#of fortuity

[cloaksandcapes]

Sometimes the magic items you create inspire your artist to just draw some...things. Even when you didn't request it. :P So, thank you @butturdapple here are your pickled puckering fish of fortuity!

Jar of Pickled Fish of Fortuity

Wondrous Item, uncommon

“These pickled fish aren’t for the faint of heart. Eating ‘em separates the warriors from the wimps. Some walk away stronger for it, some…they never get the chance to walk away. -Mysterious Old Fisherman.”

This jar of pickled fish has 2d10 + 5 small pickled fish in it. If consumed, make a Constitution saving throw DC 10. On failure, you have disadvantage on Strength, Constitution and Dexterity saving throws until you finish a long rest. On success, you have advantage on Strength, Constitution and Dexterity saving throws until you finish a long rest and you gain 2d10 temporary hit points.

[revvethasmythh]

[insert joke about Scanlan actually using Mythcarver here]

[gushygoose]

Fuck it, Im going shrug all responsibilitys and become a manic pixy dream boy

[bookhermitt]

Life dies in a blink, but death … it lives for eternity.

[thornilee013]

Hi happy Wednesday! Oml the St Jude candle story made me giggle. RIP to the St Jude candle, I guess he was a hopeless cause after that :(( I’m so excited for you that you get to move soon! Yay for seeing and talking to your bf more often also!!! I hope that your trip is so amazing and yall are able to be in contact more regularly soon because you deserve that!

I’m so glad that you’re still having fun with WIP Wednesday! I love reading what you write :) Speaking of, could I please get some baby Jean? Have an amazing week!!! 🤍🤍🤍

prev | Baby Jean | WW 10.1.2024

It wasn't until a fish swam by behind his reflection that Jean took a step back, suddenly aware of the absence of his family. He looked over one shoulder and then the other, as if the lack of squabbling had been because his sisters were trying to sneak up on him. The exhibit in front of him wasn't any of the ones they had even talked about visiting. It did have a few manta rays gliding by, but mostly a bunch of smaller fish that he didn't know the name of.

Suddenly, he felt very, very small.

MASTERPOST

[feefymo]

And now I'm Austin Summers again. 🤷

My hair has entered The Warren Lipka Era.

[wordborne]

:’)

[orcelito]

ok so ykno how in ITNL vash has largely been brooding? bc he's spent a lot of time alone & there's no need to be putting up a front of cheerfulness when he's alone

in this next chapter he's going to be Around People Again & this means i get to write him as his cheerful friendly personality & i am enjoying it SO much honestly. i love him. a lot.

[truevedicastrology]

Jupiter's Influence on Fortuity

🌟 Jupiter in the 1st House: Your countenance is kissed by luck. A myriad of garments adorns your closet, fulfilling every desire. Your style undergoes constant metamorphosis, exuding unwavering confidence. Jupiter bestows joy upon matters of appearance and vitality, fostering an unyielding individuality. Confidence in physique and actions draws attention effortlessly. An optimistic life view and robust overall health accompany this Jupiter placement, rendering you inherently appealing. Financial luck and life's treasures are within your grasp.

💰 Jupiter in the 2nd House: Felicity in fiscal matters, valuing possessions, and indulging in life's pleasures. A captivating conversationalist with profound life acumen, possessing mental fortitude and intelligence. Financial success graces you early in life, with steadfast values deflecting external influence.

🗣️ Jupiter in the 3rd House: Bliss in relationships with kin, fostering understanding and camaraderie. Fortunate occurrences extend to vehicular matters and swift exam success. Your gift of eloquence ensures articulate expression, resonating positively.

🏡 Jupiter in the 4th House: Familial happiness, affluence, or a deep sense of belonging. A harmonious connection with your mother and favorable living arrangements. Fortuitous circumstances surround your dwelling, possibly leading to residence in a dream locale.

🌈 Jupiter in the 5th House: Swift recognition of talents propels you into the limelight. A proclivity for sports and diverse skills define you. Enjoyable encounters characterize your dates, often with like-minded individuals. Favorable outcomes in gambling showcase high self-esteem and risk-taking proclivity.

🌿 Jupiter in the 6th House: Health and physical well-being favorably influenced by luck. An enjoyable and intriguing routine mirrors fortuitous professional endeavors. Financial abundance often emanates from daily work, with new opportunities arising through colleagues.

💑 Jupiter in the 7th House: Luck with relationships, potentially leading to an ideal partner and grand unions. A predisposition for popularity accompanies this placement, with societal recognition and advice-seeking becoming commonplace. Legal professions may find this position particularly advantageous.

💸 Jupiter in the 8th House: Fortune in inheritance, financial dealings, and a shield from misfortune. Profits through investments are likely, and deeper relationships are blessed with happiness. Resilience in matters of the heart ensures swift recovery from emotional setbacks.

🌍 Jupiter in the 9th House: An overall stroke of luck. Frequent travel, exposure to diverse perspectives, and encounters with life-changing individuals define this fortunate position. Enthusiasm and curiosity for the world's wonders infuse your being, making every adventure invigorating.

🚀 Jupiter in the 10th House: Success in your career, often intertwined with financial support from parents or ancestors. Leadership roles and prominence become synonymous with your professional journey. A penchant for travel and cultural exploration characterizes your pursuits.

🤝 Jupiter in the 11th House: Realization of dreams and steadfast, loyal friendships. Your circle is erudite and multilingual, and influential connections propel your advancement. A recognizable presence in social networks is a natural consequence of this fortuitous placement.

🧘 Jupiter in the 12th House: Luck in adversity and a heightened spiritual inclination. Elevated moral standards and a proclivity for altruism characterize your persona. A solitary contemplative nature intertwines with an acute awareness of life's intricacies, guiding your intuitive decisions. Traveling to desired destinations becomes a personal venture shaped by your instincts.

Follow our Facebook page Mage Magic Touch for personal consultations https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61565561190268

[sideysvault]

๋࣭ ⭑ How Deadpool would react to normie!reader getting hurt ๋࣭ ⭑

Pairing: Wade Wilson x Reader

Wc: 814

Warnings: Mentions of canon typical violence and injuries.

────────

It all happened so quickly. It would have been easy to miss among all the rubble, the screaming, and the blood. The truth was that she was not even supposed to be there. It was just a cruel fortuity.

Deadpool isn’t one to squirm at violence. He finds himself enjoying it in most cases. Even when it was directed to him. All the experiences he had gone through have made sure to desensitize him from savagery. But not when it came to her. Hell, even if it sounded irrational, he still swore to this day that his heart really did stop for a moment when he realized you were hurt.

His first reaction was to run straight into your arms. An unpleasant feeling hit him like a wave. It felt like drowning from the inside out. But he was sure of one thing. This was no place to lose his temper. The priority is to seem reliable and strong so you don’t freak out. After all, it was Wade’s fault that you were in this situation on the first place. He needs to make right by you and make you feel safe and protected. Wade held you, sweetly swept the hair out of your face and began to evaluate the injuries. He was almost certain that it wasn’t anything atrociously bad. You would recover. So the man allowed himself a small moment of relief.

But it was different for him. As much as he felt pain, he suddenly realized that he probably didn’t understand how a civilian would react to this situation. At the end of the day, she was still a normal woman. She had never been in a fight before. Much less lacerated and being beaten up like this. She lived in the nice part of the neighborhood and always said hello to the neighbors.

In an almost self soothing manner, Pool quickly begins to blurt out a million of obnoxious jokes. He hoped they wouldn’t just calm him down, but distract you from the immense pain and fear you must be feeling right this second. You made an effort to answer playfully to his banter. You knew he was just trying to smother you with sweet, witty nothings.

Despite the circumstances, you tried your best to remain calm. You knew Wade would blame himself. And you did not want to make him feel worse by losing control and showing how much pain you were feeling. But you were terrified, your head was spinning and you felt violently disgusted by the open wound that adorned your skin. It was like anything else you’d seen before.

The good intentions you held where thrown out of the window by the puke that came out of your mouth at the sight of your wound. You finally entered in shock. Adrenaline couldn’t last forever.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Oh God, Pool. I don’t wanna see it. Please. I’m sorry. Do whatever but fix it quickly. Just don’t let me see it again”

“Fuck. Honey, what the fuck did you have for breakfast? You are going to make me puke too. All over your wound. It will get infected, you know?”

The injury was worse than he originally thought. So Deadpool insisted you should stay with him and Al while you recovered completely. The jokes continued. And Wade would exaggerate and act as if he’s an underpaid nurse forced to attend to some nagging old lady.

The truth he was trying so hard to conceal was rather simple: The day he saw you injured he almost died of terror and guilt. And he would definitely die for real if it happened again. You’d follow along with this little routine you’ve had created for yourselves. You’d state that ‘It wasn’t even that bad’ and tried so hard to mask how grateful you were for his protection and care. You truly felt secure with him. Even with a hole in your stomach, all it mattered to you was that Wade was by your side.

At the end of the day, no matter how much he dismissed it, how hard Pool would try to joke and deflect from it, you knew he really did care about you. You knew it by the softness of his touch when he changed the bandages. The fact that he always remembered to give you the medicine on time. By the third day of your stay with him and Al, he had memorized how you liked your coffee, your tea, and what you preferred to have for breakfast.

You were certain he cared about you in the same way you did about him. You knew by the way he quietly sat beside your bed all night while he thought you were fast asleep, just to check up on you until he was able to convince himself that you were okay and that you weren’t going anywhere.

Notes: Ok this is my first fic ever and it’s 2am! Hope you liked it. Please dissect it and give me criticism so I can be better at this! (Be nice tho). I’ve been so obsessed with him lately that after years of being a passive reader I decided to write something of my own <3

xxo - sidey

[cloaksandcapes]

One of our earlier silly magic items, the Jar of Pickled Fish of Fortuity! It's a very easy DC to hit depending on your class...and some big benefits! Are you eating a fish or not? :)

Jar of Pickled Fish of Fortuity

Consumable, uncommon

“These pickled fish aren’t for the faint of heart. Eating ‘em separates the warriors from the wimps. Some walk away stronger for it, some…they never get the chance to walk away. -Mysterious Old Fisherman.”

This jar of pickled fish has 2d10 + 5 small pickled fish in it. If consumed, you must make a DC 10 Constitution saving throw. On failure, you have disadvantage on Strength, Constitution and Dexterity saving throws until you finish a long rest. On success, you have advantage on Strength, Constitution and Dexterity saving throws until you finish a long rest and you gain 2d10 temporary hit points.

Join us on Twitch every Mon\Wed\Fri to create new Homebrews and check out our Patreon for 544+ magic items, tokens, maps, and more.

[bitterrfruit]

houndtooth [2]

[masterlist]

Ghost x f!Reader - tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, abduction, bodyguard, forced cooperation, smut 18+ mdni - 3.9k words

If I cannot be loved, I must be feared.

Simon Riley doesn’t consider himself a violent man.

Practical, perhaps. Purposeful.

The life he has lived has invariably demanded a brutality from him; a sanguinary ruthlessness, one that he would never foolishly deny he has the capacity for. He had told himself, in his bitter youth, that his barbaric appetite for carnage and control was not innate. Not a sticky black disease webbed in his genetic code, inherited from his cunt of a father, or his cunt of a father before him.

No, instead, his savagery is an incidental asset. An arbitrary talent. Of course, he only uses it when it’s urgently called for, only when no other option presents itself to him.

It was only by chance that in his adolescence he stumbled into the underworld of blood sport and fight clubs, only a fluke he discovered his gift once he started pocketing mounds of cash from countless victories in splattered basements. And it's only happenstance that he found himself a career that necessitates his proficiency, that relentlessly rewards him for it – he can’t help what he's good at, after all.

So, he assures himself - not violent.

Not the kind of violent his father was, anyway. Violent in the sense of haphazard bloodshed, the kind of violence with flagrant collateral. No, Ghost has lines he won’t cross. People he won’t hurt. His fists, his blades, his bullets aren’t hurled indiscriminately; he is scrupulous in his sadism. Not a rabid cur, he doesn’t growl with pointed canines at anybody who intersects his path – he’s well trained. Meticulous. Keeps himself muzzled, tethered on a short leash.

Still, he can’t help froth at the jaws when he’s given the opportunity to play his hand, to boast his brutality. Can’t help but relish in the savage fortuities that his profession provides him, permission to lay waste to the men his mission briefs instruct him to.

Only preys on the evil, he says. Only maims the kind who deserve it.

You, standing tremulously in the open door to the bathroom, you’ll be his prey tonight.

You, as informed by his commanding officers, as described to him by his intel, will deserve it.

You, the very kind of degenerate oligarch filth he scorns so deeply, utterly undeserving of the magnitude of wealth and power you have unjustly acquired without merit - will need it.

Even if you haven’t had an acting hand in in your husband’s machine of depravity, at the very least, you’re a repugnant, iniquitous whore; happy to receive and spend mountains of blood-dripping money for a spread of your honeyed legs, apathetic to its murderous origins, uncaring who had to die to buy you that fucking negligée.  

That sliver of blush pink, so sheer, so short - you might as well not be wearing it at all. A cotton-candy veil, translucent enough to allow the yellow glow emerging from behind you to carve out the shape of your silhouette; the image of a renaissance muse with the contour of your waist, the swell of your hips. The chantilly hem barely grazes the highest point of your thighs, not quite covering the fragile lace of the knickers that conceal your pernicious cunt from him.

It’s almost a sick joke.

As if you’ve been planted there as some test of his fortitude, a trial of his moral compunctions. That voluptuary sway you have on his restraint, just by standing there, with your fingers hesitantly clutching a glossy Beretta, keeping obediently it pointed to the floor; it riles him. Repulses him. Infuriates him.

The pistol makes a dull thud as it tumbles to the dense carpet, your claw still shaky as you hesitantly part your fingers to release it.

“Умная девочка,” he growls, as he flips his night-vision goggles off his eyes, clasping them to his helmet with a click. “Clever girl.”

He makes sure you understand him when he patronises you, putting his near fluency in your language to some use – all the while, he wants you to know where he has come from. To know that he’s not another competitor nor accomplice of your machiavellian prick of a husband. That he’s a foreign arm of justice. Your retribution. Your punishment.

But he’s taken aback, when your syrupy voice glides from your nervous lips, in a language he didn’t expect you to speak.

“What do you want.”

He stalks towards you, slowly, maliciously, lowering his gun and straightening his hulking back to loom even further above and over you. You’ve seen his skull, now, the painted mask that wilfully camouflages his humanity. He can tell, relishing in the widening of your pretty eyes at the sight of it. Your reaper. Your fate.

His objective is to make you cower. To make you question his intentions. To intimidate. To threaten.

Should be easy.

With a vindictive boot he kicks your Beretta, sending it skidding noisily across the marble floor of your ensuite.

“Not a bad accent,” he grumbles at you, mocking, carnivorous eyes swilling the sight of you as he closes in. Exerts every effort to avert his sights from wandering, sinking, from your skittish countenance to the pillows of your oligarch tits, cupped behind their restraining triangles of sheer pink lace.

A disturbed crease furrows in your brow, you stumble onto your back foot as he menaces over you; you’re poised to bolt, light on your little bare feet – but he readies himself for the chase.

“Are you here for Victor?”

Your velvet tone is more austere than he would have anticipated, a cadence of hoarse impatience belying the endearing panic engraved in your features. Catlike eyes flit between his, as though mining into the windows of his mask, puncturing his irises and burrowing within. Maybe you hope to find something in there, in those pinprick black openings, now that they’ve dilated in light of your prying.

He answers with a single shake of his head, a sharp and cocksure suck of his teeth.

“Comrade’s got him already,” he gloats, deeply coarse voice resonating from his throat, an arrogant grin audible in his words while concealed by the thick knit of his balaclava.  

He lets you sit with that news, expecting a tearful exhibition of some histrionic spousal grief, at the very least. But, no, you remain steadfast in your quiet courage. Unnervingly indifferent to the possibility that your husband had been coldly assassinated, a mere few feet from where you had been preening yourself in the ensuite mirror.

Fitting, he thinks, that an avaricious, gold-digging slut like you is entirely unfazed by the sudden and savage death of your malefactor husband. You’re probably glad of it; if Ghost weren’t here to terrorise you, maybe you’d be beaming with glee, knowing his exorbitant wealth would trickle down into your manicured little fingers.

But your husband isn’t dead yet, perhaps to your dismay – instead he has been wrapped up with duct tape, suffocatingly tight, and carted off by the Sergeant with a sack over his head. Probably on their way to exfil. Efficient, that Scottish sergeant. Focused.

Unlike Ghost. He likes to play with his food.

He justifies it, though, knowing a bit of terror will loosen up your lips for later. After all, they have questions for you. Demands of you. And there’s nothing like a squealing, pleading, sobbing wife to pry open the shut jaws of an obstinate prisoner – that is, after other, uglier methods fail to extract the intel he desires. He quietly hopes that it comes to that.

So he prods, head stooping down to callously address you.

“I’m here for you.”

Your cautious yet analytical glare jumps down the length of him, before you surprise him, again – tempting your fate with a temerarious retort.

“I’d sooner let you shoot me. Чертовски уродливый укол.” Fucking ugly prick.

He cocks his brow, sniffing irately as he adjusts his low ready grip on his gun; he raises it just slightly, a malignant push of its vertical barrel into your soft belly. Reminding you of its presence, its size; the length of your entire torso, from mound to forehead. Reiterating its willingness to shred your ripe flesh, your cowed bones with its lead rounds.

“Tempting.” He snarls, as gravelly as cruel.

There’s the tiniest movement in your legs, a minuscule shift in your muscles, your agitated eyes dart past him just briefly – Ghost is seasoned in the hunt. The unconscious change in your breathing pricks his ears, from heavy and quivering to shallow and pointed; a small nibble on the meat inside your lip, a fluttering of your eyelashes as you scan for an escape route. His perception is honed and inhuman, predatory vigilance akin to a stalking wolf, he can smell your next move, it oozes from you like sweat.

So when your weight shifts onto your front foot, prepared to bolt, he lets you.

It’ll tire you out, a healthy chase. It’ll terrify you, and exhilarate him.

He watches insouciantly as you dart to his left, almost condescending in his apathy, as he makes no effort to snag you, no attempt to ensnare your body and trap you with a hook of his heaving arm.

No, that would be too easy. You dash past him, elbowing him in the side of his shielded ribs as you flee.

He listens with perked ears to the sound of your bare feet pattering against the carpet, the silent whisper of your negligée brushing against the doorframe of the suite.

You’ll figure out eventually that there is nowhere for you to run. That there is nobody left to save you. Your options are extremely slim – he made very certain of that. Escape your fortress and brave the Russian midwinter, and endure the agony of your bare flesh freezing black in your pitiful excuse of a nightdress. Or, face him. Which, he concedes, in your eyes may well be a more horrific fate.

He has knowingly been keeping his intentions ambiguous. And a woman that looks like you, in a piece of fucking fabric like that, must be excruciatingly familiar with the kind of intentions most men in this position would have.

No, Ghost isn’t that barbaric, temptation notwithstanding.

He just wants you to believe that he is.

So with heavy feet, he stalks you.

Taking measured steps, he follows the trail of your sweet perfume, your vanity betraying you once again as it lingers in the air behind you, leaving a conspicuous path of jasmine and silk down the extravagant hallway.

His boots tread over the Persian runner that spans the length of the hall. Velvet. Ostentatious.

How much did that cost you?

Disdainful glares observe the hideously gaudy and indubitably priceless paintings that hang on the walls, framed by ornamental moulding, taller than him. Florid. Tasteless.

How much did you spend on those?

How many roubles did you spend on all this garish fucking décor? How many lives did all of it cost?

Can you see the blood on that avant-garde sculpture when you look at it?

Do you see the redness of that blood emulsified in the oil paint of those hideous paintings? Does it stain the wall behind them?

Do you see the coagulated mess when you remove them, to replace them with newer ones?

His jaw clenches involuntarily with the disgust that swallows him. Sucking cold air vexedly through his nose, he slings his rifle over his back, freeing his hands for the catch.

His blood, viscous and dark, thumps in his temples, prickling cold under his skin; like Pavlov’s dog, he salivates at the quiet noises that barely echo from elsewhere in the mansion, the sound of you scuttling away from him. He hears your frightened panting through the walls, soft little squeaks like a hunted mouse.

“Any luck, L.T.?”

The gruff Scottish voice emerges through the crackling speaker of his radio, dampening the thuds of his bestial heart, dispelling the blood red that encroaches his vision. If only slightly.

His thumb goes to press the talk button. He contemplates how honest he will be.

“Having some trouble.”

He makes no effort to speak quietly. He wants you to hear him advance on you. He wants you to wonder hopelessly which corner he might turn, through which door he might check.

“Don't do anything I’ll have to defend you for.”

Ghost grumbles deeply as he exhales. Soap is keenly aware that he is purposefully taking his time with you. You could only ever cause him trouble if he allowed you to, after all.

“D’you think I’m that much of a brute?” Ghost retorts, growl doused in facetiousness.

“Only when you want to be, sir.”

He jerks his head at the echo of a quiet thud, the chime of crystal glasses vibrating on impact.

Dining room.

He’s silent for too long, though. Soap follows up.

“We’re waiting for you, mate. It’s fuckin’ cold. Get a move on, will you?”

“Won’t be long, Sergeant.”

“You'll have plenty o’ time with her when we’ve got ‘er in captivity, eh?”

He hears a stifled squeal escape you, through a single wall. He’s found you. No need to answer Soap – the boy can wait.

With smug nonchalance he strolls the corner, in no rush, he steps through the flamboyant archway into your dining room, vulturous eyes squinting to scan for you in the shadows.

Banquet hall might be a more apt label for the sheer magnitude and glitz of the room, soaring ceilings bordered with ornate floral plaster, moonlight glowing through the towering windows reflecting in diamonds off the polished parquet floor. He imagines you must have hosted and overfed many of Zakhaev’s snivelling accomplices at that very teak dining table, that could easily seat sixteen.

He wonders what their Soviet maws might have snarled at you through their greedy teeth as you bent over that table to top up their chalices. He wonders which cut of your meat they would have liked. He wonders if your husband would have served you up for them if they asked. He wonders if they ever dared to.

Your shadow reveals your whereabouts, dead still and peeking across the floorboards through a second archway, in the wall to the right.

Not very good at hiding, are you?

He sees you flinch at the deep sound of his boot on the wooden floor, closing in on you once again. His ready hands clench into reactionary fists at the sight of you standing motionless in the grey moonlight, arms tight by your side, frozen solid like you might have already ventured out into the subzero night.

Only as he approaches you, does he see what you’re stuck on.

One of your mercenaries.

Ghost thought he had executed him, with a stealthy blade to the throat, a crude slash from jugular to jugular. A ragged incision into his windpipe to ensure his silence as his life drained out of the gaping wound.

But the prick is still alive, by the sounds of it, the unpleasant music of his wet choking; the squelching and popping of him sucking air through the hole in his throat, impeded by the flow of fizzing blood.

It seems to have alarmed you, the sight of the slaughter, sending you into trembling shock as you fail to break your sight away from the twitching corpse.

“Y-you–”

He’s uncertain if you’re addressing him, as you stutter so winsomely, that brave little show you put on for him earlier now crumbling delightfully at the recognition of your fate.

“You’re – why did you…” you stammer, before drawing in a steadying breath. “You’re a fucking animal.”

Ghost releases an ireful sigh as he lurks to stand behind you, tugging a pair of cable-tie cuffs from one of the many pockets on his thoroughly outfitted tactical vest.

With a careful spin on your heel, a floaty dance of your negligée, you face him. Glowering up at him through wet lashes, lumps of mascara stick to your cheeks like tar, flushed from your eyes by a spate of tears.

Now you’re emotional.

That convulsing, blood-drenched cadaver is real enough for you, is it?

It must be easier to compartmentalise, easier to dismiss like flicking spilt salt over your shoulder, when the bloodshed you’re responsible for is mourned miles and miles from you.

No, that carnage can never reach you, can it? Not while you’re in your fucking fortress, lazing on a velveteen chaise lounge, painting your toenails with that glossy coat of cherry red as if it were the very blood your regime spilt.

Well, here it is. The kind of brutality you’ve been sheltered from, safeguarded against, blissfully ignorant of.

You pampered bitch.

He can’t help but be disappointed you’ve given up, you’ve let him gain on you. His muscles, his bones, his teeth, were ready for a hunt, aching for the catch. His carnivorous body had primed him for a breakneck pursuit through the halls of your mansion, and he now felt viciously unsated.

He wanted to hear you shrieking, pleading to be spared, squeaking like a bitten rabbit when he finally caught you in his jaws. He wanted to be the one to stifle your squeals with his gloved hands, gargantuan weight crushing the air from your weak lungs, thwarting your attempts to flee. He wanted to relish in your squirming, fighting, kicking underneath him, and he wanted to watch the flickering light of resistance in your darting eyes be snuffed out by the futility of your escape.

Yet even as you evidently surrender, still quaking with frigid trepidation, that glimmer still glows. A stubborn little flame.

“Are they all dead?” You murmur, defeat weeping through the monotony of your dull voice, hoarse from exertion.

Ghost grants you a solitary nod, a flick of his head. “They are.”

He observes as you sip in a slow, quivering breath, not parting your wary lour from the window of his mask – still reading, still digging, still burrowing.

“Are you taking me somewhere?” You cautiously probe, your sweetly soft tone a likely effort to temper the ferocity of your hunter. “Or are you just here to hurt me?”

A gritty huff of laughter jumps from his chest, muffled by the densely knitted mask that sits over his nose.

With a languid hitherto gesture of his fingers, his head bowed from his towering shoulders, he answers you.

“Both.”

You oblige him, you clever girl. Lifting your timid hands and holding your wrists together for him, you make it easy for him to take you.

He slips the loops of stiff black plastic over each of your pristine hands, tugging the tails though the head and tightly ensnaring your wrists. His dark eyes bounce to your twisting face as you wince, the shrill zip of the teeth jerking through the pawls rings piercingly in the silence of the room – music to him, torment to you.

“Will you make it quick?”

He finds himself dissatisfied by your resignation, your stoic defeat; as though you were so disillusioned, so expectant that this fate awaited you, that you had long girded yourself for it. It deflates him, your capitulation, your impassivity – leaves him high and dry.

From a pocket on his utilitarian trousers he unveils a fabric sack; thick black cotton with a drawstring closure.

“No.” He responds dully, as he tugs the bag over your head, finally veiling your probing eyes. With gloved hands he holds you by the crux of your shoulder, thumb gripping tightly over the base of your throat. He tightens the drawstring of the sack under your jaw, constricting it around your neck. Just snug enough to be uncomfortable, to impede your swallowing, to dampen your breathing.

“Fucking pig.” You seethe through the fabric.

Grasp of you not wavering, he yanks you toward him, you stumble over your bare feet as he cranes his head so it hangs beside yours, mouth by your ear.

“Don’t make me gag you.”

He faintly makes out the sound of you scoffing in silent contempt. “You won’t.”

Standing upright, he tilts his head in bemusement. “Won’t I?”

“You want a challenge, don’t you? That’s why you let me run, isn’t it?”

He’s flummoxed for the moment, speechless, only allowing an inaudible grunt of dispute to escape him. 

“Like a little fight, do you? You sick fuck?”

He’s careful in his reaction. Prudent. Controlled. Refuses to let you believe that you’ve read him like a book.

No, instead, he toys with your conjecture.

Sinister, guttural, he growls,

“Maybe I do.”

[dalivanmagritte]

NCT FIC REC : NA JAEMIN

back to the nct fic rec

nct fic rec : na jaemin part.2

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new town, new me (fav, smut, weewolf!au, witch!au)

new habits (fav, smut, highschool!au)

ghosting you (fav, smut, fluff, realestate!au, entrepreneur!au)

by the window (fav, smut)

no smut

to love (fluff, suggestive)

fake dating! (fluff, bff!jaemin, fake dating!au)

day8: seduction (fluff)

classics (smut)

can you stay up all nigh? (smut)

one more rep (smut, perv!au)

be there for you (smut, doctor!au)

take a bite (smut, buffy!jaemin)

can you stay up all night? (Smut)

thin walls (smut, roommates!au)

go there with you (smut, roommates!au)

his sundress (smut)

strawberry lemonade (smut)

high sex drive (smut)

sweet spot (smut, masseur!jaemin)

love on the floor (fluff, smutish, office!au)

barbie girl (smut)

kitty girl (smut)

catgirl princess part.2 (smut, catgirl)

i love to get 2 on (smut, biker!au, streetracer!au)

biker jaemin (smut, biker!au)

truth or dare (smut)

start of something new (smut)

princess treatment (fluff, smut)

smile (you're on camera) (smut)

excessive lube (smut)

high sex drive (smut)

cockwarming (smut)

clueless (smut, roommate!au))

pillow princess (smut)

daddy (smut)

peach (smut)

hey angel (smut)

bad religion (smut)

mean obsessed jaemin (smut)

big big jaemin (smut)

catgirl (smut, catgirl!au)

succession (smut, ceo!au?, succesion!au)

jaemin loves messy pussy (smut)

jaemin's chain (smut)

and they were roommates (finished serie, smut, college!au)

firsts steps (smut)

trauma (smut, angst, mafia!au)

alternate universe (magics, gods, royalty, etc...)

when the stars align (fluff, guard!au, princess!au)

jaemin and the yule ball (smut, hogwarts!au)

chill kill (smut, fluff, angst, hogwarts!au)

hogwarts!jaemin (fluff, hogwarts!au)

a dreams come true (fluff, cupid!jaemin)

dedication (fluff, crack, hogwarts!au)

what do you desire? (fluff, hogwarts!au)

cuddle with me (fluff, hogwarts!au)

quest for romance (fluff, demigod!au, greek mythology!au)

love and war (fluff, demigod!au, mythology!au)

captain sparkle fingers revives me from the dead (fluff, angstish, demigod!au, mythology!au)

of love and lust (fluff, demigod!au, mythology!au)

worship (smut, mortal!jaemin, goddess!reader)

dumb bunny, sly fox (smut, hybrid!au)

go! (smut, abo!au)

tutor alpha (smut, abo!au)

dreaming (go continuation, smut abo!au)

angel baby (smut, fluff, abo!au)

pretty girl (smut, fluff, abo!au)

with another member

sextape (x jeno and haechan?) (smut)

the sequel x jeno (smut, phonesex!au, ghostface!au)

sos x jeno (smut, abo!au)

i'm a mouse duh! x jeno (smut)

they're roommates x jeno (smut)

fortuity : a chance encounter part.1 part.2 (fluff, royal!au, prince!au)

just so you know x jeno (smut)

sos x jeno (smut, abo!au)

cookie jar x jeno (smut, stepbrother!au)

Pervert jaemin (smut)

movie and a show x mark (smut)

sharing is caring x mark (smut)

popular guy! jaemin part.1 part.2 part.3 (smut)

can you handle it? x johnny, jaehyun, jeno (smut)

morally gray (and tw)

destruction in my mind (smut, yandere!au, kidnapping!au)

mean coworker! (dubcon, smut, barista!au)

a little help (dubcon, smut, doctor!au)

give into things i (don't) want to (smut, dubcon)

blur (dubcon, smut)

son of the landlord (dubcon, smut)

the walls are thin x jeno (dubcon, smut)

prey ->hunter (DUBCON, smut, horror!au, kidnapping)

sleep therapy (DUBCON, smut, demon!au)

can your hear me? (DUBCON, smut, perv!au, stalker!au)

[mostlythemarsh]

Fortuity

[byuntrash101]

break up with him

reader x dom!jongho ft. yunho

smut | angst | nsfw | mdni

unrequited love, jealousy, cheating, spanking, oral (m), deepthroat, unprotected sex (not even the pull out method), degradation (slut, whore, sow), guilt, mean jongho is kinda mean but i luv it, bf!yunho cameo, getting caught kink, this one is kinda ansgty

requested | part of my 2023 prompt event [closed]

jongho is tired to be the bad guy. tired of acting like he doesn't care when you kiss him. tired of lying to his best friend. and he's ready to put everything on the line. he wants you for himself only.

[❛ you look like you were jealous. ❜ + ❛ say you want me, and i’m yours. ❜]

TUMBLR IS BASED ON REBLOGS. PLEASE REBLOG MY WORK 🖤

Jongho didn't understand how he got there. 

How did he fall in love with one of his best friends' girl. But how could he not? Given the sinful things you both did in the private company of each other. How could he not when his name sounded so melodic hanging on your perfect lips, rolling off your hot tongue between moans and pants. How could he not fall for you ? Knowing that when Yunho will be sleeping tonight you'll come over to his room again. Do it all over again, stomp on his heart to protect your boyfriend's.

Because Yunho was the love of your life. Of that you were deeply convinced. It was love you felt when he held you in his arms and you rested your head on his broad chest. It was love you heard when he murmured sweet nothings in your ear. It was love when he made you smile. It was love when he made you laugh. It was love. True Love.

So why didn't you feel complete? Why was there something perpetually missing ? You tried so hard to find that thing in Yunho. But it was in vain. That something you couldn't name, you couldn't identify…

On one drunken night at the dorm you finally put your finger on it. Only you and Jongho were left. All the others were either blacked out drunk or just sleeping. Neither of you thought of anything beforehand. It wasn't planned, it all happened naturally. You were drawn to him, drawn to the missing puzzle piece that your boyfriend couldn't provide. That night was electrifying, that raw feeling of thrill, of excitement. That was the danger you've been missing. The risk, the edge. The sin.

That night was a slip up, a mistake you were both too drunk to think straight. It was unplanned and it should have stayed that way. But all the other nights that followed didn't really stick to the fortuity of the first one. The others were all prepared. And this one too.

Jongho couldn't handle it anymore. The secrecy, the way he had to act unbothered while you sat across from him in Yunho's lap. Your arms draped around his neck, your nose nuzzled against his cheek as he smiled so fondly at you. Two love birds completely oblivious of the world outside of their small lovey dovey bubble.

The rest of the group were used to the public display of affection and everyone was eating, drinking and chatting away, paying no mind to the gut stirring array of love… No one paid attention to the both of you except Jongho for whom the conversations around him felt like a distant whisper. Because he could only hear the screeching sound of his heart breaking. Pieces being broken up into tiny fragments, fragments grounded into dust until the wounded organ was unrecognizable even for its owner.

Jongho balled his fists under the table over both his knees, his nails dug into his palm but the muted pain was incomparable to the gaping agony he felt in his chest, threatening to swallow him whole. 

And nobody even picked up on it. Nobody knew about his anguish and he couldn't share his burden with anyone. He was the bad guy; fucking his best friend's girlfriend behind his back. Yunho was the main character and he was just the villain that everyone wanted to see defeated at the end of the movie. Nobody routed for him. Maybe not even himself. Somewhere deep inside he believed he didn't deserve sympathy.

This thought was unbearable and in a weird reflex Jongho shot up his chair, maybe in an attempt to distract his mind from the blackhole that was taking over in his chest. All eight heads whipped in his direction, confused faces looking back at him, searching for some kind of insight on the unexpected and sudden gesture.

"Something's wrong?" Yunho was the first one to ask.

Shut the fuck up.

That was what Jongho wanted to say but he bit the inside of his cheek to keep the heinous words behind his teeth. He hated that Yunho was such a good friend and he was the bad one. He hated him. He hated himself.

His eyes fluttered to you looking back at him just as confused as the other one.

But why couldn't he hate you?

Was this an act, were you that much of a good actress or didn't you really understand what was going on in his mind ? Were you oblivious to the feelings he developed for you? Either way it did nothing to soothe Jongho's chaotic mind.

"Jongho?" Seonghwa spoke up. And the older's reassuring voice brought Jongho back.

"Yes... I'm just kinda dizzy" he started, rubbing circles on his temples. "I think I should go for the night. I-I need to rest." and he stormed off to his room, escaping the confused and concerned gazes but also and primarily the source of his misery, you.

Silence fell over the once joyous table of friends as Jongho disappeared in the hall.

"You should go talk to him" Hongjoong interjected. All eyes followed his own, all turning to you.

"Me?"

"Yeah you guys are really close" San said, shrugging right beside you. You nearly choked on air at the remark while everybody nodded their heads in approval. Stress started to bubble in your guts as you cracked an awkward smile.

"Come on babe he obviously needs you" Yunho encouraged you, big large palms gently pushing you up, encouraging you to get off his lap.

What were you supposed to do? You had to go not to raise suspicion. You dragged your feet made heavy with the weight of guilt to the hall. Heart swelling with remorse as your unsuspecting and caring boyfriend gave you an approbating nod.

"Take good care of our maknae" you heard Mingi shout as you closed back the door.

Somehow the hall felt chilly, and you didn't even bother turning on the light as you velvet threaded to Jongho's room. You walked that path at night a thousand times before.

You knocked on the door but didn't wait for an answer before pushing the door and inviting yourself in. It almost felt weird to not lock the door behind you. Because this time your visit had a different purpose and somehow it felt even more immoral than usual. Maybe because this time Yunho himself sent you here. Right in the wolf's dent.

Jongho was sitting at his desk, his back facing you while he was browsing on his computer. You didn't need to see his face to know he wasn't well. It was written all over the walls, it was in the heavy air, soaked with humid tension.

"Jongho are you okay?" you asked, genuinely concerned. Jongho was first your friend.

The soft and caring tone drove a dagger through his heart. He couldn't handle lying to himself and to you right now. He couldn't handle being close to you right now.

"Yeah I'm okay I think I'm just getting sick maybe" he answered back, perfectly mastering the unwavering and monocorde tone. Being careful to not let his body language betray him.

You bit your lips. You knew it was a lie but part of you wanted to accept his response and turn on your heels. Part of you didn't want to deal with what you had created. But it was your responsibility and you owed at least that much to Jongho.

"You look like you were...jealous" the heavy word seemed to fall from your lips on to crash at your feet in an impossible blare making your ears ring and your heart pound.

Silence fell again. And the brief moment seemed to have transformed into a century.

Then Jongho spinned in his chair to face you finally. You didn't have time to scan his face before he spoke.

"Break up with him"

Jongho looks up at you, eyebrows furrowed, lips pinched into a pained pout. Merely looking at him breaks your heart and you can't help guilt sneak up on you again, crawling under your skin, making you squirm in discomfort.

You opened your mouth to speak but Jongho seemed like he picked up on the excuse you were about to mindlessly throw his way to get out of this situation and he interrupted you. He stood and walked to you to face you. So he could see you, so there would be no doubt left, no space for interpretation between your two bodies.

"Say you want me and I'm yours"

This was Jongho's last chance. He was putting everything on the line, presenting his damaged heart to you. It was in your hands and your hands alone. Offering you the wounded and pathetic organ. Yet it was everything he had left. 

It was up to you to either pick up the broken pieces and nurture them back into a beating and loving heart or stomp over it one last time and finally put him out of his misery. Squishing the last drops of blood out of the atrophied muscle until it laid there immobile and cold.

You didn't know what to say. Nothing you could say could ever make it right. Not even if you had an eternity to think about the words you were going to use. An eternity to weigh in every little variation in the semantics, every single nuance of the chosen terminology. Nothing could fix the damage you had done.

But you didn't have an eternity. You only had a few seconds and you used them all up being sorry and silent.

Stomping it was then…

And just like that Jongho had his answer.

Your heart crinkled into a small ball when you saw him hang his head in defeat.

You couldn't offer a comforting word but you could still offer a comforting touch. You lifted your hand to the crown of his head hoping to maybe gently pat it. Like you have done a thousand times. Usually, that always made him smile. But you didn't have time to reach him. He caught your wrist in a strong grip. You hissed at the sudden pain. With a quick jerk of your arm he pulled you into his chest.

"Since you didn't come to speak maybe you came to fuck?" his voice was as cold as ever. A tone you never heard from him even in the deepest and darkest of nights when you were to see a version of him that nobody knew. This time the coldness was unmatched. The biting tone didn't come from pent up lust. It came from anger.

And you hated yourself for the way your body reacted to it. Reacted to his low voice, to his strong grip, to the burning eyes. To him. Nobody could talk to your body, to your primal instincts like Jongho.

"Jongho" you whimpered in a mere whisper. Trying to conceal the bubbling arousal in your gut by pushing your thighs together.

Jongho crashed his lips on yours to silence you. Without giving you a choice he pulled you into the sinful act. Drowning you into his embrace, dragging you into the abyss along with him. You felt his hand creep up on the side of your face before his thumb pried your jaw open, tongue lapping at your own as his other hand slipped from your wrist up your forearm to your nape. Bending your neck right into position, making your face look up so he could explore you deeper and gouge out every single one of your secrets.

You lost track of time and space as he made you drunk on his minty taste and strong musky cedar wood cologne. You moaned into his mouth while his warm palm was pushing you deeper into him.

"Touch me" he commanded and you immediately lifted a febrile hand to his groin. You gasped when your fingertips grazed the hard member. Somehow, even after a thousand times, you still managed to be suprised by the girth and length of it. But above all it was incredibly hard. Harder than it ever was with just a simple kiss.

You started to palm him through his black trousers which he responded with a hum of satisfaction. Catching your bottom lip between his teeth and pulling on it until it snapped back against your teeth.

"On your knees. Now"

You dropped to the floor before you could even think about it. Your mind being completely bent to Jongho's desire. His hand left your nape to untangle with your hair and you felt goosebumps rise from your heated skin as the cold air hit your neck.

"Help me with this, whore"

The term of endearment made your guts gush with arousal. Your feeble hands unbuckled his belt, the cold metal contrasting with your hot skin. You unzipped his trousers and hurriedly pulled them down along with his underwear. The lively length sprung in front of your face, making your eyes round up in need and your mouth water with anticipation.

"What are you waiting for?" Jongho spat your way, the unwavering biting tone making you flinch and bite your lip. "Do what you came for. Do what you do best" He growled as he pulled you by the hair, bringing your trembling lips right to his tip, precum forcing its way on your tongue making you yearn for more of his alluring taste.

You let your mouth be guided on his length, opening your wet hole and letting Jongho control you like a puppet until the tip of your tongue reached his balls and your nose his pubic bone. He stayed just like that for a few seconds as your eyes prickled with tears. His girthy member occupying your mouth as it was his birthright. Making a home out of the narrow and wet cavern.

Jongho grunted as he slowly pulled your head back. Thick strings of spit still linking your swollen lips to the angry twitching member.

"That's all you're good for, right?" he moaned as you nodded your head. Jongho couldn't tell if you were just bobbing your head on his length or if you were answering him but he didn't care. He was done listening to you.

"That’s right take my cock" he grunted, pushing his hips forward as your knees scraped on the wooden floor. "You think he knows?" Jongho smirked when he picked up on the small soubresaut of your body.

"You think that's what he had in mind when he sent you to comfort me?"

Your guts slushed around swimming in the guilt you were desperately trying to forget.

"You think he thought it meant for you to let me fuck your throat like that, huh?" He gave you one powerful thrust. 

Jongho grew angrier as he took your head in both of his hands, strong grasp keeping you in place as he smashed himself inside, his length stretching your throat to breaking point. The burn made your head dizzy as you struggled for air and big tears trailed down your burning cheeks.

"I'll have to say thank you to hyung. Sending over his precious girl for me to use like this." He then popped his length out your mouth while you were already missing him brushing the back of your throat. With one coercive pull he brought you back up on your feet.

"Strip" he commanded while maintaining the grip around your hair. You awkwardly struggled to open your blouse letting it float to your sides and wiggle out of your pants. Without thinking Jongho tore away your bra and panties off your bodies as you whimpered in shock, leaving you exposed to his gaze.

He harshly cupped your breast squeezing the lumps of flesh as you mewled under his touch. Briefly pulling on your hardened nipple before flipping you and pushing you against the door. Your upper half pressed against the cold wood while your ass hung up in the air. Jongho tapped on your feet with his heels and you immediately spread your legs.

"Good little whore. Ass up" he commanded and you perched yourself on your tippy toes.

Jongho took the base of his length and hissed when his tip made contact with your heat.

"Jongho" you whined. "Do you have a condom?" you asked, wiggling your ass up in the air only to be hit by a large palm clashing against the thin skin of your unclothed bottom. You whimpered at the burning sting biting your lip to refrain to ask for another one.

"Shut up. Sows like you are fucked raw"

Your breath hitched in your throat to the thought of Jongho's length digging deep inside you raw, taking over like it was its righteous place. A privilege once only reserved to your beloved boyfriend.

He ribbed small circles on your clit as you arched your back. You couldn't believe how sensitive you had become without being touched.

"Isn't that what you wanted, little slut?" he asked, bending over you his warm clothed body warming your back. You nodded as you squirmed again, yearning for the relieving friction.

The daring gesture only earned you another harsh slap.

"Speak whore"

"Y-yes. Please please Jongho please"

You were pathetic barely making any sense, your mind barely able to form coherent words. Fucked out before it even started.

You could have died from pure bliss when Jongho finally slid inside you. He parted you so deliciously, with every inch that he shoved inside you you were becoming more and more breathless. Catching your bottom lips between your teeth hissing all the way until he bottomed out.

"Ahhh Jongho please. Fuck me. Please please" you begged without restrain shame not even crossing your mind.

And Jongho didn't ask for more. Immediately he aimed for the stars and threw his hips into yours making the squelching wet sounds of your dripping pussy bounce off the walls of the small dimlitted room.

The angle, the rhythm, the depth. Everything was perfect. He was fucking you exactly like you needed to be. Each stroke bringing you closer to completion, each thrust turning your mind into an amalgame of lustful and unholy thoughts until you were ready to give out.

Knock knock knock

"Are you ok in there?"

It was Yunho.

You both freezed for a second. But you were the first one to catch up.

"Yeah don't worry baby. I think Jongho feels better now." You stated in the most neutral and steady voice you could manage, glancing over at Jongho over your shoulder.

"Yeah hyung. Don't worry I'll be fine"

Your heart was pounding in your chest and resonating in your ears. As your feet barely held you anymore, your pussy pulsing around Jongho's large cock. So close to completion that you might just cum from imagining your boyfriend standing right outside unsuspecting of how good his friend was fucking you.

"Okay don't take too long you two" Yunho said before you heard his footsteps fade away in the hall.

You both took a deep breath but before you could think again Jongho was back smashing himself into you this time with even more force.

"Does he fuck you like this?" he growled. The sinful sounds of skin clashing against skin.

"Noooo nobody can fuck me like you do Jongho" you whined as you felt your center growing tighter and tighter. He spanked you again, making you jerk on his length.

"Say how much bigger my cock is"

"You have the biggest and the best fucking cock Jongho please don't stop."

Jongho grunted and you felt him twitch inside you. You both approaching your high, flirting with the edge.

"Say it again"

"I love your cock. I want only your cock. Yunho can never fuck me like you do." you whined as your legs began to shake, threatening to give out at any second.

"Fuck baby." Jongho panted. "Fuckkkk y/n" his thrusts started to become sloppy, the rhythm falling short, strokes becoming more and more shallow.

"Jongho I'm cumming" you announced as you finally grasped your climax, the wave of pleasure crushing your body into a million of incandescent pieces, taking over your mind you couldn't think of anything other than him, getting drunk off his moans and grunts as he perfectly smashed against your sweet spot, cutting your breath and making big tears of bliss roll on your cheeks.

"Fuck y/n. I love you" he let the words roll off his tongue as he finally came undone. 'I love you. I love you. I love you" he kept on chanting, painting your unguarded walls a brand new shade of white. Thick ropes of burning cum making you quiver around him, milking him to the last drop until his groans died down in hushed short breaths, beads of sweat running down his temples and pearling on his lip.

When he slipped out of you guilt crept under your skin again while you looked back at the younger man through your lashes.

You wanted to say those words back to him. But there was only one man you loved.

a/n: this one was a angsty one. i hope you enjoyed it. if you did please tell me in the comments or drop by my asks. i love your feedback guys <3

[waterysence]

HIT ME UP ! (hmu .)

→ a peach iced tea, for supernova!

Being one of the most illustrious, if not the most, stars universally for both musical talent in her songs as an idol well-known, was bound to have its own disadvantages and advantages. The cons being as clear as day— the piercing eyes of paparazzi and all types of photographers and news reporters shoving screens and microphones in her direction.

However, one had the privilege of seeing her at times, in person, at whatever time wished. That’d be Supernova. During your time at The Reverie, you’d had the fortuity to meet ROBIN herself at the grand entrance. After mustering up the confidence, you’d found yourself to be more than simply friendly acquaintances with her. Whether it be shared traits in disposition, or much more, the flat blue to light turquoise gradient eyes always found a way to yours.

Whilst sharing bits and pieces of your lives, you’d manage to soothe the numbed shards in her heart, with such fluency that even her instruments would be unable to compare with.

“‘Nova,” Robin gently calls out, with a hint of admiring warmth subtly sifted underneath her tone, to you. As she steps closer, she’s wearing her new custom tailored dress— one consisting of many of the cosmic objects that belonged to the vast, vast sky only; and she figured that she saw the same sanguine sparkles in your eyes. Gently taking your wrist in her hand, she slips a bracelet on you. One that matched with the one that was on her opposite wrist, decorated with charms and pins that she specially picked out to your liking.

“Did you like today’s concert?” As she asks, with a soft smile gracing her equally fluffy lips, she wondered if you had noticed the subtle hints of you laced into the lyrics and beat, stitched on like embroidery onto a cotton material.

As you agreed gladly, she feels a sense of your happiness spreading into her skin like magic ( a childish concept, yet so brilliant when it comes to you ) and chuckles softly. Interlocking your fingers together, she feels at peace once more. With no nagging press or deadlines at the moment, she lets herself relax her muscles and walk with you to the reserved table at the side, with a sky gracing down upon them with its navy blue colours. The night was theirs to take, and Robin feels like it was kismet written in the stars.

© waterysence ; do not reproduce.