your paperwork, steal glances at you ,your forehead always shiny by midday with an almost ever-present patch of acne, eyebrows scrunched together as you filled out mission reports. He loved those quiet moments the most. Bucky wasn’t good with words, not anymore. But he would help carry the 10 pound boxes of paperwork, always bring an extra pen in case yours ran out of ink, and constantly would bring you your favorite Starbucks order. He secretly hoped that you would read the affection behind his actions.

You didn’t usually go to Stark’s parties, you’d rather go to bars and clubs with your friends.

“The crowd at Stark’s parties just aren’t my crowd,” you’d explained with a shrug, toeing the floor with your scuffed sneakers. Bucky had nodded in understanding. They usually weren’t his crowd either, but he’d always go to support Steve, who was pretty much expected to show face.

But for some reason you show up to this party. Four months into your blossoming friendship (and Bucky’s crush). Bucky wasn’t prepared for what you were wearing. When he heard the agents whispering about your unexpected appearance at the party he half expected to see you in jeans and a t- shirt. Or even your cargo pants. At the sound of your name Bucky zeros into the muttered conversation.

“Did you see her?”

“Yeah, damn.”

“Was not expecting that. Or her to even show up. Who knew?”

“She’s kinda hot, not gonna lie. In a weird way”

Bucky turns his head scanning the crowd, heart rate already picking up, fully expecting to see your sweat-pant clad form. He sees you alright. But not in sweatpants. A red dress barely covers your figure. Hemline way above the halfway mark of your thighs and twin slits in the skirt reaching up to your hips. A draping halter neck ties at your neck and completely exposes your back and gives a generous view of your tits. He catches flashes of the curve of your ass as you walk.

In hindsight the dress was totally in line with your character. You didn’t dress the way you did because you were ashamed of your body but rather because you didn’t give a fuck. Your hair is pinned up, one perfect curl escaping your updo and kissing your neck. Bucky feels his heart stop. He spies numerous heads turning as you languidly weave through the crowd in dangerously thin stilettos. You cozy up to one of your agent friends and the two of you drink, giggle, and dance. Bucky can’t take his eyes off of you.

When you head to the balcony he follows.

“Hey,” you say when you spy his shadow darkening the entrance to the balcony. 

“Hey,” he gruffs, in a tone he fears is too quiet. But looking at the curve of your exposed back suddenly has his voice dying in his throat. You turn back to looking at the city skyline. Bucky steps forward next to you. Close. Closer than he’s ever been to you, painfully aware of your arms brushing. He can’t fully feel your skin through the long sleeve button down he’s wearing but the touch sets him on fire all the same.

“Needed some air. “ He eventually grumbles. Trying not to stare at your profile. You look at him then, wearing a sly expression he had never seen on you.

“I’m sure you did,”

--

After that it doesn’t take long for Bucky to gather up the courage after that. Maybe it’s the way you had looked at him on the balcony or the way both male and female agents were sniffing around you at the party. All the same about a week later Bucky finds himself heading to your office in the afternoon as usual, but this time holding a bouquet of flowers.

Afterwards Bucky falls in love with you hard and fast. He finds himself doting on you, taking you out, bringing you flowers and other tokens of his affection. He hears the whispers, it’s almost impossible not to with his super soldier hearing.

“How’d she’d get him,”

“What an odd couple,”

“The Winter Soldier’s with cargo pants?”

But he still holds your hand in public all the same. Stops in the middle of training recruits to kiss you whenever you happen to cut across the gym all the same. Keeps a picture of you in his wallet all the same.

Bucky has never felt this amount of care and comfort from a person since...ever, even before, in his other life. You put his boots by the heater in the winter when he sleeps over so his feet won’t freeze when he walks to the compound. You listen to him, even when he’s angry, raging at nothing, or when he’s sad and sullen, taking minute long pauses in between sentences. Or even when he wants to do nothing but sit in silence and hold you. You especially listen when his words come fast, tinged with self hatred. You reassure him, holding him like he’s fine china. After many late night musings you give him with the best present he’s ever gotten, an impossibly soft kitten who’s uncharacteristically loud purr always grounds him. Bucky finds himself able to open up with you in a way he can’t with anyone else, even Steve. Bucky’s not good with words anymore, but with you he’s amazing. He can’t stop singing your praises, lavishing you with sweet words and adoration.

In hindsight it was a warning.

“Sweetheart, your wallet must be screamin’ for mercy, with you buying this cake nearly everyday,” Bucky says pinching off a piece of the lemon pound cake which is almost always at the corner of your desk. He recognizes the cake from a bakery across the street, and knows its nearly four dollars a slice. You stretch cracking your back, nipples poking through your shirt. Your ever present band shirt had breathed its last breath, and this new shirt is thinner and cropped, and hugs your body closer.

“Not really, I don’t buy it, Tommy hooks me up” you say, shooting him a smile and then returning back to your paperwork.

“Tommy?” Bucky says, and unbidden hot jealousy sears through his chest at the mention of your coworker “He’s always buying you these?”

“Yeah,” you answer, not looking up, and Bucky tells himself to remain calm, unbothered. 

He doesn’t.

Later after the subsequent fight and make up Bucky holds you as the two of you sit on his bed.

“I’m sorry,” He says again.

“It’s alright,” you say and somehow your simple words draw the truth out of him.

“I’m just...I- I’m afraid of losing you.”

“I’m afraid of losing you too,” you confess, then pause “Bucky, please be careful with me,”

Your relationship was easy, comforting. The two of you almost never fought, and never grew tired of being with each other. One blissful year turned into two and then five. It was like a dream and Bucky never wanted to wake up.

But reality eventually did.

How closely you guarded your phone should have tipped him off. How you’d constantly declined calls while the two of you were together. The way you almost always got ‘too drunk’ on girls night and would end up crashing at your friend’s place.

The first time it’s sixth months into your relationship on a lazy Saturday. The two of you had ordered pizza and planned to cuddle on the couch and have a movie marathon. You were in the bathroom when your phone had vibrated. Knowing that you would get a notification when the pizza arrived Bucky had looked at your phone. Bucky had felt surprised to see the name Dominos instead of an unsaved number pop up on your screen. Your phone didn’t show the preview of the text like his did. Your phone was still unlocked since you had headed to the bathroom but a few seconds ago, so Bucky tapped to open  the text.

Dominos: [Can’t wait to see you again, beautiful]

Bucky’s blood had run cold. He froze, only unfreezing when he realized you were standing next to him.

“We aren’t exclusive!” you had defended.

“What the hell do you mean?” Bucky had growled. At that your face had crumbled, eyes filling with tears.

“You never asked me to be your girl.” you had looked away “We never talked about what we are,”

“Whaddya think we’ve been doing these past months?!” Bucky had yelled back,

“ I don't know. I don’t assume Bucky. Because guys always seem to want to date me, treat me like their girlfriend and then turn around and throw it in my face that they never said I was.” your voice breaks and so does Bucky's anger.  He hadn’t been very verbal with you so far. It’s true he never asked you to be his girl, or even verbally on a date. He just thought you both knew. Guilt fills him at the sight of your tear stained face.

“I’m sorry I was just preparing for the inevitable,” you say and turn away. Bucky grabs your arm and pulls you towards him.

“Well, let me make it clear. I want you to be my girl. I want you to be mine and mine alone.”

Your expression is unfathomable as you wind your arms around his neck.

“I am yours.”

That night you stand in front of Bucky and  wordlessly slip out of your sweatpants and t shirt, rendering him speechless. With reverence Bucky’s hands trace your frame and his mouth follows. That night he worships you.

Later, you wrap your arms around him and whisper 

“I love you,”

 And Bucky knows that he’s done for.

“I love you too sweetheart.” he says, and later still when you’ve fallen asleep Bucky lies awake, stroking the soft contours of your back. He’s done for. And he knows it.

“I’ll be careful,” he whispers.

--

Reality had tried to wake Bucky gently. Through warning signs that should have been loud and clear especially to an ex assassin. But Bucky had accepted your half baked truths and excuses. He was too far gone off of the drug that was your love to heed the warning signs until reality slapped him- no choked him, awake.

His awakening came in the form of the sight of you on your kitchen counter, a man kneeling in between your spread thighs. The flowers he had bought you on his way back from his mission that had ended early drop to the floor. Bucky freezes. But at the sight of Tommy’s face, cheeks slick with you he loses it. Next thing he realizes that he has his hands around your coworkers throat. But your hand on his shoulder drains the fight out of him, and as Tommy scrambles out of the apartment Bucky crumples to the floor and sobs. 

“Why?” He asks and he realizes he’s not just asking about now, but about all the times he’s caught you cheating but didn’t have the strength to leave you. 

“Baby” you say and gather him into your arms. He wants to pull away, thrash, yell, but he doesn’t. He just melts into your touch. You make him weak. And at night when he thinks about your excuses and half truths he hates himself for it.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he says, sobs wracking his frame “Five years-did they mean nothing to you?”

“I’m sorry,” you say “I love you,” 

At this Bucky pulls away, standing. “Don’t fucking lie to me.” he hisses.

“I’m not,” you say standing “I might lie all the time but I’m not lying about this.” your eyes go soft at the corners, and start to water.

“No. I love you. I adore you. I’d give you anything-everything and you treat me like shit” Bucky spits, there’s a pain in his chest, his heart is breaking “And I just fucking take it, because you make me so fucking weak- and I hate it” another sob ribs from his chest. A part of him thinks  that this is his punishment. For all of the terrible things he’s done. Cursed to be in love with someone who will never truly love him back. He looks at you, your hair is in disarray, baggy t shirt, those fucking cargo pants around your ankles. He gives a bitter laugh “Who woulda thought that you would’ve been the one to make me weak.”

“Why? Because I’m not pretty?” hurt flashes across your face then your eyes go hard. Usually Bucky would have been quick to refute any self deprecating words, reassuring you how beautiful he found you, how gorgeous you were. But now he just lifts his chin and looks back at you with the same hard eyes.

“Well I know I’m not pretty.” you shrug, face going strangely expressionless “But you still fell for me all the same. More fool you.” you say, and after a moment continue. “We should break up.”

At this Bucky shatters. Because he knows deep down that even after all of this he still would have taken you back. He still wants to grovel at your feet and plead to try to fix your relationship. But instead he decides to finally choose himself and turns and walks out of the door and out of your life.

Year later he still finds himself looking at your picture in his wallet, the one remnant  of you he has left, that he can’t bear to get rid of. On lonely nights where he can’t sleep and can’t stand the coldness of his bed  he’ll trace the curve of your smile and wish that you had cared enough to have been careful with him.

Tags:@stephie-senpai@ayeputita@pixierox101@iamwarrenspeace@ dreamgirljere  @ufffg@pietrotheavenger @trinityjadec@abbytagg@wastedsummerss@turdblossommm@jimmyisfab@sev7en@hottrashformarvel @superbuckytrash@waidewilson@abbytagg @awkwardfangirl2014 @desir-ae

Bucky only @chamongangae@callmebucky-doll

[wellhalesbells]

fic help

i recently finished a fic project that got well out of hand and i’m having trouble jumping to my next.  since this last wasn’t sterek, or even tw, i would very much like to scarper back there but i cannot seem to settle on a project that does it for me (or, well, they kind of all do it for me, hence the problem).  

if you have the time and inclination and want to help me choose, i would very much appreciate it!

1. 

He opens his eyes to sharp sunlight, rays that’ve had time to hone themselves, coalesce, and start stabbing at strategic places in the apartment.  Like the backs of Derek’s eyelids.  The comforter around him is rumpled up, bunched in places from a restless sleeper.  Which he isn’t.  He frowns before it comes back to him.

Laura’s bed.

Stiles.

He’d woken up earlier in the pitch black with Stiles’ forehead pressed into the valley between his shoulder blades, breath a warm and reliable puff through his thin t-shirt, his hand clenched on the hill of Derek’s bicep, snagging him, pulling him back against him.

Derek hadn’t brushed him off.  Though it had given him a moment’s pause, strange without the swell of breasts between them, fingers digging and pulling him close to an unmistakably masculine chest.  But only a moment’s; he’d been asleep again minutes later.

He scrubs at the rough brillo on his jaw, the scent of coffee finally breaking through the haze of exhaustion.  He swings his legs out, toes flexing on the warm floorboards, and squints out the window at the brilliant day.  “Rain finally stopped,” he says, voice scratchy and breath foul.

[notes: a total au set in new york. laura’s been murdered and stiles was laura and derek’s emissary, though never that close to the grumpy younger brother. now they have to work together to find out who killed her, while coming to terms with the fact that the piece that made them work is gone.]

2.

“You’re letting demons possess you.”  It should come out scolding, furious, but Derek is too numb from the revelation.  Too willing to be wrong, to believe he’s misunderstood Stiles’ meaning.

Stiles squints, that slow roll and stretch of his muscles shifting his weight, clenching and unclenching his fingers on his forearms, an absentminded exploration of his regular capabilities now he was back in control of them.  “Can we really call it a ‘possession’ when I’m calling more shots than they do?  I advertise like an Air BnB and run the place like Alcatraz.  If I enjoy the power bump of my fire rose, well, isn’t that just a reward for doing the dirty work?  It’s all win-win on this side of the negotiating table.”

[notes: this is wholly because of the exchange between stiles and a recently met liam in canon, when stiles explains he was possessed by an evil spirit, and liam asks, “what are you now?” and stiles says, “better,” instead of ‘human.’ and i had a ‘well, well, welllll’ moment.]

3.

After a week or so, his mail’s transmuted from warm air and a spattering of dirt into a flyer for a pizza place roughly five miles away and an offer for a credit card.  He walks back up, the stairs offering a little less protestation, papers gripped tight in his hand and slips through the half-open door, rolling it closed behind him.

The heartbeat that knocks against his eardrums is sudden and unbalancing.

His head whips up, fangs dropping.

“Total cry for help, didn’t need a warrant.”  Gloved hands with bare fingers walk up the underside of a dried, brown leaf and the sick-sweet scent of decay slides into one of freshness and health.  The fern blossoms above the scratch of blunt fingernails along spidery veins.  Green belches out, overflows from the small clay pot.

[notes: um, definitely a derek returning to beacon hills fic and an uber powerful stiles, beyond that... ??? but i can make it a thing, heh ;)]

4.

Stiles rubs the pads of his fingers together, wiping the sticky residue off on his jeans.  Goes back in with his teeth.  A piece of electrical tape from the handle of his bat tears away.  It’s lost some of its adhesive but it’ll work for his purposes.  He catches the call before the last of ‘Good Old Days’ can fade out.

“‘Sup, Growls?”

A disappointed whuff of breath greets him.  “Your camera’s blocked because—?”  Scott cuts him off before he can even attempt a reply.  “Injured, lying, or underground?”

“You know one day I’ll score that entire trifecta and then?  Then I’m going to Disney World.”  Scott doesn’t bite and Stiles sighs.  “Busted it chasing those lady-hyena-things.  On the upside, I’m only one phone away from filling up my punch card.”

[notes: a harder, living-away-from-beacon-hills-after-he-and-derek-broke-up stiles in this and hunting down supes on his own, because he’s reckless and terrifying and an emotional landmine waiting to explode.]

5.

“No.  No, no.  Hey, no.  I see what you’re doing over there and I don’t ap—”  The stack of books leans too far and cascades down the front of the dresser, hits his floor, and explodes in every direction.  “What did I just say?”

His door whaps open, knob meet wall, and Scott stands there with a baking sheet held aloft in his hands.  “We don’t have renter’s insurance,” he offers, swinging it wildly in front of him.

“You say that as you put a knob-sized hole in my wall?”

Scott opens his eyes, which he’s scrunched closed as he pendulumed the baking supplies around.  He frowns at the flung door.  His stance goes from ‘making cookies my bitch’ to ‘depressed egg.’  “In my defense, I assumed we were being robbed.”

Stiles pats his head now that the baking sheet is no longer a weapon.  “And you also thought the robber would be compassionate enough not to rob us if he knew we don’t have renter’s insurance.”

[notes: i have literally no clue, i don’t remember the impetus for this AT ALL but i could definitely work with it, lol.]

6.

Stiles had finally arrived home for the holiday break, two days after he’d initially promised and with a half-hearted, what-can-you-do sort of shrug that offered little by way of explanation or excuse, and he’d flung himself out of the Jeep with his arms uncovered.  Derek had frowned hard seeing it for the first time.

He’s still frowning now.

Galaxy black ink bands both of Stiles’ wrists like delicate bracelets and creeps up his forearms in curving, flowing lines that vary in size and width.  It might look something like seaweed dancing in an underwater current if not for the fact that, well — Derek glances down at his own bare forearms —

If not for the fact that it looks like pain.  Pain the way he knows it, secondhand and agonizing.  Pain that is tarry black anguish glutting his veins and poisoning his blood.

He’s not going to analyze why Stiles would choose to etch that into his skin.

Mostly because he doesn’t need to.

Derek knows what the nogitsune did to him, and he knows Stiles hasn’t come close to putting that behind him, or done much to try to.

[notes: long after stiles has contented himself with being the token human of the pack, his spark manifests, unfortunately not... well and doubly unfortunately, long after deaton has left town. scott will only accept one emissary now so stiles has to try to figure out how to properly become one.  it’s not going well, and not only because no one can seem to figure out why his spark ‘works’ the way it does but also because, after the nogitsune, power hardly rests easy on stiles’ shoulders.]

7.

It’s really fucking with his head how much Derek’s whole creature-of-the-night thing isn’t jiving with his sleeping-until-noon existence.

And it’s not just that Derek can’t seem to grasp that Stiles’ skin is a living record.  That when there’s the clear afterimage of a mouth on his neck, he and his dad have to valiantly pretend neither one of them notice it for the next week.  It’s not just that though.  It’s also—

Stiles has secrets.  He likes them.  Collects them.  It’s a comfort thing, a control thing maybe.  Sometimes they’re big, sometimes they’re not, but they’re always his.   Theories, actions, thoughts, things of his own that will only ever be his.  

Except.

Except he doesn’t have secrets, not anymore, not around a fucking werewolf.  Derek can smell them through his pores, hear him chasing them down from across a crowded room, cock his head and listen to the lie in his pulse.  There’s nothing sacred anymore, nothing private, and Stiles can’t anymore.

[notes: okay, it’s just... i never see this? and, being honest, i could not date a friggin’ werewolf. i’m not even a secret person as much as i just enjoy being alone and you would have to make sustained EFFORT to be alone - you’d have to go farther, mask whatever you did if you didn’t want it known, have someone who wouldn’t ask why or what you were doing (which is just like when people ask me NOW what i’m doing and i don’t want to say ‘writing explicit gay sex, thanks for asking, mom’).  i’m not on board. i could totes see stiles not being on board and, of course, he’d rather magic a ‘solution’ than have a conversation, my dumb little dummy. this one would definitely need the most work since i would probably rewrite everything i’ve already got, it just doesn’t... gel well.]

[libraryscarf]

here is the piece i wrote for the @womenmadefullmetal zine, which i was profoundly honored to be included in! please check out their tumblr to see all the amazing art and writing that went into this project. i was asked to write about my best girl, winry, and i’m so excited to share this fic with you guys. <3

turning home

( ao3 / ff.net )

The Rockbell women have always breathed smoke, her grandmother tells her, not long after her parents die, but not soon either. We’re furnaces, you and me, she says. Anything that tries to go through us will need to melt.

Winry tries to swallow the lump of black metal in her throat. It sinks into her stomach, distending her insides, like the stretched belly of a snake after devouring a rabbit. That darkness will dissolve eventually, worn away by the passing years and the Resembool sunlight. But fragments of it will float in her system always, pulsing now and then with the heartbeat of loss. It will coat her lungs with iron. It will spike her blood with steel. It will surface in the blisters on her palms, toughening them like hide.

Winry learns at a young age that grief can serve her, both as her burden and as her armor.

: : :

“You shouldn’t be checking in so often. I’m fine. And even if I weren’t, Den knows who to fetch if I need help.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you calling, child?!”

“Well...I thought you might appreciate an update on how I’m doing.”

“Winry. You don’t think I have my own connections in Rush Valley? I’ve known how you were doing the moment you set foot in that wretched city.”

Winry smiles. The anxious bite in her grandmother’s voice hints that Pinako hasn’t been quite as collected as she likes to profess.

“Several people here have told me stories about you.”

“Of course they have. I’m a legend.”

“So you did attach automail fingers to Mrs. Wheeler’s foot instead of toes.”

“Who told you that?!”

“Mrs. Wheeler. And Mr. Wheeler. And Mr. Garfiel. And--”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. She thanked me later. Made it easier for her to pick things up.”

Pinako’s laughter crackles over the line, and Winry joins her. If they were together, sharing this evening as they have countless others in that yellow house, she would see the spidery lines around her grandmother’s mouth smooth away, and Pinako would resemble the woman of so many years ago, her eyes bright as beads of mercury.

: : :

She sits on the wide windowsill of her room, one leg swinging over the shoe-beaten, dusty street outside Atelier Garfiel. The workshop is humid, ripe with male armpits whose owners are always traipsing in.

Heat rises from the ground in shimmering waves, and she pulls in a long breath. The air tastes like the burnished insides of a forge; the sun prickles in a glittering sky. Yesterday one of her clients had cracked an egg onto his metal knee to the delight of six local children. The sun above reminds Winry of the yolk: a perfect golden disc surrounded by sizzling white.

She loves it here. It isn’t the same love she feels for the sweeping countryside where she was born, a slow, soft thing layered with complications of old sorrow.

The love she harbors for Rush Valley is quicksilver and octane, a rush of searing air, a keen and yellow energy that wakes in her muscles each morning and blasts wild through her dreams each night. It is a rough town that Winry loves, but it fits her roughened parts, and Rush Valley loves her back.

: : :

“I’m happy you’re settled in. Tell the others hello from me.”

“Mei already said hi when she heard I was calling. Zampano and Jerso, too. Oh, and Ling suggested bringing you here to serve as the official court mechanic. They’ve apparently never had one before, but he said you could name your price.”

Winry’s grin stretches across her face. That sounds so like something Ling would suggest that she can nearly hear it in his voice.

“And Lan Fan’s thoughts?”

“She admires your work, but doubts you’d want to relocate so far just to take care of her arm.”

Winry’s fingers skim the pocked surface of the worktable. She knows every divot, every chip and scar, as though they’re carved in her own skin.

“I’d like to visit Xing,” she admits.

“There’s a lot of murmuring about a railroad across the desert. Goodness knows how long that’ll take—but then you and Granny could both come.”

His voice has changed, even since they last saw each other. Winry presses a knuckle to her mouth, her eyes stinging.

“Will you be happy there?”

“I think so.”

“Good.”

“...Winry?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

She chews her thumbnail, cursing her stupid throat for closing up.

“Don’t be stupid, Al. I’ve no idea what you mean.”

: : :

Wandering down the uneven rows, Winry’s eyes skim the names. She halts in front of two close-set stones, where others have left tokens. Her eyes fall on a wilting sprig of sweet violets and yellow honeysuckle.

She sinks cross-legged to the ground between the graves, her back and knees complaining after so many long nights of work. The violets’ brittle stems crumble under her fingers into fine gray dust.

Her father had adored sweet violets, Winry remembers suddenly. He had yelled in delight upon finding the first clumps of them in the spring, when winter still bared its teeth in the frigid midnights and ghosted the mornings with frost. He would gather handfuls, stuffing his nose into the velvet purple blossoms. Winry’s mother laughed often and openly, but never was it filled with more delight than when her husband doubled over, possessed by a fit of uncontrollable sneezing.

A warm drop slips down her cheek, and she swipes at it viciously. Another drop splashes onto the end of her nose. Then the sky opens, unleashing a violent spring tempest that sends Winry sprinting for cover. The overhang of the groundskeeper’s shed provides the closest thing to shelter and she crowds herself under it, blinking the lukewarm rain out of her eyes.

In her haste to escape the storm, she hardly notices the soft grit of the disintegrating violets in her hand. Following a vague impulse, she holds them up to her nose, inhaling their powdery, dying sweetness.

Then she sneezes.

: : :

“Hey, you actually picked up.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

Winry’s voice is sharp, camouflaging the way her entire body melts at hearing his voice. A voice that is safe, and healthy, and--as usual--a bit too loud.

“Jeez. Is this a bad time?”

A telling pause.

“Are you crying?”

“No!!”

Her head feels like someone has packed it with wet paper. Ed chuckles ruefully.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine.” Her “m” s and “n” s are migrating toward “b” and “d” territory.

“You sound awful.”

“Right, I’m hanging up.”

“Okay, okay! Sorry!”

Slowly, Winry puts her ear to the phone again. And then sneezes on it.

“Maybe...a tiny bit sick,” she admits.

“Stop pulling all-nighters.”

“I don’t have an all-nighter to blame for this. And don’t tell me what to do.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ed says, half-laughing.

The line crackles as he sighs. “You had to take care of me so much. I feel kinda guilty.”

“You were an extremely bad-tempered patient.”

“Well your bedside manner isn’t exactly welcoming!”

Winry hears the veins popping in his neck and forehead. Ed communicates everything of himself through his voice. He could so easily be sitting across from her.

She closes her eyes and imagines he is.

“You know I didn’t really mind,” she says.

A sheepish grunt from Ed’s side. “Is that because you got to boss me around and tell me what to eat and when to sleep?”

“That... was a contributing factor.”

“I knew it!” he crows victoriously. “You’re sadistic. Sick with power.”

“So was that your backwards way of saying, ‘Winry, I’m so sorry I’m not there to nurse you back to health and make up for all the times I was a stubborn jerk’?”

The pause before his answer is just long enough to worry her.

“It would take a hell of a lot more to make up for that.”

Winry’s smile evaporates, her heart twisting.

“Ed...”

“What? I can’t be sincere for a second?”

“It’s not that . I…I just--”

His laugh interrupts her. “You don’t need anyone to take care of you, Winry. You never have.”

“It might be nice, though,” she mumbles. “Once in a while.”

“Consider the hint taken.”

Her chest expands with relief, a warm wave lifting her on its crest.

“Come home soon.”

Ed hesitates. She is hard to lie to, and if he’s smart, he won’t try.

“I’ll hurry.”

Winry believes him.

: : :

When her head aches and her hands are chapped, Winry walks up the hill to the big tree, where an aged swing creaks against its ropes. The valley flows away from her feet in green, rolling swells.

Her mind is busy, though her hands are not.

She thinks of her newest customer: a girl, no older than Ed when he had his surgery, her right hand missing from a farm mishap. Winry had reassured her that with automail, she could still play her fiddle.

She thinks of how Ed mentioned over breakfast how nice a house would look, there at the top of the hill where the foundation of a burned building still lies.

She thinks of Al’s recent visit, when he brought silk and tea and bright, human laughter across the desert.

She thinks of how her daughter reminds her in a thousand half-painful ways of Pinako, asleep now next to her own children.

She thinks of the countless small responsibilities waiting for her at home: an electric motor to tune up, a bruise to kiss and bandage, a shipment invoice to file, a long-overdue call to Paninya, a pie crust to bake.

Winry listens to the birds talking in the branches high above her. She smiles.

Then she turns down the hill, beginning the walk back home.

[asmartist]

DabiHaul: First Time For Everything (RP Thread).

Information: ➤ DabiHaul Fanfic written by Kira and Myself. They play Dabi and I play Chisaki. ➤ Chisaki is 5′3 and 19 yrs Old. Dabi is 6′0 and 23 yrs Old. ➤ Chisaki’s Personality isn’t Canon. He’s Submissive/Bratty and still very much a Germophobe however, him and Dabi have been dating for 7-8 Months now so its finally /getting somewhere!/. Dabi’s personality is still the same. Find us on twitter: https://twitter.com/KiraNoIshi | https://twitter.com/DoinMeAFright

The more we update and write, the more you’ll see it here. uwu

______________________

Kai: ❮ He's just going to look up at his boyfriend. Not too happy about this height difference. ❯ Dabi: How can he not like the height difference? It gives him benefits.          He can feel secure being held by someone taller and a bit larger than him. Speaking of being held, Dabi is pulling Kai into his arms right now and pressing a kiss to his forehead. ❝Why so serious~?❞ Kai: ❝ Mmh? ❞ Chisaki had been wearing his doctor mask for obvious reasons, not too comfortable with having it off yet. His cheek stayed where it belonged, against his lover's chest. A sacred spot, within Dabi's arms — He couldn't picture being elsewhere. He couldn't even fake disliking the kiss upon his forehead, but of course he'd try by making a soft disgruntled noise. Slowly coiling his arms around his boyfriend and lacing his fingers with the taller man's shirt to keep him where he stood. ❝ Just because you're taller doesn't mean anything. I could still take you down ... if I wanted to. ❞ A bold lie. Obviously, Kai was smaller and docile in attitude when it came to Dabi. Partially remembering his place within their relationship. Dabi: ❝Hmmm~.❞ Dabi hummed in response, amused. His complacent smirk showing that he called the other’s bluff. Kai is strong, yes, but it was no longer in his nature to be so aggressive. Deft, slightly calloused fingers ran through the brunette’s hair gently as he cradled him against his chest, his breathing slowing to a steady pace. Dabi was starting to notice being around him made him completely at ease, forgetting of his stress. He wondered why he tried to run away from that before. ❝It’ll be bedtime soon. Wanna watch  a movie before going to sleep? You can pick whatever you want. I’ll get you whatever snacks you want, too.❞  He’s in a pampering mood tonight, obviously. Seen not only through his words, but through his hands that fell to Kai’s shoulders and began massaging them. Kai: He brought his eyes to a closure and listened to his boyfriend's words. That familiar voice that just brought him home every time. Thinking of it as a voice that called him whenever he was in a dark place. It was his light source. The caressing of his hair relaxed his demeanor back to mellow and content. At least until it stopped and those hands fell to his shoulders. . . . Kai huffed and placed one back ontop of his head. ❝ I didn't say stop. ❞ Opening a single golden hue and snaking up to look at Dabi when the movie idea was suggested. ❝ I forgot we have Netflix ... sounds nice. Mmh... are you sure about watching a movie though? ❞ Dabi: Dabi noticed Kai visibly relaxing, his muscles becoming less tense under his hands. Though having his hand placed back atop his head and the snippy words coming from him did give the taller man that bold urge to be in control again. ❝Don’t be a little brat. I wanna cater to you tonight, but not if you’re gonna be mean.❞  Still, he complied with the shorter man’s wish, continuing to comb through those locks lovingly. ❝You know we both could use a movie and some cuddles, anyway. I thought I’d be nice and let you pick  what we watch. But if you want to do something else, then you can tell me.❞ He then weaved a finger through the strap of that mask, pulling it off only to expose Kai’s lips. A quick kiss was planted upon them before he put the mask back in its place, offering a kind smile. Kai: Honey Gold irises widened in shock when his mask was removed for a brief second. Supple marred skin to skin contact, their lips brushing against one another before it abruptly faded. All Chisaki could do was swallow. His cheeks reddened, similar to a cherry. Slowly blinking. The teen tried to decipher the small token of affection. His heart felt like it dropped from its cavity, kind of like getting in an elevator that went too fast and stopped. Affection was something the Yakuza was used to but; Admittedly, it had been a while since they did something in his favor that warranted a blush. Finally gathering his thoughts and keeping them together, he darted his eyes off to the side with a quiet sheepish voice. 〝 I'm not a brat. . . And . . . Maybe we could kiss more? 〞 Dabi: Ah, that reaction was priceless. It warranted a soft chuckle from Dabi, and he felt that swell of pride in his chest. He hadn’t the courage to take that mask off until now. He had been afraid that he would be rejected. To know that his love is accepted is the biggest relief. The raven-haired man wasn’t unsusceptible to the feeling of embarrassment and being flustered, however. His cheeks were tinged pink, his demeanor just slightly awkward. But that was outweighed by his delight. ❝You’re my little brat~.❞ He teases whilst pinching Kai’s cheek softly. ❝Of course we can kiss more~. In fact, I want kisses every day. Now. Is there anything in particular you wanna eat before we watch our movie?❞ Kai: ❮ Kai had closed one of his eyes when Dabi gripped his cheek between his thumb and index finger. Despite it being soft, it was reflexive for the teen to close a single eye and flinch. That redden tint to his cheeks didn't disappear in the least but a faint whimper slipped. ❯ 〝 /Your/ brat?, I'd like to see you prove that statement. Right here ... right now, I want you to ... — 〞 ❮ Just then, Chisaki paused and brushed his boyfriend's hand away gently. Trying his best to find the words that fit into that sentence. ❯ 〝 I want you to make out with me .... I want ... You to put that passion into me again, and then we'll see where it goes. 〞 ❮ Kai had ignored the entire suggestion on a movie, they could watch a movie [after] they were done with whatever this was about to lead to. The look in the Yakuza's eyes was clear and intense, speaking of something Animal and Lustful. .. Dabi should know very well what this brunette wants and how to give it him. ❯ Next Panel: https://asmartist.tumblr.com/post/185221716326/dabihaul-rp-thread

[tcswritings]

Messages. (WIP/unpolished)

:: updated on 07/18/2019 ::

The day after the party. Orla is thinking many thoughts.

*****

It had been a bit more than six hours since he left and when she closed her eyes, she could still feel his hands on her body as well as his unsteady breath against the skin of her neck and how strands of blonde hair had tickled her face every now and then. 

What truly made her stomach flutter though was thinking back to all the brief moments when his eyes had met hers, when they shared sweet looks, to make sure the other one was feeling just fine, comfy and secure.

Biting her lip, she couldn’t help but smile to herself for the dozenth time that afternoon. Sleeping with someone wasn’t new to Orla and while she wouldn’t call herself an expert in the field, she had more than a basic idea of how these things worked and how to make them enjoyable for both parts. Last night, however, she had found out that sleeping with a friend was in no way comparable to anything she had experienced before and she also had to realise that the things she knew weren’t exactly helpful in that matter - she had felt like a clueless, giggling idiot anyway.

It hasn’t been bad, though, not at all. Quite the opposite, actually, but Orla couldn’t stop asking herself if people writing books and movies about friends falling in love had ever fallen in love with a friend themselves - there were usually big talks about how knowing each other inside out makes these things oh-so-much easier and friends would just switch to being lovers as if it was the most natural and uncomplicated thing ever and Orla couldn’t comprehend it at all. What happened last night was probably the most exciting and amazing moment of her young life so far and nothing made perfect sense just yet - it had all happened so fast after all.

That was not the only thing on her mind, though. There was something else, something far more essential.

She lay flat on her bed and stared at the ceiling and she had been doing that for the entire day, more or less. Ever since Mick had left the house she had been wondering. Wondering if what they did was right, if they should have waited until they had figured out at least SOME details (considering the well-known fact that sex had also great potential to mess things up), if they would do it again, when they would do it again and, most importantly, what they even were now, because if there was one thing certain it was that they had left their strictly platonic friendship behind.

Before he left, Mick had kissed her goodbye and he had also promised that they would meet up tonight but there hadn’t been any sign of life from him ever since and Orla had long started wondering if he had given it a second thought and maybe - she cringed at the mere thought - even changed his mind.

She reached for her phone for the umpteenth time (the last time was about five minutes ago) and unlocked it, only to feel the familiar little sting as she couldn’t spot the highly anticipated red little bubble that alerted her any time she had new messages.

Instead, she got the impression that her messenger merely laughed at her now:

No new message, girl.

Nope.

Not a single one.

Stop waiting.

He doesn’t care.

Just accept it already.

Orla sighed and tried to shake the weird thoughts off as she snuggled into her pillow a little more. She was being silly and she knew it. Those might be legit worries if it was any other guy she had just met the other night but the guy in question was Mick and Mick wasn’t like that. He was always true to his word and as she knew that he had some things to do today - and she knew that way before that unexpected and pleasant turn of events last night - she figured that she would just have to be patient.

How about you just text him, Dummy? her messenger now suggested, probably as a little gesture of reconciliation for sparking her mopey thoughts a minute ago. Or maybe just call him? It’s 2013, gals no longer sit around waiting for a man to make a move, we make shit happen!

Orla pursed her lips as she opened the messenger again. She didn’t even have to scroll; Mick was the first to show up in her chats as they had send each other a few texts at the party last night while they were wandering around apart from each other, trying to find a private spot where it would just be the two of them but they hadn’t been very successful.

She chuckled as she read his last few lines again.

SAT, 03-16-2013

1:17: kitchen again?

1:18: NO DONTCOME hERE someone puked in here

1:19: Im gonna go upstairs

1:25: where are you

1:25: WHERE

1:25: are

1:25: YOU

1:26: thou shalt answer

1:27: Im desperate

1:29: IM LOST 😂

1:30: this house is HUGE

1:30: almost LIKE oUS

1:30: OURS

1:32: oRLAA

‘Adorable’, Orla thought, smiling. They had found each other just a bit after that last message and they had managed to share at least one more passionate kiss before they had to jump apart once more as they got disturbed by a little group of drunk idiots - she couldn’t even remember who - staggering into the room.

She chuckled as she began typing.

Hey handsome 😘 I was just wondering whether we could

She stopped. Too casual. This wasn’t asking for getting a snack during lunch break after all. Orla hit the delete button and pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘Maybe I should google for some reference’, she thought. ‘How to properly address your childhood friend with whom you had sex last night.’

Or, well, maybe not.

I just saw this ad for porch swings and I thought I could get one so we can

God, no. 

You like big butts and you cannot lie… 😜

NO! (She could very well imagine the face he would make if he read that one, though.)

If choosing what to wear is what’s taking you so long to get back to me I’m happy to inform you that I fancy the kind of activity which doesn’t require any apparel at all so stop making a damn fuss 👀 💋

Smart. Playful. Sexy.

But no.

Please don’t change your mind about us and come back here, I miss you!

Woah. Needy, much?

“Aaaaah!” Orla cried out in frustration as she tossed her phone to the side, slumping back into the pillows. “This sucks.”

Only a few moments later she had another thought. Couldn’t it be that Mick was going through the very same thing right now? That he was sitting on his bed or his couch, or maybe in his kitchen just in this moment, long legs up on the other chair, chainsmoking, like he did so often when he felt lost, typing some words into his phone every few moments, only to delete them again because nothing he came up with felt appropriate?

Maybe Mick was just dying to hear from her all the time. Maybe he was just as insecure as she was and when she thought back to the party as well as to what happened after it, right here, she suddenly felt very silly for even thinking that he might want to back out. The way he had looked at her as well as his body language had spoken volumes after all.

Orla swiftly reached back for her phone and opened the messenger once more. Sometimes the best way to overcome awkward situations was to be honest and straightforward. Once she was done typing, Orla hit the send button and closed her eyes as she took a deep breath.

*****

“I can very well remember the last words Ethel said to me and they were sure words to live by.”

Terry Irvine, a stocky, balding man in his fifties, made a pause, heavy with meaning, as he looked around the tastefully decorated room, feeling deep satisfaction as he saw that everyone was listening to his words with rapt attention.

“She said ‘Lives are like rivers, Terry:” he went on, “Eventually they go where they must. Not where we want them to.’(*)“

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what she said.” Connor O’Loughlin scoffed quietly. “A mean old bitch will suddenly start crackin’ wise proverbs after she spent her lifetime just spattering shit at any given occasion.”

Mick bit his lip as he tried not to laugh at his younger cousin’s remark and he wondered whether anyone in his room actually liked ‘Aunt’ Ethel as the few memories he had of her certainly weren’t the best. She had sometimes looked after him when he was still a kid and as far as he could remember, she never allowed him to do anything besides sitting still while reading bible verses together and she also made him eat the worst, greasiest porridge that the world has ever tasted and the mere memory of it made his guts turn.

Friends and family were gathered together today, mourning Ethel’s recent death, but Mick felt rather indifferent about her passing; he was merely here to do his parents a favour who claimed that they had always been particularly fond of the old hag and while that might even be true, he couldn’t help but feel that they also wanted to represent the family business which, considering the estimated average age of the majority of people in the room, was actually a clever stroke.

“... and I’m sure that Ethel is smiling down upon us just now, as she sees all her friends and family joined together in love and harmony, thinking of her and the wonderful things she has done for each and everyone of us...”

Not only was he not listening, Mick also still had other things on his mind. Far more important and definitely nicer things. (No offense, Ethel.) He made a little step back and once he was sure that no one was watching, he reached behind his back and grabbed a handful of bread cubes from one of the bowls on the buffet table, still looking at Terry addressing his audience with his pompous speech as well as his grossly overstated gestures and expressions. That speech would last for an eternity, Mick just knew it, and he didn’t feel like starving, especially not now that his life had seemingly taken a really great turn.

“... I ask you now to observe one minute's silence as a token of our respect and sympathy for our sweet Ethel...”

Mick pushed the image of Ethel’s wrinkled and actually not-so-sweet face aside. Happily munching his bread cubes, he now recalled the memory of a pair of pale blue eyes looking at him from under the longest lashes he had ever seen. Orla O’Connell’s gorgeous, freckled face became clearer and her red-tinted lips smiled sweetly at him as Mick’s mind once again drifted off to last night, to their very first kiss on the porch swing and the ones that followed, to the moment when he had brought Orla home and when she had insisted on him staying and when she had started undressing him in the hallway and how they had barely made it to her room where they would eventually-

“Oy, creep, what are you grinning at?!” Connor’s sister, Delilah, now hissed at him, interrupting his pleasant thoughts and nudging him with her elbow a little harder than necessary. “Stop eating!”

“Ow! I’m hungry, fuck off.” Mick spat back. “Terry’s at the top o’ his game, it’ll take ages until they open up the buffet.”

“Disrespectful freak.” Delilah muttered, shaking her head and crossing her arms. She was usually all bark and no bite, Mick knew, but very irritating nonetheless.

Terry now directly looked into Mick’s direction and cleared his throat. Mick stared back at him, swallowing down his bread crumbs, suddenly seeing the many irritated faces staring at him, among them the horrified expressions of his parents.

Oh.

It was actually the second time that day someone had caught him with food and he usually would have laughed at the coincidence but considering that he was at a memorial service, he decided against it.

“Sorry!” he called.

Terry closed his eyes and sighed. “Now, one minute’s silence, please.”

Mick bit his lip. Thanks, Delilah. While he usually hated being made look silly, nothing could ruin his mood today, not even his uptight cousin. Granted, it probably was a little inappropriate to think of the things he had just thought of again at a memorial service but then again, no one could read his thoughts and wasn’t death also about celebrating life, after all?

Just as Mick’s mind wandered back to all the moments he had celebrated life with Orla last night he could feel his phone buzzing in the pocket of his suit jacket. Making sure that everyone else was still busy remembering Ethel, Mick stuffed the last few bread cubes in his mouth, pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and when he saw that the new message was from the person he hoped it would be from, a stupid-but-blissful smile spread across his face. He unlocked the screen.

I want dinner and I want to see you. Not necessarily in that order. And yes, this is me asking you out on a first real date. 💖 

Swiftly scanning the room for possible watchers again and seeing that everyone was still caught up in one minute’s silence, Mick eventually looked back down on his phone, hit the reply button and started typing.

hi gorgeous

kinda in the middle of sth here but Im gonna call ya once I get out

He pressed the ‘send’ button. Not keen on provoking another awkward situation like the one that had just happened, Mick wanted to put his phone back but as he felt another buzz, he was too curious.

What kinda thing? Was that a ‘yes’, by the way?

ethels memorial service

What, Ethel died??? 😱 😱 😱

yeah last monday

You could have mentioned that at some point?!?! 😨

its fine no one actually liked her and she was old

OMG MICK WTF!!!

Torn between the excitement about meeting Orla later and the fear of getting another weird look from Terry who had just picked up his speech again, Mick eventually decided to put his phone away for now.

what

its true

talk to you later

It just occured to him that he still hadn’t let Orla know what he thought of her suggestion. Rolling his eyes at himself, he dug out his phone once more.

and yeah

that was a yes

😘

*****

Some miles away, Orla frowned at her phone’s screen, feeling mild irritation but, above all, a great rush of joy. She would call Mick out later for merely casually mentioning that he was going to be at the memorial service of a family friend that day (and also for that rather insensitive remark about no one liking said family friend, no matter how much of a truth it was) but joy had overwhelmed her. He said yes. He wanted the date.

*****

(to be continued…!)

(*) A proverb by Richard Russo, author and screenwriter.

[iawv]

She Called Him Fen’Harel - Chapter 9

This chapter was resting in my documents folder for last two years. The creation of it was long, hard, even painfull. After a long struggle and block I decided it is impossible for me to change it again. I am not able to write it differently. I don't want to tbh.

Maybe it is stupid of me to post it after two years break. Possibly it is but I will do it. I am doing it. I like this story. It sits in my head. I want to finish it. I just don't know how long will it take.

So, guys, I hope you will read it and I really hope you will give me some feedback. My block is not gone but today I wrote the end to this chapter so maybe there is still hope for me. Sorry for my english - I am still learning. Enjoy this short chapter and pls let me know if u want more.

-------------------------------------------

On wolves and demons

The wolf snapped. He fought the manacles of a leghold trap. The metal bit into him but the animal seemed not to care. He would rip the flesh from his bones to reclaim what had gone beyond his reach. “Mana, mana!” her father's hands were in seconds on animal's head, his neck, holding him, soothing him. “Atisha. Listen to me. Calm down.” There was a command in her father's voice, which caught a wolf's attention, but it was the fear that brought the animal back to himself. Concern for his own life. Blood was running down his leg. The arrow stuck deep between his ribs. The creature made himself stop, baring his teeth but he kept his eyes on the elder elf.

"He will not survive this, my daughter" her father stated quietly. She came closer, her eyes widened, breathing heavy as she leaned next to them both. "He will not. Can we help him, papae?" she asked kneeling next to the tall blond-haired elf. His gaze met hers, and he raised his hand to brush her red hair from her forehead "We can, da'len." He handed her the knife then and nodded "You have just reached a thirteen year of your life, Celia. I believe you can take another step into your maturity." he spoke to her gently and calmly stroking wolf's head at the same time. "Lenalin?" young Celia's eyes filled with tears and her gaze drifted from her father's face to big, grey wolf. She saw it coming. She experienced it many times before. Shems killing wolves for their furs and claws, selling them later as souvenirs. Cheap toys to gain dirty money. She sobbed and took a deep breath deciding to trust father's decision - if he was certain of her capability, she should be too. She wiped away her tears with her wrist while her hand tightened on the blade. "You know what to do, Celia" her father sent her one of his most firm looks and squeezed her arm, "Remember, ashalan, every being deserves comfort and gentle death. Do what you must." She nodded, closed her eyes and started to pray softly. "Fen'Harel, grant that my blade does not wobble. Give me strength and confidence because here I am  to release one of your kinsmen." A small hand on neck stroked the warm, thick fur with sympathy and compassion. The quick blade cut the artery in strong, firm move. The wolf's last heartbeat under her small fingers, all that was him was gone. His last breath on her cheek as she hugged him ignoring the blood soaking into her hair. "I am proud of you, Celia." * * * * In the quiet darkness of moonless night, Falherna shook her head from memory. She stood by the lake next to their camp. It was her shift. The stars glittered overhead in a splash. The wind pulsed around her steadily. Carefully, her fingertips traced the scar at the center of her forearm, a token given to her by Fen few weeks before the Conclave. The sight of it made her throat tighter. She sighed quietly at the reminder of what she had, what she could lose in a few hours if Fen would happen to be among the wolves they intended to find. Dire thoughts fell heavy on her heart. Another tough decision. Another wolf in her life that she could lose. Another crack in her soul. She ran the hand across her face as if she was trying to wipe something away; sorrow, perhaps, or exhaustion. She inhaled deeply and went back to the fire. She sat down on the bedroll next to the flames, pulling her knees up under her chin. The situation required the strength of will, and she was a woman who did not lack it, neither did she lack logic. A simple syllogism guided her that she had the power over the thoughts that she admitted into her mind and that emotions were a derivative of the thoughts, that she could feel nothing that she did not previously think about. Feelings were a physical reaction to the thought which led her to the conclusion that by controlling her own thoughts, she was able to exercise power over her feelings. She was able to manipulate her emotions, to change them, by working on the thoughts that preceded them. She believed that only the those who alone could control their feelings were truly free. "You can only control what you are aware of; what you are unaware of controls you." her father's words spoke in her mind. Falherna gasped and closed her eyes as she started to open her mind to all the thoughts and emotions which accompanied them. She felt fear about her wolf - alone, corrupted; anger at herself and Fen because they did not found each other yet; furious because of the Breach and the mysterious person who doomed this world; sorrow because of the possibility she would not be able to save her wolf. Hands wrapped around her legs clenched into fists as she slowly acknowledged of what waited ahead. Seconds changed into minutes, minutes into hours as Falherna processed all scenarios. Without any other solution at hand, I will kill you ma Fen, she thought finally clearing her mind, accepting the situation and its consequences. A sense of dreaminess overcame her, her muscles relaxed, and she was on the point of giving way to a desire to sleep when the quiet sound reached her ears. A sound behind her as of somebody moving cautiously. Falherna cocked her head, tracing the line of trees and rocks. The silence that fell was disturbed only by the small hum of water. It came again. The sound of broken branches. The hair on the back of her neck prickled when the similar sound came from the other side of the lake. After the first growl, she rose slowly locking her gaze on the last source of the sound. "Wake up!" she raised her voice slightly withdrawing to the fire, bending carefully; one move after another. "Seeker! Varric!" she called when three pairs of green eyes glimmered in the dark. Her fingers squeezed the arm of Solas who was sleeping nearby. She shook him "Get up!". "What's wrong with you, Brighteyes?!" Varric mumbled leaving his tent and rubbing his eyes. "Varric, grab Bianca. Slowly. We are surrounded!" Falherna hissed in response. Another two pairs of eyes appeared, a deep growl cut the dark night. Adrenaline rushed through her blood. Without second thoughts she reached for a log setting it on fire, creating a torch and brandishing it to lightened up the small space in front of her. Falherna allowed herself for one brief look under her shoulders noticing Varric with Bianca in his grip and Seeker peering from her tent, with a sword in her hands, always ready to fight. "Five wolves around us," she informed them calmly, "We need to wake up Solas" her eyes focused on the animal few steps ahead as she poked Solas' arm with her barefoot. "Chuckles!" Varric roared under his breath at the apostate. Letting out a quiet groan Solas sat up on an elbow and rubbed his eyes, blinking away sleep and squinting against the dim firelight. "Solas, get up. Slowly." Falherna asked him quickly remembering to keep her voice low and firm. He looked around still slightly confused, but it took him only a few seconds to recognize the situation and the danger. In the dead of night, many shining eyes were seen peering on them. "Wolves" he murmured bringing himself to his feet. A dark wolf could be seen halted, gazing at them. A shuddering howl broke from him as if he were a captain summoning his pack to the assault. The wolf snarled and sprang towards them with a great leap. At that moment there was a sharp twang. Varric had loosed Bianca. There was a hideous yell, and the leaping shape thudded to the ground; the arrow had pierced its throat. The green watching eyes were suddenly extinguished. Their enemies were routed and did not return. * * * * "It was Alpha," Falherna stated as indifferently as if she was stating that the Breach's color was green. "No normal wolf would fight with such determination," Cassandra noticed cleaning her sword. They slowly came back to the fire camp. "The Breach may have driven them mad... or perhaps a demon took command of the pack," Solas suggested looking at Falherna who still stand at the wolf's corpses. "A demon?" Fal crouched to take a closer look at wolf's eyes. A green light was gone as was this poor animal. "Or a Breach drove..." he repeated understanding he made another mistake and said too much. She interrupted him "I understand your assumption about the Breach. I want to understand better what brought the idea about a demon" she sounded harsh while they hand was gently stroking the fur of the dead wolf.   "Well, demons pouring from the Breach have the ability to poses different creatures such as..." he started to explain with academic tone. She interrupted him once again "Wolves... yes..." "You did not hear it?" she stood up slowly and brushed off the dirt from her cloak. Then she looked at him and even in the dimmed light, he noticed she is irritated. Cassandra and Varric raised their gaze at her. "When we killed it" her voice was now calm and quiet "I heard a scream, not only howls of the pack." "I admit, I heard it too" Solas answered. There was no point to lie. "So why not say it?" she asked. Irritation appeared in her voice again. Solas looked at her searching for proper words. The question was simple but the answer was not. "Alright, so you are sure the pack is controlled by a demon?" Varric stretched his legs and crossed his arms behind his head looking at her with concern. "Crazy as it seems I think so, yes" she smiled at him but her gaze stayed sad and absent. "Crazy? For me, it is completely normal considering what we have seen so far" a deep laugh escaped his throat. "Inquisitor?" Falherna looked at Solas. He cleared his throat "We need to confront them," "That was my thought exactly." she murmured looking at the log Cassandra throw into the fire. They stayed silent for a while. Each caught in their own thoughts. A distant howl accompanied them through the rest of the sleepless night.

Notes:        

Mana: an imperative verb, like "Stop" or "Wait". Atisha: peace, peaceful. Da'len: "a little child," or "little one." Lenalin: father Ashalan: daughter

[selenelavellan]

Off Guard

Selene’s POV of some of the events of the Four Kingdoms AU

Aelynthi and Melarue belong to @justanartsysideblog

Dirthamen and the Evanuris based on @feynites writing

TW for drug use and brief mentions of violence.

Selene has always known she was a selfish child.

Luck. It had been pure luck that had seen her saved by her Nanae, in the wreckage of the village she was born in. The village which rumors claim she burnt down herself, an infant with terrible magics, an insatiable appetite, and a burning desire for a larger life.

Selene has never known if they were right or not; but she supposes it doesn't matter now.

She is her parents child, her brothers sister, and whoever she may have been before that no longer matters.

She has never been very good at denying herself. It was this trait that found her her closest and only consort; the spirit of desire, Des. Embodied now, after seemingly endless petitions in her youth. A gift from her Nanae for her 100th year.

He has helped her get into all sorts of trouble since then. He's wonderful, and she loves her best friend very dearly.

Had thought, in fact, that he would be the only one she would ever love in such a way. Until she had met the masked man at the party, with the gentle hands and the clever conversation and the most beautiful voice she had ever heard.

It had only been after the fact that she discovered their families were going to war.

A war they each would have a hand in leading.

It should have been a deterrent.

If she were wiser, she might've channeled her lingering feelings for him into defeating his troops, into trapping and overpowering him and proving to herself that he wasn't worthy of the time he has spent occupying her stray thoughts.

But he surprised her at every turn.

Selene spent decades studying the patterns and movements of the Evanuris troops; studied the training reports sent back by her nanaes spies, kept a close ear out for the movement of supplies and weaponry being traded and dispersed, and a watchful eye on the fluctuating magics of their kingdoms.

It is an interesting back and forth between them; she discovers the pattern and achieves victory, only for him to approach their next confrontation with an entirely unpredictable strategy. It keeps her on her toes; alert, and intrigued.

Somehow more intriguing is the way he behaves in his own victories. He does not torture his prisoners, those that have returned are always unscathed save for wounds sustained on the battlefield. There is no cruelty to his designs; the deaths he deals are swift and often painless. He does not desecrate corpses or lie in his agreements.

It's honorable. Respectable.

And very, unfairly, attractive.

The surrender is a surprise to Selene. She had been poring over reports when the news arrives; she had known that her final move would be soon, that they were steadily closing in on his home, and she had expected him to pull away. To run to his parents sides and avoid his brothers fate.

Nearly a thousand years of deliberating how to capture him, and he has delivered himself willingly.

Even now, in this, he has managed to catch her off guard.

She has a brief, fleeting moment of awe for whatever sort of magic he possesses that manages to bewilder her so easily, before she steels herself back into the General she is.

This is no time for her crush.

–

...It is actually a rather apt time for her crush, it turns out.

Her parents and the other members of the council are debating what sort of conditions they should accept Dirthamen's surrender under. What could possibly, permanently, permit them his loyalty.

“A betrothal,” Selene blurts out before she can think better of it.

All eyes turn to her, and she watches as her Nanae's eyebrow slowly slides up to their hairline.

“That is...” She clears her throat. “We accepted a betrothal for Princess Andruil and Lady Ghilan'nains alliance. It seems only fair to make the same offer to Prince Dirthamen.”

“And who, dear daughter, would you propose to betroth to the prince?” Her Nanae asks slowly, purposefully, never breaking eye contact.

“Myself,” She admits, trying not to slink away from their stare. “We offered Aelynthi for Prince Arethfal; I am the next in line. I do not believe he would accept anything less without taking it as a slight against him.”

“He is surrendering,” One of the council members scoffs. “Any slights against him are well earned.”

Selene frowns, ignoring the sting in her chest of their insult to this man she has fought so well for so long. “Would you offer up one of your own children then, my Lord?”

The council members mouth shuts immediately, as Selene returns her gaze to her Nanae. “I do not mind,” She says, pushing down as hard as she might on any hint of eagerness that might be trying to claw its way to the surface. “It is the logical choice; and a sacrifice I am willing to make for the sake of peace.”

–

The evening before she leaves for Prince Dirthamens land, she is a nervous wreck.

She is not entirely sure how she even ended up here anymore; about to be betrothed to the man she has been fighting and thinking of for a millenia, peace between them nearly in her grasp.

“It could still be a trap,” She muses aloud, twisting in her silken bed sheets and failing to focus on anything else.

Des sighs as his head pokes out from the sheets, chin still shining while his tongue drags over his lips. “That seems unlikely.”

“And why do you think that is?”

He shrugs, hair sliding off of his shoulder with the movement while his lips curl into a wicked, knowing grin. “You have better taste in people than that.”

–

She does not sleep so well as she had hoped, even after Des's attempts to exhaust her.

“Here,” He finally says, handing her an old stemmed glass cylinder and lighting it quickly with his magics. “This, at least, always manages to calm you down.”

Selene stares for a moment at the smoke rising from the water and the plant packed tightly into its stem.

“This seems...unwise.”

“Your call,” Des hums, taking a small puff of his own. “If you'd rather run the risk of lighting up his drapery or leaving a trail of ash on your way over, that's completely up to you.”

Selene pouts for a moment before seizing the pipe from her consort. “All right,” She relents. “Just...one puff. To get me through the journey.”

–

She hates to admit when Des is right, because it always goes straight to his head.

But the journey is much more pleasant under the effects of his favorite plant.

The conversation with her brother is lovely, and even his too accurate teasing doesn't bother her the way it sometimes does.

She sobers up right about the time they reach Prince Dirthamen's doors.

Selene manages to keep it together fairly well, she thinks. She keeps her sparks contained when he removes his mask and reveals one of the most beautifully unique faces she's ever seen, and only somewhat stumbles over the words of betrothal that will connect them for the rest of their lives.

She'll admit, things got a little away from her when he gave her the bracelet.

She hadn't expected it; caught off guard yet again.

It's an exquisite gift, and the only thing she can think of that could even compare is her favorite hair pin; so she gives it to him in turn. Equal exchange. A good starting point for their relationship.

...betrothal. Not relationship.

...hm.

--

She's still in a bit of a youthfully giddy daze for their journey back home, staring at her new bracelet out of the corner of her eye whenever she can manage it.

The attack takes her by surprise. Steals her attention and transforms her at once from her love-struck thoughts back into the General she is.

She strikes up her sword and her flames and commands their party; sees loss and death and failure staring back at her and thinks that she can, at least, minimize the damage. Her brother will not fall from her own short comings.

There; an exit, a break in the rocky outcropping in the distance.

“We will push through their flank and regroup there!” She commands, loudly enough that she knows her brother can hear. “Aelynthi, do not wait for me!”

He will not fall, he will not die this day to Elgar'nans armies because she was selfish, because of her wants, because of her failures.

“I am not leaving!” He calls back, stubborn as always as he looses another arrow into the battle.

Selene curses beneath her breath and wishes for once in her life he would just listen to her. Of course he won't though; he is good, he is better than she is, more fit to rule and without the taste for blood and battle that she has been forced to develop over her lifetime, and he would not knowingly leave her.

“I will meet you-” She starts, unsure of where she is planning to end the sentence, knowing that the chances of meeting him again after this are slim to none, they are going to lose and she will fall to the flames of another and that grates and scrapes at her in a way that only fuels her anger further- before a raven cries out overhead, streaking across the battlefield.

The ground shakes with the weight of an army, and as her head turns to gaze upon this development, she sees it; a banner she has seen a thousand times before, has seen singed and bloodied and torn asunder under her own orders, coming up behind them.

Lead by her husband.

Defending her.

She resists the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it; this man, this past enemy, this prince come to save her.

Save them.

Like the stories Nanae used to tell her when she was little. Stories of love, and hope, and happily ever afters.

In her wildest dreams, she would never dare to dream of something like this. Her husband riding up beside her in battle, glistening and chivalrous and beautiful beside her; her token in his hair.

Her heart skips a beat and her throat dries at the sight, and for a moment she forgets the battle. Only sees this man that has stolen so many of her thoughts for so long wearing a token of hers publicly, supporting her without shame and with the full force of his legions behind him.

Behind them.

“I learned of my fathers intent and rode with haste,” he informs her. As though this were normal, as though they have always fought side by side, defending and saving one another and fighting for the same cause.

The bracelet glistens against her wrist, and she stumbles over her words.

“I appreciate your aid,” She manages. Stuck and unsure of what to do, of his ability to catch her so off balance, even now. Every aspect of him is strange and so counter to what she expected; that a man who surrendered only weeks ago would rush to her side to help like this. Would fight so surely against his own father because he has made her a promise, and fully intends to follow it through.

Selene is thankful she is on her mount, because she thinks her knees would have given out had she been standing.

–

The meeting with Elgar'nan and Mythal is...tense. At best.

Dirthamen sits beside her, back straight but mask on and his emotions reigned in as tightly as she has ever seen them.

It does not take long at all for her to see why he is behaving in such a way. Elgar'nan is raging and Mythal is seething and Elgar'nan has, for some unknowable reason decided to focus all of his rage on his son.

Well, perhaps not so unknowable. She would likely have died without his intervention, after all.

Elgar'nans fist goes up, and Dirthamen's eyes go down, and Selene has drawn her sword before she even realizes it.

Suddenly she is standing, sword ablaze with her purple flames pointed and pressing at the throat of Lord Elgar'nan. The other members of the room freeze, seemingly caught off guard by her sudden act of aggression.

Good, she thinks. It is about time they were the ones who were shocked.

“You may have thought it acceptable to speak to Prince Dirthamen this way when he was your son,” She says, not bothering to hide the venom of her words. “But he is my husband now, and I will not permit him to be spoken to with anything less than the respect that position entitles him to. Leave now, and you may return when you are ready to speak to him with the level of respect and honor he has earned.”

Lord Elgar'nan blinks uncertainly at her, hand twitching dangerously before her sword presses against his throat with just enough force to draw a small trickle of blood, the heat of her flames causing sweat to condensate on his collarbones.

Lady Mythals eyes narrow slightly before she finally speaks. “I see you have allowed emotions to complicate this arrangement, and our negotiations.”

“Whatever emotional entanglements have arisen from our engagement is no concern of yours,” Selene spits back before she can think better of it.

Damn.

Mythal calms Elgar'nan just enough for Selene to pull her sword from his throat, and Selene realizes, as they gaze back at her with hatred and betrayal, that there is no hope for these negotiations.

Her selfishness has caused her to fail, yet again.

The hand wearing the starlight bracelet grabs Dirthamen's, and pulls him out of the room with their heads held high.

It is not until they are safely in a private hall that she allows herself to panic.

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

She's tipped her hand; confessed her feelings in the most improper way imaginable and in front of her betrothed's parents no less. The last people who ever needed to know of such things.

Damn.

“Thank you,” Dirthamen bows. “For lying like that in front of them. I apologize for my fathers behavior, and my own reluctance to combat it. It was very kind of you to pretend to care for me that way.”

Selene feels her heart break, just a little, at his words.

Pretend?

There is nothing false about her emotions for him; she loves him, dearly and truly and with every hidden corner of her blackened heart. Does he think she has been lying to him all this time, only acting as though she is smitten and grateful for his presence? No. No, she must make it clear. Surely, word will spread of the meetings events; he must know the truth before they can use it against him.

Selene kneels down, her armor plates clanking slightly as one knee makes contact with the cold marble beneath them. She reaches out for one of his hands, still gloved but she will not push against whatever protections make him feel safe and invulnerable in her Nanae's lands. Her lips press against the back of the smooth leather, while she recites her poem. Rough and unpolished, unfit for a public presentation, but as honest as she can manage.

“I have walked through fields of ash and embers

through valleys deep and unremembered.

flown through skies of every hue and never observed one more like you

my thoughts are seized, consumed, and swallowed

the walls of a heart that once were hollowed

are filled and warmed by eyes of blue

abundant and teeming with love; for you.”

She waits then, in the still silence of the hall. For him to respond, to answer. To pull his hand away and dismiss her affections, or to sweep her up and accept them. To ask for time, to do...anything. She would do anything to make the strain of this moment come to an end.

“Did you write that for your lover?” Dirthamen finally asks, with an unfeigned innocence.

Selene feels her heart shatter in her chest.

He does not...She has confessed, she has presented him with a gift, she has declared him her husband, she has confronted his family, she has given him a poem and still. Still, he can not even comprehend the thought that her emotions are meant for him. That these gestures, their interactions, their betrothal may have been born from a place of love.

How little must he think of her, to not even be able to conceive the possibility that she would feel genuine devotion to him, even now. With her down on one knee, his hand near her lips while she lays herself bare with a confession, a poem...and for him to think it must be meant for another?

He will never see her as anything more than the conditions of a contract, she realizes.

She has forced herself into a position more painful and more dangerous than anything she had ever considered.

He has caught her off guard, once again.

She stands, releasing his hand to pat at her knees as she stands straight and bites back tears. “Yes,” She lies. Rambling her way out of the situation, words pouring out of her and out of her control “Yes, of course. I simply thought that perhaps-perhaps you would give me your opinion on it. It still needs work, of course. It is not ready for a true performance yet. Still needs to be polished and reworked and made polite for the public-it sounded so vulnerable, didn't it? Far too raw, far too, too...” She forces out an undignified snort, rather than allowing a sob to escape her throat. “Far too vulnerable. I should-that is, I should report back to my Nanae about the meeting. Thank you for your time, I really-I appreciate it. Appreciate you. Respectfully. Cordially. I'm just going to-” She gestures off down the hall, walking quickly in the same direction before he can interrupt her. Can ask for further elaboration and she can make an even larger mess of things.

Selene has always known she was a selfish child.

She will have to work harder still, to ensure no one else suffers for her shortcomings.

[shyinadarkplace]

Original Story Tidbit

So this is a tidbit from a story that I am writing and I thought I would share. Please let me know what you all think .

No permission is given to reproduce my work in anyway .

TW: mentions of death, suicide, and self harm. Please if you need help with any of these things you can reach out to me, I would be glad to talk with you. I can also pass on tons of free resources to get help.

“Tauri baby I know you are …” Ronan stopped speaking at the look Taurean gave him.

“Ro , just let her be. She needs to do this. Come help me in the kitchen so we can eat.” Drogon's voice soothed Taureans raw nerves, and held the gentle compulsion of an Alpha. For a moment Ronan looked torn between listening to him and fighting the compulsion to make Taurean listen, but he just sighed and followed Drogon.

Taurean sat on the edge of her favorite chair, she chewed her lip in worry then sent a text hoping beyond hope that her favorite fea would actually show up, or even answer.

Hey Ry !

I miss you!

Was hoping you would come over for take out night. We are getting everything ready just about to place all the orders. Watch some movies. What do you say? Ryth looked over at her phone , in all honesty she didn’t want to answer the text but she knew she had to otherwise Taurean and her guys would come over. As much as she loved all of them she just couldn’t handle it. Even though she knew she should force herself to socialize with people who loved her, she just felt so empty. She just needed more time.

Hey Teddy Bear.

I miss you too.

I’m...I’m not ready for all that. I’m sorry I can’t.

Ry, I know how much you are hurting. You need to get out of the house though. Even if its just for a few minutes. Come on...please.

A bitter laugh fell from Ryth’s lips, before she replied.

I’m sorry T, but you don’t know.

Not being bitter here, but you have your true mate and another bond forming.

Mine was ripped from me, you will NEVER comprehend what this feels like.

And I pray that you never, ever do.

I just need more time. I did go on a walk earlier.

Taurean closed her eyes. Ryth was right; she didn’t know what it felt like to lose her true mate. Just the thought made her heart clench painfully. A walk was something. Taurean hated that she couldn’t really help but accepted that despite their relationship this time she wasn’t the right person for the job. Maybe she could call Taijiro and have him go over to try and coax Ryth out for just a little while. Or maybe Loki? Though she wasn’t entirely sure how to do that. Taurean decided to order Ryth a pizza and take it over to her.

*sigh* You are so stubborn. I will bring you over a pizza later. Make sure you eat.

You know I am here for you. And more than just me, the guys are here too, your mom and dad too. We all love you.

If you feel the need to hurt yourself please talk to me and let me help.

Thanks. I will eat it. I know you guys are.

Just need the alone time.

I will, I promise Tauri.

Love you.

Taurean kept her phone close after assuring Ryth that she loved her too. Taurean felt a little better knowing that at the very least Ryths home was well protected. It’s not like she could make the mourning process happen any faster. She texted Tiajiro and asked him to maybe go check on her. He agreed.

Zed knelt at Loki’s altar, more drunk then he had ever been and almost completely naked save for a loin cloth. He was broken. He was tired. He was done trying. He could feel it in his bones that if he tried to kill himself now it would finally fucking work. On the altar he placed a series of thick envelopes, his goodbyes. More importantly explanations, these beings whose faces he never saw had taken everything from him. Everything that he loved. His birth mother. His true mate before he was even old enough to know her for what she was. Then His adopted mother and siblings. The only woman he had ever truly loved. He had been beaten, tortured, his mind fucked and mangled. He was so fucking tired. So he prayed, to the only god who has ever bothered to give a damn. The only one who had bothered to help .

Zed took a deep breath. His forehead resting against the edge of the altar, tears blurring his vision falling unchecked. Numbly he gripped his hunting knife and held out his right forearm. Deftly he dug the blade in and slashed downward savagely. Quickly he repeated the process on his left arm. Zed watched the blood pour from him and sobbed. Releasing choked and broken noises chest heaving.

Loki heard screaming, a tormented yell. The token for Ryths altar glowed a slight red. Odd Ryth and her mother never left blood...realization hit him the only other person to use that altar was Zed. Loki cursed standing before the mirror image of the altar. Saw a poor and broken boy open his veins, saw the thick letters, then he heard the prayer. Many thought Loki cold and cruel, but he was far from it, so hearing these words and seeing these images made his heart ache.

“Loki...Loki...th-this is it. *sob, slight chuckle* I I can finally escape. I am sorry I bled on your altar. I am so tired. Why would my father do this to me? Why would he help those bastards? I guess it doesn’t matter now...Nothing matters now. I lost them all Loki....my mother. fUCK she didn’t even know how messed up my father was and then after she had taken such good care of me .... he he KILLED her. But you already know that from before . *sigh, sobbing hard* Tuari, oh fuck she is gonna hate me...for awhile I think she will come around ...she will know that every word is true because the paper, ink, and pen are imbued with truth spells I couldn’t lie there if I wanted to. Ryth will too, though she probably won’t care really. I am glad Tauri has her mates. I know they will take good care of her. Keept her out of too much trouble. Loki...you know Ryth has the most beautiful eyes right ? I love her . I love her so fucking much. I loved her the second I saw her. *chuckles sadly* Her hair was so long it brushed the ground. *brings up the image in his mind* Her eyes were shining like green opals at least But she will never forgive me. Never. I will never see any of her smiles. She has so many, but they all, they all take my breath away. *gently touches the faded half formed mating mark just above his heart crying harder* Loki please take care of her. Please, I know you care for her and love her too, so please take care her. D-don’t ...fuck its getting dark...so tired *laughs broken sobbing* D-don’t let her cut off her hair for Eric...uhhh I know a secret way to bring him back from...from the ashes...its its in my letter….please help her . I wonder if my mark is still on the inside of her ankle ? I thought I saw it when we first saw each other again. *heart skips a beat slowing darkness taking over* Hey loki can I ...can I go with Hel I just want peace. Please. Please take care of her...pl...ease… take care...of her. *falls over passed out*”

Loki appears at the altar. With a wave of his hand he stops the bleeding healing the wound, placing the poor boy in deep healing sleep. Gently he lifted Zed and took him to the back of the cave and summoned a soft, comfortable bed, laying him down. As he covered him with a thick, soft blanket Loki was thankful he had free time, though he was loath, feeling that once again he would have to put his claiming of his little changeling. Or he thought to himself perhaps not, perhaps his claiming would benefit all involved. Making a decision he placed food, drink and a note for Zed before placing strong concealments and protections around him before going back to the altar to retrieve the letters and clean away the blood. After securing the letters away to retrieve later he returned to Asgard there were a few more things he had to finish and not long to finish them. He knew that it had been almost a month since Eric’s death but Loki still felt the effects of Ryths scream. Hell everything with the breath of life had felt the echoes of her agony when the mating bond between her and Eric shattered. Just thinking about it made his heart hurt all over again. He had to hurry.

Meanwhile Ryth wandered aimlessly out in her gardens. She summoned what she called shadow memories. They were memories that places and people shared. She could view all the memories of her and Eric since he began building here. So she did. As she watched it all kind of played in fast forward, at the same time overlapping. She watched him building the house and planting the gardens. She smiled and laughed at all their antics. Looked on longingly at every time they had mad love out here under the stars. She shuffled inside tears once again rolling down her face, and watched everything on the inside. All the times they had cooked dinner together, had their friends over, danced through the whole house singing and laughing. Every time the depression hit, and how Eric took care of her. Finally came the last time they had actually seen each other. Rhythm gripped the choker around her neck using it to try and ground herself. She watched their fight. It tore her apart. She collapsed in her chair muffling her agonizing scream with a pillow as she watched and cried. How many times had she watched that night? One hundred, two hundred times? It didn’t matter, Ryth screamed until she lost her voice and cried till she dry heaved, before she finally fell asleep curled in her chair, still clutching at her necklace.

Loki heard Ryth wail at the loss of her love. Felt her clutching at the necklace he had given her many years ago. He stood under the light of the full moon and admired the home that Eric had built her. He could feel the love and care that went into every brick and board. All the care that had been given during tilling and tending. Ryth had done well with him. Loki’s long hair stood almost on end for a moment while all the protections around the house examined him trying to determine if he was a danger or not. After a moment his hair dropped and he smiled at having been able to witness the strength of his little changeling, then continued into the house. For a moment he simply watched as Ryth slept .

Ryth woke suddenly, her knives flying from her hands before her thoughts could even fully form. They embedded themselves on either side of Loki’s head. To which he cocked an eyebrow. “Is that really how you would welcome me little changeling?” he said softly, gently. He waited, as Ryth rubbed her eyes and rose from her chair, another knife in her hand she stalked forward. Loki leaned against the door frame, hands in the deep pockets of his trousers. She was certainly a sight. Her long hair unkempt, bedraggled and slightly greasy. Her eyes were vacant and rimmed red almost raw from crying. She wore an oversized shirt and little if anything else. Oh she was firey, good. Ryth snarls showing her needle sharp fangs (all fea had sharper than average canines on the top and bottom) “You aren’t really here.” her voice was hardly a whisper as she had screamed it away for the most part. “Yes, I am little one. I am here to help you heal. You are mine and I am going to bring you back from the dark pit that you are in.” Ryth dove at Loki, tackling him to the floor knife pressed into his throat. For a moment he was taken by surprise.

[jiangsspace]

In the Mood for Love

Youth is a journey. Here is a description of someone’s path.

Pairing: non-idol!BTS x reader

Word count: 1,9K

Genre: angst, fluff

When you turned 20 you realised the concept of the perfect partner was a lie. A complete lie. There were none and people put up a facade every day to mask the fact they were flawed and imperfect. Some even broken.

There was Namjoon, who was a charming person overall but lacked compassion. He could hold a conversation with anyone finding people’s secrets and using them to his advantage. Quite the snake at the end. It didn’t last long and you found yourself deprived of affection and manipulated.

Then there was Seokjin. A great guy who could make you laugh with just his facial expressions and endearing sense of humor. Also, a great cook. A talent he liked to show off during date night. But he seemed too obsessed with himself to ever truly give himself to you entirely. In short, slightly self-obsessed to let other people shine. It left the both of you feeling betrayed and empty at the end. It had to stop. Although the sex was great.

Yoongi gave you everything you found ideal. Good humor, great personality, the appearance, depth and seriousness. Yoongi wasn’t someone to hide his feelings. He would tell you openly when he had had enough or when he was truly enjoying himself. And you could respect that. It was something you had grown to appreciate in other people. Honesty and loyalty were crucial when maintaining a relationship. The reason you two didn’t last long, was the lack of goofiness. Yoongi was funny but he didn’t want to be perceived as the funny guy.

Hoseok was a wild ride. A big party person and very sociable. Long story short, he gave you an overdose of sunshine. He seemed to be everyone’s good friend and everyone knew him. Although he only knew a quarter of them. Hoseok had only let you in for a month and when he called it off one night at a bar, he stated you were boring and not adventurous enough. And to be honest, you two were doomed from the first day.

Hoseok’s comment left you sore and hurt for a long time, which meant you plunged yourself into trouble and bad habits such as shoplifting and graffiti art. After crying your eyes out and downing a bottle of cheap wine you grabbed your backpack and stuffed it with red and green and black and pink aerosol paint bottles and punched your arms in the old leather jacket you had absentmindedly taken from Hoseok as you stormed out the door.

The evening was fresh and you thought your fingers would fall off if you walked down this road for any longer. Your hands were tucked in the pockets of the leather jacket but it provided no warmth, just like Hoseok. You scoffed and turned your gaze to the stars. Slightly drunk you opened your mouth and watched the smoke as it passed through your teeth and dispersed in the air. Fuck you Hoseok, you screamed as loudly as you could, not caring if someone was out here to hear your curse.

I agree. Hoseok is a bitch, a dark haired boy answered. He was clearly amused at your reaction when you turned around like a whip, almost breaking your neck in the process. He had surprised you to death to say the least. He laughed when your face contorted in a poor attempt to see him against the dark night. It was just your luck to forget your glasses at home tonight. The alcohol had fogged your ability to make clear decisions. Or it was the lack of sleep and proper food.

Where are you going? His voice was soft and tempting. Different from Hoseok in so many ways. You liked the change and let him hang out with you. Taehyung talked about society and the wrongdoings of politicians and big CEOs who only thought about their stomachs and money. He had quite a lot to say about them but offered very little solutions. He was still a hopeless optimistic.

He was still amusing and used big words to impress you. Taehyung fell in love with the facade you had raised to prove to yourself and Hoseok you were capable of fun and crazy, but the lifestyle didn’t suit you and when you dropped the graffiti and alcohol, you also dropped him. No harm taken. I’ll be here if you need me, Taehyung laughed when his heart shattered.

You landed a job at Starbucks and fell in love with the cute and goofy Starbucks boy, Jungkook. He had a face so charming it left you speechless for days. But you tried to be professional. You really wanted this job and you needed the money. He was in charge of your training and adaptation to the job but your relationship turned out to be something more than that of the mentor and the tutored. Jungkook was hot and passionate, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. 

He was the reason to all of your happiness during those two months. The moments of love and utter admiration. The moments of passion and affection. Jungkook was competitive and jealous. But maybe a bit more competitive. Which is why working with him became a burden and you felt pressured because he was your superior and lover. The look on his face when you handed in your resignation letter left you in a bad, bitter mood. Is it because of me, his words would haunt you for a long time.

Jimin. Your current attempt at love. You bumped into each other in a book reading club you had stumbled upon on a rainy day. You didn’t own an umbrella so when the opportunity presented itself to get cover from the pouring rain, you took it. Jimin owned the library and he was the smiling manager everyone liked and enjoyed working with. 

Jimin, although, he was the life of the party when need be, he was a solid rock when it came to comforting and listening. The beacon of light in the storm. Jimin knew how to manage people, but he wasn’t manipulative. He had studied psychology and read a lot about sociology. He was someone of great taste in people and rarely let others in. He valued himself, but he wasn’t narcissistic. Sometimes it even felt like he put other people before himself.

Jimin was the stereotype of the silent, nerdy librarian, but he knew how to be vocal. And he liked to be the dominant one. His dominant side was aroused in the bedroom and it seemed to be a silent agreement between the two of you; you would be the submissive.

My business is doing well and I now have the resources to take you on a longer vacation. I was thinking about Japan, he announced one evening when he came home with takeout. The living room was filled with the sweet smell of pastries. The word vacation sent butterflies to your stomach and you couldn’t help but wonder if you were taking things too fast.

Jimin noticed your sudden reaction and read you like an open book. I haven’t booked anything yet, he sounded apologetic, the soft voice laced with love. We’ll take things slowly if that’s what you want. You gave him a soft smile and handed a baked roll as a token of your appreciation.

That night, when you lay in his arms, stomach full of Chinese takeout and soju, you thought of all the previous guys you had met during your youth. All wonderful and terrible in their own special ways.

Namjoon, you had met at the age of seventeen. The school’s class president and powerful persona in the facility. Situated in the heart of Seoul and having the reputation of best high school in Korea, you two formed a power couple. The couple everyone looked up to and whispered about in the halls. The popularity had given you a thick skin and the mental resources to deal with having your private couple life poked and dug on. But it all became too much and when you graduated, you sighed in relief when parting ways with Namjoon. He was the son of the CEO of Kim Enterprises and you knew his life was predestined from birth.

Seokjin, the humorous narcissist great with pots and pans. You met a month after your graduation and he immediately swept you off your feet. He was a soon-to-be graduate of Korea’s most known and respected cooking school. He was the one to teach you the secrets of your baked rolls baked in heaven, as he used to say.

Yoongi was the serious gentleman with a quick tongue and quirky remarks. He was an aspiring rapper and musician who always remembered your birthday and offered mixtapes as a present. He had a witty sense of humor he used to his advantage to write his lyrics. You still owned all three mixtapes he had offered. One for your birthday, one for your name day and third for your two month anniversary.

Hoseok cursed you with all that alcohol and parties and sent you in a spiral of bad habits. Although nice to everyone he had a nasty way of critiquing and talking nonsense while drunk. He was toxic, but the university life took a serious toll on him. His family was very strict and expected too much from the just turned nineteen-year-old who just wanted to get away and take a breather. But you never contacted him again.

Taehyung was the hopeless optimistic who scared the living shit out of you in the cold January night and began tagging along during your rebellious graffiti times. Taehyung had landed a job in an environmental law firm as an assistant. It turned out, his father was quite a powerful man who managed to help his son out from the night and into a normal routine. Taehyung loved what he did and updated you often about his projects with the lawyer noonas and hyungs.

Jungkook quit his job as the Starbucks manager and applied to become a taekwondo teacher. He had a black belt in taekwondo, a fact you did not know about him. Seeing him in television as the coach of Korea’s taekwondo representatives made you proud. He was doing what he loved and seeing him happy was enough. Now that you thought about your time with Jungkook more closely, you realised that Starbucks made Jungkook miserable and mentoring you had evoked the desire to teach. And so he did just that.

Watching Jimin silently snoring at your side made your heartstrings twitch. You had opted for the librarian who made you smile every day. Why are you not asleep, his honey coated voice stirred you from your thoughts. Jimin cared for you in ways you didn’t even know you wanted to be taken care of. It was a strange mixture of affection and discovery. The entire man was a discovery. Almost every day did you discover something new about him and his personality.

I was just about to, you smiled. Leaning down to kiss his lips you were caught off guard when he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and pulled you on top of him. I am wide awake now, his suddenly lustful voice coated your ears and sent a hunger inside you.