#ocs art but just their boots because im having a moment

[bonesmarinated]

Her eyes She's on the dark side Neutralize Every man in sight (x)

[hoseoksluna]

CHERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi x oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk)

genre: heavy, heavy, obnoxious smut

word count: 12.7k

summary: you don't know how he does it, but hobi makes you forget about the life you led before him, using his tongue.

playlist: hobi's playlist ; hobi's the weeknd playlist 

pinterest board: cherries / taglist: join

warnings: oh my god—dd/lg but differently, businessman!hobi, dominant and emotional and fucking possessive hobi, oc is horny... a lot, praise kink, breeding kink sdflhldghfdklaxjkfghskfg, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, female and male masturbation, use of a sex toy, cum eating, ass eating, religious personification, mentions of anal sex, thigh and ass slapping fuck

note: my babies, i'm so happy to be posting PART TWO OF BERRIES for you, oh my god. i had the time of my LIFE writing this, had to take breaks every 20 mins, was horny beyond my fucking mind BECAUSE THE SMUT IN THIS? FUCK. THIS IS PURE FILTH. 12K WORDS OF FILTHY HOBI SMUT. IM DEAD. HAVE BEEN DEAD. i missed writing so much that i spewed this out in 3 days... literally how? but i'm so happy to be back. i hope you enjoy this part. make sure to let me know what you think! i'm in a severe (hehe) need of your feedback. I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

side note: this part has the entirety of my being in it. from the first word to the last. it means a lot to me. very special chapter! <3

By the time you come out of the art museum, it’s storming. A sound so cacophonous that it spreads dots of gooseflesh along the perimeter of your skin underneath your silk dress and the layer of your heavy trench coat. Loud and violent like your heart’s deep drum that stills once you see Hoseok leaning against his glossy car. Arms and legs crossed in the same fashion, clothed in the coupled shade of blackness, a mop of tousled hair swept back and rippling in the unforgiving wind that flushes his cheeks with its rosy coldness and then clouds pull in, darkening his stare fixed on you. 

A shower of sudden rain finishes its touch on his countenance. 

Eye contact broken, Hobi’s shoulders raise as he feels the iciness of the slender raindrops falling upon him, eyes flicked up to the shadowed heavens. A heartstring of yours snaps and you don’t really know who gave the command to your aching legs to run towards him with your coat suspended over your head—whether it was that weakened heart of yours or basic human decency. Emotion versus logic. 

You find soon enough the verdict of the winner. 

Because when you have to stand on your tippy toes to cover him from the rain, despite the fact you’re wearing your high-heeled boots, and Hobi takes the makeshift shield from your hands and shrouds you both from the wetness, an identical flush crawls from your left cheek, upon the column of your nose right next to your other cheek, warming you up from within. 

Emotion. The string that ruptured grows again to its full length during that fleeting moment and you’re aching to take him home. 

No rain in sight—just him in this close proximity, in this gray cocoon, smiling down at you lopsidedly, a dimmed light flickering in his inky pools, faintly, barely, only there for you to see. To catch and cling to like his patchouli scent does to you, a whiff of dainty wildflowers leaning in and enclosing around you, forcing away the thoughts that are erect in the corners of your mind, waiting for the adequate moment to strike. Thoughts of how you sense Jungkook’s life entwining around your world again; his companion perfuming the air with petrichor, the inner turmoil she must be facing the very strength that pulled those clouds in, causing a storm to stretch across the skies. You figure each beat of her confused heart must be the grumble of the thunder, but then Hobi’s outer film of softness amidst the darkness is a force way greater, because firmness broods right underneath it, and it is an energy that keeps those thoughts pressed against the walls of your mind.

He did turn you into a locked orchard—and the threat of another declared war isn’t even a wind that brushes past your fruit trees and berry bushes. 

In fact, the more you deepen your exchange of gazes and Hobi cages you in between his shirt-clothed elbows, the more you want to show him the stain of your juices upon your panties. 

You’re aroused—blooming, in need to be picked. It outweighs the past and you’re glad for it, deem your newly born sexuality more important than the doomed normalcy of your life. 

You sink your manicured nails into that newness, adamant on not letting it go, regretting that you agreed to see your ex-boyfriend later tonight, regretting that you grew soft at the hint of his own normalcy, even though you said to yourself that you wouldn’t. It’s one of the reasons why you dig your nails deeper, maximizing your closeness to Hobi—it’s done in an effort to erase your foolish moment of weakness, to better yourself like you encouraged yourself to do earlier when you had perceived that you misinterpreted him. You curl your lips under your teeth to stifle back a sigh, wishing you were as firm as him, as stable in your decisions and your way of living as him. Wishing your weakness wasn’t a putty you play with, leave your fingerprints of your bad decisions on that blemish until you hate yourself, until the paste hardens and there’s nothing left for you to do but to watch it. Watch the evidence of your failure, your brokenness and your imbecility like still life—the curse, the doom of your life, haunting you. 

It almost slinks in, threatening yet again to desiccate your orchard, the movement akin to a wave rolling in, but then Hobi speaks. And his voice sears those thoughts to nothing. Not even their shadows are left behind. 

“Did you say hi to your friend?” he murmurs, reaching behind him to open the door of the passenger side for you, the coat that’s propped on his forearm lowering until it rests back around your shoulders. 

You can merely nod, your empty mind focused on the absence of your selfishness—for once again, you want to be close to him for his sake, even more so when Hobi places his palm on the top edge of his car so you don’t hurt your head. 

A prince, an orchardist, and a gentleman. 

You’re feeding him and sucking his dick before he goes to work—you don’t care. Hope to God he fucks your brain out of your head and plants a new one; one that isn’t so stupid. 

Seated inside his car, you glimpse profoundly at the way the rain kisses the crown of his head as he rounds his vehicle, sitting right beside you and carrying inside his heavenly skin fragrance, now accentuated by the residue of petrichor that all of a sudden doesn’t have anything to do with what you just bore. No hints, no thoughts, no wars. How he does it is something you’ll never have the capability of understanding—a fracture of attention of the intimate kind and he binds you to him, erasing your still fresh past as if it never happened. 

You flex and relax your hand on your lap, a gesture that depicts that you cherish it to the point that you yearn to submit to it and remain submitted. And you will. You’ll figure out a way to stay stable, even if events appear to try and revolutionize you. A way to keep your fist clenched in his presence. 

Hobi lets the car warm up a little bit before he turns on the heating, angling his rear view mirror just right, from which two purple, plush dice swing back and forth, colliding once and never meeting again. 

How inspiring. 

And then you watch his hands. Watch them dominate the car, spur it to life as he drives through the drenched street, parting the rain like a curtain, stepping in, taking you home. 

As if he sensed your thoughts, he glances at you. “My place or yours?” 

A red light halts his control and Hobi uses it to tap on the screen of his dashboard, dousing the space in a sultry, wet ambiance as slow, calm music breaks the silence. While it was comfortable for you, now you feel even more at ease and you wiggle in your seat, sinking deeper into the leather. 

Quite useful material for the lecherous saturation of your mind; for the lustful layer of sweat lining your skin. You feel so hot. Feel the need to be ridded of your clothes right now. Feel a certain kind of vivacity that drives you to do things you wouldn’t normally do. 

You take his hand from the shift stick, cradling it with both of your own hands, a finger tracing the veins that paint a slender but a strong temple—a temple for his beauty and character, you suspect. 

“My place,” you say, yearning to make him feel at home in your space; cook for him, make him come, stuff like that.

Green light blinks and Hobi doesn’t withdraw from your hold. No, he tells you what to do, quickly. 

“Keep your hand on mine,” he instructs and you listen, sinking your fingers between his and gripping him like in an effort to grip onto stable submission. “Just like that.” 

Your stomach flips at his choice of praise and you lick your lips, tightening your hold hard enough that he peeks at you with a smirk while he shifts the gear stick with you and speeds down the road. The heat worsens and you don’t think you can take it anymore.

That alone is the most attractive thing you ever experienced with a man. 

And when he plays with your thumb, you can’t help but to squeeze your thighs together. Watch him intently sneak a glance as you do so, knowing your dress has ridden up a little, exposing your tanned thighs, swathed with the brown leather of your boots. Your position also provides him the intriguing reveal of a secret—you’re wearing knee socks underneath. They were invisible to his sight this whole time and now that he sees them, his eyes linger there for a few seconds longer before he drags his teeth along his bottom lip, flicking his gaze back to the road. 

“You’re wearing knee socks under those?” he asks, his voice low and tortured. Doesn’t look at you as he does. Only shifts the gear stick again, stiffly. You imagine something else is stiff, too, and you smile, a tendril of confidence clothing you in allure and sinful, dark joy. It beckons your vivacity to drive forward. 

You move his hand to let the pads of his fingers feel the smooth fabric. His body twitches, his lungs inhaling a short, soft air, mouth parted, eyes unblinking, gloomy just like the heavens above. A thunder sounds and you feel like roaring just the same. 

“It matches my underwear,” you murmur and the thunder prolongs, echoing feebly. You drag his hand down your thigh with the intention to also make him feel the nylon material of your panties, but he halts your movement halfway, hand gripping your flesh, trembling ever so slightly, stirring your confidence. You almost moan at his brusqueness. 

“Don’t,” he scolds, brows furrowing, chest heaving in that slow manner. His lips dry and he wets them. Doesn’t spare you a glance. Turns the wheel with that one hand as he takes a left turn, his posture slouched, thighs spread, a small tent evident in between. His arousal for you grows and it only propels you to finish the job, knowing his scolding was merely a warning, not a portrayal of his discomfort. And he proves you right with his next words. “If you do that, I’ll crash this fucking car.” 

You laugh through your nose, your confidence and your own arousal fluttering in you, begging to be let out. Your favorite artist starts playing and you’re not surprised by the way your body reacts. Your thighs naturally spread and you move your pelvis forward. Feel your slick dampening your panties even more, trickling down your needy seashell just as The Weeknd begins to sing about your desire. 

“I wanna fuck you slow with the lights on…” 

You lick your lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a soft moan. Hobi digs his fingernails into your skin, coaxing another one out of you and he calls you by your name in a sterner warning. You caress the edge of his hand with the thought in mind that you’ve always loved the crescent moon, so it would only be illogical for you to not want more of it imprinted on your skin. 

“You shouldn’t praise me then,” you croak out, doused in adrenaline-tinged lust, your sweat heavy upon you. You clutch your cherub necklace, needing to be touched, a habit of yours that you’ve had ever since you were a teenage girl. Your fingers graze your collarbones, lingering in the dip between them. “Besides, you’re such a good driver that I think you can handle it.” 

Hobi hums out an endearing laugh, that smirk of his reappearing on his mouth. He rubs the moons he impressed into your thigh from side to side and your hips buck, asking for that movement down low where you need him the most. 

“You have a praise kink?” he questions and you catch him bite his lip, catch him enjoying that information, sinking it into his flesh. You want to kiss it, bruise it, make it permanent for a little while. You revel in such a dirty, yet gentle conversation and you stop yourself from bucking your hips again. 

“A severe praise kink,” you correct him, emphasizing the adjective with a bit of a bratty tone to divulge to him what he does to you and how much he needs to pay for it. And before you can go on, he catches you off guard. 

“If you want me to keep praising you then rub your clit,” he negotiates with you, taking your hand and moving the gear stick, leaving it there. “And you’re wrong. I can’t handle you like this. I can’t touch you when I’m responsible for your life.” 

Daddy. The title would’ve slipped out of the tip of your tongue had a moan not been first, coating the ambience with a sultriness that makes you tug at his hand in order to do as he says, in order to be praised, to be gratified. But Hobi doesn’t budge. He tightens his grip around the shift stick, clicking his tongue. 

“No, baby. With your other hand,” he orders, his breath shaking and amidst the enveloping of his fatherliness around you, strengthening you and binding you with ropes of safety, girlishness and seductiveness, you scrunch up your brows, wanting his hand to be there when you make yourself feel good. 

And you tell him. 

“I want you to help me.” 

The rain thickens, creating a sensual background noise to the next slow song playing and Hobi sighs, disliking your attitude. Your arousal grows to highs you’ve never seen before, a sweet, pleasing darkness consuming you, sprinkling you with glitters of appetite and craze. 

All because your sexual chemistry is so good, so strong—so natural, despite the fact you just met and don’t know each other enough for it to be possible. It exceeds the laws of human connection and the feeling of it is heady, intoxicating you with wine of the ripest cherries. You even feel as though this is your first alcoholic drink. Feel as though you’re an unspoiled virgin on the cusp of her very first sin—the Virgin Mary with long hair, cherub necklace, tanned skin, knee socks and high-heeled boots. 

Hobi erases your past life. Paints a new one with watercolors; paints you anew. You know the dulcet taste of fatherliness and manliness from Jungkook and while it was what you needed at the time, sexually that is—as it wasn’t often that he used this kind of energy day-to-day, and if he did, it was to tease you—what Hobi does runs deeper. It surpasses your need; it’s not a filling that will decompose soon enough and ask for it again. It’s something else entirely. 

It’s something that falls upon you and stays. Clicks and connects with no way out. It’s another layer of skin, strands of hair growing out of your scalp, the drum of the vein upon your neck. 

It began in the museum and uncoils here. It’s not worth it to juxtapose it with what you had before—it’s laughable to do so. Hobi has established his fatherliness the moment he held your coat as a heathen in a church, not taking his gaze off of your intimate prayers for even a split second. Unkinked it with his honesty and by expressing his responsibility over you, listening to the murmur of the sea of your sexual need but not diving head-first into it, knowing better. And now it is ready to bloom with flowerets, with fruits, with leaves to accompany you. 

“It’s this or nothing,” Hobi decides, squeezing his fingers against yours to also emphasize the gravity of his words and you purse your lips in response, finding the ultimatum so attractive. “You live thirty minutes away, so you either rub your clit on your own or you wait. It’s up to you.” 

It’s mind blowing to you how he went from being timid to now ordering you to pleasure yourself. You’re sweltering beneath your clothes and Hobi notices, looking at your body through his rear view mirror. He turns the heating up and you laugh, blush deepening, eyes crinkling at the corners. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest. 

“Why didn’t you put your seatbelt on?” he mutters, letting go of your hand and giving you a mean look that makes your walls clench and your throat let out a low, almost soundless moan. 

You never put a seatbelt on. As dangerous as it, you hate the way it chokes you due to your small stature and you tell him. “It chokes me, Hobi, I don’t really like it.” 

Hobi doesn’t respond. He reaches over and drags down the seatbelt adjuster without taking his eyes off of the road, driving steadily. His patchouli scent hits your nostrils and you nuzzle your nose into his bicep, fingers curling around his arm, smelling him in a simple, comfortable manner. Hobi gives you a quick smile and you hear the sound of him pulling on the seatbelt, but then a pedestrian runs across the previously empty crosswalk, forcing him to stomp on the brake abruptly and your heart nearly skips out of your chest. Almost flying forward, Hobi holds you in place with his strong arm, which you cradle against your quickening chest. 

Exchanging a look, you both pant in tandem and Hobi shakes his head at you. Panic lines his dark eyelashes and he immediately grabs the seatbelt and, tugging harshly, he sinks it into the buckle, placing the belt behind your back. He doesn’t acknowledge the pedestrian lifting his palm in apology and neither do you, too preoccupied with the fact he just saved your life. 

“You wear a seatbelt in my car. No buts. Understand?” 

Too shocked by the twist of events and too touched by the gesture and the sternness of his words, you nod. He pats your thigh, the one he marked, fondling the skin with his thumb, and it drives you to say something. “I’m sorry, Hobi. I’ll wear the seatbelt from now on.” 

You mean it. This has never happened to you before as you usually take the public transport, but you do understand now how dangerous it is to not wear one. Your heartbeat calms and the aftershocks of the adrenaline come to the surface, scattering along your figure. Numbness melts and your arousal returns at full speed. 

Hobi nods, smiling gently, pleased with your apology, and you feel so peculiarly gratified that you managed to do something like that to him. He sinks his fingers under your thigh and you marvel at the size of his hand because his thumb still remains there on the top of the flesh, even as he wraps his digits around you like that. Kneading just once before he lifts them and begins to tap on his screen again, shifting the energy with the voice of your favorite artist. He moves the gear, accelerating. 

“Why you rushing me, baby? It’s only us, alone,” The Weeknd sings and you sigh, your body loosening up. You hike the seatbelt around your hips higher, curling lower on the leather, thighs parting until your knee taps his hand. You miss his touch and you long for it again, finding its warm ghost on your skin not enough. 

“You like The Weeknd, don’t you?” Hobi says, his pinky finger brushing along your sock-clad knee, causing you to almost twitch. 

You smile, relishing in the love you have for the singer. “I’ve spent ten years of my life loving him.” 

Liking your answer, Hobi skims his fingers along the side of your inner thigh until he finds yours, intertwining them—this time his palm closed over the back of your hand, placing it to its former position on the stick. It’s warmed by him and you love it so much that you search for his thumb, playing with it. 

“I could tell,” he breathes, his tone deepened by a heartfelt emotion that moves through you. You raise your brows in curiosity and question, wondering how that has come to be. Glancing at you to see your reaction, Hobi laughs softly, his heart evident in the sound, coated with it entirely, and you catch his thumb, holding it, on the verge of bursting. “I saw what you did when I put him on.” 

You round the tip of your tongue along your top lip, recollecting well what you did when you heard him. “What did I do?” 

A beat of silence between you and him, he lets the singer sing his elegy. Then, his index finger traces your manicured nail on the same digit. “You spread your legs. Made such a pretty sound that I almost stopped this fucking car and fucked you until the whole city could heard it.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat and you’re too late to halt the moan from slipping out, a fire coursing down from the top of your head to your toes. You want a taste of his desire so bad that you’ll do anything for it. Even let the seatbelt choke you to death. 

Hobi gives you a look, one that chills your blood this time. But it feels absolutely exhilarating.

He calls your name. “Don’t do that to me. Not here.” 

Your breath trembles as you scurry to regain your composure, sliding up in your seat. Hobi, too, stops that movement by cradling your thigh, putting it back to the stick once you get the message. 

Why does this feel better than if he gave in? 

“What if I want to?” you challenge and Hobi rubs his eyes, slapping his hand back onto the steering wheel. Frustration, it looks so good on him. “What if I want you to fuck me here?” 

He shakes his head, just once, biting his lip, reddening the pillow. “No, I don’t share.” 

Fuck. 

This is a point of no return. You will never be the same after what he said and you feel your attachment melting into his chest, dissolving there into leaves from your fruit trees. Your imaginary wings flit, aroused from his possessiveness. 

“You know what to do,” he adds without looking at you, turning up the volume as if to subdue your incoming moans. 

A cherry on the top of the fucking cake. 

You don’t waste a precious second. Lifting the hem of your dress, you expose your drenched panties, a large wet spot in the center darkening the black fabric. Hobi doesn’t spare you a glance. No, he takes your intertwined hands and fixes his rear view mirror, tipping it down. Dangerous, but smart. Responsible. 

It’s those glimmering flecks of his character that drive your fingers to pull your panties to the side, but Hobi, once again, stops you. 

With words, this time. 

“Do you want me to die?” he rasps, tortured—horribly tortured and you cup your femininity, coaxing a groan out of him. “Do it over your panties, baby. Please.” 

He begged. You don’t think you ever heard that word come out of a man’s mouth in your life and you break, whimpering, pulling your panties back in their place over your pussy, dragging the tip of your middle finger up and down your dripping slit, sighing. Adding your index, you put pressure to the sides of your clit as you slide your digits in the same direction, over and over, teasing yourself, breathing out little moans that make him grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. 

Hobi glances once at what you’re doing and swears. “Fuck, rub your clit. Don’t tease yourself, baby. Make yourself feel good.” 

With a mewl, you stick your fingers together and begin a series of circles, doing as he says. Your eyes roll back, head knocking back into the leather, satisfaction seizing your body and sweetening it. The material of your panties is so flimsy that it feels as though your fingers are stroking your bare flesh and when you tug the fabric to your hole to wet it and rub your clit harder, your moans gain volume, mingling with The Weeknd’s poetry seamlessly and magnificently, dethroning the rain. 

And then Hobi shifts the gear stick with your hand and drives so fast that your pleasure deepens, thrill rushing in your veins. You match your circles to that speed, your sounds becoming obnoxious, whiny squeaks when you look at him to see his jaw clenched, chest heaving and the tent in his pants larger than you last checked it. 

Hobi skims his fingers along your forearm, back and forth, cradling it. Senses your stare and reciprocates it, catching you at your best when you find your spot and buck your hips, furrowing your brows. He moans, clutching your thigh. 

“So good. Such a good girl, rubbing her clit for me to get praised. Fuck, baby. You’re doing so good.” 

You lift your fingers in order not to come, the aftershocks of your ripped away orgasm quivering throughout your whole body and you squeeze his hand, letting go—wrapping it around his tent, instead. You figure he deserves it for praising you like that. 

He finds your lidded, mischievous eyes in the rear view mirror and he flattens his lips, a brutal expression on his face that should make you scared, but it doesn’t. It only spurs you on. You graze your palm on him, causing his breath to quicken, and you whimper when you search and search for the tip of his cock. He’s slender, but big and your mouth dries. 

“You almost made me come with what you said,” you say, truthfully, retracing your path down his length, his breath, now hardened, wafting over you. You love the way he focuses on the road with every fiber of his being as you’re toying with him. Love watching him grit his teeth, narrow his eyes; love watching sweat adorn his flushed chest and neck. You ache to bite him there. 

And you would—had he not buckled you in place. 

You don’t notice you’ve arrived at your apartment until he stops the car and turns to face you, leaning his elbow on the center console. Nobody could gaslight you into believing that ride took thirty minutes. Nobody. 

Hobi made that fifteen. Ferally. For you. 

You can see it in his shining face—his need for you, his desire, the fact he sped down the road because you’re so horny. And you ache to kiss him. 

“You really do have a praise kink,” he says, mutedly. Must be thinking the same because his gaze flicks to your lips. You lick them for him, encouraging him to do it. “Almost coming from me praising you. Such a good girl.” 

You hiss, the drum in your clit returning, stealing your attention. Hoseok grins, pleased to be proven right, pleased that you make it so easy for him. You squeeze his length and he makes the same sound, gritting his teeth briefly before he pouts. 

“What’s this?” he asks, speaking of your hand placement. “When did I allow you to do this?” 

You breathe heavily, descending your fingers to his full balls, feeling them perfectly due to the silky fabric of his dress pants. You knead them and he moans, the sound traveling right to your yet again needy bundle of nerves. Your hand automatically flies to it, rubbing it, and Hobi curses, eyes narrowing, fixed on the movement of your fingers. 

“It’s asking for me, isn’t it?” you murmur, sliding your hand back to his manhood and his pools almost go cross, head tilting back. Your pleasure from your motions expands, your nerve endings burning. 

“I’m so hard for you,” he agrees, his hand clasping over yours, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows with great difficulty, the column of his throat such a thing of beauty for you that it forces you to unclip your seatbelt. You’re about to crawl onto his lap, but one darkened look from him makes you decide against it. “Show me that pussy, baby.” 

Your moan has a certain elation to it, giddy at the fact you get to expose such an intimate part of you to him, giddy that he’s taking this to another level. 

You slide your drenched panties to the side and at the sight of your glistening pussy Hobi groans deeply.

“Lean against the door,” he commands, wiping at his mouth and you tremble all over, more than delighted that he’s reacting to you this way. 

You swivel, propping your back against the leather of his door and Hobi lifts your legs, spreading them. You hook one of them around the back of his headrest while the other dangles in his hold. His gaze zeroes in on your pussy and as he bites his lip, he acknowledges himself with her by tracing the flesh with his thumb. Your clit, your lips before he circles your gushing hole, groaning, bettering the song you barely can hear. Your confidence and your allure skyrockets and you follow his digit, riding it, begging for more of his touch. He plays chase with you until both of you and him can’t take it anymore and when his thumb is completely soaked, he lifts it to your mouth—only to fuck with you, though, because he plunges it inside his, leaving your own parted for nothing. 

You’re embarrassed, but he likes it. Whimpers around his finger. Pushes your knee to your shoulders and dives right in. 

You yelp, grabbing a hold of his hair as he licks over your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking until your eyes roll back, until all your still parted mouth knows is his name and your thick heel digs into his shoulder. 

But you moan the wrong variation and he’s quick to correct you with a dripping chin, his hands on either side of you, face merely inches away from yours. “That’s Hoseok for you, not Hobi.” 

Red all over, you can only moan in response, gripping his hair until he hisses in pain. He strums your clit without breaking eye contact, so slippery and swollen from his attack. The orchard in you grows, brims with fruit that is on the cusp of bursting, the berries in you big and full. His eyes narrow furthermore, pupils dilated, causing his gaze to darken in ways you’ve never thought could be possible. 

“Moan my name, baby. Show me how good I’m making you feel.” 

The wrong variation slips again, all due to the mind numbing pleasure he’s giving you. He adds more pressure to his fingers for a second before he withdraws and slaps your thigh. And slaps it again. 

“I can’t praise you if you don’t learn well, can I?” he mutters and you whine so loudly that his eyes round, body growing boneless. “Fuck, baby, if you keep making sounds like that I’m gonna come in my pants.” 

You scramble your words, find it the most difficult thing in the world. And he doesn’t help you. Not when he sinks a long finger inside your heat, fucking you slowly until you can take him. You lose your mind altogether. 

“You’re making me feel too-too good,” you breathe out, hiccuping as he adds a second finger in, silencing you when he gives you long strokes. You follow his gaze down and perceive that he’s watching you soak his digits. He twists them, moaning, a litany of mad, mad curses falling out of his mouth in a hushed tone. 

“So wet just from me praising you, oh my God,” Hobi comments and you squeeze your eyes shut, taking it as he begins to pound you to the hilt, his arm bulging, his whole body moving. “Eyes on me. What do you call me when I make you feel this good, hm? I already told you. Just remember.” 

You know which variation he means and wants to hear, but your tongue curls, aching to utter a different name that he deserves to be called by. 

And you say it, opening your eyes and boring them into his. “Daddy.” 

And you don’t stop saying it. Not when he closes his eyes for a split second, agonized by such saccharinity. Not when he undoes the button of his pants and pulls himself out while thumbing your clit. You gasp, legs quivering, what you touched brought to reality and your orgasm nears, especially when he fist-fucks his length. 

Hoseok draws back down to your clit, licking it over, nuzzling his face in it as he drinks your nectar right from the source, his wet fingers from you making squeaky sounds around his girth, causing you to scream, the intensity of the moment running so deep and you’re too weak to take it, overwhelmed by his arousal. 

He lifts his head for a moment. “I want you to call me Daddy when you come on my tongue,” he rasps amidst his growls, never stopping the movement around his cock, and you nod your head, vehemently, willing to do anything for him.

“I’m so close.” 

Hoseok pouts. “That’s so good, baby. You know what to do?” 

You swallow. “I’m gonna call you Daddy when I come.” 

He grins at you and the expression breaks when he fucks his tip, his brows casting a shadow on his face. You break along with it, shuddering—pleasured from watching him pleasure himself. And you break again when he praises you for your good answer. “Such a good girl. You’re gonna come hard for me?” 

You don’t get to say your yes because when he sucks your clit into his mouth and groans against it as he flicks it with his tongue, he’s a witness to it himself. The fruits in your orchard explode and he drinks their juices, running the muscle all over your pussy, his mouth smacking, enjoying every drop. You squeal the title, forcing pleased growls out of him that deepen when you swear, repeating the name over and over again until your orgasm smooths down the perimeters of your body, slowly dwindling away.  

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t see. White dots flood your vision and the only thing that grounds you is Hobi taking your hand in his. The dots swim away, revealing him on the verge of his own orgasm as he tugs on his length, rapidly now. 

“That was so good, baby. You came so well for me. Called me Daddy like I wanted. Good girl,” he praises and your moans are an endless stream, enveloping around his cock, which he guides your hand towards. The weight of it, his warmth, the protruding veins, you could come again just from the feel of him. “Jerk off your Daddy. He’s close, too, from the way you came for him.” 

The third person, fuck. You bite your lip, focusing on his tip as you grip him, twisting your wrist. His skin is sticky from your nectar and you spit onto your hand, earning a praise from him that makes your mind spin, even though you heard those two words plenty of times throughout your sinful date. 

It will never get old—it will only make your femininity wetter for him. 

And his growls, the same could be applied to them. They propel you to fuck him faster while your fingers sneak over to your sensitive clit that he provokes, rubbing circles that cloud your vision with a mist, painting him to be an angel—like the one you saw in the museum. 

And when he comes, he grows a pair of glorious wings. Black, with hints of rose gold and pinks. His body doubles over, hands propped on the dashboard and the passenger seat as he spills for you, ropes of cum painting your stomach in that eternal ivory color that serves as skin for those sculptures. In a way you become them once he praises you for making him come, his breaths a legato rivulet that gives you life, his hips snapping, fucking your hand. 

He smears his cum on your tanned stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your panties to discover a lighter shade of skin, marveling at the difference. Light passes through his eyes before he covers your pussy with the fabric, opening the glove department to fetch some tissues, cleaning you up, dragging down your dress and helping you sit up.

It’s at this moment, as he’s kneeling—towering over you and you’re sitting on your bum with your hands folded on your lap like the good girl he made you into, that he clutches the back of your neck and smashes his mouth into yours, moving it against you with such strength and vigor that you struggle to devour him in the same manner. It causes you to claw at his sides, to long to see his body in its full, bare beauty. His imaginary wings wrap around you, sealing the resplendence of your orgasm profoundly inside your skin and when he tastes you, his growls traveling down your throat are the raindrops that the orchard inside you needs in order to grow. You help him by moaning back, the aftertaste of you the sunlight. 

Piercing his gaze into yours, he caresses your hair, messes up your diligently fixed updo. Catches your ribbon as it falls, wrapping it around his hand, the wisps dangling from his fingers like your leg was just a few moments ago. 

You’re so satisfied that you could cry. 

You don’t even understand what just happened and how it came to be. Don’t remember what occurred before you sat down in his car—Hobi has completely and wholly erased it. 

And it’s him who notices that your hand still carries the remnants of him. You don’t care to look—you can’t rip your gaze away from the shine on his face, from the gratification smoothing out his features, from the pink flush decorating the perfect redness of his swollen lips. But Hobi forces you to, in the tenderest of ways. Looks lovingly at your palm, cooing, shooting that look into your eyes, where it unfolds, creates something new that you never experienced before. And when he grins, your stomach flips, winged creatures intoxicated with madness inside. 

“You see what you did?” he whispers, the love in his eyes expanding, growing warmer, burning you faintly. “I want you to lick it up. You deserve every drop.” The breath you let out causes him to tremble and you cradle the fabric of his shirt in your fist. Hobi kisses your fingers, looking at you through them, his smile quivering. “Stick out your tongue for me, baby.” 

You do and he slides your palm over it, his salty nectar the sea that swam against your body a week ago in your healing time and you moan, devouring his taste like he devoured your mouth, licking it up, collecting it until there’s nothing left. You show him your tongue, then, and Hobi plays with it, using his thumb, your ribbon wrapped around his hand tickling your chin. He rubs it on the muscle, playing chase with you again until he tells you to suck it. And the sound that descends from his lips once you do makes you squeeze your thighs together, your own wetness dripping out of you. 

To end it, Hobi kisses your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds longer. Caresses your mouth, tracing each line, tracing your cupid’s bow, making you glisten with your own saliva. A shining, lively angel—just like him. You whimper. 

“Swallow it, baby.” 

You do, showing him the evidence that you obeyed after. 

“Good girl.” 

You take the underside of him, semi hard, into your hand, giggling, heart thumping. “You just made me horny all over again.”

Hobi hums, brushing his ribbon-clad fingers through your hair from the crown of your head. You want him to do that once you suck him off. “And you’re gonna make me hard all over again if you touch me like that.” 

You mimic the noise he made, squeezing him. Hobi curses, delighting you. “Let’s go inside. I owe you that breakfast, don’t I?” 

He kisses you, softly, with a hint of harshness that causes your nipples to harden painfully against your bra. You almost rub your clit again, so fucking out of it, crazed. 

“You do, baby.” 

You got everything you wanted in such a small amount of time that your vision twirls. Hobi is holding your hand as you’re leading him to your apartment, your ribbon still hanging from yours and his intertwinement, and your heart hasn’t stopped beating feverishly in your chest. Not even once. 

You’re facing the inevitable as you watch Hobi unlace his dress shoes on his knee, his cock stiff and uncomfortable in his pants. You’re brazenly falling for him. You know your hormones swirling your system from the lustfulness you indulged in aren’t to blame—if there’s anyone to blame, then it’s Hobi himself. You consider him to be such a beautiful person that you would be absolutely stupid, blind and deaf not to fall for him. And what’s more, you sense your decline to be safe. Stable. A leverage that won’t ever break. A ribbon that won’t fray. 

It’s as strange as it is inviting and your submission comes naturally to you. And this time, you don’t fear it won’t last. Don’t fear you’ll let up. There’s a sense vibrating in you that assures you that Hobi will take care of it. Put it back where it belongs if it ever strays. You don’t have to monitor it. You don’t have to do shit. 

You were wrong about one more thing. Hobi isn’t Daddy. 

He’s Father. 

It’s this thought that drives you to take off your dress and leave it in the middle of the floor that leads to your kitchen. You’re barren down to your soaked underwear, bra and knee socks, your feet basking in the way they don’t have to ache in your boots anymore. Pulling a plate of eggs out of the refrigerator, you set it on the counter, preparing a pan by oiling it on the stove. You hear Hobi’s feet pad on the floor as you pop some bread in the toaster and you turn your head, seeing only his dark silhouette standing behind you, your dress and your ribbon in his hands. 

Your heart quickens, abnormally. 

“How do you like your eggs?” you ask, resuming your cooking as you break the shell of an egg on the lip of the pan, spilling the delight into the bubbling oil. 

Hobi crosses the distance and you can only feel the softness of your ribbon when he places his hands on your hips, letting them travel until they stumble across the pooch of your lower belly. He groans, holding you there, pressing his hard, silk-clad cock against your nearly bare bum. 

Self-consciousness creeps in as he kneads one of your insecurities and you quiver, clasping your hand over his, your confidence wavering. 

“However you like them is how I like them,” Hobi flirts and you laugh through your nose, shaking your head, waiting for the egg white to fade into that milky color he painted your stomach with. 

Sunny side up it is. 

“Hobi, your game is out of this world,” you flirt back, sliding your spatula under the egg to check if it’s done before you can flip it. 

Hobi lowers himself onto his knees and you gasp, soundlessly. He begins to scatter violent kisses along the dots upon the flesh of your bum, sucking it into his mouth as if it were an orange he was sinking his teeth into. You have to grip the counter in order not to fall over, willing strength into your weakened legs. 

He bites the supple roundness of your ass cheek, smoothing out the pain with a flick of his tongue and kisses, gentle ones this time around. Hums. “Is it?” 

He glides his nose along the inner of your thigh, rooting right in the center of your pussy, burying his face there. You turn around halfway, arching your back, latching onto his hair that you’ve ruined, egg long forgotten. 

“Your thighs are wet again, fuck,” he whispers, mouthing your clit before he descends once again to them, licking them over, drinking your nectar that he’s created. Trails his tongue back up and, sliding your panties to the side, he takes you into his mouth, growling as he sucks onto your lips, playing with them using his tongue, hands spreading your ass cheeks, so he can have more space to make you absolutely lose yourself in him. 

And it’s working. Even more so when he begins to swirl his tongue around that other, tiny hole, causing your eyes to go cross before they roll back. Your head dips into a dreamy daze, where time doesn’t exist as he switches between flicking your clit and eating your ass and it isn’t until a certain burning smell suffuses your nostrils that you snap out of it. 

You’ve burned his egg, its edges black like the feathers of his imaginary wings, and you yelp, turning off the stove, pushing the pan away. 

“Hobi, I burned your egg,” you exclaim and he bends you over the counter while still remaining on his knees for you, sucking your clit with all the strength he possesses. Your climax pinches you in warning, lovingly, promising to melt over you like rain soon, so very soon. 

Hobi doesn’t give a fuck about his egg, it seems. 

“Just a little more, please,” he begs, moving his flat tongue from side to side on your bud, hands descending down your wet thighs until he reaches your knee socks, stopping there. Whimpers. 

That would’ve thrown you over the edge had he not pulled away, fingers wrapping around your knees. 

You turn around and the sight of him on his knees with his glazed nose, mouth and chin, with his cock pitifully erect in his pants, creating a print that makes you salivate, absolutely and irrevocably breaks you. You can still hear his plea ring in your mind, begging you to give him a few more seconds of your pussy, and your brain malfunctions. Numbness tightens around your fingers when you cradle his face and it feels so real when you do so—the fact that you’re wanted, desired; the fact that Hobi is the one in submission to you, dominant yet attentive to you to the point that he would never want do anything you wouldn’t. He listens to you, carves his life around you… and he hasn’t even known you for a month. 

You messed up his hair—and when you run your fingers through his strands, you feel your powerful ruination sifting through them, feel your seduction and your confidence, alive and breathing in that thick, dark brown mop of his. And now you crave to mess up his skin. Bruise it. Stain it with the pinks you can see in his imaginary wings. Watch them turn yellow like the rose gold in their flecks over the following days. 

You’re not letting go of him. 

Not when he looks at you like you’re Virgin Mary and he’s a sinner. 

You pull him up by the collars of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric, adding to the ruination, and it’s electrifying. He’s the cleanest sinner you’ve ever had the grace to see and you want to stain him. Beyond the stickiness of your juices. And when he towers over you and cages you in between his buff body and the counter, hands on either side of you upon the marble, his patchouli scent making you bloodthirsty, you don’t kiss him. No, you go straight for his neck. 

He didn’t expect it, groaning when you lick a stripe over his vein, sucking the skin inside your mouth. Over and over again until the sucking noises make him twitch and fist the ends of your hair, pressing his cock against your stomach. You’re feral, you’re inhuman, scattering kisses along that column like you’ve never had a man in your hands before. And it’s true. You never have. It was always you who had been in men’s hands. Never the other way around. 

Your fingers gain feeling when you undo the buttons of his shirt, ripping some of them, secretly preventing him from going to work after you’re finished with him. Unless you plaster your correcting concealers on him, he really can’t step a foot outside. The bruise you left on his column is huge, purply red, and the only thing it’s missing is bite marks. A joy rotates in you, rooting from the fact that you’re changing his plans, that you have an effect on him, and you unfold that emotion when you tug that shirt down his broad shoulders and press a kiss in the middle of his chest. 

But then Hobi grips your hair on the crown on your head, making you look at him. 

And you can’t explain it to yourself, why you like being manhandled like that, despite the freedom you just experienced. Like a child, whose father let her run free before he scolded her and told her to stop, for she ran for too long and it’s getting cold. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, lowly, and the tone etches itself onto your own throat because your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue, unabashed, dirty, throbbing.

“I need you to fuck me.” 

Hobi blinks, his brows rising, a light like a comet shooting past his irises before an unbounded, starless night shrouds them. 

You’ve done it. You’ve stained him. Now he needs to come all over you. Make a mess. Paint you again. 

He slackens his hold on your hair. Runs his hand down the length. “If I fuck you, I’ll breed you.” Curls his hand around your throat, where those words form a new necklace, plated with that rose gold. Your mouth parts, a moan falling past, your nectar in tandem, mind dizzy from the idea of being stuffed full of his cum. He flattens his palm over your sternum, hooks his fingers over the band of your bra in the middle of your breasts. You hope he chisels the lines of his hand into your skin. You want to wear him. “Are you on birth control?” 

You stopped taking it the moment you were broken up with. Didn’t think you’d need it so soon. Didn’t think you’d have a man in your life again, let alone sleep with him. 

Your body desires to please Hoseok so resolutely that a wisp of your regret swathes around his wrist—regret that you threw away those pills that are the driving force in his sexuality. He might have been okay with not taking this any further, but you’re not. You’re far, far from okay. 

You want to be bred. You want to be bred so much that you could cry. 

Your mouth pouts, but your sadness doesn’t touch your seduction. It merely heightens it. 

“You have a breeding kink?” you ask, mimicking his former words, causing him to drag his tongue over his lips slowly, divulging his arousal. It’s another tree that begins to grow in your orchard, planted by your bare hands. A cherry tree, its pink flowerets the flush that spreads across his prominent pecs. You want to make them shiny with your tongue. 

And you do. 

You place wet kisses over the underside of his left pec, nibbling on the skin, your small stature making it easy for you. Hobi inhales a sharp breath, sneaking his fingers under the cup of your bra, grasping your breast, squeezing until you whimper. 

“A severe breeding kink,” Hoseok corrects you, just like you did in his car. He pulls down your bra straps, his hand quick to undo the clasp on your back, disposing you of the undergarment, dropping it onto the ground. Gooseflesh spreads across your skin and you let him feel it, let him feel the effect he has on you by pressing yourself against him, twisting your arms around his torso. 

A tender hug, in the middle of a bonding moment. You’d be so happy, you’d laugh, you’d skip, if you had never thrown away those pills.

You wonder if he feels the drum of your heart, if he feels how it’s creating a brand new music that no human, no celestial being has ever heard before. 

“I stopped taking birth control several weeks ago, Hobi,” you say, your regret and your sadness lowering your tone. Hobi coos and it makes you want to sob. “Did you bring a condom?” 

He caresses your bare back, your hair a stream of a waterfall that he parts with his hand. “No, I didn’t expect this to happen.” 

You do the same for him, burying your face deeper into his chest, perceiving that you’re embracing a pure angel. You engrave patterns into his skin, feathers of wings that are dripping with the fire of stars. Even though you’re dying to get fucked, this tenderness is, little by little, appeasing your darkness in a way you don’t really understand. 

“We don’t have to do anything. I can make you come with my mouth again,” Hobi says, drifting his nails along the perimeter of your shoulder blade while his other hand grips your waist. The memory of the moons to the sky you paint on his back.

You lift your head. Meet the gray clouds in his eyes. “You want to breed me that bad?” 

A smile curls one end of his mouth. “It’s what you deserve.” 

The same smile finds a way to your mouth, then blossoms into a grin, your heart a heavy music, and you press it into the middle of his chest. Bite him there, his growls another instrument in the song. He clutches the hair at the nape of your neck, coaxing out a similar sound, your darkness a wave that ebbs to and fro. 

“Put it in my ass, then.” 

Hobi calls you by your name, sternly. 

“What?” 

He sighs. “You want to get fucked in your ass on the first date?” 

You don’t know what part of his sentence makes you hiccup. Whether it’s his purity, the fact that such an angel voiced out that lewd desire of yours and didn’t jump head-first into its sea—or whether he acknowledged, once again, that this is a date. Hobi laughs, endearingly, and you blush. He kisses your cheek, lifting your chin, placing a chaste kiss onto your lips and you could die right now and know you’ll be entering the pearly gates. He’s saved a spot for you there, negotiated with God that you’ll spend your eternity there like the businessman he is. 

It’s what propels you to get on your knees. 

“Baby.” 

And it’s him stopping you each time you want more that makes you fall for him harder. 

“You’re so good to me, Hoseok, I can’t help it. I want to give back to you as much as I can.” 

He utters a low, deep curse, tipping up his chin as he cradles your face in both hands. Helps you stand to your feet, kisses you with something that doesn’t resemble the chastity of before and you moan into his mouth, digging moons into his back. You press your pelvis against his thighs, frustrated that you can’t reach his manhood and Hobi hears you, lifts you up and you wrap your legs around him, grinding your femininity against his manliness, squeaking the same curses down his throat. 

“Fuck, baby, grind that pussy on me like that. Just like that, yes. You learn well, don’t you? You’re such a good girl, you just need to get fucked, don’t you, baby?” 

You agree with every word, your expression of pleasure saying the words for you, and Hobi moans, pushing your hips down on him while he meets you each time. 

“Where’s your bedroom, baby?” 

“Down the hall. First door to the right.” 

You suck on his neck as he takes you there, plopping you down onto the edge of your bed. You watch your hands undo the button of his pants, but then he accidentally kicks into something and you know exactly what it is. 

An orange Nike box filled with the two toys you own. 

And Hobi wouldn’t have crouched to get it had you not started giggling. 

How thrilling it is—to see him holding something so private, something no one has ever seen before. 

He palms his cock once he discovers what’s inside, rolling his eyes back. He throws the box next to you on the mattress, pushing you back and ripping your panties out of your body in a split second. Your giggles die, replaced by whimpers, replaced by the beat of your clit and his vulgarities as he pins your knees down, gazing, lovingly, at the way your nectar trickles down to your other hole. He bends to lick it up and you die, too. 

“Naughty fucking girl. How can you be so naughty and so good at the same time? You’re making me lose my mind,” Hobi snarls, putting his entire weight into the back of your knees and you gush for him, gasping, not able to take his praise, your hips instinctually raising for more of his tongue, which he slaps your thigh for. Once, twice, three times, four times until you whimper so loudly that there’s nothing else left for him to do but let up, grab your pink hitachi and lay down on his back, guide you to sit on his face. 

It’s now that he takes the time to ogle your body. His night-tinged eyes glide along your tan lines, his fingers tracing them, making you shudder and rotate your hips above his mouth that he wets and keeps wetting as if it’s not enough to quench his thirst. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he chokes out, brushing the pads of his fingers along your stiffened nipples. Fireworks shoot out above your orchard, casting a rainbow of colors upon the trees and bushes. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you to have you like this. You belong to that museum, baby, but I’d die if someone were to look at you in my place.” 

His possessiveness coated with so much affection and admiration for you elongate your imaginary wings. And you can’t halt the rounding of your mouth, the pool of tears that line your eyes, the cracking of your heart as you take in his precious words. You feel like flying; you feel like soaring free with the knowledge that with the two beats of his own wings he’ll catch up to you, fly with you like two doves. 

You want to kiss him. Pay your gratitude that way and when you begin to crawl down his body, he stops you by grabbing your waist, immobilizing you above his face. 

“Stay where you are. You’re not sitting on my cock until you come on my tongue. Is that what you want? Ride Daddy’s cock until he covers you with his cum?” 

You can’t take it anymore. You simply can’t. 

Hobi turns the vibrator to life and its buzzing sound makes you quiver. You lower yourself onto his mouth that he quickly opens for you, darting out his tongue. He lets you ride the muscle, guiding your hips to twirl in circles, and you hold onto your breasts for emotional support as you sense yourself slowly disappearing in him, in the pleasure he gives you, in his warm, dark aura. 

Your mouth has no lock, no force to stop it from speaking. 

“I was wrong, Hoseok,” you start, changing the direction—swinging your hips back and forth as you grab onto his hair with one hand while the other stimulates your nipple, making you pant, whine and so terribly out of it. “It’s not your game that’s out of this world. It’s your fucking dirty talk.” 

Hobi hums, flicking your hand away and pinching your nipple, causing you to tip your head back and pour more vigor into your movement, his mouth too busy to respond. 

“If you ever talk to anyone like this that’s not me, I’ll kill her, you hear me? She won’t live to see the next day.” 

It’s Hobi now that can’t seem to take it anymore. 

Holding you steady by the waist, he sits up, sucking on your clit with so much strength that you scream, your body shuttering so violently that you completely lose yourself. He throws you onto your pillows, raises your hips until they’re at level with his mouth and finishes his fucking job. Alternates between sucking and licking, stars flooding your vision, the ones you traced on his beautiful, broad back. 

You come and you don’t stop. 

Hobi spits on your clit and presses down the hitachi on it, moving it from side to side, your orgasm prolonging, reaching highs beyond the heavenly kind and all you can see is him, doused in colors that glimmer and his name, the right variation of it this time, falls from your lips like a prayer. Right variation, right prayer. 

Virgin Mary that is looking at her God. 

Setting the toy and your bum on the bed, he takes both of your hands into his fist as you’re still convulsing, in the middle of your undying orgasm. He lines his cock at your entrance, changes his mind last minute, and glides it along your sensitive pussy, holding himself at the base. Back and forth, the ebb and the flow of the sea. The sight does anything but calm you down. It supports the continuation of your orgasm. 

“Listen to me very carefully,” he whispers, lowering your hands to his manhood until they wrap around him. “This cock has been yours the moment you came out of this fucking building to meet me outside. Every ridge, every fucking vein is yours.” He squeezes your hold against him, moving it up and down in an agonizing way that makes him shudder just the same. God at a very breaking point. “And these—” He groans as he uses your hands to cup his balls. “These fucking kids are all yours. Yours to swallow. Yours to decorate this beautiful body with. Yours to stuff your little hole with.” Your chest doesn’t rise with any inhalation of breath. You’re motionless, bloodless, paralyzed through and through. Scorching to the touch. Horny beyond your senses. Hobi pins your hands above your head, lining himself up, at last, at your entrance. Sinks inside you in one swift, but vigorous motion until he’s buried in deep to the hilt and he consumes your scream, kissing you so hard that he sucks every last drop of life you had in you. Then, he nudges his nose against yours, kissing its tip as well. “So don’t think for a second that these eyes are for anyone else but you.” A brutal thrust. A yelp. A loss of time and surroundings. “I’m yours, pup. I’m fucking yours.” A mad, mad laughter. “I’ve known you for a week. Ate your pussy first before I kissed you. And you touched yourself in my fucking car because you got horny from the way I praised you in that museum. How could I not be yours?”

The pet name, the magnificence of his sonnet, the stillness of his cock as you clench around him—the very cozy feeling of him being at home, being at the mountain of Athos that you blessed. You feel so small beneath him, so taken care of—and you’re at loss for words, though only one remains in your otherwise erased vocabulary, and from the top of your lungs, you utter it.

“Daddy.” 

His imaginary wings flutter, the pink swelling over the black, and he growls, letting go of your hands and folding you in half, leaning his weight on the back of your thighs. Props an overlapped pillow beneath your bum, so you’re at the perfect level for him to start fucking you properly.

And he does, coaxing out your screams, causing your legs to shake on either side of his shoulders. 

“That’s right, pup. I’m your Daddy. You’re doing so good, screaming for me the way I like it.” 

Hobi pounds into you, giving you a half of his length that’s more than enough. Bends at the waist to scatter wet kisses along the back of your thigh, filling you to the hilt as he does so, your juices squelching around him, making such a serene, glorious sound that forces him to bite down hard onto your flesh. No alleviation after, just long and ruthless strokes while he stares down at you, eating you with his eyes. The ghost of the pain lingers, adding to the experience, adding volume to your whiny noises. 

“You’re taking it so well. You’re a good pup, aren’t you?” 

You sob, the pressure gyrating deep in your lower tummy, the pet name the thing that will throw you over the edge if he calls you by it again. “Yes, Daddy. I love it when you call me that.” 

A hum. “Oh, yeah?” 

There he fucking goes again. 

A dam rushes to break and you’re defenseless.

“Yeah, I love it so much that it’s gonna make me come.” 

Hobi sucks in a breath. “Tell me you’re my good little pup and I’ll let you come.” The same breath he inhaled lodges in your throat and you watch him with a blurry vision reach over for your hitachi and turn up the intensity until the vibrations are so loud that you hear them echoing within your headspace.

He fucks you faster, ridding you of any chance to speak. Teases you with the toy by placing it, barely, on your stiffened nipple, leaning over to moisten it with his tongue before doing it again. And you can’t stop it and neither can he, the way your orgasm overtakes your whole being. It’s at this moment, when he thrusts become sloppy, that you manage to croak out the words he wanted you to say. 

“I’m your good little pup, Hoseok, oh fuck, yes, yes,” you whisper, your sentence blending into an efflux of legato moans—and this, this is his very undoing. 

And Hobi does something you didn’t expect him to do. 

As colors burst in your perspective and your orgasm drags you under, he stimulates your clit with the toy, pulling out of you and pressing his tip against its vibrating side, growling so deeply that it forces your juices out of you, sprinkling him with its iridescent drops as he tugs at his length. He paints your stomach, paints the hitachi, his nectar so enormous that it lands upon your breasts, even as far as on your neck. His body glistens in sweat and now your essence—and looking at him with your hazy vision, another orgasm rolls in. 

You thrash your body so hard he has to pin you down, ripping the pillow out from behind you, laying down his weight on you. He kisses you and the lip lock lasts, seemingly, for a century. He moves his mouth against yours, basking in the feel of your puffy mouth as he alters between kissing you harshly and kissing you gently, getting to know you this way. 

And when he lets up to breathe, he brushes your hair away, flings the vibrator out until it falls off the bed. 

“Say it again,” Hobi says, affection flashing in his now rounded eyes, its warmth thumping. “Louder, for me.” 

Your throat is dry, but you manage to do it with a sleepy smile. Think you would do anything to please him. “I’m your good little pup.” 

Cupping your face, he kisses you with such tenderness that you begin to cry. Your tears soak his cheeks and he whimpers into your mouth, moved just the same by the depth, the vibrancy of the energy thickening between you. 

And when he looks at you, his own tears rush in his waterline. 

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, pausing for a second. “What have you done to me?”

When afternoon rolls in, Hobi is still tangled up in your sheets. You brought him breakfast to bed, one you didn’t burn this time, while he rested, naked and gratified, still flushed in pink, but clean from your shower. His patchouli scent intermingled with your body wash, cinnamon and lemon, concocting something intoxicating in you that made you see him with a halo above his head. He became a saint by giving in to his desires, by coming so hard that you still feel his hot ropes of cum singeing all those sensitive, intimate parts of your body. Hobi took his time tracing and smearing each and every drop, rubbing it deep in you as if he was digging a grave for your past. And you watched him do it, with tear-stained cheeks, acknowledging yourself, just as intimately, with the information that this is something Hobi likes to do.

You plan to put that into practice the next time you get to touch him. 

He’s grazing his fingers along your arm as you’re laying halfway on your side, halfway on him, your leg in between his. Seems to be lost in thought, seems to be searching for his words when he widens his travel across your body, going as far as to the peaks of your shoulder blades before returning back. You feel an inkling to help him, feel like it’s the least you can do. 

“What are you thinking about?” you try, dragging a finger across his collarbone. Hobi sighs, so terribly reactive to your touch, your head lifting in such a calming manner as he breathes in and out. 

“Did I scare you with what I said?”

His heart under your ear begins to hammer and right away you understand the gravity of his question. He’s lost himself in a flashback of today’s sinful events, but stumbled across a high, overpowering mountain of his bared emotions—the blessed mountain of Athos. And it seems as though he’s forgotten the way back, the trees around him growing dense, the trees of panic that whisper to him that, maybe, he made a mistake. 

You hope, with every fiber of your being, that he doesn’t regret those words of beauty that have come to live under your skin like planets in the universe that you and he have created. 

That would ruin you. That would break you—and not in the pleasant kind that you like. That universe would drop upon you and you don’t think you’re strong enough to pick up your own half of your creation, shake it off and learn to live again. 

You straddle him and he covers you with your duvet. Not your naked breasts, but your torso, inviting you into that island. You thought he did to prevent distraction from weakening his focus, but he doesn’t regard your body like that—doesn’t regard it as an instrument of lust. Something about that moves you, enough for you to take his hands, your thumbs in the middle of his palms, and spatter your soft kisses on them. On his fingers, his knuckles. And when you reach the back of his hand, you halt, boring your gaze into his, catching that comet flying past his eyes again and staying this time, staying in the glint that appears as his brown pools wet. 

“Your words mean a lot to me. I carry them in my heart. You know that poem?” 

Hobi shakes his head, flattening his lips, closing his eyes for a brief moment. 

You don’t mind. You’re delighted to enlighten him. 

“I carry your heart with me,” you recite, keeping the heel of his palm against your lips. “I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling,” you finish the first stanza of the poem that has not left your bloodstream ever since you were a teenage girl. Sharing that with him brings out a sea of feelings you remember your past self invariably longed to swim in. Tenderness, closeness, passion. Having it now feels as though you’ve passed a milestone. Hobi’s halo flashes with a rosy pink hue and your softened heart constricts. “The things you said were my doing, Hobi.” 

He caresses your side, starting from your armpit, going down the side of your breast, your waist until he arrives at the fleshy part of your hip, which he grasps. His chin quivers as he opens his mouth to speak and a lump forms in your throat. 

“You’re a poem, pup,” he whispers, circling his thumb over your tummy. “You don’t mind that I said those things?” 

You kiss his hands again, upon the same places to make your affection last longer on his skin. Your clit awakens at the pet name and naturally, you scooch over until you’re sat on his soft manhood over the duvet and you begin to move your hips back and forth. Hobi hisses, but doesn’t stop you this time. Lets you do what you want in the safety you conjured around him. 

“Say them again.” 

You speed up your movement. 

Hobi moans. Pauses. Swallows. Thinks. “I’m yours.” 

You grind harder in reward, moaning with him, feeling him stiffen under your clit, feeling him comprehend that you love those declarations. 

“My cock is yours,” he breathes out, his other hand joining the other and gripping your hip, digging in his nails. Another half moons, another beauty, intensifying the pleasure. You lick your fingertips and pinch your nipples. Hobi shudders, visibly, underneath you. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to cancel my work meeting.” 

You laugh, meekly but seductively, prolonging your thrusts, slowing them down, coaxing pained groans out of him. A delight. “Who said I wanted you to go?” 

Hobi curses, switching places with you on a whim that surprises you, bends you over, arches your back by lifting your bum in the air. The duvet falls, sadly, off of the mattress—and your soul, for him, falls equivalently. 

He slaps the side of your thigh. One, twice, thrice. “Who’s pussy is this?” 

You long to see him, your soul begs for it. Whispers to you to grab your phone and you do, swiping your finger on the screen and angling it so your camera has a blissful view of him. Of him fixed, darkly, on your ass and your femininity in the middle. 

Curious to know what’s taking you so long to answer, his brows rise as he discovers what you’re doing and he bites his lip, pulls on your legs to straighten them and you plop down on the mattress with a loosened breath. He gets in the same position. Licks over the swell of your ass cheek. 

“Film it. Film yourself telling me who’s pussy this is,” Hoseok commands and in a millisecond, without a thought spared, you click on the red button, excitement tingling your nerves. 

“My pussy is yours, Hoseok.” 

His eyes flick to the camera, meeting your stare, and your breath hitches, the view so attractive as he mouths that skin, marking it. He sneaks a hand to your clit, lifting his body a little, and spanks the spot he bruised. You gasp, elated, humming in a high-pitched tone, causing him to smirk. 

“Ride my hand. Whose pussy is this, baby, hm?” 

You snap your hips, furrowing your brows at the faint pleasure, at the desperation that courses through your veins. 

“Yours, Hoseok, ah, fuck. I want you inside me, please.” 

And he takes you, right there on camera, from behind—immortalizing your inside joke as you and him mention it and laugh about it together, immortalizing the way he paints your wings that ivory color and the way he rubs it in, sinking it deep within its membrane. 

And when you’re so spent that you can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi is drifting his mouth over your breasts, he tells you to send it to him. And with one cracked open, you do. 

It’s later in the evening that you find out that it wasn’t Hobi you sent that video to and your blood freezes. 

Your phone rings and Jungkook’s picture fills the screen. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah, @fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one

[jamaisjoons]

of oleanders & honeysuckle I ⤑ knj | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 when one of your coven sisters, malise, had first mentioned your soulmate, you’d been young and unbothered - preferring to chase the elusive seduction of power. now, you’re twenty-five, and having established yourself as a powerful witch of the sisters of elysia, you've grown tired of the cold embrace of power. looking to settle down, you move to carelia in search of the one destined for you. within days, you come across the charmingly handsome apothecary owner, and warlock, kim namjoon. something about him magnetises you. but is he the one the universe has fated for you? 〞strangers to lovers au. supernatural au. witch/warlock au. soulmates au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: witch!reader x warlock!namjoon

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst ∝ fluff ∝ future smut

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 12k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: mentions of death, oc has a traumatic™ childhood, oc is also an orphan so mentions of parental death, brief mentions of religious persecution? (yn’s parent’s coven is destroyed by knights from a new religion), brief depictions of fighting/violence, there’s no smut in this part but namjoon is hot as fuck, namjoon in leather which needs a warning in itself, use of magic ofc, namjoon is I N S A N E and im simping for him

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: this was,,, supposed to be a oneshot but fneorifnge i’ve been so lazy and i haven’t been writing as much so in order to post something I’ve decided to split this into four parts! also sorry there’s no smut in this chapter but the next three parts all have smut yeehaw 🤩

⏤ beta read by the lovely @yeoldontknow, @nightshadevinter, @inthecrescentmoonight​ and @jjungkooksthighs​

⟴ Series Masterlist

It’s the dead of winter. Snow crunches under your soles; the muffled sounds of your footsteps intermingling with the odd cracking branch, and crinkling leaf-litter as you navigate through the Forest of Ingredeen. The sky above you is bleak: faint wisps of smoke-grey clouds obscuring the otherwise stark, white canvas; and the harsh light causes your eyes to squint in the slightest. The thick blanket of snow that surrounds you doesn’t help; the pristine-white coating only further reflecting the brightness. Despite the austereness of the sky, life continues thriving around you. Barren skeletons of deciduous trees are juxtaposed by evergreens of pine, fir, and yew – the latter of whose verdant branches still boast succulent needles of jade and viridian. Some of them, most notably the yew trees, still bear fruits: the scarlet berries adding a splash of colour to the contrary dreary scene.

Stillness befalls the entirety of the forest, and the eerie silence only amplifies the sounds of snow crunching under your feet. The air is equally stagnant, with not a single gust of a howling gale, nor a gentle wisp of a susurrus breeze, drifting through the atmosphere. Though, that's a small blessing you’re thankful for; because even with the absence of the wind, the frigid bite of the cold settles into your bones. As a matter of fact, you’re dressed in a thick-piled winter cloak - the black material lined with fur – as well as your woollen dress and leather boots. Yet, you still feel the brisk chill kiss your skin, the surface turning icy as it prickles with goosebumps.

Curling further into the warmth of your cloak, you pull the piled fabric further around your body and continue walking through the dense thicket of trees. The quiet is strange, and heavy, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the woodland was devoid of all life. Nonetheless, every now and then, the shrubs around you move: their foliage rustling as hares and squirrels scuttle about, and wintertime birds flit through the canopy: sweet chirps of birdsong and languid flaps of wings resonating through the air. Albeit, they come infrequently, with long, gaping silences between. But they still come, and that settles the inkling of unease that flutters through your stomach.

You’ve only just moved into the large province of Carelia; the nation nestled between the much smaller territories of Alphana and Eyres; the latter of which had once been your previous home. Of course, in spite of Carelia being a large country – abundant with diverse wildlife and vast expanses of wilderness – the population of inhabitants itself was fairly small. In fact, throughout the entire country, there were only five human settlements; a significant decrease from the almost overpopulated country of Eyres. Naturally, that wasn’t the only difference. No, here, in Carelia, magic was bountiful – the very essence of life so palpable that you could feel it thrum in the air. Not that any of that was surprising by all means. No. After all, nature was plentiful here, and as a result, it meant that the innate magic of life was equally as powerful.

Taking a deep breath, you watch as your breath fogs in front of your face, causing your nose to scrunch at the sight. You had chosen to leave your previous coven, of your own volition. It had been a spur of the moment decision, after one of your past sisters, who’d specialised in oracles and premonitions, had suggested through thinly-veiled euphemisms that you’d find your destined soulmate here. When she’d first prophesied her vision, you’d been but a young wiccan, at the tender age of eighteen, a mere two years after your initiation into your coven, and you hadn’t cared too much. Back then, the idea of love, soulmates, and destiny had been far out of your mind. Rather, your entire being burned with the need to learn, to hone your magic and see just how far you could take it.

Your past coven had been a famous one, known by the entire world as the Sisters of Elysia. It had been an elusive coven, shrouded in mystery and repute, and one that was only open to the most powerful, or promising, female witches. In fact, it had been so exclusively prestigious, that it could only be joined by invitation from the High Priestess herself; a powerful seer with the ability to seek out the potential, innate magic of a witch or warlock. Though of course, the Sisters of Elysia had only been interested in an all-female coven, and even the most powerful warlocks had been turned away. Not that they’d even consider joining, though. No, they had their own coven for that – the Brotherhood of Requiem.

Being discovered by Mardella, the High Priestess, at the age of fifteen had been a blessing, and an honour; and having been told you’d had an incredible affinity for the Destructive Arts and Alchemical Restoration, two powerful schools of magic, had been even more of a privilege. As such, Mardella, and the rest of your sisters, had taken you under their wing, and taught you all about witchcraft for a year. And then, the very day you’d turned sixteen, you’d been formally initiated into the coven.

After that, you’d spent years upon years training your two schools of magic, honing them to the skill they are today. For the vast majority of your young adulthood, you’d chased the beguiling essence of magic – learning as much as you could about the two different archetypes – and soaking every ounce of the information into the very fibre of your skin. Power was a seductive thing, something far more enticing than the notion of love, and readily, you’d fallen into its clutches. Naturally, it was only made easier by being part of the Sister of Elysia.

You see, your previous coven had been a nomadic one – and its migratory nature had made learning all the more easier – especially since at the age of twenty-five now, you’ve traversed almost the entire world, and seen more things than an ordinary witch of your age would have. At first, the vagrancy of your previous home had been exciting. You’d loved travelling the globe, visiting different countries, and learning all types of cultures while simultaneously acuminating your magic. As a matter of fact, you had craved it – and wandering about the different kingdoms had whetted your own innate wanderlust; as well as the desire to learn as much as you could.

The Sister of Elysia had been your home, and you’d loved the family you’d created – after all, the blood of the covenant was thicker than the water of the womb. Or so, you’d been told all your life. Nevertheless, despite all your attachment and adoration for your coven – you couldn’t help but find that something was missing. You see, your blood-related family had been torn from you at the young age of ten, the coven of your parents razed to the ground by Knights of the Seven Lights: a new religion that had swept through Eyres, and in the bloodbath that had followed, you’d lost everything.

Orphaned from childhood, you’d spent the next five years living in the abandoned church that your parents’ coven, Mages of Mirror Lake, had occupied when they’d still been alive. Thankfully, the Kingdom of Eyres had a warm temperate, and winters were non-existent. Hence, even though you were essentially homeless, you’d somehow survived. By all means, you’d had to forage for scraps of food, clothing, or any other basic necessities – sometimes even needing to find a neighbouring human settlement and stealing whatever you could get your hands upon – but you’d survived. Moreover, you’d even continued sharpening your skills in witchcraft, using the ruined library of the church in order to continue your schooling.

For five years, you’d lived like that. Using the school of Destructive Arts, you’d kept those who would harm you, typically members of the Knights of the Seven Lights, at bay. And using the school of Alchemical Restoration, you’d heal and look after yourself; as well as the odd human who was desperate enough for a treatment to an ailment that they would turn away from their new religion and back towards the Magic of Old. Eventually, though, you’d met Mardella, who’d sought you out and brought you back to the Sisters of Elysia. And that was where you’d found your home, happiness, and solace.

That was, until now.

In the recent years, your magic had grown listless, and you, yourself, had grown restless – until eventually, you found yourself at an impasse.

You no longer found joy in travelling, and considering you’ve travelled everywhere there was little more you could learn that way, and even less that you could discover. You’ve reached the peak of your power. You’ve spent an entire decade garnering your knowledge, immersing yourself in the seductive lure of the Black Arts, only to hit a culmination. And now, there was nowhere else you could go except down. Of course, you could always consider learning a new school of magic if you so wished to continue chasing power. Except, lately, that deep, insatiable need for it had started diminishing; the searing fire dwindling until it was nothing more than weak flames licking at your being.

You still loved to practice your witchcraft, of course you did. You’d never really lose your love for power or magic. But your hunger for it had ebbed, its cold seduction releasing you from its tantalising embrace – and the moment that had disappeared, you’d found yourself lost. For the longest time, power had been your only vice, the only thing you had sought after, and cared for. But with that thirst gone, you had no idea what to do; or where to go anymore. More than that, you'd found yourself craving for some sense of home, of belonging. You had that with your coven, of course you did. But it just wasn’t the same.

A while now, there was a small, distant part of you that craved what had been stolen from you from a young age. A family. Love. You craved a sense of belonging; the affection of a lover, and the comfort and safety that they afforded. Something that was out of your reach with the Sisters of Elysia. By all means, it wasn’t as if there were rules that forbid romance. No, of course not. It was more, with how elusive the coven was, and with the doctrine that knowledge was power, and power was prestige; it meant that while romance wasn’t frowned upon, it just wasn’t something that was frequently entertained. Especially since the Sisters of Elysia had no room for men. Though, of course, if you fell for one of the sisters, that was a wholly different matter.

Which had all been well and good when you were younger. But now, you’re older, and you no longer covet power. Rather, you yearn for a sense of security, of home, of stability.

And thus, lately, you’ve found yourself going back to Malise’s oracle; the seer having foreseen of your soulmate almost a decade ago. You see, everyone in the world has someone fated for them – the knots of destiny tied by the Moirai long before even your own grandparents were born. Naturally, not everyone who was bound together actually found each other; after all, the world is large, and the universe was rarely ever so kind. No, more often than not, soulmates could be born miles apart, or even countries apart – and as a result – very few people found love with their soulmates. That is, of course, if you’re a human with no ties to the Magic of Old.

For witches and wizards, it was different.

The natural essence of the universe – the energy that made up the Magic of Old – was what guided practitioners of the Black Arts, and it was that very power that had bound the two beings together. And as such, for witches and warlocks, it was easier to find soulmates. Easier. Magic was mysterious, and the universe very scarcely answered definitively. Oracles were particularly attuned to the cosmos, hence their ability to catch glimpses of the future. But that’s all they were, mere glimpses and vague inklings. It was very rare for a seer to be able to clearly see the future – which is why Mardella was so powerful: she was particularly harmonious with the world.

However, Mardella very rarely involved herself with matters of the heart. As the High Priestess of the Sisters of Elysia, she embodied the fundamental teachings of knowledge and power; and as such her prophecies were seldom about the frivolities of romance or soulmates. Malise, however, was another matter. Frequently, the seer would have visions about soulmates, and she could even control them to a degree – having them at will. The first vision she’d had of you and your destined lover, had been involuntary; the fortune triggered randomly. She’d tried to speak to you about it, even offering to look further into it. However, you’d quickly dismissed her. After all, back then, you hadn’t cared.

Now, though, was a completely different matter.

Thus, a week ago, you’d sheepishly slunk into her chambers, and quietly asked if she’d be able to find out more about your soulmate. Her response had been eager, and she’d conducted her divination swiftly. As usual, her vision had been vague – veiled in euphemisms and cloaked with mysticism – the universe purposely responding to her questions with ambiguous answers. All she could say was that it was a man, a warlock to be specific, and that he lived in Carelia. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The idea of moving and settling down in Carelia – a kingdom so rich in nature and magic – immediately had excitement flourishing through you. Your earlier listlessness quickly faded, and with a new sense of purpose, you’d formally, and abruptly, left the Sisters of Elysia before you made your way to Carelia.

Naturally, there’s not much you know about your soulmate – because, really, living in Carelia and being a warlock was barely any information to go off of. Nevertheless, as mentioned before, despite how large of a country it is, Carelia only had a small population of humans inhabiting it. More than that, despite the abundance of magic, there was only one coven that was still prolific in the nation: Coven of the Evening Star. Moreover, out of curiosity, and before you had moved, you’d brewed the Essence of Venus; a potion that took on the scent of your destined lover. Each fragrance is wholly unique, customised purely for the individual, and completely memorable. In fact, you doubt you could ever forget the scent.

Thick notes of a pungent scent made up the bulk of your soulmate’s fragrance. Despite the sharpness of it, it was fruity and warm; with subtle hints of rich honey and ripe citrus. The fragrance was sharp, deeply intoxicating, and incredibly comforting. The telltale scent of honeysuckles in full bloom. Undercurrents of morning dew and fresh soil cut the effluvious aroma, adding a depth of light freshness and earthen musk to it that had your stomach flourishing with warmth. The first time you smelled it, you'd completely melted into the scent - something about it calling to the very recesses of your being, and soothing your soul - and you'd wanted nothing more than to sink into it.

After that, you'd immediately found yourself daydreaming about the mysterious warlock it belonged to. Lost in your fantasies, you wondered what his name was, what he looked like, and what he was like. You wondered what kind of magic he practised, and what he liked to do in his spare time. Moreover, you wonder just why he smells the way he does - and whether the scent of honeysuckle was wholly natural to him or artificial. Momentarily, you wonder where the fresh soil and morning dew comes from too. Mainly because, none of the notes that make up your soulmate's scents are common, or ordinary. Though, that's something you're thankful for, because hopefully, just hopefully, it would make finding him all that bit easier.

Distracted by your thoughts, you don't notice the dense thicket of woodland start to thin: the space between the trees growing further and further apart; until, all of a sudden, you're thrown out of your thoughts by the sight that greets you. Out of the blue, you find yourself in a large clearing. The glade is spacious, fringed by shrubs and bushes that make up the understory of the forest. Above you, the once thick canopy has cleared up, allowing dense beams of stark-white light to flood the ground: the sky's radiance bathing over the forest floor and casting its harsh brilliance over the structure that makes its home in the middle of the meadow.

When had you reached home?

Your cottage is moderately sized, and homely, but nevertheless, a sight to behold. The roof is gabled: made up of thin, multi-shaded hues of black slate, and the walls are smooth: made up of clay and stone of varied shades of beige. Flowering vines scale the exterior of your home, from the climbing roses that frame the oakwood entrance to your home, to the branches of clematis and moonflower that intertwine together over the side walls. Trumpet vine hangs over the edge of the roof, the lush foliage draping over the large windows that peek into your home. A wooden fence encloses your land, with the only entrance a small gate that breaks up the stakes. Bushes fill the space between your home and the timber barrier, however, being the dead of winter, only a few still bloom: the large shrub of daphne in the corner by the chimney, little clusters of violas nestled between clumps of cyclamen, and the vines of winter clematis that creep over the walls.

Carelia is large, and there are few settlements littered around the wild expanse of the wilderness. Nevertheless, your home is still secluded from even the nearest community - your new coven. Most people would be daunted by the fact that you're living alone in the woods. However, you? Not so much. After all, with your proficiency in the Destructive Arts, it would be hard for someone to get the best of you. Not to mention, that you had lived by yourself in the woods from the ages of ten to fifteen. No, to you, living alone in the forest, is somewhat comforting, and nostalgic.

At the comforting sight of your home, the corners of your lips curl into a slight smile, and you begin walking down the thin, winding dirt path that leads through the gate and to your home. Getting to the entrance to your cottage, though, you abruptly stop; the smile on your face falling. A small wicker basket sits on the shallow concrete step at the foot of your door. Curiosity colouring your being, you place your own basket of firewood and food down, before cautiously pulling back the soft linen cloth that covers the contents. Seeing the items inside, however, your curiosity is swiftly replaced by surprise.

A pot of lilac makes the centrepiece, the four-petaled flowers blooming in soft shades of periwinkle and blush despite the mid-winter atmosphere. Next to the pot lies a bundle of dried lavender, wrapped in a piece of plain brown parchment and tied with silk black ribbons. A few of the desiccated petals litter the base of the wicker basket, and in spite of its dryness, the thick, piney-floral scent of the bulbs intermingle with the cloying - almost sacchariferous - scent of lilac into a delicate floral aroma. The last items in the basket are three muslin sachets that contain a mix of rosemary, sage and cloves - the bag tied shut with red thread.

Thanks to your background in Alchemical Restoration, you’re well versed in the craft of herbalism, and from your extensive knowledge, you know that all the items signify protection. Lavender for purification and healing of the soul, lilac to banish malicious spirits or malevolent intentions, and the sachets to ward off negative energy. Having only moved into your new home yesterday, you haven't had a chance to properly ward off your property, and as such, the protective charms that keep you safe are basic and easily penetrable. Thus, the gift of the flowers and herbs is incredibly sweet. If a little strange, considering you have yet to meet any of your new coven members, or even announce your arrival. Nevertheless, you don't sense any negativity radiating off of the basket. In fact, if anything, you can feel a soft aura of safety enclosing the items - the gifter having clearly cast a few more wards of protection around them.

“Hello,” a voice suddenly speaks, and not expecting it, you immediately startle. Instantly, a rush of adrenaline surges through you, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on edge, and a swell of power to flood through your fingertips. Before you can even consider your actions, lightning begins crackling around your fingertips: small bolts of bright, purple-hued sparks arcing around the pads of your digits; your magic involuntarily manifesting itself in a bid to protect you.

Spinning on your heel, you thrust out your hand on instinct, causing a large bolt of lightning to appear out of thin air. The moment you turn around, however, your eyes blow wide and despair courses through you. The newcomers are dressed in two large cloaks, their coats effectively hiding their forms from you. However, from the design of the brooch that fastens their coverings - the emblem of an intricate silver star - you know that they’re members of your new coven; most likely coming to greet you. Nonetheless, the damage is already done - your magic having flooded out of you and into the air.

The lightning bolt surges towards the two and you watch as the female’s hands move in a flash, a spell immediately slipping from her lips as she erects a shield in front of her and her partner. It appears just in time - your own magic colliding directly into the middle of the barrier. To the witch’s credit, the shield manages to deflect your attack, and the force of the collision causes the lightning to bound into the stratosphere. A large flash of blue blazes through the sky, accompanied by the thunderous sound of lightning cracking, before your magic dissipates and ebbs back into the atmosphere; a terse silence once again shrouding the forest.

The moment it disperses, the aura of power around you fades away, and your shoulders immediately tense. Clambering to your feet, “Sweet Earth Mother, I am so sorry,” you quickly splutter. Adrenaline still coursing through you, your heart continues beating rapidly and your hands turn sweaty. Though, this time, rather than fear, it’s out of trepidation: a ripple of nervousness fluttering through you. This was not a good way to greet your new coven members.

The shorter of the two, the woman, pulls down her hood, and you’re met by mesmerising, cat-like eyes and a mischievous smile, “It’s okay. I kinda startled you on purpose,” comes her coy response. Nervousness replaced by confusion, your eyebrows furrow as you regard her in puzzlement. Beside her, the taller of the two lets out a little sigh and pulls down his own hood. The first thing you notice is that both of them have identical features: the same, sharp eyes; smooth, glass-like tanned skin, and small, pouty lips. Twins, no doubt.

“Yeah, and you almost had us killed. I told you not to startle her,” he chides, causing the woman’s cheeks to puff in a pout.

“Hey! I saved us, didn’t I? If it weren’t for my shield, we’d both be ash,” she backfires. The man simply scoffs and shakes his head.

“If you hadn’t scared her, we wouldn’t have needed the shield in the first place,” he retorts. The woman opens her mouth to retaliate, however, not having a comeback, she quickly closes it.

“Fair enough,” she concedes with a simple shrug of her shoulders.

“Purpose? Test?” you reiterate softly, breaking their little spat.

“Well, yes, of course. Your reputation precedes you, ____. I just had to see if the famed Witch of Ruin was truly as powerful as the rumours made you out to be,” the woman replies. Hearing her words, you let out an awkward chuckle.

Witch of Ruin.

Gods, you hadn’t heard that in a while.

You’d first gained the epithet during your years in Eyres, after you’d single handedly defeated a small group of the Knights of the Seven Lights, who’d come to ‘purge’ you of evil. After that one event, you’d gained infamy as the Witch of Ruin; rumours of a child born of chaos, lightning and fire, spreading through the country. As a result, more and more groups of the Knights would come looking for you, and one by one, they would fall at your hand. By all means, it had all stopped once you’d been rescued by Mardella. Nonetheless, being initiated into the Sisters of Elysia, of all covens, had only caused your fame to grow. After all, it was a coven that prized themselves on power.

Still, you haven’t heard that epithet in a while; having stayed your lust for power a while ago, and falling more into your love of Alchemical Restoration in the recent years. In fact, if you were being completely honest, you’d tried your hardest to put the nickname, Witch of Ruin, behind you. Mainly due to the fact that it had been born out of your need for survival. Not to mention, your anger, and what could only be considered ‘teenage angst’, over your circumstances from when you were an adolescent.

The man in front of you bows, the movement breaking you out of your reverie abruptly. “I’m sorry about my sister. I’m Min Yoongi, and this is Yoonji. We’re here to welcomeyou to the coven,” he apologises. Then, straightening out his back, he glares at his twin pointedly through the corner of his eyes, “Welcome. Not test,” he mutters. His words cause Yoonji to pout and stick her tongue out.

Eyes blowing out, you quickly shake your head while waving your hands dismissively. “No, no. It’s okay! Would you like to come in?” you ask as you gesture towards your home. This time, it’s Yoonji who shakes her head.

“Usually, we’d love to. But we don’t have long today. We need to get back to prepare for the coven meeting tomorrow,” she replies, her mischievous smile curling into an apologetic one. “We’re only here to drop off your initiation robes, as well as let you know that your formal induction into the coven will take place tomorrow, at evening’s twilight, in the Lunar Grove,” she continues.

Eyebrows knitting together, you cock your head to the side, “Lunar Grove?” you repeat, causing Yoongi to smile at you kindly.

“Someone will come collect you around dusk and bring you to the meeting spot,” he supplies, and you nod in understanding.

“Do we not have a building to convene in, or…?” you find yourself asking before you can stop.

A tinkling laugh slipping from her lips, Yoonji shakes her head. “The Coven of the Evening Star reveres nature first and foremost. We feel that buildings impair our ability to connect with both nature and the universe. So, while we aren’t a nomadic coven, we do not have an official church building to worship in either,” she explains. Mouth forming a little ‘o’, a ripple of sheepishness washes through you. You remember Malise telling you something about that, however, in your excitement to move and settle down, you hadn’t completely researched your new coven; a blight on your part.

Sensing your mortification, “Don’t worry about it too much. Our coven is very different from your old one, so I’m sure it’ll take you a while to get used to everything anyway. In the meantime, we’re here to help you with whatever you need,” Yoongi speaks, his voice low and comforting. A grateful smile curls onto your face as you thank him.

“Not to mention, everyone is excited to meet you. It’s all anyone can talk about lately. About how we’re not only going to meet a previous member of the Sisters of Elysia, but that she’s also joining our new coven. Not only that, but she’s also the fabled Witch of Ruin… I can assure you, that almost every member of the coven will travel to view your initiation tomorrow,” Yoonji chuckles lightly. The moment her words slip out her mouth, you let out an awkward laugh, and hearing the sound, Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“It’s not that daunting, don’t worry. And Yoonji is exaggerating, I doubt that many people will turn up,” he says while pointedly glaring at his sister through the corner of his eyes. Before she can say anything, however, he’s cutting her off, “We really must get going now, though. We still need to complete preparations for your initiation,” he continues before thrusting a neatly wrapped bundle of fabric towards you. “These are your Initiation Robes for the ceremony tomorrow. We look forward to having you join us,” he finishes.

Taking the bundled material from him, you smile at him once again, “I’m looking forward to joining,” comes your reply. With their business complete, the two of them turn on their heels and begin walking away. All of a sudden, however, a thought springs to mind, and you quickly call out to them. Immediately, they stop and turn back towards you, a look of interest on their face. With a wave of your hand, you gesture towards the wicker basket still laying on the porch of your door. “Did you send me this, by any chance?” you ask as you point towards your gift.

The twins glance at each other, a knowing glint flashing in their eyes as they silently communicate amongst one another. Simply watching them, you await their response. You don’t have to wait long, however, because a few short moments later, they’re both turning back to look at you; their heads moving eerily in sync - almost as if they’d planned it.

“It’s not from us, no. It’ll be from Namjoon,” Yoonji explains.

“Namjoon?” you dumbly repeat.

“Mhm. Kim Namjoon. He’s a warlock in our coven. He specialises in Herbalism, and he runs the apothecary that supplies us with the ingredients we need for our rituals, spells or potions. It’s probably a gift welcoming you to the neighbourhood,” she explains. For the umpteenth time today, confusion colours your face.

“Neighbourhood...? I didn’t think I had any neighbours,” comes your response. The land you own now, once belonged to the human settlement that borders the Forest of Ingredeen. When you’d purchased this area of land from the chief, he’d tried to explain that it was a secluded property and that a powerful coven lived in the Forest - and one that could take offense to a strange witch moving into their territory. Of course, once you’d explained that you were soon to join the coven yourself, you’d assuaged his fears and he’d easily bequeathed the land to you.

“Oh, theoretically, you don’t. But Namjoon’s home is the closest to you; he’s about a ten, maybe fifteen minute walk north-west from here. The rest of us live deeper in the forest,” Yoongi explains, his hand lifting as he points towards the general direction of Namjoon’s home. Eyebrows quirking, you turn your gaze back down to the gift as you look at it in interest.

“It’s a wonderful gift,” you mutter under your breath. Despite it being the middle of winter, the pot of lilacs are in full bloom: the velour petals still brightly coloured despite their pastel hue; the leaves still succulent, and a vivid shade of pine-green. Not to mention that the quality of the dried lavender is some of the best you’ve ever seen. Fully dessicated lavender usually tends to lose some of it’s scent, and with the deep, dusky-mauve shading, you know they’ve had all the moisture removed from them. Nevertheless, the camphorous scent of it is still strong; wafting into the atmosphere in soft waves.

“He’s incredibly skilled in what he does,” Yoongi responds, his voice laced with pride. Then, after a short pause, he continues, “He’s similar to you. He was raised by the Brotherhood of Requiem, but moved here and joined the coven, hmm… maybe two and a half years ago?”

Stilling at his words, your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline. If he was part of the Brotherhood of Requiem, he’d have to be incredibly skilled as a warlock; not to mention powerful. Mind casting back to Malise’s oracle, your heart flutters at the discovery. Could Namjoon be the one you’re destined for? Suddenly, you find yourself itching to go look for him. Though, of course, you wouldn’t know unless you smelled him. And it’d be a bit odd to walk up to a stranger and simply sniff him. Especially if it turned out he was not your soulmate. Still, his gift was sweet, and generous, and that in itself is enough of a reason for you to go meet him.

“If that’s all?” Yoonji asks, her words cutting you out of your thoughts. Startled by her voice, you snap your head back up and grace them both with a sheepish smile.

Scratching the back of your head, “Yes! Sorry to keep you,” you quickly respond. Neither of them say anything. Rather, they smile kindly before once again turning around and walking away. You watch their backs retreat, until their figures disappear into the dense woods that surround your home. Once they’re no longer in sight, you bend over and pick up both your gift, as well as your basket of firewood and food, before entering your home.

As soon as you’re inside the warm comfort of your cottage, you let out a soft sigh. Considering you’re about to leave soon, in order to go thank Namjoon for his gift, you leave on your heavy cloak. Instead, you pad further into your home - dragging in the snow on your boots with you - and into the kitchen. With a casual wave of your hand, the two baskets begin floating in the air before following your figure, and with another flick of your wrist, the firewood sails through the air and towards the fireplace; your food sorting itself out into the pantry and fridge.

Left with only the gift, you carefully place the basket onto the wooden counter of your kitchen island. Gently, you pick up the lilac pot, and the moment you touch the ceramic vase, your eyes widen. A soft thrum of magical essence flitters through your fingertips - travelling from your extremities and down your limbs, only to settle into your core. A sensation of comfort fills you, as well as a spark of energy, and immediately, you know that both spells of protection, and vitality, have been cast upon the pot. The former is obvious - the protection wards boosting the natural magical essence of the lilacs. The latter, however, probably explains just why the lilacs are still in bloom; their life force is most likely supported by the magic cast into it.

Thoughtlessly, your fingertips graze up the side of the vase, along a plump leaf, and towards a supple petal. Another spark of magic jolts through you, and as the calming sensation washes over you, a smile unknowingly curls on your face. It wasn’t often that witches and wizards could imbue feelings into an object; and even less often into a living organism. He really must be a powerful wizard. As you place the vase onto your windowsill, a small frown mars your lips. How are you going to pay him back?

Suddenly, a thought crosses your mind. Swiftly, albeit carefully, you empty out his wicker basket and once it’s empty, you wave your hand; summoning small empty mason jars and your own blend of different tea leaves. The items soar towards you, and with another wave of your hand, they precisely land onto your kitchen counter. Eyes flicking over the different tea leaves, you promptly decide on three different blends - your most favourite ones. In the first one, you scoop in your special blend of cardamom, nutmeg and cinnamon: the laden scent of aromatic spices diffusing into the air and flooding your senses as you fill the jar. The second one, you fill with a blend of chamomile and jasmine; a soft aroma of a floral fragrance replacing the previous, headier one.

With the first two done, you turn your attention to the third, and final one. A mischievous glint flashes in your eyes. Lavender and oolong. A fine homage to his own gift. Opening up the last container, you fill up the last mason jar: the delicate, fresh scent of the lavender intermingling with the sweet, elegant one of oolong. When you’re done, you quickly shut all three jars, wrapping the neck of the containers in a satin ribbon, before attaching a manila label to them. Summoning a pen from one of your drawers, you quickly scrawl on the names of the teas in blue ink.

Once your thank you present has been packed, you cover them with the cloth and grab the handle of the basket, before making your way back out. As you step into the cold once more, the gelid air kisses your skin, causing a soft shiver to run down your spine. Huddling further into your fur coat, you begin walking in the general direction of Namjoon’s home. You’ve no idea what it looks like, or how far it realistically is. Yoongi had mentioned a ten, perhaps fifteen minute walk, but considering you didn’t know the forest very well yet, you weren’t sure how long it would take. You hope it really is a ten to fifteen minute journey. And, of course, that you don’t get lost.

Thankfully, after faithfully sticking north-west, it’s not long before you happen upon what you believe to be Namjoon’s home. The glade of the property is similar to yours: the dense woodland clearing up into an open expanse. In the middle, and a little towards the left, sits a quaint little cottage; with a gambrel roof made of dark brown wood shake, and stone walls of greyed-white to match. Unlike your home, this one has large square windows around the entire property, allowing thick shafts of light to filter through. Yet, despite the panes of glass, you can’t see into the building: the thick cotton curtains blinding your view of the interior.

The area surrounding the cottage is wild, and almost overgrown - in a strange, coordinated way. An organised mess if you would. Small trees skirt the property, growing near the moss-clad, brick fence that separates the forest from Namjoon’s own land, while smaller brushes and shrubs litter the spaces between. One section is covered in flowering perennials, another with potted plants and herbs, and the last third with low growing blossoms. Eyes widening at the sight, you take in a deep breath, only to be filled with a renewed sense of vigour.

Breath hitching in the middle of your throat, you look at the property in surprise. The magic in the air is thick; so palpable that you feel the very cells of your being begin to vibrate with power. Not only is it potent, however, but also pure - the quality of life’s essence so refined that it’s almost suffocating. In fact, you have to physically keep your magic in check, lest it fritz and grow out of your control. Taking a deep breath, you purposely subdue your inner magical core - dulling it towards the vigor of the energy in the air.

Fingers clenching around the woven handle of the basket, you grip it tighter as you step onto the property, a faint ripple of nervousness fluttering through you. With the potency of magic in the air, you desperately hope you don’t trigger any protective wards surrounding the land. When you safely cross the boundary between the forest and Namjoon’s home, your shoulders tense and you immediately come to a halt. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge, and a nervous edge tinges at the corners of your being as you wait for something to happen.

After a few moments of silence, you let out a relieved breath. The wards, if there are any, have accepted you. With that knowledge, you begin your descent down the brick path, from the outskirts of the property and towards the arched front door. Stopping by the dark wood entrance, you lift your hand and gently rap your knuckles on the surface, before stepping away as you wait for an answer. Long, drawn out moments pass, and when you get no response half a minute later, a frown descends upon your lips.

Is he not home?

Lifting your fist, you knock once again; and just like before, you don’t get an answer. Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you shuffle to the side and towards a window. Then, stepping onto the tips of your toes, you attempt to peek into Namjoon’s home; looking for any signs of life. However, with the curtains drawn shut - only a sliver of an opening between the two, thick pieces of fabric - you barely have a sufficient view of the inside. Shoulders drooping, you let out a deep exhale and flick your gaze down to the wicker basket in your grasp. If he’s not home, there’s nothing you can do about it.

Disappointment settles into your bones, and for a moment, you consider abandoning your gift on his front porch - just like he’d left his. The thought only lasts a brief moment, however, because suddenly, you hear a small commotion from the back of his home. Startling at the muffled cluttering noise, you raise your eyebrow. Maybe he ishome. Intrigued by the noise, you follow after the sound. It leads you around the perimeter of his home, and getting towards the back, surprise colours your face as you see another building behind his cottage.

The emporium is fairly small, almost the size of a large shed, and made of a beautifully preserved walnut: the timber panelling still ripe with its rich colouring. Walking further towards the building, and to the front, you come to a halt at the entrance. Large panes of glass fill up the front wall, but in spite of the glass, your view of the interior is partially obscured: the dark-tinted, translucent surface preventing your complete view into the shop. Two large pots of firs sit on either side of the door, and just above the tips of the tree, hangs a banner made of dark linoleum. ‘The Blackthorne Codex’ it reads; the letters gleaming in burnished shades of bronze under the stark brightness of the sky.

Steadily, you approach the shop, and placing your hand on the brass handle, you push it open. The tinkle of a bell chimes through the air, and the moment you enter, you're assaulted by an onslaught of sensations. A balmy heat greets you immediately, the warm air rushing past your face and immediately heating up your numb skin. Following the heat is a sacchariferous fragrance: notes of a fruity tartness flooding your senses. Currents of a warm, woody scent coalesce with the stronger aroma; the piquant spiciness of what you know to be cloves weaving with that of dried black cherries into an amalgamation of intoxicating aromas. The incense is strong - almost overpowering - and wholly unique: perhaps a blend of his own concoction. It's so potent in fact, that you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue: tinges of a pungent sweetness dyeing your tongue and causing you to salivate.

"Sorry, I'll be with you in a moment." The deep voice comes out of nowhere, the sound breaking the silence and causing you to jump.

Taking heed of the voice, however, you walk further into the shop, simultaneously letting go of the door handle and allowing it to shut behind you. Once you're into the heart of the shop, prickles of heat sting at your skin, the chilled surface quickly warming up - and from the magic charged in the air, you have no doubt it's thanks to some warming enchantment. Carefully placing your woven basket onto a table near you, you unclasp the heavy cloak around your shoulders before quickly shrugging it off and draping it over your arm. With the thick material off of your body, you let out a sigh of relief - your body quickly cooling down.

More comfortable with the temperature, and with the man - who you assume to be Namjoon - still keeping you waiting, you take a moment to look around the shop. Neatly stacked shelves of mahogany line the entire perimeter of the shop, the surfaces chipped and faded with age. Nonetheless, despite their worn appearance, they're not decrepit. Rather, they're antique - with a rustic feel to them. Glass containers of all sizes line the shelves: large jars of preserved tree barks and animal products occupy the top shelves, smaller sized flasks of various herbs, botanics and minerals fill the next few ledges; and little vials and ampoules of oils, extracts and essences litter the final racks. Each one is faithfully marked with a black label, the nature of their contents scrawled in gold ink.

Hand sketched drawings are strewn across the very tops of the walls, the drawings depicting a variety of beautifully illustrated, and incredibly detailed, plants and flowers. Looking closer at them, you can even spot labels, along with scrawled annotations, pointing out to different parts of the plants. They’re vivid, and colourful: the dazzling hues contrasting with the darker shades of the interior. Turning your gaze, you carefully peer at the counter that separates you from the back of the shop.

Similar to the rest of the store, it's made up of wood, with a white marble tabletop that offsets the walnut wood of everything else. One half of the wall behind is filled with a stack of drawers, each one labelled in black ink; the other half holding a door that undoubtedly leads to the back. A cash register sits in the left corner; the till glinting in polished shades of murky gold and varnished oak. On the opposite side, sits a small book rack stacked with aged tomes and grimoires. Next to it, are a few pestles and mortars, some made of marble while others are made of stone - each one with its own specific purpose.

As you’re admiring the interior, a man suddenly slips out from the back. He appears out of nowhere, causing you to jump. The moment you spot him, however, you freeze. He’s tall. Incredibly so. And his size is only emphasised by the corded, bulging muscles that fill his frame. He’s dressed in black leather trousers - the tight material clinging to his full thighs - and with each step he takes, you could swear the material threatens to tear. Moreover, the snugness of his trousers only emphasise the length of his legs: the toned limbs seemingly going on forever. His top is simple, a plain white t-shirt. Yet, despite the simplicity of it, you find yourself swallowing thickly.

Similar to his trousers, the cotton fabric of his shirt clings to his broad chest, highlighting the smooth, yet prominent, outline of his pecs. From how taut the material is, the garment straining against his upper body, you can spot the faintest hint of his dark nipples - the sight of them causing your cheeks to tinge with specks of heat. A simple leather apron is tied around his hips; the hide straps emphasising his trim waist and slender hips. Gaze travelling further up his body, your eyes lock onto his, and this time, you gulp audibly.

He is, perhaps, the most handsome man you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.

And you’ve traversed the world.

Tanned skin - as smooth and delectable as dulce de leche - glows under the ivory light filtering through the window. It casts a halo of argentate around him - the silvery hue juxtaposing his delicious, honey-kissed skin in the most enchanting way. Dark locks of silk, as black as coal, fall in choppy waves around his face, the front tips kissing his eyelids, and the back ends grazing the nape of his neck. They frame his face, accentuating the elegant slant of his cheekbones, the gentle slope of his nose, and the angled definition of his jaw. His eyes are hooded, and heavy, with a deep-set crease at the inner corners that only highlight the sharpness of them.

Irises of obsidian peek from between his keen eyes, the inky depths freckled with specks of silver and jade that only add to his allure. Eyes glimmering, he radiates an air of power: waves of soft, yet dominant, energy seeping off of his being. If you didn’t know better, you would say his aura practically thrummed with the same lively essence of the very forest itself. Sucking in a sharp breath, the cloying scent of black cherries and cloves floods your senses as you lock eyes, and effortlessly, you sink into his dark gaze.

A look of surprise paints his features, and in a once over, his stare sweeps over you. In one, long glance, he takes you in in your entirety, from the very tips of your boots, to the top of your head, and then back onto your face. His features are carefully stoic as he observes you - his eyes giving nothing away. But then, all of a sudden, it changes. A strong, thick eyebrow rises, and sensual, voluptuous lips pull into an impish, lop-sided grin. It’s wolfish, practically predatory, and almost as if he could devour you whole with a single look.

In two, swift strides, he moves closer, and pressing both hands onto the edge of the marble counter, he grins at you. The movement draws your attention, and your gaze immediately flicks from his eyes and towards his sinewy arms. So enamoured by his handsomeness earlier on, you hadn’t noticed the identical tattoos that brand each of his biceps. Three bands make up each tattoo. The outer ones are simple - embellished with geometric patterns and alchemical runes - and made up of the blackest ink; the colour so rich, it soaks up the light into its ebon void. Framed by the two simplistic bands, however, is an inner one - this tattoo more intricate, and vibrant. Thick, unassuming vines of pine-green form the bulk of the design, with supple foliage of fern-green and moss engraved between.

“Hello. Welcome to The Blackthorne Codex. I’m Kim Namjoon.” The man greets. His voice breaks you out of your trance, and instantly, your eyes lock back onto his. Then, features twisting into one of apology, “Sorry about the wait. I had a slight issue with some stock in the back. How can I help you?” he asks.

For a moment, you simply stare at him, your mind completely blank, and your face effectively illustrating it’s emptiness. His voice is low, and baritone, with a mellifluous undertow that threatens to drag you under and drown you in its beguile. Of course, the enchanting lure of his magic does nothing to help. Neither of you say anything, Namjoon waiting for you to reply, and you waiting for your mind to process the Adonis-like man in front of you. Eventually, and once you realise he’s staring at you, your brain finally kicks itself into gear.

“Oh. Oh!” you quickly splutter out, your cheeks tinging with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t… expect you to be so young,” comes your reply.

Arching an eyebrow, “Young? I’m twenty-eight years old,” he replies, a playful inflexion to his voice as his smirk deepens. Finally getting a hold of yourself, you simply roll your eyes, a coy smile curling onto your own lips.

“Hmmm. Well, when I heard about the man who lived in the forest, and was dropping off welcome gifts at my house, I couldn’t help but assume he was an old man,” you counter. That has Namjoon pausing.

“Wait. You’re ____? The Witch of Ruin?” he asks, his strong eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as he gazes at you in incredulity.

Taken aback by his surprise, you cock your head to the side, “Is that such a surprise?” you ask while lightly waving him off. Scoffing in response, he simply shrugs.

“I just expected you to be…” he begins, only to halt as he ponders his next words. After a short pause, “More menacing,” he finishes.

Once again, you roll your eyes, before waving your hand dismissively, “Well, I guess we both had incorrect assumptions about each other.”

“Touche,” Namjoon laughs. “So, what brings you to my humble apothecary? Need ingredients so soon, already?”

Placing your basket onto the counter, you slide your present over to him. “Hmmm, no. I come bearing a thank you gift,” you reply. Namjoon chuckles, and for a moment, you feel your abdomen stir with a fuzzy warmth. The sound of his laughter is enchanting: deep, rich, and thick like honey as it drips from his mouth like viscous ambrosia. His eyes flash with mirth, and he angles his head down to look at you through his sharp, hooded eyes.

“A thank you gift in response to my ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ one? Your parents must have raised you right,” he jokes. His tone is light, and airy, and you know he means well - realistically knowing nothing of your past. Yet, you still find yourself gracing him with a rueful smile. Though, there’s only a faintest hint of bitterness laced through it.

“They did. Up until their final moments,” you respond. At your words, Namjoon immediately halts, and visibly, you watch every single one of his muscles locking; the corner of his jaw simultaneously twitching.

Face immediately dropping, Namjoon glances at you for a moment - his eyes carefully guarded, and giving away none of his inner thoughts. Unconsciously, you bristle; in preparation for his pity, and the meaningless words that tend to fall out of people’s mouth when you speak of your traumatic childhood. They mean well. You know they do. But it’s been close to sixteen years. And you’re tired of the constant condolences and well wishes. Tired of the way they walk on glass around the issue of your parents. After all, you’ve long since come to terms with it.

To your utter surprise, however, Namjoon’s face immediately relaxes, and his - what you assume to be trademark at this point - wolfish grin once again creeps onto his pillowy lips. “Well, then I’m sure they’re happy you’ve retained your manners then. Or they’d probably rise from their graves and haunt you,” comes his breezy response. That’s it. No ‘I’m sorry’s’ or sympathetic looks, or that tone people take when they find out you’re an orphan. Just a lighthearted joke. Perhaps, to someone else, he may seem insensitive. Perhaps, someone else would be offended. But you? You appreciate it more than he could, or would, ever know.

“Hmmm. Considering my mother was a necromancer… you’re right. She’d definitely be the type to raise herself from the dead just to lecture me on societal etiquette,” you deadpan - your voice purposely flat as you retort. Eyes bugging wide, Namjoon splutters as he chokes on his own spit.

“A necromancer? Please tell me you’re joking,” he replies, a look of bewilderment colouring his visage. Features twisted almost comically, it’s all you can do to laugh.

“Of course, I’m joking! What do you take my mother for? She birthed the Witch of Ruin. There’s no way she’d be foolish enough to practice necromancy,” you laugh in response. Hearing your reply, Namjoon immediately relaxes, and seeing the relief on his face, you can’t help but laugh harder. Necromancy was a false school of witchcraft, one only perpetrated by humans who wished they could practice magic. However, they had one thing wrong. There was no magic that could raise the dead. None.

After all, magic came from nature, and the cosmos, and life itself. It’s why most, if not all, witches and warlocks worship some aspect of the natural universe. Some worship the sky, others the sea, a few the mountains, and many the earth and forests. But no self-respecting practitioner of the Magic of Old, would ever worship the dead. Or even consider bringing the dead back to life. Mostly because it was an impossible feat.

Once a living creature reaches the end of its life, the magic that sustains it fades away. Instead, it returns back to the universe, only to be rebirthed into a new form of life. Sometimes that’s in humans - the species having faint tethers to the universe - or what they’d call their ‘souls’. Sometimes, it’s in witches and warlocks - a child born particularly talented in an archetype of magic. More often than not, though, it’s into the very cosmos, as the sea, or the plants, or the stars. Or really, any component of life, or power, that makes up the universe.

“You have me there,” Namjoon concedes with a chuckle. Then, turning his attention to your gift, he gestures towards it. “So, what do we have here?”

Cheeks flushing with heat, you pull your lower lip between your teeth and begin to chew on it while Namjoon unravels the cloth from the wicker basket. When he spots the three, neatly wrapped jars, he flicks his gaze to you in surprise. Suddenly feeling far too self-conscious - was the gift too much? - you suppress an awkward smile. “I don’t know if you drink tea… but these are some of my own special blends,” you explain, your voice a few decibels above a whisper, and laced with your unsureness.

You watch as Namjoon picks up one of the jars, only to open the lid and take in a deep breath of the aromatic fragrance. “God… that smells good. Is that lavender… and oolong?” he asks, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

Floored by his deduction, “How did you even… you can barely even smell the oolong,” you point out. You’re not lying. The scent of lavender is always strong - and overpowering - and no matter what ratios you blend of the two ingredients, you can’t seem to find a way to bring out the oolong. At your obvious shock, Namjoon laughs.

“I spent my day tending plants, or selling them, ____. I know what most of them look, and smell, like. Even if it’s subtle,” he replies.

Intrigued by his words, you look at him curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking… what school of witchcraft do you practice?”

Snapping the lid back onto the jar, he places it back into the basket. Then, eyes flashing mischievously, his lips curl into a teasing smirk. Gazing at you with his smouldering eyes, “How can you not tell? Weren’t you raised by the Sisters of Elysia? I thought they were supposed to be incredibly knowledgeable. Or perhaps… they don’t hold a candle to the Brotherhood of Requiem,” he provokes. Jaw dropping in surprise, you instantly bristle.

“W-What’s that supposed to mean?” you splutter in indignation. “The Brotherhood of Requiem is not better than the Sisters of Elysia,” you continue with a hiss.

“Hmmm… not if you can’t guess what my magic is,” he backfires easily. Huffing at his response, you roll your eyes. Though, there’s no real ire to it.

“Well it’s obvious you practice Herbalism. But with the potency of the magic surrounding you, that can’t be all you practice,” you reply smartly.

Laughing, “I guess you’re right. Botanic Arts. I also practice the Botanic Arts,” he explains. Ah. That would explain the aura of life that surrounds him.

Contrary to your Destructive Arts - a discipline that was focused on elements of chaos, such as lightning or fire, in order to bring about calamity; the Botanic Arts was a discipline focused around the elements of life, such as earth and nature, in order to bring about life. Nonetheless, even with their juxtaposing natures, they were both two incredibly powerful schools of witchcraft, and if used correctly, even the Botanic Arts could be wielded as a cataclysmic magic. A notion only emphasised by his incredibly imposing presence; as well as his sheer confidence.

“How about you?” he asks, his words breaking you out of your thoughts.

Lips twisting into a wry smirk, “How can you not tell? Weren’t you raised by the Brotherhood of Requiem?” you mock, throwing back his own words at him.

With a snort, Namjoon looks at you pointedly. “Well, everything I know about you is from rumours. The witch of ruin, a child of chaos, birthed from lightning and fire. So… I’m assuming you’re proficient in the Destructive Arts. But… considering you just brought me tea leaves I doubt it’s just that,” he says, imitating your own sentiments. Tongue poking out, you swipe it across your lips as you feel the corners of your lips twitching.

“Alchemical Restoration. The teas have healing properties,” you reply as you try to suppress your grin.

You can’t help it.

Namjoon is unlike any other witch or warlock you’ve ever met. In your life, you’ve travelled the world, and you’ve met many of your kind; from all different walks of life. As such, you’re not new to a little flirtatious banter, nor were you unknown to the pleasures of sex, or a budding romance. Nonetheless, it was rare for it to go past that. The moment they found out who you were, who you truly were, they would immediately lose interest in you - either by their own jealousy, or intimidation, or insecurities that you were most likely better, and more powerful, than them.

However, here was a man, who knew who you were, and still continued showing an interest. Or well, at least what you hoped was interest. Though, with the way his eyes subtly roam over your figure every now and then, and with how he keeps his attention focused on you, and only you, you doubt you’re wrong. Namjoon is different. Because even knowing who you are, and knowing about your past, his demeanour hasn’t changed. He’s not the least bit intimidated, nor insecure, or resentful. If anything, you have a feeling you’ve only stoked his interest. And that has a fuzzy warmth blooming within the pits of your stomach.

“A remedial discipline? Didn’t take you for the type,” comes his immediate answer. Then, eyes flashing in mirth, “Though… I can’t say I’m mad. I don’t even want to thinkabout what your gift would be if you just practiced the Destructive Arts… perhaps you’d set my apothecary on fire for daring to intrude on your property?” he teases, and as the words slip out of his mouth, you can’t help but hear the flirtatious intonation.

Your conversation is ordinary, and full of pleasant niceties. Yet, buried between both your tones, is a touch of something deeper; something heavier. Perhaps it’s the playfulness of his entire demeanour, or the coquettish nature of your own replies. But no matter what it is, you can’t help but feel the spark between the two of you. You don’t know where it’s come from, or why. After all, you’re both strangers, and this is your first time meeting. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel drawn to him - a baser need, something more corporeal pulling you towards him. A flutter of excitement flits through you,

In response to his words, you childishly stick your tongue out. Then, “Yes, well, as much as I adore the Destructive Arts and the power trip that comes with it… I’ve just… somewhat grown tired of it,” you find yourself confessing - the words falling from your lips before you can even stop them. That has Namjoon’s devilish disposition dropping, his features twisting into one of inquisitiveness.

“Oh? Why is that?” he asks.

Once again, and before you even realise what you’re saying, you find yourself shrugging. “Honestly? I don’t know if I ever really even wanted to learn the Destructive Arts. But after my parent’s coven was destroyed, and once the Knights of the Seven Lights began hunting me… I had no other choice, you know? I learnt it because I had to. Because I needed to survive. It was born out of my need to prove something… that I could endure everything, and that I would still come out on top,” you confess. All of a sudden, you pause.

Eyelids widening in the slightest, you quickly halt your tongue as you realise what you’d just blurted out. It’s not often that you talk about your past. You’re over it. Or well, you’re more numb to it. But it wasn’t often that you brought it up - wanting to leave the past… well, in the past. Hell, the only reason the Sisters of Elysia had known, was because they’d saved you from that life. But you never spoke about it. At least, not of your own accord. And certainly not to a random stranger you’d just met. So really, you’re not sure why you’d suddenly, and completely out of the blue, truthfully spoken about your past. Especially in a casual meeting like this.

Nonetheless, something about him calls to you. You don’t know what it is, and you can’t accurately place it. But there’s something about him that you find reassuring. He’s a stranger, and realistically, you know nothing about him. Yet, still, you can’t help but trust him. There’s an air of power around him, yes. It pulses around him in an enticing fashion: a refined aura of magic that is both completely sensual, and commanding. However, woven between that presence, is a sense of solace. The kind that’s filled with a promise of safety, and home. The kind you’ve been desperately searching for all your life. It beckons to you, and effortlessly, you find yourself magnetised to him.

Momentarily, Malise’s words echo in the back of your mind. About how you’d find your soulmate here, and fleetingly, you wonder if it’s him. A part of you is desperate for him to be. For him to be the one you call your home. Yet, even with that yearning that tingles through you, you can’t bring yourself to put any real hope on it. He’s enchanting, and you’re completely enamoured by him. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s your one. The universe has a twisted sense of humour, and seldom did it ever play to one’s hand. Soulmates aren’t perfect. And just because you’re fated for someone, doesn’t mean that you’d work out. Love wasn’t that simple. Thus, with the attraction that you do feel for him already, a weird, twisted part of you doesn’t wantto know. Just in case, he’s not the one destined for you.

A heavy air befalls the two of you; the tension intensifying until it’s so thick that you almost suffocate within its hold. Jittery under the sudden pressure, your hands turn clammy as you begin shuffling from foot to foot. You want to say something, to make a casual joke and immediately diffuse the stiffness in the atmosphere. Nonetheless, your throat is tight, and your mouth dry, and you simply can’t bring yourself to force the words out. Sensing your awkwardness, however, Namjoon quickly comes to your aid. The corners of his lips tugs, and the plush petals of his mouth pull into an easy smile as he points back towards your gift.

“Well, they seem really well-made, and I can already tell just how high quality these are. I’m looking forward to trying them,” comes his airy response. Then, after a brief pause, an impish smirk teases at his lips. “... And giving you my honest opinion,” he taunts. A sense of relief washing over you at the return of his playful demeanour, and with the tension quickly diffusing, you grace him with your own coy grin.

“I’m sure you’ll find them to your standards. It’s not like I could give you something subpar after your lavish present, after all,” you counter. Eyes lighting up suddenly, “Which, speaking of high quality, the lilacs and lavender… where did you get them?” you question. A deep, throaty chuckle emanates from the middle of Namjoon’s chest, and you watch his speckled onyx eyes glint in amusement.

“I didn’t get them anywhere. I grew them myself,” he responds. Taken aback by his answer, you blink at him owlishly. He’d… grown them himself? Well. You hadn’t been expecting that. Though, now that you think about it, it makes sense. Initially, you’d thought that perhaps he’d only enchanted the lilacs, in order to keep them blooming. However, with the sheer life imbued into them, you realise that for that level of magic, he’d probably have to grow them himself. Which, with his mastery in the Botanic Arts, paired with his expertise of Herbalism, would be a feat easier said than done.

With a fleeting glance, you flick your gaze around his shop, only to catch his eye once again. “Do you grow most of your stock?” you ask, astonishment evident in your voice. Once again, Namjoon chuckles, before nodding easily.

“A lot of it, yes. If not most. The things I can’t grow, I have to source from the human settlements. Though, it’s mostly animal products or minerals,” he begins, a look of thought crossing his face. “The minerals, because I don’t have time to go mine for that… Nor do I want to,” he laughs. “And I can’t bring myself to hunt for animal products myself because everytime I do, I end up not wanting to hurt them and letting them go. So I rely on humans a lot for those kinds of things. It’s why, unlike the rest of the coven who lives deeper into the forest, I live closer towards the edge… and also why I’m your only neighbour,” he continues his explanation.

Mouth forming an ‘o’, “That makes sense,” you reply.

“Why do you live so close to the edge? I’m sure High Priest Torin would have offered you a home in the coven’s territory?” Namjoon questions.

With a nonchalant shrug, “I just needed a change I guess. With the Sisters of Elysia being nomadic, we never had an actual home. And so we’d always live in temporary homes while sharing living spaces. Moving here, I knew I kinda just wanted some more privacy, you know?” comes your answer. Once again, there’s nothing but truth in it, and internally, you wonder just what kind of bewitchment he’s cast on you, for you to be so honest. Though, it’s probably just his natural charm.

“Plus, I’m focusing more on my Alchemical Restoration, and I want to be able to help as many people as I can. Both, our coven, and the humans in the country,” you continue. Then, letting out a sigh, “Except… I’m still new to the area and the Forest of Ingredeen is huge and I have no idea where the human settlements are,” you finish. Then, after a small pause for thought, “Other than the Sundale settlement, that is,” you ponder out loud.

“Oh. There are a total of five in the entire country, and they all border the Forest of Ingredeen since it’s the oldest and most ancient woodland,” Namjoon points out. Taking his hands off of the counter, he shuffles towards the book rack on the tabletop, and pulling out a large scroll from the corner, he unravels it flat onto the surface. A large map greets you; the parchment yellowed and the ink faded with time. Still, you can make out all the details of the cartograph. It’s of Carelia, you note, with the human settlements clearly illustrated, as well as the paths to them.

“These are the general routes that you can traverse. Though, not all of them are in use anymore. And newer ones have been created. There’s also no real roads to follow,” Namjoon explains, a small frown marring his lips. Then, flicking his gaze towards you, he looks at you through hooded eyes. “If you’re free tomorrow, I can show you around? I doubt anyone knows these woods as well as me” he boasts.

Lips pulling into a flirtatious smile, you loll your head to the side before cocking your eyebrow. “Like a date?” comes your glib suggestion. Your voice is light, and airy, and your tone completely casual. And of course, you don’t expect him to actually agree. Still, to your complete disappointment, Namjoon shakes his head

“Not like a date,” comes his quick response, his voice causing ripples of devastation to tinge at your being. However, “A date,” he continues. Instantly, your disappointment is replaced with delight, and your heart simultaneously flutters.

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you chew on the soft petal in a bid to suppress your grin. “I’ll look forward to it.”

a/n: SCREAM god fneorngeoirgnoeig i dont know why that was so long when absolutely nothing happened but  i hope y’all liked it ahhh 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 i’m hoping to get the next part up next weekend but jfneronorign no promises rip ♡

⇥ Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Like my work? Consider buying me a Kofi!

[cyberfairyblog]

Some more stuff about Vanessa Marbles or marble idk XD

Contains spoilers for a 30+ year old show ft. My fancharacter Vanessa Marbles-Whittaker. Rambling, oc x canon (romantic and platonic), some meddling with canon events, and j*ll*an m*rsh*ll bashing

- i'm thinking about her placement in Odyssey & I'm entertaining the thought of having her "debut" be in 1989 bigbrainmeta

- She arrived in town like right after Connie and Eugene got fired

- So that makes her older than Jason in terms of episodes; she appears a whole 3 years before him 😂

- That first year she did genuinely like her nunnery but didn't really interact with her fellow nuns much keeping them at a distance

- It wasn't until year 2 she started having doubts. Nothing bad happened it just that there was a nagging feeling that she tried to stifle

- Vanessa is afraid of heights that's why she travelled by train instead of plane. She gets nervous by bridges & mountains even a tall hill is enough to make her stomach churn

- She got the job at Whit's End to help herself learn to befriend people & because the show needs more responsible adults lol

- For a time there was rumors about her being a vampire which she took in stride because having sensitive skin she walks around with an umbrella

- Eugene helps her with technology and how to operate the Imagination Station

- "Is that a time machine?"

- "No it's a holographic imagery generator meant to emulate time periods from prehistory all the way to even the future! Well not the future future, still has to figure out how to predict outcomes but I'm working on it."

- Vanessa dead ass got lost at the generator part

- She legit said that she was surprised they didn't blow up Odyssey given how powerful that machine is this around the Novacom arc

- Jason was a total enigma to her like 'who is that crazy fellow' and someone tells her that he's Whit's son & she's like oh. OH John didn't tell me he had kids smh

- They didn't get along at first and had poor communication though Vanessa really did try to be fair

- The funniest moment was when Jason accidentally revealed himself to be NSA and Vanessa revealed herself to be a Blackgaard - THE Blackgaard's daughter

- "Wait so you're mad at me for being a spy but yet you hid THIS from us?"

- "Well yes but actually no, at least you have the entire government on your side everyone literally hates my family jason!"

- Vanessa is very protective of her mother and Uncle Edwin

- She's a somewhat decent actress, she has stage fright sort of but swallows it in order to help her uncle get his play off the ground

- Despite switching to Protestant she still upholds a lot of Catholic values since she was raised as one

-She doesn't have much contact with her mother's side of the family due to strain from her parents divorce again divorce frowned upon in strict Catholic families

- She did give jason a gift for his engagement to Tasha but after that fiasco he tried giving it back to her and she told him to keep it

- In an alternate universe (let's call it marbleverse for future reference) jason proposed to her (having already broke up with Tasha years ago) and she declined not ready for marriage. they hurried up after novacom tho lmao

- Vanessa inherited a Blackgaard Castle located in Connellsville which she retooled as "midnight manor" a haunted house/vacation home

- Vanessa prefers Eugene with his hair down because seeing his eyes creeps her out

- "Six feet apart j*ll*an, six feet apart." Vanessa like everyone else with a brain dislikes villain marshall

- "Hello again it's me Vanessa! Double-S Vanessa, Double-T Whittaker!" She jokes this after she meets j*ll*an the second time

- Vanessa doesn't interact with child characters all that much but a part of her character arc is becoming a cool aunt to jason's cool uncle

- Some kids and connie helped set up a date for jason/vanessa totally not suspicious they knew what was going on and decided to play along; discovered they actually enjoyed each other's company

- During his time as The Stiletto Jason left roses and candy and other tokens around for her to find, which she eventually figured out was a sign of him being alive

- She was mad, relieved, overjoyed at his presence & the rare time you see her cry

- Only other time she cried was when Tom Riley passed because she admired the man

- Meta-wise Vanessa prefers jason's old look though she likes all of his designs

- Vanessa did get her own public access show which was crucial to the novacom arc

- Afterwards she suggested the idea of reforming the boxes into teaching tools, using them as art projects

- Vanessa was so sus of Monica Stone like "you think im not watching you lady?? Think again! I know you, i am watching you!"

- Vanessa and connie are like sisters considering she's an only child; in fact connie waa another close friend she made in odyssey

- If Chris (the narrator) gets sick or unavailable Vanessa fills in for the intro and such is introduced in her workshop painting

- She canonically has a guardian angel named Mariposa who sometimes appears; Mariposa works under Malachi and her human disguise is Posie

- After leaving the nunnery the first thing she did was buy a trendy wardrobe like miniskirts, boots, she was happy she didn't have to were ultra-conservative attire anymore

- She has a pet doberman named angela who ironically hates everyone in town

- If vanessa wasn't with jason her next choice of love interest would've been Richard Maxwell

[capricornus-rex]

Two Sides of the Coin (7)

Chapter 7: Comfort in the Midst of Irony | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

Also tagging: @silver-is-in-too-many-fandoms

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 | Previous: Part 6 | Next: Part 8 | Masterlist

7 of ?

Cal had just gotten back out into the open and found the river that divides the town from the jungle where he came from. He knelt by the bank, scooping up cold freshwater and splashing it into his face, scraping himself clean off the sweat and dirt. He used the last handful of water to comb his scarlet hair using his bare fingers.

He finally crosses the bridge, upon his entrance into the town, he was greeted with the colors spread across from each end of the street, hollers of vendors and haggling buyers rung loud between the walls of the buildings. Stall owners gesture at Cal to at least look at their wares, he politely dismisses them as he passes them by.

“Be careful not to overheat your scanners, BD!” Cal beamed, knowing that the curious little BD-1 is going to scan everything left and right as they go.

“Woop, trill! Chirp.”

“Yeah, this place sure is pretty,”

“Boo! Trill, beep!”

“Oh, you meant Jidné? Yeah, she is kinda pretty,”

Cal wandered off farther into the town, the thought of the Force ripple and Jidné ran tirelessly around his mind. He recalled the nudging sensation that he’s gotten ever since he and the crew landed, then the feeling spiked when he discovered Jidné—more so when she took his hand to help her stand up. The image of her constantly flashed behind his eyes—the shy smile that responded to his awfully awkward one-liners and quips burned into his memory, the melody of her voice, and the way she moved with her lightsaber.

Looking back, he rarely—in fact, never—encountered another Padawan who wielded a purple blade. The only person he knew who did was Master Windu.

Cal found himself into a modest-looking pub, light instrumentals filled the establishment as its patrons chattered amongst themselves over their drinks. He regretted that he didn’t wear the kind of poncho that had a hood; fortunately for him, no one seemed to have noticed the boy come in the bar. Cal scanned the place and saw no sign of Stormtroopers doing patrol, he sighed in relief.

“Something mild,” he orders to the bartender.

While waiting for the bartender to work on it, Cal surveyed the place again—the cantina was filled with so many species that he couldn’t name them all. The humans were also bizarre-looking: cosmetic implants attached to certain parts of their bodies, hair dyed in outlandish colors that match or complement their facial tattoos, with matching makeup on their eyes and lips to boot—especially the women.

The bartender slid Cal’s glass towards him, to which the boy halted the sliding with the cushion of his palm. The first sip was always the strongest one, no matter the alcohol level, a hot sensation seared his palate; he smacked his tongue against the insides of his cheeks until the fizz leaves his mouth. In the corner of his eye, he spotted a Haxion Brood hunter and the HURID droid; before they’d spot him back, Cal slightly angled his body so the back of his head faces them—though it doesn’t help him much because his red hair was the only defining feature they know to identify him.

Cal scooted a bit closer next to a Talz, hoping that the size of the creature would shield him from the hunters’ sights. It worked, but only for a moment. He had to move quick. He left his glass half-empty, slipped a gold credit to the bartender, and attempts to vanish in the pub. Little did he know that the hunters noticed him turn his back to leave the bar; he sensed them following him, so he briskly walked towards the denser crowd to blend in and lose the hunters at the same time.

“There he is!” the human hunter pointed with his bionic hand.

Both hunters shouldered their way through the crowd in the marketplace, especially the HURID droid who practically plowed his way through the people—it’s highly likely that the people he’s shoved and push will have a bruise pop out of them any day after that—meanwhile, Cal was careful in going through the crowd, matching their pace, regretting some more that he didn’t wear the hooded type of poncho.

“Out of my way!” the HURID droid bellowed, pushing away a local who stumbled upon the stall he was browsing at.

Cal picked up his pace while continuously mumbling “Pardon me” and “Excuse me” to the people he shoulders through. When he got into a wide space, enough for him to run, he bolted through the market’s streets—it didn’t take long until he came across another wave of people filling the road. He didn’t slow down for that though, he continued to run, looking over his shoulder from time to time—as consequence, he bumped into a stranger as he ran and they stumbled to the ground together.

From the fall, the cowl revealed its owner to be Jidné.

“Cal?”

“Jidné?”

Jidné groaned as she rubbed the back of her head, Cal’s brain was going haywire—deciding whether to bolt away and miss Jidné or simply hide with her tagging along against her will.

“Where is he!?” the HURID droid roared, drowned amongst the crowd.

There was no time for questions, Cal chose the latter option that his brain made in the last minute. He snatched her wrist as soon as she sat up and dragged her along. They crawled towards a market stall, sitting into a tucked position as their backs hug the wooden planks that make up the kiosk’s wall.

“What’s going on?” Jidné whispered.

“Shh!”

Cal braced her with his entire arm, both of them huddled together to the dust—just so they’re in the same height as the short-fenced market stall. Jidné was startled with the entire rough-and-tumble but she immediately knew what Cal was trying to pull.

The stampeding footsteps of the Haxion Brood hunter and his HURID companion approached their spot, they stopped just a few inches past the stall; both the young Jedi and the bounty hunter stuck their backs against the wooden planks more—both youngsters were frozen in place as they couldn’t look away from their pursuers, Jidné’s eyes fixed on the two goons, the human hunter was scanning the area. Not waiting for that hunter to turn his head to their direction, Jidné clutched for Cal’s arm on her shoulder and then put all of her focus on using her ability.

“What was that?!” the hunter snarled, abruptly twirling to face Jidné and Cal’s general direction.

Cal’s felt his heart fall to his feet when he met eyes with the hunter, but it occurred to him that the hunter apparently cannot see them. He swears that he’s face-to-face with the Brood hunter right now! The hunter is literally one step away from him, he shuddered at how close he is with the enemy but the Brood agent isn’t doing anything.

Cal looked to his side and saw the steely expression in Jidné’s face, he felt her hand around his, she afforded a quick side-eye as she caught him staring at her—he was beginning to grasp that she was doing this.

“You see ‘im, Fazer?” asked the bruiser droid.

The human hunter, Fazer, squinted his eyes and panned that one empty nook right beside the market stall.

“Argh! Nah, probably just a vermin or somethin’ I heard,” he grumbled.

“He must’ve went that way!” the droid pointed to their direction up ahead and then darted through.

Soon the footsteps receded, Jidné didn’t remove her hand from Cal’s until there was no sight of that pair. She scrambled to her feet, still crouched to the same level as the market stalls, and then peeked out into the street while ignoring the startled locals looking between them and the two hunters running ahead.

“I think they’re gone,” she turned around to Cal, still seated on the dust, mouth gaped open as he still tried to comprehend what happened seconds ago.

“How did…?” he mumbled. It was so quiet that Jidné didn’t hear it as she checked out their surroundings.

“You seem like you have a knack for attracting trouble.”

“Yeah well, there’s a bounty on my head for being a Jedi. The group that’s after me isn’t exactly the friendliest bunch,”

Jidné bit her lip. The whole thing is so uncanny that it hurt her on the inside.

“Right,” she hummed as casually as she could.

When the coast was truly clear, Cal brought himself up his feet and dusted off the yellow sand that clumped on his jacket and pants.

“Sorry, I kinda dragged you in there for a moment,”

“Wait, did you think those Haxion goons were gonna come after me too—that’s why you pulled me in with you?”

“Yeah, I…” Cal was patting off the dust from his sleeve until it occurred to him, he jerked his head to face Jidné. “Wait. How’d you know they were Haxion?”

Oh fuck! Jidné’s conscience screamed so loud that her mouth nearly replicated the words.

“I had my own run-ins with them,” she shrugged her shoulders. She nodded at the alley on her left. “Come on, this way should be safer. Less open, more hidden.”

Jidné led Cal into the narrow annex of the main road, doors lined the walls—assuming that this was another residential area that sits behind the business establishments—and worked their way out of the crowded part of town.

“You got yourself into a bar fight or something?” Jidné blurted.

“No, I was just out to get a drink until I spotted them—I guess they spotted me when I was about to leave,”

“Sounds like you haven’t truly mastered the art of subtlety,” she clapped back.

“Hold on,” he pressed. “What was that just now?”

“The what?”

“That!” Cal gestures at the space behind him, but Jidné knew what he exactly meant. “You saw the hunter, he was literally right in front of us! But… he didn’t see us? That couldn’t be me—I’m sure as hell that that’s not me!”

Jidné was calm, completely the opposite definition of Cal’s hysteria. She sighed. There’s no escape for her with these kinds of questions again.

“I don’t think this is the best place to explain, don’t you think so too?” quipped the young hunter.

Cal surveyed the area, residents standing outside their homes—for reasons unknown—and children playing in the narrow annex with their balls and playthings laid out on the road. Some of the folks have already noticed the two of them standing awkwardly together by the wall.

“Alright, I suppose you lead the way then?”

“Just stay close,” she sternly instructed.

——————————————————–

The intricate network of roads, annexes, and alleys in the town of Ombari was confusing, but if one knew the landmarks and kept it in mind, then it would be easier to navigate through the town. Jidné and Cal passed through some intersections here and there, they were looking for a spot that wasn’t too crowded—a few people wouldn’t be a bother, Jidné only preferred to have less people around and Cal concurred with that.

Cal kept his questions to himself. As they go along, more and more questions pile up in his mind—particularly, questions about Jidné herself.

They found themselves in the base of the hill where the town was situated. There were more small-time businesses lining up the path just right in front of the main entrance, but farmers and tillers mostly resided at the stretch of landed where they had plotted their modest farms and vegetable gardens. Their harvests were already in display for those who wanted to buy, they were no different from the vendors in the town proper though—except the noise wasn’t a factor in their part.

“That spot by the riverbank looks okay,” Jidné nodded at her north, gesturing at the river gleaming underneath the afternoon sun.

She and Cal sat on the other side of the river, across the hill where they could observe the farmers till and plow their crops, underneath the shade of the trees that framed along the winding river.

Both of them were getting tired—or perhaps, fed up—with the same old silence that always hung heavily around them, no matter the space in between, it’s always there. Neither of them saw it a sign for either of them to start a conversation.

“So, about what happened back in the marketplace?” Cal prompted.

Jidné exhaled and prepared herself.

“Can you like… cloak anything or anyone?” he added.

“When you put it that way, yeah,” she looked at him in the eye, then her eyes wandered to her own hands. “At first, it was simply just activating and deactivating it—in a way—it was hard for little ol’ me that time. I was fresh out of the Initiate Trials back then.”

Cal didn’t avert his gaze from Jidné, he shifted between examining her hands and then to her whenever she spoke.

“But now that I’m older—even back then when I was still a Padawan—I learned how to wield it better. I can manipulate how transparent I want things or people to appear, whether they’d be as thin as smoke or as invisible as the air we breathe.”

“Do you really need to touch in order to make things almost or completely invisible?”

Jidné clenched her fist, “It makes it easier for me if I do, and the area of effect varies too. Not touching them but still focusing on my target can have them be under the influence of my Force Shroud, but only for a time. Whereas being in physical contact, it’s the same—except twice or thrice as better. It all boils down to a matter of distance, really.”

He let all of that information sink into him, trying to grasp how Jidné’s Force ability worked. It wasn’t difficult to understand, though he could imagine the possibilities if one could master such a power.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of another Jedi with an ability like that,”

“My master thought the same thing,” her tone became more somber at the memory.

Cal’s next question might be one of the most personal ones, but he had a feeling that his master might have known hers. Regardless, he put that question for another time—he figured it might have been a topic too heavy for her, considering that she was also a Jedi who must’ve lost everything.

And lost everything she did.

“So, you got anything special in you too, ginger?” she initiated.

Instead of using words, Cal searched for a target—any target. He spotted a pile of shards from earthenware that beached onto the shore of the river, hidden well between the reeds; he scooted closer to the shard pile and hovered his hand over it. Jidné watched and she could feel the slight ripple send out a weak shockwave and a gust of wind.

“These pots were used by farmers to ferment the grain and wheat into some kind of liquid. They collected water to continue the fermentation process, but some wild animals jumped on them and broke them,” Cal explained.

Impressed, Jidné flicked her eyebrows up at Cal, who seemed proud of his little demonstration and proved it with a smirk across his lips.

“I think I’ve read about a power like that a long time ago. You touch an object and you get a glimpse of its past… A Force Echo.”

“Exactly,”

“Interesting,” she hummed, a smile involuntarily curled along her lips.

For a moment, Jidné forgot that she was a bounty hunter. The feeling of having someone to connect with something familiar from a distant past was intoxicating. She and Cal continued to banter about topics that weren’t exactly correlated with one another—for instance, their own droids.

Jidné told Cal the story of finding ID-3 in a disposal bin. She was expertly vague in leaving out some details that could go unnoticed. She recalled the time when she took a look at ID, he was apparently still in tiptop shape—all he needed was a circuit wire replacement and a good power recharge.

“The poor thing wasn’t exactly given the right attention,” Jidné cooed, petting ID-3’s flat-topped head. “So I patched him and now he’s mine!”

“What else did you do to ID-3?”

“Oh, just added some little perks and tweaks that might come in handy sooner or later. The little saucer never failed me so far,”

The black droid chirped happily, absorbing all of the compliments that poured out of Jidné’s mouth and she truly meant them.

Cal and Jidné whiled away the afternoon bantering some more and letting their droids get to know with one another. This was one of the rare moments where Jidné allowed herself to let loose—although the moment was lighthearted and happy, she couldn’t ignore the irony that gleamed blindingly in front of her face: the irony that such comfort is coming from the exact person that she is hunting down.

[jawnjendes]

don’t want your hand this time | shawn mendes

chapter 1/?, university au, shawn x goth oc

AN: i know i know i posted a thing yesterday but UUUHHHHH im just tryna get to the saucy parts of this bc SOMEBODY decided to be all hot n sexy in a certain music video ANYWAY this is just an intro chapter of sorts and we are introducing some new characters!! lmk your thoughts thots!

***let me know if u wanna be added/removed from the taglist

masterlist | playlist coming soon

When Annalise Flores has shit to do within a time limit, she forgets about everything else. Her phone goes on silent, she ignores her other obligations, and she makes sure to get whatever is in her focus done. This has proven to be disastrous in the past, like when Annalise just needed to clean the entire dorm before starting any homework assignment was due the next day. Or when she reorganized the filing closet at the dealership before adding up the gas receipts she was ordered to do. You get the idea.

Annalise was very determined to get all of her unopened boxes, and her clothes to fit in her tiny, beat up car so she didn't have to make multiple trips, given how far campus is from Shawn's apartment. He promised he would help her move when he got home, he had that huge Jeep after all, but Annalise was way too antsy. Besides, they already fought about this, and she didn't want to start anything all over again. She didn't want him to feel obligated to help if only one of them was into the idea of her moving out.

After pushing on the car door three times, it finally clicked shut. Annalise successfully managed to stuff all of her clothes and half her boxes into the backseat. The rest of the boxes were in the trunk. The windows were all covered, so maybe she wouldn't be able to see her blind spots, but at least Annalise wouldn't have to make a second trip. She silently thanked the Tetris gods for blessing her with the appropriate skills as she went back up to the apartment.

Shawn's living space didn't look that different with all of Annalise's belongings out. Most of it was all stashed into the "recording" room over the summer, and neither of them spent any time in there. There was more space in the closet now, too. It was no longer just a black abyss, and all of Shawn's belongings were now undisturbed. Annalise debated smuggling out his black Nike hoodie, but given the circumstances it was best to leave everything as it was. The apartment didn't look any different really, but Annalise still felt an ache from her throat down to the bottom of her feet as she removed the spare key from her chain and left it on the glass dining table. This was easier than saying goodbye to him in person.

~

Campus was nowhere near as quiet and lonely as the apartment. Students were running around like headless chickens, trying to locate buildings, schedules, and friends. She already had a key to her dorm, so she parked near her building and carried her backpack and two boxes up the walkway. Annalise's resting bitch face and the clunk of her boots on the ground gave her less of a struggle to push past other students. Weak and fragile as she was these last couple of months, she's still got it.

The dorm building wasn't too far from the last one she lived in, but it was going to be a bitch getting to her classes. Maybe she should invest in a bike… or she should get her shit together and take the bus.

Annalise's new dorm was on the third floor, and it was furnished. Weird, yes, but she was not going to complain. It was a bit smaller, but not cramped. There was a tiny hallway between the two bedrooms, and one cramped bathroom. She noticed one room already had boxes sitting on the floor, and she couldn't help but get just a little excited. Stella hadn't completely abandoned her. Annalise wasn't even mad about their three month long silence, she was just happy that she would be seeing a familiar face.

She didn't run into Stella at all during the multiple trips she took bringing all her stuff in. Annalise knew she was here, though. Her perfume scent was always left behind in any room she had been in, and Annalise definitely caught the scent in the dorm. The same amount of boxes were still in her room by the time Annalise finished bringing all of her's in. She figured she could have texted Stella, but she kind of wanted to surprise her… even though they both knew about the other.

She checked her phone anyway. The only text she had was from Shawn.

"How come you didn't wait for me?"

Pursing her lips and smudging the signature black lipstick, Annalise cleared the notification and went to sit in the armchair in the living room. She was way too tired to try to reason with him. She certainly couldn’t jump into the "I miss you" crap so quickly either. She didn't want to, but Shawn obviously did when he sent another text. Out of sheer habit, Annalise opened the notification instead of clearing it, and she cursed under her breath.

"You've been gone only a few hours and this place already feels so sad and empty. Why did you leave your key?"

Yeah, she left him on read. She didn't know what else to say to him.

Thankfully, the lock on the door jiggled and in came Stella carrying a large cardboard box. She gasped and her hazel eyes lit up when she saw her dark natured roommate. She quickly squatted down and set the box on the floor before coming at Annalise with open arms.

"Mi esposa hermosa!"

Annalise will never say this out loud, but Stella gives wonderful hugs. They two girls haven't seen each other in over three months, so getting a nice tight hug was something that was really needed. They rocked from side to side, giggling at the motions. It was like nothing had really changed.

"When did I become your wife?" Annalise asked, amused as she leaned back to look at her.

"When we decided to live together for the third year in a row!" Stella replied. “Oh you got a little…” Her thumb rubbed under Annalise’s lip, showing her the black.

“The struggles of being goth,” she joked.

Stella giggled, and then the rambling began. "How are you? I'm so sorry we didn't talk much over the summer. Did you stay with Shawn the whole summer? Oh, is he here?" She bounced on her feet, looking around the dorm.

"Uh yeah, I did stay with him the entire time," she told her. "And no, he's not here. He's working."

Annalise knew he wasn't. He had found her abandoned key, which meant he was home. And he was probably sulking. And he was going to sleep alone...

"But he'll be here later, right?" Stella asked, nudging her arm. "Y'all are gonna christen your room, eh?"

She really had to ask, didn't she? She really had to jokingly ask a question that would change the expression on Annalise's face, thus warning her of the things that had happened. She wasn't sure why she kept an obviously fake smile on her face as she silently stared at her roommate. The silence alone wasn't enough, apparently.

Normally, Stella would dramatically gasp, sit her down, and ask Annalise to spill every detail. Instead, she sighed.

"Fill me in while you help me bring my stuff up."

~

Classes and club meetings resumed within the next couple of days, so it gave Annalise plenty of excuses to keep her texts to Shawn dismissive and short. She knew he was coming and going from campus for class too, but due to their different majors, he was going to be very far away from her. Not to mention, he didn't know where her new dorm was located, so it wasn't like he could track her down.

Except… Annalise had to retake biology. She knew Shawn was at the science building quite often, and she had hoped her bio lab fell on a day that he was at the fine arts building. But you know, life just happens, and sometimes you see your mans between classes. Sometimes you just see him leaving classroom, towering over the other students because he’s a giant. Maybe you’ll see him with a very short girl at his side, and they’re both laughing at something. Maybe he won’t see you either because he’s balls deep in banter with this random girl.

There was a lump in Annalise’s stomach following that minor event, and it made her anxious and uneasy for the first day of that class. Still, she was determined to stay on board with the separation they both agreed on. It was better that way for now. She didn't know about Shawn, but Annalise fully intended on keeping the distance, suspicious-looking friends be damned.

Anyway, she could find friends of her own too. Gaming club meetings started up again that Friday, and it was something to look forward to. After god knows how long, Annalise attended said meeting after receiving an email from the head of the club, Josh. He and his friend, Paul, ran the club most of the time. They managed to get plenty of people to sign up during the rush earlier in the week but only seven of them actually attended the first meeting. Just like every year.

Both Josh and Paul were scrawny blond boys with "nice guy" complexes. They were polite for the most part, given that they inducted Annalise into the club the moment she signed up. But they also quizzed her on just about every popular, mainstream video game there was once they realized she would actually be showing up to the meetings. It took time, and a bit of Annalise telling them off, but they were civil towards each other now.

"Annalise!" called Chad as the lady herself entered the classroom in the communications building. He was another member, and he had his two frat bros with him, Kyle and Jared, and they both chanted her name in their deep, manly voices.

All different heights, but same amount of insane muscle. For lack of better words, these guys were meatheads with good intentions. Chad was a student with one of the highest GPA on campus, practically competing with Josh. Kyle was the star student in his major, sports medicine. Jared was that guy who beat up bigots as a hobby. All three of them were fully dedicated to their fraternity, Sigma Chi.

Then there was Patrick, who nodded to Annalise as a greeting. She nodded back and took the empty seat next to him in the circle.

The people who think Annalise Flores is a complete hardcore goth have not met Patrick Markowski. This was a guy who was always decked out in leather, ripped jeans, and black eyeliner. He had a proper faux hawk, which is what made people notice him the most. He typically surrounded himself with other goths, unlike Annalise. He was truly dedicated to the lifestyle, while she deviated from even that sometimes. This was the only guy in the club Annalise was actually friends with.

Anyway, all seven of these nerds shared the same appreciation for video games, which brought them all together in a circle, in an empty classroom, in the communications building this evening. However, Annalise's entrance caused the guys to deviate from the main topic.

Josh and Paul had been staring at her with their mouths open the second she entered the room. The Frats were visibly excited and each gave her a high five. Patrick merely stayed quiet and smiled.

"Heard you almost fucking died!" Chad told her. "And you didn't tell a single one of us!"

"I thought you had actually died," Josh spoke up. "Since you never miss a meeting and all."

So that got around. Cool.

“I wasn’t dying,” Annalise said, rolling her eyes. “I just had part of my colon surgically removed.”

“No way…” Jared said in wonder.

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” said Paul with a gag. He brought the collar of his red Pizza Planet shirt over his mouth.

The Frats stared at Annalise in awe, almost impressed by her vague explanation. She really didn’t understand the fascination, given everything that happened during and after the hospital. Of course, they knew nothing about any of that. At the same time, Annalise was annoyed at Paul’s dramatic reaction, so she kept talking.

“It might happen to you too if you don’t take care of yourself and listen to your body,” she told him. “Or worse, you could end up with a bag of your poop attached to your belly.”

Paul gagged again, much louder this time. Then Annalise decided that that was enough and directed the conversation to the club’s main topic: video games.

“So who’s played Team Sonic Racing?”

It was only the first meeting, so the group made a plan to bring their Switches and play next time. The Nice Guys prompted to play a round of Fortnite online later, but Annalise was not up for that game in the slightest. Too mainstream. Too chaotic. She never could get into it.

“Well, we can play without you,” Paul suggested, “not everyone has to join in.”

“Isn’t that a rule, though?” Patrick asked pointedly. “If we’re gonna play something together, we all have to agree on one game. Besides, I don’t play Fortnite either.”

Paul's eyes darted around, trying to look for a counterargument, but he sighed. “Fine. Anyone else got any suggestions?”

“What about a D&D campaign?” Annalise said. “Or some type of board game?”

Josh scoffed. “It’s video game club. Besides, me and Paul already have a campaign with our other friends.”

“‘Course you do,” she mumbled, folding her arms.

“Ooo! I got an idea!” Kyle spoke up, raising his massive hand. “We should hit up Bart. That bar with the art and retro games?”

Annalise perked up. Finally, someone with a brain cell. “I participated in a Smash Bros tournament there. It’s really fun, we should all go one weekend.”

“A bar?” Josh said in distaste.

“Yeah! It’ll be a class field trip or something!” Chad agreed. “It’s awesome, bro! They got a Gamecube and an N64! Sometimes they do karaoke night, but only with songs from different games!”

Then, Kyle looked at Annalise with a smirk. “Bet your boyfriend would perform there, eh?”

Even when she was far away from him, Shawn still had a presence wherever she went. “Heh, maybe…”

Luckily, none of these guys were the type to hover. The subject went back to going to Bart one weekend, and then the group chat was revived to discuss further adventures. Once the meeting was adjourned, Patrick followed me out the door.

“So, Annie. No offense or anything,” he said, walking in step beside her as they walked down the corridor, “but what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“My summer was great, thanks,” Annalise said, too busy glancing at her phone to cringe at that awful nickname. No new messages for once.

“Nah, seriously. You were in the fucking hospital, and I find out through Snapchat?” he asked seriously. “Did you even tell anybody? What the hell happened?”

She didn’t remember posting anything about her hospital stay anywhere on social media. However, the only two people who were there with her were social media freaks. Stella was the type to tweet every single one of her brain farts, and frequently Snap where she was every second. Shawn was less active on his platforms, but he was still quite popular in the Toronto area, so he had a sizeable following. Annalise knew he took a picture of his hand holding hers while she was in the hospital at least once. Maybe it made it to his Instagram story a couple of times.

Sighing, Annalise gave Patrick the gist of her exciting adventure with her large intestine. Some underlying guilt wanted to be felt as she recalled staying and Shawn’s for so long, but she decided to spare those details.

“Looked death in the face, eh?” he said, nodding in what looked like approval. “Badass.”

She chuckled. “Guess I wasn’t ready to be yeeted off this mortal coil.”

“Ugh, you use the word yeet? How much has that guy changed you?” Patrick stuck his tongue out at her, flashing the piercing he had on the muscle.

“Hey, I’m more down with the kids than he is.”

The pair were quiet as they made it out to the courtyard. The night was chilly and cloudy, the only light coming from the lampposts on either side of the walkway. It felt different knowing Annalise was with only a friend rather than her mans, and she tried to ignore the ache in her chest and the urge to talk about him.

“Do you remember what it was like?” Patrick asked after a minute. “Being so close to death?”

“Nope,” she replied simply. “Although, when I was under, I had a really vivid dream that my… uh, Shawn cheated on me.” Way to not talk about him.

“You sure it was a dream?”

They were passing by one of the picnic tables, where Patrick pointed to. There was a group of people standing around the table, and two people sitting on top of it. One of those people was Shawn with his acoustic guitar. He was singing with the girl who was sitting next to him, the same one he was walking with at the science building. It wouldn’t have seemed weird if Patrick hadn’t said what he said. It would have been left alone if Annalise hadn’t thought about that stupid fever dream.

“Come on,” she said to Patrick as she stalked off towards the group.

“I was joking!” he said with a laugh.

Still, Annalise walked with a purpose and he followed her. She clutched the strap of her shoulder bag and kept her chin up as she made herself apart of the tiny audience. It was quite the sight, two nerds decked out in all black and heavy eyeliner amongst a group of normals watching two other normals sing a pop song. No lie, Annalise just wanted to get a look at this girl she had never seen before.

Olive skin. Black, curly hair. Very short next to her guy. Very pretty voice coming out of very pretty lips. She looked at Shawn and he looked back at her as they sang an eerily familiar song. Musically speaking, they seemed good together.

“I’ll leave you with the memory, and the aftertaste…”

The tiny audience clapped. Patrick was nodding in pleasant surprise, probably having never heard Shawn’s songs before. Annalise applauded as well, but she couldn’t help the narrowing of her eyes as she watched Shawn and this girl high five each other.

They were both comfortable with all the attention, it was easy to see. Shawn was beaming in a way that hadn’t been seen in a long time, and then he laid eyes on Annalise. He still had that smile on his face, even though it faltered a little bit. She kept her face neutral and quirked her eyebrows at him as a silent greeting.

“Should I leave you guys alone?” asked Patrick as he and Annalise watched Shawn get down from the table top.

“No,” she replied simply.

She almost regretted having him stay. He had to witness Shawn and Annalise attempt to figure out how to greet each other. A side hug would have been awkward for reasons not only having to do with the guitar strapped to his shoulder. She definitely couldn’t kiss him, because that would have started something she had been trying to distance herself from. They finally settled for a mildly uncomfortable handshake, and Shawn kept holding her hand as he spoke.

It had been almost a week since Ann moved out, and she only sent him one text in that time span. It was the black heart emoji. Better than nothing, but not better than seeing her in person.

“You haven’t answered my texts,” Shawn told her. If she was going to decide when she'll give him attention, then he wasn't going to beat around the bush when he saw her.

“I’ve been busy,” Ann replied, feebly attempting to shake her hand away.

Shawn nodded, but he wasn't thoroughly convinced. Between work and school, Ann was a hermit. Or so he thought, given that she now had this new goth dude at her side. “So, who’s your friend?”

“Who’s yours?” she quickly said back.

“I’m Patrick!” said Patrick, holding out his hand. “Annie and I go way back!”

Shawn let go of her hand to shake his. “Nice to meet you, brother. Wait… Annie?” He chuckled.

Her cheeks heated up, and she decided to move her eyes somewhere else, specifically on Shawn’s unnamed singing partner. She was chatting with some of the other people still around the table. Annalise noticed she talked with her hands a lot.

“She lets me call her that even though she hates it,” Patrick said, snapping her back into the moment. “Right, Annie?”

“Do not,” she warned. Then she looked at Shawn. “So who’s the chick you’re singing with?”

Shawn took in an almost reluctant deep breath as he turned and called the girl over. If there was anything he had yet to discover, it had to be if his girl was the jealous type.

Annalise's dark brown eyes narrowed once again while he wasn’t looking. Call it anxiety or paranoia, but she was oddly suspicious. Patrick caught the glare though, and he nudged her arm to snap her out of it.

“Ann, Patrick, this is Alessia,” Shawn said when the very short girl joined them. “She’s a first year. Alessia, this is my…” He elongated the vowel. “Annalise. And her friend Patrick.”

Okay, so… a sinking feeling in the tummy. That’s what that felt like. Couldn’t be mad, though. Annalise wasn’t so quick to use the boyfriend word these days.

“You’re Annalise!” Alessia said in pleasant surprise. She did not hesitate to hug her, arms going around her shoulders and practically pulling her down to her level. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you!”

Honestly, Annalise was just glad she didn’t call her the goth girlfriend. Or the goth anything, for that matter. She didn’t hug Patrick, though, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“So, how did you two meet?” Annalise prompted. So maybe she was a little more than curious to know how and when Shawn found the time to get another girl at his side.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Shawn replied a little too quickly.

His eyes bored into hers, throwing them into a staredown. He broke through the fake, polite smile Ann had on. Of course he broke it. He was the only one who could. However, Shawn couldn't read the expression she had on. He couldn't tell if she was upset or not, happy or not… He couldn't tell if she wanted to change her mind about this separation or not… Ten months together and Ann was still a mystery.

“Uh, Shawn and I have like, every class together,” Alessia said slowly, looking between the couple, noticing the sudden change in atmosphere. She scratched the back of her head.

“Annie and I have been in the same club for two years,” Patrick added in the same tone. He too noticed the tension.

“Oh, which club? There’s some I’ve been checking out…”

Those two kept up the conversation. Shawn’s gaze on Annalise made her throat close up. He wasn’t smiling or feigning politeness anymore. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were hard and glossed over. Inexplicable guilt began to form in her chest yet again. She knew he didn’t understand.

_______

taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @ilsolee @mendesromano @1-800-khalid-mendussy @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @poppyshawn @shawnsunflower @shawnvvmendes @yourdelightfullyleft @shawmndes @havethetimeeofyourlifee @calyumthomas

[angelicteeth]

hi our boys are disgusting

god fuck yeah they are 

Aristotle: He/Him - Leo - 18 - 6′4

1. What is your OC’s favorite color? blueee!!!!!!!2. Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? he loves art books! his mom used to show them to him and he’s collected them ever since. would also like to collect daggers/knives/swords bc he thinks they’re neat 3. What kind of things is your OC allergic to? nothing 4. What kind of clothing does your OC wear? ohhhh this guys 100% a metal head. leather jackets, spikes, ripped jeans, chains- necklaces and wallet, vans or boots, lots n lots of patches/pins- the whole ordeal! typically only wears reds, blacks, whites, and dark shades. muted colors. 5. What is your OC’s first memory? he was around 4 or 5 and his mother asked him to bake a cake with her, and he agreed, of course. they made a giant 5 layer red velvet cake with chocolate, caramel, and peanut butter chips in between and chocolate fudge drizzled on top/off the sides. they made a HUGE mess in the kitchen and all over themselves and he cherishes this memory so sooo much. 6. What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? black panthers!!!!! he also loves dogs a lot… he? HATES?? butterflies ???7. What element would your OC be? oh boy fire 8. What is your OC’s theme song? uhhh anything Heavy Metal9. Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? noooooo, i dont rlly like doing this edrfghu but! he has a deep voice, its warm and deep and kinda ? sultry? idk 10. What deadly sin would best represent your OC? wrath. 11. What are your OC’s hobbies? painting!!! learning about history/going to museums, annnnnnd does his bf count? LOL12. How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? uhhh relatively patient? definitely depends. he’s VERY hot-headed but doesn’t ‘explode’ often 13. What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? male, gay, and latino! he’s also human wsedrftg14. What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? fucking LOVES cheese??? and big warm pretzels… CINNAMON ROLLS! hates olives ??? and most fish 15. If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? he’d really want a big cat, doesn’t matter what… just a Big Boy16. What does your OC smell like? warm, cinnamon maybe but also musky and woodsy… but he sometimes just likes smelling Clean and like semi typical guy cologne ??? or just Expensive smelling cologne,,, idk he always smells really fucking good sedfgh17. How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? uhhh right Now he’s just graduated high school and issss looking for work… doesn’t really know what he wants to be, honestly. he’s still trying to figure everything out 18. What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? he fears losing completely everything he loves, specifically his boyfriend and his brother. a weakness is how hard he is on himself, and how much he isolates/pushes people away when he’s low. a strength is just how warm and caring he is. how much he loves. even if he doesn’t always see himself as strong, he is. he really, really is19. What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? h e a v y  m e t a l  h e ‘ s  a  f u c k i n g  m e t a l h e a d i havent looked too into it so i don’t know about songs, i WILL look into it at some point20. If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? he live on this hell planet, sadly 21. What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? the death of his mom… and his anger… he blames himself for her death and hes struggling hard with it, since his father doesn’t help at all and blames him, too. a pet peeve he has is people leaving doors or cabinets open, it makes him so mad dftgyhu just fucking close them 22. What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? heee was a good one ? hardest subject for him was english :/ mainly got A’s! except for english 23. What is a random fact about your OC? he cannot bake or cook anything EXCEPT breakfast foods 24. What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? he… didnt see a future until he met his boyfriend, nathan… after his mom died, so did everything else 25. What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? amber wanted to play the sims and she told me to create 2 characters but i said hey! i do one, you do one! and then we were fucking idiots and turned them into ocs dfyudfhjkl; its soooo recent that nothings changed LOL im still developing him, as i am with all of my ocs 26. Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? nathan… he gave him a second chance at life, he gave him a reason to want to stay alive, a future. also jordan is super super important to him they bffs xoxo (edit: dan n ty also mean the world to him) at his current age… his dad. their relationship does eventually get better but right now, hes the least important but has such a big impact on him it hurts27. What kind of childhood did your character have? A GOOD GOOD GOOOOOOD ASS CHILDHOOD up until 16 it was soooo good… his moms his best friend, he n his brother hung out all the time, and his dad wasn’t so angry or drunk28. What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? he picks at his nails when hes nervous, but it doesnt happen very often so its nothing he tends to worry about. heee doesn’t stim but fucking loves paint mixing videos those are his shit uhhh no, no addictions… unless you literally count his bf wertyui29. If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? “If You Sit On My Grave I WILL Haunt You” or “Long Live The King” because he’s a stupid fucking leo30. Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? yesssssssss he wants to marry nathan So Bad sedrftyui he’s unsure about kids, though… kinda just wants a couple pets 31. What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? his mom died on his 16th birthday driving to come pick him up. anything involving nathan… doesn’t even matter what it is, he just loves him so much32. If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? his mom back33. Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? uhhh probablyyyyy not… he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he actually killed someone,,,34. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? uh he likes concerts n shit but its not like,,, a social group thing… he doesnt do that shit…35. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? very vivid imagination, is often found daydreaming when hes not painting or with his bf. not really worried, honestly, kinda just lives in the moment and doesnt give a single god damn shit about a thing except on the bad days36. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? he wants nathan the most, out of everything- and he has him… but if he didn’t he would do anything for him. anything37. What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? pees with the door open esdrtyuio38. What would your character do with a million dollars? ooohhhh spoil the shit out of nathan, get a tattoo or 2, and buy art stuff!39. What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? eggs, leftovers, milk, orange juice, bacon, butter, and syrup. a couple of canvases, paint brushes, the shirt he slept in the night before. a couple of single issue comics, the graphic novel hes reading, a bottle of water, and a tiny art canvas. random plastic, paper, maybe an empty water bottle or 240. Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? out with nathan, probably on a date. ripped jeans, dark red sweater, black shirt, boots, wallet chain, necklace chain, and a single dangly earring in his left ear 41. What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? yell, scream, get super physical. he’s burning, he’s burning, he’s burning. make it stop, better yet, let him thrive 42. Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? nope! he’s clean for now43. What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? oooooh uh he says some Shit when he’s pissed, especially to his dad44. How does your character react/ accept criticism? fine? doesn’t really care about it unless its from nathan. oooor if youre just being a shithead hell tell you off45. If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? he enjoys it, wouldn’t mind it at all tbh46. Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? fuck, yeah. he’d do something stupid to it to see if it works and then display it in his room or give it to his bf47. Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? hellllll yeaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh. everything, anything48. What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? his mom was his best friend and the reason why he is the way he is. his dad was a good man, but now hes a stupid angry drunk who blames ari for his mothers death. its affected him positively and negatively, hes loving and passionate like his mother but insecure and doubtful because of his father49. Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? d o  n o t  l e t  h i m  h a v e  a  l o t  o f  c a n d y  p l e a s e 50. If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? would probably elope with nathan, do some crazy shit, and hope to god he doesn’t actually fucking die 

Jordan: He/Him - Sagittarius - 19 - 6′2

1. What is your OC’s favorite color? light green2. Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? stamps, stickers, beanies, anything aquatic-themed, and tarot cards/witchy stuff!3. What kind of things is your OC allergic to? bananas…4. What kind of clothing does your OC wear? lazy type clothes, very sluggish. lots of oversized cardigans, hoodies, and sweaters. baggy shirts, but he religiously wears jeans. likes chains but preferably small ones, and usually only wallet chains. likes wearing a ring on each thumb and if hes Feelin it a couple more! punkish basically 5. What is your OC’s first memory? spying on his brother and dad training outside in the barn6. What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? he has a giant soft spot for cows but his favorite is whale sharks!!! he doesn’t really like frogs 7. What element would your OC be? water! but with Slight fire8. What is your OC’s theme song? something slow and sad, probably 9. Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? no! his voice is soft and low, like a lullaby. very warm and comforting, but also a lil husky10. What deadly sin would best represent your OC? envy/lust/greed wsedfg11. What are your OC’s hobbies? reading, using tarot cards, organizing his stamps/stickers, watching documentaries, and making sure aristotle doesn’t do anything Stupid12. How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? he’s pretty patient but he’s also pretty hot headed. he Will lash out when angry :/13. What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? male, bisexual, white (russian/american) also a human sedryui14. What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? loooovvveeessss chocolate chip waffles! and breakfast foods in general. hates peas and green beans 15. If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? a cowwwww… they remind him of his mom dfghj16. What does your OC smell like? clean but ? kinda minty!17. How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? he currently works at a little bookshop/coffeeshop! he likes it but he wants to do something more when he’s graduated from college. 18. What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? his father and crickets. how emotionally attached he gets to people. how warm and soft he is, he never stops caring for others 19. What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? goth, heavy metal, sad/emo shit20. If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? he live here Binch21. What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? his whole family besides his father is dead and he’s all alone with nobody to turn to. he h a t e s crunching noises. so much. also fucking HATES when people poke holes in shit just STop. 22. What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? actually really really good, even though he looks like a fucking slacker esdrftgyhu probably got all A’s23. What is a random fact about your OC? he always has his fingernails and toenails painted black or dark red/purple24. What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? fuck man he doesn’t wanna live hes so fucking Tired his dark circles are permanent but ari makes life worth living sdfg25. What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? …once upon a time amber and i made a gang au with ari n nathan and promptly made jordan for the Shits and Giggles but it turns out i fell in love and way too deep making his character, thanks!26. Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? aristotle, probably, because he assumes his mom is dead. least is his dad whos a fucking asshole murdering cuck27. What kind of childhood did your character have? uhhhh Not Good ill tell you that. his father only married and brought his mom to russia so she could give him kids, preferably boys. first was nikolai, second was kazimir jordan, and lastly was feliks. they were all 2 years apart, making nikolai and feliks 4, so they were all close in age and played together often. his father was most proud of nikolai but feliks had been showing signs of possibly exceeding all of their expectations. kazimir was last in everything, but he was his mothers favorite. he’ll never forgive his father for torturing him and killing everyone he loved. 28. What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? he often picks at his nail polish, or the skin around his nails. definitely fidgets with his hands often. doesn’t stim but follows a lot of soap carving and squishy videos, also likes bread/cooking ones. he’s kind of addicted to red bulls but he’s cutting back and resorting to coffee, which he drinks black29. If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? “hell’s waiting for me so watch your back”30. Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? maybe married but almost Definitely no kids. no thanks. xoxo31. What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? his father dragged him into the barns once after he accidentally spilled something over an ‘important’ paper so his father branded him with a cross on his side. his mother used to braid his hair with baby’s breath in it when theyd play out in the field, just her and the 3 boys running around, having fun. it was peaceful, bliss32. If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? to tell his mother he was sorry and that he’ll never stop loving her33. Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? no, he’s seen what killing someone does to people34. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? i dont really like this question edrtyu35. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? hes so tired all the time hes often in the clouds, never really focusing. daydreams a lot to make it through each day, pretending hes someone hes not. hoping that his mother is actually still alive, and that he doesnt have to keep reliving memories. they wont stop fading, he keeps getting them jumbled. he just wants to make more with her, be with her one last time36. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? his moooooooooom, he’d do anything for her37. What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? he has to turn door knobs twice before actually opening a door 38. What would your character do with a million dollars? that’s so overwhelming to him but probably pay off college shit sdfghj debt is So Scary 39. What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? yogurt, water bottles, red bull, orange soda, and some strawberries. a pair of jeans and boxers and random books hes checked out from the library. a half empty can of red bull, the book hes currentl reading, a beanie, and a cute little jar of jelly beans ari got him. garbage can has crumbled up balls of paper, empty red bull cans, empty bottle of soda, and an old textbook.40. Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? probably aristotle and nathan to a concert/out to eat. wears black jeans, a baggy red and black striped sweater with a black shirt underneath, boots or vans, and prolly a wallet chain + his thumb rings41. What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? he screams and yanks on his hair fgyuhlj;k42. Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? heee has a cross on his side, and a few Light scars on his face- over his bottom lip, on his forehead and on the left side of his cheek/jaw. a couple on his back and arms as well most of them are from his father…43. What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? he’s never said anything Out Loud but in his head he says shit all the time dxgfhgjhjlio hes a snarky son of a gun44. How does your character react/ accept criticism? he will go home and Cry about it later 45. If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? eh its Ok46. Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? hes pretty paranoid about it and probably shows it to ari like ‘bitch what the FUCK’47. Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? he doodles mindlessly when hes bored in class 48. What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? uhhhh his dad is a big Cuck but his mom is an Angel and the best person he’s ever met. this has fucked him over hard bc hes father took her away from him and now he has nothing left so hes an anxious, paranoid Mess49. Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? he l o v e s candy pls50. If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? Kill Him Now

Tyler: He/Him - Pisces - 22 - 5′7

1. What is your OC’s favorite color? baby blue and pink!2. Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? nail polish, lamb stuffed animals, comics, seashells, and washi tapes 3. What kind of things is your OC allergic to? nothin4. What kind of clothing does your OC wear? he likes soft colors, pastel. sweaters are his favorite but he also likes long sleeved shirts. dresses pretty feminine, isn’t a fan of dark colors on himself unless its his boyfriends clothes5. What is your OC’s first memory? when he was around 4 or 5 he was riding his bike when he hit a rock and went flying forward, causing him to scrape his knees and his nose to bleed 6. What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? l o v e s  l a m b s and snails, doesn’t really like salamanders 7. What element would your OC be? w a t e r 8. What is your OC’s theme song? something soft and not too upbeat 9. Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? he has a very smooth and kind of feminine voice ? but its masculine enough to not misgender him,,,10. What deadly sin would best represent your OC? envy???11. What are your OC’s hobbies? painting his nails, drawing/sketching, reading comics and graphic novels, watching documentaries, and journaling!12. How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? very patient and rarely hot headed, gets more agitated or annoyed 13. What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? male, gay, white human boy14. What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? would Die for milkshakes he loves them so fucking much, isnt a big fan of hamburgers/beef in general 15. If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? a lamb or sheep he is so infatuated with them. they are so so soooo cute 16. What does your OC smell like? strawberries and cream!17. How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? heee currently works odd hours at a gas station, it’s definitely not his dream job but its not super awful… most of the time. he wants to go to art school, actually, to learn to make jewelry and to learn how to do more with his art18. What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? abandonment and ultimate loneliness. he’s really self conscious but he loves with all hes got and he loves so much, and so hard19. What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? bubblegum pop, kpop, jpop, and some indie music!20. If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? he here 21. What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? he’s self conscious and in recovery for self harm/an eating disorder but he’s doing really well! its still hard but he’s pushing through… he hates having chipped nails drftugyihuo as soon as one chips, even a little, he repaints them as soon as he can22. What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? he was a nerd he got straight A’s and actually enjoyed school kinda erdtfyuio but only because he loves to learn, not the actual people or atmosphere 23. What is a random fact about your OC? is really interested in astrology and loves reading his horoscope 24. What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? he’s honestly trying to still figure that out but the more time he spends with his boyfriend, the more he wants to live and have a happy future with him25. What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? amber made dan, dan needed a love interest, tada!26. Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? daaaaaannnn, his boyfriend, nathan his best friend (+ari)  annnnnnd uh ? nobody really ??? 27. What kind of childhood did your character have? he had a pretty alright childhood, kind of lonely…28. What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? plays with his ears if he’s super nervous, really fucking loves slime to stim and help him calm down- or chews on something29. If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? something gay, probably 30. Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? yes and yes!!! he wants to get married and have a family with dan :331. What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? dan got into a bad bar fight once, he was having a shitty day and the guy was being an absolute douchebag asshole and tyler wasn’t there to help him or stop him and it was just… bad… once dan took him to a petting zoo to meet and pet some sheep and he cried because it was quite possibly the nicest thing anyones ever done for him and then the dumbass also set up a picnic for afterwards and he fucking bawled again stupid gay saps32. If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? the funds for college esdrtf33. Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? nope he is a soft crybaby 34. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? i dont LIKE this fucking q smfh35. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? he daydreams a lot, yeah, and hes almost always worried because his anxiety is an absolute bitch but hes working on it36. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? he just wants dan and to go to art school37. What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? he has to say goodnight to all of his stuffed animals before bed every night sdfgfgghj38. What would your character do with a million dollars? a r t  s c h o o l39. What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? strawberries, mangos, chocolate almond milk, leftover food from a restaurant he went to with dan, and some chocolate syrup. nothing, he has to keep his room clean always. nightstand has a graphic novel and book hes currently reading, a note/poem from dan with a small lamb he got him, and a bottle of peach tea. 40. Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? somewhere really really fancy with dan! he’d wear a cute suit, a white one with a pastel yellow button up shirt and a black tie. wears the necklace dan got him and probably a few dainty rings that match well together/when layered 41. What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? he cries. a lot. he gets really overwhelmed when he’s angry, and tends to scream or yell42. Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? on his arms from self harm, his hips as well… 43. What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? he doesn’t like saying rude things44. How does your character react/ accept criticism? uhhh if he asks he’ll probably take what the person says into consideration but if he hasnt asked, he’ll get mad/sad 45. If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? he like it46. Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? he gives it to dan rdyftugyhio47. Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? s e n d  h i m  t o  a r t  s c h o o l  p l e a s e48. What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? err his parents were kind of absent a lot, they traveled so much for business that he was often alone, only himself for company. his mom was loving, for the most part, when she was home. she got drunk quite often, though, but that just made her more giggly and unfocused. his dad… was hard on him, kinda abusive. often ignored him, honestly, unless it came to school and ‘being a man.’ he can be very distant at times, and self isolates often… yet he’s afraid of being alone, he doesn’t want to be abandoned, so he loves the wrong people, stays with the wrong people, because it seems right. if they stay, ill be okay, even if im still crying. even if it still hurts 49. Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? he does like candy! gets sugar rushes sometimes sdrftugyu dan finds it so fucking cute bc he’s so hyper and giggly 50. If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? oh please don’t stress him out like that…

Alexander: He/They - Virgo - 24 - 6′0

1. What is your OC’s favorite color? dark purple2. Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? swords, dragons, and bookmarks3. What kind of things is your OC allergic to? dairy and bees4. What kind of clothing does your OC wear? what he actually has to wear differs from what he personally likes. his father is the king so because of that, he often has to wear a lot of suits/prince attire. but personally, when he doesnt have to be Prince, he likes to wear dark and comfy clothes, a lazy emo5. What is your OC’s first memory? he vaguely remembers aster being born and wanting to help his mom take care of her 6. What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? dragons!!! doesnt have a least favorite??? maybe mosquitos 7. What element would your OC be? hhhhh water 8. What is your OC’s theme song? something heavy and dark9. Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? he has a charming n husky kinda voice !10. What deadly sin would best represent your OC? greed or envy11. What are your OC’s hobbies? fighting, taking care of dragons, making rings, and reading historical books12. How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? he’s been trained to be patient, for the most part, but when he’s passionate about something he tends to get hot-headed sometimes 13. What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? non-binary, bisexual, he’s an alien so he’s kinda pinkish… same color as aster but a little lighter 14. What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? loves seafood… isn’t really into eggs 15. If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? he Has his dream pet, a dragon, so he’s Good16. What does your OC smell like? woodsy and clean 17. How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? he’s a prince but he works with dragons a lot!!! it’s his Dream… or to sell his rings 18. What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? commitment, losing his family, and sharks. he gets too lost in his head at times, distances himself from everyone. he’s physically very strong and a charming/calm guy by nature 19. What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? he’s not the biggest music guy but enjoys rock/alternative/emo stuff20. If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? curious about everything, goes into almost every shop he can find and tries out so many different foods…21. What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? his last relationship was Bad and he’s still very much affected by it… he hates wearing socks to bed dfyguh it annoys him so much22. What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? excellent, top of his class23. What is a random fact about your OC? he loves tattoos and would love to be covered in them one day 24. What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? currently, his outlook is very bleak dxfyuibj he’s really sad,,,25. What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? i gave aster siblings and then slowly developed him in my head!26. Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? his family, specifically his siblings, anddd his ex boyfriend still haunts his almost every thought and action :/27. What kind of childhood did your character have? good!!! he and his siblings did so much stuff together dxfghjkl; i Love them28. What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? twists his rings a lot or shakes his leg when he’s nervous. doesn’t stim 29. If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? fuck, man, i have no fucking clue and neither does he30. Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? currently, no31. What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? his ex boyfriend tried to kill him once. he relives that memory almost everyday, and hates himself for not telling anybody about it. his siblings always know how to cheer him up, which he’s soooo grateful for. the 3 of them went to an amusement park once and just had so much fun, eating waaaay too much and going on all of the rides 32. If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? happiness33. Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? er probably wouldn’t but if it was his ex… he would reconsider 34. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? his dads the king, hes a prince, so he often finds himself at balls or parties and pretends to be super charming and openly available for marriage, even though he doesn’t want it and his younger brother will most likely take the throne instead35. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? he never stops living in daydreams or memories and would like it all to just. stop. let him b r e a t h e36. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? peace. he wants everything to stop, he wants his head to stop convincing him somethings wrong when hes fine and he wants his thoughts to stop wants the voices gone.37. What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? he sucks skittles and starbursts for a long ass time before actually eating them…38. What would your character do with a million dollars? donate it all 39. What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? nothing dfhgjk he hasn’t restocked it yet,,, probably some clothes and random books lying around. uhhh probably some alcohol, candy, and a map. crumpled up paper and wrappers in his garbage can40. Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? uh probably alone and to get wasted or high,,, doesnt matter where :/41. What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? self isolates and simmers in his anger, throws shit and screams because hes so mad/frustrated 42. Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? theres some cigarette burns on his thighs from his ex, a couple on his back and arms/legs from either fighting or his ex… there’s probably more but id have to think a lot more on his ex and stuff, which i will do eventually!43. What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? towards the end of his relationship he probably said some harsh things to his ex44. How does your character react/ accept criticism? fine unless its super personal to him, then it reminds him of his ex and he cant focus on anything, he shuts down45. If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? inhales it. please feed him46. Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? stares at it for so long.. would probably carry it with him always dsfgjkl;47. Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? he things drawing buildings is super relaxing…48. What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? very loving! hes very grateful for them and how supportive they are, even if its unconventional to being next in line for the throne. they just want him happy more than anything49. Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? he loves candy, shoves it in his mouth so fast estrytuyul he only gets sugar rushes if he binges on candy around others??? never when hes just munching on it alone50. If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? i cant say he’d be entirely mad at his current state… would probably say his goodbyes and then just wait, or wander around waiting 

[daisymondays]

Gracie’s Greatest Hits 2k17 Edition

Okay so I was tagged a few yonks ago by the lovely @synonym-for-life to share my top 5 creations and the reason I waited till now was because now I actually have more than 5 creations!! lol im new at this so this is more Gracie’s Greatest Hits from the 3 months she’s been writing fics:

1. All Missing Things ( Can Be Found ) Young children are going missing at the start of every month and the Ministry are desperate to solve the case. So desperate, that they are putting out a new team Headed by the youngest Junior Auror yet Harry Potter and Head of the Dark Arts department Unspeakable Draco Malfoy in a final bid to solve the case. As Harry and Draco try to deal with their messy past and unknown future, they delve deeper into the case and find out there's more to the kidnappings than they initially thought. It turns out that the natural order of the wizarding world is at risk.

Okay this is technically a work in progress but I’m really proud of it because this was my first time adventuring out of purely Harry’s POV and exploring Draco, and also it’s my first OC’s and plotty fic. So it’s a lot of big firsts for me and just :)

2. Lost Children In the months since the War the Ministry have been cracking down on their reforms and trials, desperate to see all those who sided with Voldemort punished. This includes ensuring that the Malfoy family can’t slip away like they did the first time. Harry’s more than happy to do whatever he can to help them until Pansy Parkinson arrives on his doorstep with a message from Narcissa Malfoy; she’s calling in his life-debt. Harry has a purpose again and it’s to save Draco who at the end of the summer is going to be tried as an adult Death Eater with the intention of the outcome being the Kiss.However, as with everything involving Draco sodding Malfoy it’s not that simple and Harry finds himself losing his heart in the quest to save Draco from his past.

So we all knew this one was going to feature for being my first ever Drarry fic, and a fucking long fic to boot. It was the first time i’d ever sucessfully finished a fic, and I have a lot of memories connected with writing it such as getting over my ex. Anyway it’s a pure character study and i loved every moment of writing it

3. Back To You The eighth years make Harry and Malfoy go head to head and back to back in a question-and-answer drinking game. The worst that can happen is they end up drunk, right?

Okay so this is the fic I wrote with the darling Aibidil and had to feature on here because we were in absolute hysterics writing it and the reaction has been amazing. But yeah its just hilarious and i love a drinking game

4. The Mispronunciations of Draco Malfoy 'Muggle AU where Harry is a barista and bartender and keeps running into his most stuck-up customer’ aka ‘All the times Harry managed to mispronounce Draco and the one time he got it right.’

This one was legit just meant to be a writing exercise in the present tense but its my most popular fic and i’ve become rather attatched to it.

5. Expecting the Unexpected A list of things Draco doesn't expect at Pansy's Annual Christmas Party: 1. Potter to be invited 2. Potter to be pleasant 3. Potter to be interested in Draco.

A list of things that end up happening at Pany's Annual Christmas Party: 1. All of the above

This is my newest fic, but I just like it because Draco’s voice was really fun to explore in a more chilled out setting and also Christmas mistle toe trope is something im a sucker for

Well that’s my three months in five fics, and I’m tagging @aibidil @magpiefngrl  @carpemermaidtales @jadepresley @bixgirl1 @l0vegl0wsinthedark who are all AMAZING writers and if they haven’t answered this already im very interested to see what they say

[n3s0-old]

all the ocean asks u wanna do!!

i just did them all cause i thought this said to do them all lmao

pearl: if you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go and why?I’d go to either germany or mexicoGermany bc im german, and mexico because theres really good food there (according to my friend) 

sails: describe your perfect partner.i dont really know tbqh, ive only dated one person (and currently still am, soooo)

lighthouse: how much makeup do you wear?depends. Normally i wear a bit of concealer, but sometimes i wear nude lip and eye makeup

shells: would you prefer to be a vampire or a werewolf?Vampire, i dont like being hairy ;-;

mermaid: most embarrassing moment?i pants’ed a manikin in Justice once

turquoise: weirdest dream you’ve ever had?when i was little i always had this dream (like once a week) where me, my friends, and my sister were in the tower and we had to complete tasks or else we disappearedall my friends would disappear first but when it got down to me and my sister, i would lose and fall through the floor 

waves: favourite season and why?Fall, nice sweater weather but not too cold

breakers: would you ever consider getting married?yeah but id probably never propose ;-;

seafoam: describe your ideal summer vacation.Going on a roadtrip around the U.S

rain: if it were possible, what exotic animal would you keep as a pet?idk some sort of big cat

sunlight: least favourite song?literally any song thats a white guy rapping about being a douche bag and how its cool

marine: would you ever consider plastic surgery?ye, i’d probably never get it tho its $$$$

sea glass: what do you consider to be your best physical feature?eyes or fingers, ive got cool iris and my fingers are long and ive got great nails lmao

storm: do you like piercings and tattoos? Why or why not?YESi have a list of piercings i want and tattoos i want tooi want some ear piercings (idk specifics to that), and a nose ringi also want a tattoo of all planets in a row along my forarm, birds on my collarbone, a heartline that turns into a wave on my hip, a cubone skull w flowers on my calve, and a little stem of lavander w/ flowers on the side of my hand!

boardwalk: who is your favourite fictional couple?Rho/HysanKeith/LanceRose/KanayaZarya/MeiWidowMaker/Sombra

coral: if you had to describe your personality as a food, what would you be and why?cherry ice creamis cold, once you try its sweet, people either really like it or dont

nymph: old-fashioned or modern decor?Modern and simple

seawater: scariest movie you’ve ever watched?i cant think of one lmao, horror movies dont bother me

siren: in a fantasy setting, would you be a warrior, rogue or mage?Rogue

tempest: your favourite Pokemon?all time fav is mudkip but i also like meloetta, the + and - ones i forget their names, and servine

tropic: what is your least favourite thing about your appearance?lips, noes, and legs/hips (ive got violin hips ;;;-;;;)

aquamarine: describe your dream date.staying home, binge watching tv, panda express takeout and cuddles

brine: gold or silver?Silver (i have cool undertoned skin so gold looks weird on me but i still like it)

tidal: what is a colour that best describes your personality?Greens! Nature cools work well for me like greens, blues, and browns (some brown reds work too)

azure: what is something that you do that makes you happy?cleaning (sometimes), decorating, window shopping, making art (sometimes)

fog: describe where you think you’ll be in five years.id be in late highschool but taking college classes, hopefully fluent in spanish by then too!

coastline: what is your favourite flower?Lavander 

shallows: what is your typical Starbucks order?Cookie dough cake pop with a vanilla bean cream! (its the only thing i get there lol)

voyage: what are your favourite names?I like my name but i also like my alias (Fish), i also really like names like carson, arron, and hazel 

shipwreck: do you have an OC? If so, describe them.Ill do my fav oc cause i have a fewShe looks like a ballerina, very girly but could break someones back if she wanted to, cute but creepy, v sweet

cerulean: do you believe in true love?yeah i think if people didnt have true loves, you could just date anyone and get along fine (but that doesnt happen)

shoreline: if you could become fluent in another language, which would you pick and why?either german or spanishgerman because of my familyspanish because its a really popular language and not everyone in my state know spanih

tsunami: describe a dream outfit of yours.ripped jeans (if i could fit in jeans ;-;), a grey tank top with flowers on it, and my butterfly bomber jacket w/ my flower boots

riptide: are you introverted or extroverted? Are you happy with this?im amniverted and idrc about it

hurricane: describe a strange habit of yours.i twirl my hair but i do it absentmindedly (it makes people think im flirting w them sometimes its annoying)

[wyrmsandrocs]

all the ocean asks!! u can skip any that r uncomf

pearl: if you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go and why?- Hm, i really want to do a trip to see the historical stuff on the US east coast, I’d also really like to go see ruins in Rome and Greece. Aside from historical interests I just…really want to be in Oregon right now

sails: describe your perfect partner. - Someone I love who loves me too

lighthouse: how much makeup do you wear? - I usually do white or black winged eyeliner, silver + whatever my colour for the day is eyeshadow, lots and lots of mascara, and some lipstick, usually non natural colours like purple, green, or just like pastel pink. Even if i decide to forgo my eye makeup im usually wearing lipstick

shells: would you prefer to be a vampire or a werewolf? - tbh a vampire cause then I would have eternity to figure out who Agent 355 was

mermaid: most embarrassing moment? - Hoo boi okay sO. One time many years ago I was a 10 year old girl on quotev. I really really liked one direction. I clicked something I probably shouldn’t have seen because of quotevs lack of an sfw/nsfw rating system. I read a lot of these because I was confused as to what they were. Instead of forgetting all about them and deleting my account like a sane person, I sent them to my best friend at the time to get /her/ to read them. Instead of asking questions abt why the hell i was reading this shit, she found way worse and kinky ones. I was horrified. I didn’t know how to delete my web history. My dad almost found the links like 20 times

turquoise: weirdest dream you’ve ever had? - The dream where my subconscious tried to tell me i was gayyyyy. It was, again, years ago, and I thought I was straight. I had just made up my first ocs cause I was doin NaNoWriMo for the first time (spoiler alert, I made it to 50,000) and i had this dream where I met and then fell in love with my oc who was super pretty and i refused to believe I was a lesbian i just chalked it up to my sleeping brain being weird

waves: favourite season and why? - Autumn and Winter are my faves because there’s rain.

breakers: would you ever consider getting married? - Yes, definitely, but gdi why isn’t poly marriage legal yet

seafoam: describe your ideal summer vacation. - Ignore summer all together and continue school where it’s rainy

rain: if it were possible, what exotic animal would you keep as a pet? - Omg a Fennec they are my favourite little animals they are so cute. My first original story that i actually wrote down and still have was about Fennecs

sunlight: least favourite song? - The Sans version of Stronger than you

marine: would you ever consider plastic surgery? - Probably not i’m ot the hugest fan of surgery at all

sea glass: what do you consider to be your best physical feature? - Man I really love my eyes i have sectoral heterochromia so my eyes are green with stripes of deep brown.

storm: do you like piercings and tattoos? Why or why not? - I really do like them, but i probably wouldnt get any more piercings than I have, I have two on each ear, but I wear a fake nose ring cause it’s pretty. I dont love the idea of getting a tattoo cause owww im a wimp also needles are not good.

boardwalk: who is your favourite fictional couple? - I really love Wylan and Jesper from Six of Crows, also lotsa ships from other stuff but right now I’m loving my children, Aria and Sitara. My smol gay witch daughters

coral: if you had to describe your personality as a food, what would you be and why? - Super dark chocolate that gives you a headache but is also really great. I’m known for giving people headaches lmao not really. Idk why it just seems right, like I may seem sweet and nice but i am actually like the most bitter person. Or sea salt caramel. I am like super salty and bitter save me lmao

nymph: old-fashioned or modern decor? - buddy old fashioned decor is the shit 

seawater: scariest movie you’ve ever watched? - Okay it’s really stupid but Dot and the Red Kangaroo scared the /fuck/ out of me as a little kid the bunyip song was terrifying. I don’t really watch scary movies tho

siren: in a fantasy setting, would you be a warrior, rogue or mage? - Maaaaaage

tempest: your favourite Pokemon? - Eevee or Vaporeon. I also really love Vulpix

tropic: what is your least favourite thing about your appearance? - I’m p self conscious abt being not a small person height or weight wise. I used to always want to be a lot smaller so that I could just kind of disappear but recently i’ve just decided that if people are gonna notice me, they are gonna notice that i’m beautiful. It’s actually really helped my confidence which is kinda weird but i’m really glad for it

aquamarine: describe your dream date. - Staying at home watching musicals and drinking hot coco in the middle of a storm

brine: gold or silver? - Silver

tidal: what is a colour that best describes your personality? - I actually really like pinks and reds and how quickly a pink can merge to a more red colour. They both stand for love, but red is also anger

azure: what is something that you do that makes you happy? - Writing honestly. Also like i really enjoy school and learning about history and languages

fog: describe where you think you’ll be in five years. - Hopefully well into college by then, I’m still in highschool but I’m gonna add college english in the fall.

coastline: what is your favourite flower? - Violets. I really like the smell of jasmine or orange blossoms

shallows: what is your typical Starbucks order? - Venti Java Chip Frappuccino idk how to spell that tho

voyage: what are your favourite names? - I really like names related to the sea like Mara

shipwreck: do you have an OC? If so, describe them. - Okay I’m gonna tell ya abt Aria and Sitara.  Aria is a Hellenic polytheist who leans toward tarot and sigils rather than actual spell work. She’s pan and loves her gf v v much. Her parents were shit and she had to leave home as soon as she could. Her parents gave her the name Megan but she really hated it so she gos by Aria. She doesn’t really know all of her parents lineage but her mother was of middle eastern descent way back in the family that no one really remembers. She doesnt want to find out and prefers looking to the future. Sitara is an atheist and has a more traditional path. Shes bi and attractd to nb peeps and women but not men, she’s also polyam which shes v v happy her gf accepts. Her parents were better but they fell out of contact a while ago. Despite not believing in Aria’s deities, she lets her worship on her own and doesnt bother her. They met in an art store, both needing to get red ribbon for a love spell. Bonus: Aria means song and Sitara means poem

cerulean: do you believe in true love? - I do, but not just the romantic kind. I think that true platonic love is also super important.

shoreline: if you could become fluent in another language, which would you pick and why? - French because I’m trying to learn it rn and it’s a royal pain. Eventually I want to learn all the Latin based languages

tsunami: describe a dream outfit of yours. - Someday I’m gonna get cute heeled boots and wear them with tights and a skirt and like a flowy long sleeve black shirt I have and do all purple makeup this will happen someday

riptide: are you introverted or extroverted? Are you happy with this? - I’m somewhere in the middle. I love talking to my friends and like that but its also really nice to just shut down skype and tumblr and read a book, yknow?

hurricane: describe a strange habit of yours. - I tend to carefully chack all the walls and corners of a room while I’m entering it, like just look around and check for anything weird, even if I’ve been there a lot. This happens with places that feel specific ways tho, like they just have suspicious energy.

Ty so much for asking, friend! ^u^