#offer to do the initial rinsing

[sodacowboy]

I hate you I hate you I hate you

[bakubonez]

Sunday x GN! Reader || fluff

Summary: After a stressful couple days, Sunday asked you to wash his hair. 🦭

A/N: I’m falling for the Sunday propaganda plz save me

It had taken ages to get Sunday to trust you. Albeit many gifts and hours spent together later, your hard work had paid off. Sunday had lowered his carefully constructed walls, allowing you to weasel your way into finding a place in his heart. Nowadays, he can’t fathom why he used to push you away—you were far too sweet to discard.

He’d come to trust you enough to let you wash his hair, and groom his wings. More often than not, he’d do it himself—taking time to sit in front of the mirror to smooth down his soft, pillowy feathers or stand under the shower in silence as the water ran through his hair, down his back. Now, though, he didn’t have to do it completely alone. He quite enjoyed it when you helped him, actually.

At first, he hadn’t been completely sold on the idea. It was a lot of trust that he had to place in you, to let you look after him for a bit.

He’d have to surrender himself to you and lower his guard, and that felt mildly off putting at a stage. Despite his initial hesitance, the first time you actually rinsed his hair and tended to his wings, he knew he was hooked.

The gentle nature of your touch was something he’d always found himself appreciating, and he hoped and prayed that he could offer you the same feeling, but now that he knew what it was like to be pampered by the very same hands that brought him so much comfort in his day to day life, he couldn’t get enough of it.

Sunday was much too sheepish to outright ask you to bathe with him, especially not often, so the activity has been reserved for special occasions, by his own doing.

Tonight was one of those occasions.

Being the man that Sunday was, he had a lot on his plate, all the time. There were very few moments in which he could take refuge from his work and truly rest. Even in his free time, his mind was often plagued by anxieties about his upcoming tasks.

Recently, though, he’d been under extra strain especially. And so, logically, he’d come to you for comfort.

You raked your fingers across his scalp, hands lathered in some pleasant smelling shampoo that Sunday had chosen. His eyes were shut, sitting peacefully in the water of the bath. Steam clouded the mirrors, and left little beads of water dripping down the walls.

It was mostly silent, aside from a soft melody playing in the background that Sunday had put on before getting into the tub.

Once, you’d been hesitant to touch Sunday’s wings. You weren’t sure if they’d be too sensitive, or if he’d tell you off for it, perhaps—now, though, you touched them with little uncertainty.

So long as you were gentle, like you were being now, you could touch them all you wanted.

His feathers were so soft, almost unbelievably so. They twitch and shift under your grasp, but not for a bad reason; more so that it was mildly ticklish, despite how much you’d touched them in the past already.

You hear Sunday exhale quietly as you rub behind his ears, and along the topside of his wings. His faith in you always brings a smile to your face, leaving a warm, comforting feeling in your heart.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Thank you for what, you’re tempted to ask, but you get the sense that you already know what for—you. You, being with him. You, taking the time to care for him. You, having the patience to stick by him, even when it gets difficult.

You simply murmur a soft ‘mhm’ in response, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before resuming your motions. You needn’t say more.

[heich0e]

"don't stick your fingers in there!"

touya turns away from you furtively, his pointer finger caught between his lips. there's a mischievous lift at the corner of his mouth that you catch just before he turns his back to you that tells you he's not even a little bit remorseful, save possibly for the fact he's been caught.

you sigh, but the sound is just as fond as it is frustrated, and open the kitchen drawer at your hip.

"here."

touya turns around again to look at you, his finger still in his mouth though you're sure the frosting has long dissolved on his tongue. you hold out a teaspoon towards him, with a little dollop of the frosting from the mixing bowl balancing upon it. he blinks a little, surprised you're offering him any when he'd just gone to such great lengths to steal some, but accepts it nonetheless.

"thanks," he says, taking the spoon from your grip into his own, your fingers brushing lightly as the utensil changes hands.

touya's tongue peeks out from between his lips, licking away a small corner of the frosting on the spoon rather than sticking it all into his mouth at once. it's cat-like, almost—though it doesn't surprise you all that much, when so much about him is. you watch as he savours his little treat slowly.

"is it good?" you ask him, wiping your hands off on a towel—you'd been rinsing off some dishes when touya had initially stuck, and droplets of water still cling to your skin.

"mm," touya hums affirmatively. "'s sweet."

you laugh a bit. "it's frosting, that's sorta the point."

you pick up the offset spatula in front of you, scraping some of the fluffy white frosting from the edge of the bowl. you feel a familiar weight against your back, suddenly; a pair of arms slipping around your waist where they seem to fit so naturally.

"what's the cake for anyway?"

touya's voice is right by your ear when he drapes himself over you like this. his breath is warm against your cheek. if you turned your face towards him, you'd be so close you could probably still taste the sugar on his lips.

your hands pause in front of you, setting the spatula aside.

"touya," you say quietly, your voice a little hurt. "do you know what day it is?"

all at once touya seems to stiffen—petrified by unexpected panic he's forgotten something important.

"ah, uh—fuckin' wednesday right? no, wait—"

you turn in his arms, pressing your face to his chest.

"tomorrow's your birthday, dummy."

touya's hands—hovering momentarily over your back since you'd turned around to face him—drop to rest gingerly against your shoulder blades.

"oh," he says. simple. plainly. "i forgot."

no one's ever made him a birthday cake before. at least not that he can remember. maybe when he was really little, and things weren't as bad at home—but he can't be sure if those faint recollections he has are real memories or just things he dreamed up to make the truth sting less.

shouto made him a birthday card once, though. he remembers that. it was right after he learned how to write his own name—that's all that was actually written on the card, 'SHOUTO' scrawled in bright red crayon on the inside since he didn't know how to spell anything else, but there was a crudely drawn picture of a cake too. that's the closest touya remembers to getting a birthday cake.

that was the last birthday touya spent at home.

(he still has the card, all these years later. he sometimes wonders if shouto remembers it, too.)

touya holds you a little bit tighter, his eyes scanning around the kitchen of your little apartment over the top of your head. it's nothing fancy. a bit cramped. certainly humble. then he looks at the cake—waiting to be decorated—on the counter behind you.

it looks delicious.

he presses a kiss to the top of your head. so light you might not have felt it at all.

"thanks," he says.

you peek up at him.

"for what?" you ask, blinking at him curiously.

he smiles a little, and you notice for the first time there's a little smudge of frosting at the edge of his mouth. there's a little blush sitting high on his cheeks too. he looks younger like this. boyish in ways you're not used to, but that make your heart squeeze tight in your chest.

he laughs. "for letting me try it."

[p0orbaby]

Cream Crackered

summary: being a phd student is not for the faint of heart

warnings: none, well tiredness? does that count?

a/n: based on this request. im also suffering from a hefty case of writers block so if this is awful, i apologies to all involved

word count: 1.1k

-

You’ve been burning the midnight oil for weeks.

As a PhD candidate in molecular biology, your days and nights blur together in a haze of research, experiments, and writing. You’re exhausted, running on fumes, but you have to push forward. You have to finish what you’ve started.

One evening, as you’re hunched over your computer, frantically typing away at your latest chapter, there’s a knock on your door. Startled, you look up to see Alessia standing there, concern etched on her face.

“Alessia?” you croak, your voice hoarse from lack of use. “What are you doing here?”

She steps into your cramped apartment, taking in the sight of scattered papers and empty coffee cups littering every surface. “I haven’t heard from you in days,” she says softly as her eyes scan your exhausted form. “I was worried”

You force a tired smile. “Just… I’m trying to finish this dissertation before my defense”

“You haven’t slept either, have you?”

“Is it that obvious?” You force a laugh, a weak little thing cut off by a large yawn. Gosh, you were tired.

She places her hold-all down on the floor, the one you were too tired to initially notice, before coming to stand over where you’ve stationed yourself at the dining table.

She nods, concern etched across her features. “Yes, it is,” she replies softly, her hand reaching out to brush a wayward strand of hair away from your face. “And it’s not healthy. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this”

You lean into her touch, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you despite your exhaustion. “I know,” you admit quietly, the weight of fatigue settling heavily on your shoulders. “But I need to get this finished”

Alessia hums, a low rumble in the quiet of your humble abode. “I thought you might have said that”.

Before you know it, Alessia leans over you and slams your laptop shut. Snuffing out the light of the screen in one smooth move, leaving you blinking and confused.

“You’re done for the day” she deadpans.

It all catches you off guard a little if you’re being completely honest.

“Wait, what? No, I’ve only got a few thousand words left” you protest, trying to prise your laptop open again. But it was no use, a perfectly manicured hand was keeping it closed, and you were too tired to fight her on this.

Looks like you're tapping out at homologous recombination.

Alessia gives you a firm look, an expression that leaves no room for negotiation. “You need rest, more than anything else right now”

You slump back in your chair, defeated but also secretly relieved. Deep down, you know she’s right. You’ve been pushing yourself to the brink, and it’s not at all sustainable.

With a resigned sigh, you nod, finally conceding. “Okay, okay. You win. But just for tonight”

Alessia smiles softly, “I’ll make you some dinner,” she offers, already heading towards the kitchen. “And then you're having a bath because no offense baby, you look like you could use one”

The truth hurts, you guess.

-

"So, tell me about your day," Alessia prompts as she rinses the shampoo from your hair.

You relax further into the warm water, gratefully leaning back against her. "It was hectic, as usual," you begin, recounting the events of the day with a sigh. "I spent most of it in the lab, running experiments, analysing data, the usual”

You feel her nod behind you. "Sounds intense," she comments, her fingers working wonders on your scalp. "Did you make any progress?"

You hum to confirm you had, a sense of pride swelling within you despite your fatigue. "Yeah, I think so. I managed to replicate some promising results from a previous study, which was a relief”

"That's great!" Alessia exclaims, kissing along your shoulder and up your neck. "I'm so proud of you”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at her words, a sense of validation that you desperately needed. "Thanks," you say, settling into her further, then asking her the same.

As suspected, her day was filled with training and game strategies and business meetings, a routine you’re familiar with but nonetheless always interested to hear about.

You start to doze as she talks, not because you’re bored, but because this is the first time you’ve felt relaxed in days.

It’s only when you hear the water slosh and she shifts behind you that you realise your eyes have closed and your head has lolled against her shoulder.

“C'mon you, let’s get you to bed before we both get colds”

You blink, gradually returning to awareness as Alessia’s words register. With a gentle nudge, she encourages you to rise from the bath, the cold air hitting you before she wraps a towel around your shoulders.

You offer Alessia a sleepy smile, feeling the weight of exhaustion in your bones. “Thanks for looking out for me,” you say softly, gratitude laced in your words as you nestle closer to her.

Alessia returns your smile, her eyes warm with affection. “Always, my love,” she replies, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with gentle fingers. “You know I’ve got your back.”

You nod, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you at her words. “I do,” you murmur. “And I’ve got yours too, always. Even more so when my every thought isn’t consumed by nondisjunctions and point mutations”

“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said” she teases, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I can keep going? What about horizontal gene transfer? Or chromosomal segregation. Any of that doing it for you?” you jest, raising a suggestive eyebrow in her direction.

She just rolls her eyes and pushes you gently through to the bedroom.

“Come on, you know you love it when I talk nerdy to you,” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows.

She chuckles, shaking her head in amusement as she grabs some clean pyjamas from the dresser. “Usually, but right now, I think we both need some shut-eye”

You pout playfully, feigning disappointment. “Spoilsport,” you mock, reaching out to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her closer.

Alessia laughs, gently extricating herself from your grasp to pull back the duvet. “Hey, sleep is important,” she informs. “You of all people should know that”

You relent with a sigh, knowing she’s right. “Fine, fine,” you give in. “But you’re missing out on some riveting conversation”

So riveting in fact that you're yawning again and leaning into Alessia's touch as she helps you get dressed and tucked into bed.

Sleep, yes. What a splendid idea.

Alessia gives you a knowing look, “I think I’ll take my chances,” she says, before snuggling into bed beside you and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

[lie-lacdreams]

The Admiration I Have for You Flows Like the Water Above Our Heads (Daisuke x Reader)

As you wait in the meantime for Thermo & Turmoil, here is something purely self-indulgent. I really do believe Daisuke's top giving love language to be acts of service.

Word count ~ 1k

Steam filled the room and cleared the pressure of your sinuses, unravelling the pent up tension that culminated into a headache. While the pressure of the shower head wasn’t the best, the trickling of the water down your body felt marvellous as soap and water not only lifted and took away the dirt from your skin but seemingly the strain of a day’s work as well. The constant rushing of the water provided a white noise to create the illusion of silence that was pleasant, but not deafening. It was a haven, providing a space for clarity and a chance to breathe on this stuffy space ship you were on. 

A creak of the door behind the shower curtain pulled you out of your thoughts as the ruffled sound of fabric followed sequentially. These sounds weren’t alarming, but rather familiar – at this point, almost routinely. The curtain opened to reveal your anticipated showering buddy, smiling down at you trying to conceal his fatigue. 

You ushered him under the direct stream of hot water and he let out a hiss of relief. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he initiated some quiet chatter, asking about your day and telling you stories of his. 

Oh, Daisuke. You knew how hardworking he was. It was so evident from the stiff muscles of his back you massaged soap into, the bags under his eyes as he looked down at you in admiration, and the difference in how he distributed his weight as he held you now in opposition to how he did in the morning. 

So considerate and eager to please, he would always reach for the heaviest equipment first so his older mentor could take the lighter loads, and would happily do anything that was asked of him. You noticed how he would offer to retrieve things people needed without hesitation, and the first thing out of his mouth was always “can I do it?” The others brushed it off as excitement in a new job, but you knew better. 

He now popped the shampoo bottle open and collected the product before massaging it into your scalp. While not the most thorough of a job, you knew that Daisuke tried his best in everything that he did, and that was sufficient for you. You cherished the heart and soul he put into it. 

Back on Earth, you knew him to be the same as he was up here; he was just misunderstood. You grew up alongside him, where you saw how teachers undermined his work and peers avoided picking him to be in group projects; even his parents were doubtful of the future success of their son. But again, you knew better. Underneath your hands was a man who would do nearly anything to prove his worth. He never let people’s doubts about him get to his self esteem, but rather leveraged it as fuel to motivate him to try again and do a better job next time. 

Always the optimist, he inspired you to follow his example and fail upwards. You were always anxious about the future and so you were so grateful to have such a carefree best friend turned lover who always reassured you that together you’d figure out what the universe had in store for you. 

Wrapping his arms around your waist he pressed your body to his, allowing most of the water to wash you down as you rinsed out soap from your hair. The way he looked at you, even with your eyes squinted to block shampoo from going in, never failed to make you swoon. 

He was always thinking about you, and it wasn’t something he tried to hide at all. After his mother had found this internship for him, he immediately found you and made you apply with him. He always knew you were worried about never being able to have a career. Entry-level positions for students were hard to come by nowadays and after a pile of rejections, it was a miracle that you both had gotten something at all, but fate that you got to do it for over a year, together. 

Opening your eyes again gave him the indication that you had washed off all of the soap, and he took that as a cue to go in for a kiss. 

You always knew you loved him; it was nothing you felt like you needed to deny. After all, you knew that he loved you too. The nights of playing video games together, sides pressed up against each other and uncontrollably laughing told you so. The way he held your hair as you felt sick in the toilet after too many drinks on your twenty-first birthday, taking you home to remove your makeup for you and make you drink more water told you so. But somewhere along the way that love turned into a realisation of romance, and the transition was seamless. 

As he pushed his lips into yours more now, you tasted a ghost of sweetness from his tongue to yours and you smiled, immediately connecting the dots to the origins of his taste. You loved how easy it was to understand him – it only made you love his antics more. 

Breaking the kiss, you stared up at him, only for him to press his forehead to yours. The two of you broke into soft laughter, unable to contain the hilarity of such an angle of each other. After a long day of work, spending time with the one who loved and understood you the most was what you looked forward to. And when you looked back at him, you could tell that it was the same for him as well. 

[inksandpensblog]

Somehow I got this idea of Chosen, left alone after the season conflict again, wandering away from the site of the final battle and then stumbling upon Victim’s abandoned farm.

Obviously by the time he finds it it’s a little run-down, because the property owner hasn’t been back in a while.

(Not that Victim had been spending much time there anyway, recently. As the lab grew, they started spending more time at their office, and their own house became more of a retreat. Though the neighbors would still lend a hand every now and then, at first.)

But when Chosen finds it, it’s been long enough that the neighborhood is pretty sure the original owner won’t be coming back.

Not that Chosen is aware of this, at first. It starts with him squatting in the barn.

He gets a good nap in, but eventually the farm animals notice there’s a person in the barn again and begin vying for his attention.

He figures out what they want, in the hopes that making them happy will get them to leave him alone, and then goes back to resting.

Rinse and repeat a few times, until Chosen realizes that the only way to get the animals off his back more permanently is to get a bit more involved and make some changes to the space.

So he starts fixing the barn up. Which leads to him fixing up the property around the barn. And he starts paying attention to what the animals’ regular needs are, instead of just their needs in the moment.

(The neighbors have become aware that Victim’s property is no longer abandoned. The new guy doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing, but he’s good to the animals and he’s trying to fix the place up so they all pretend he isn’t technically trespassing. He looks similar enough to Victim for them all to figure he’s probably family, so they figure it’s alright that he’s there if he’s gonna take care of the place. Nobody approaches him though; he seems to not want anyone to know he’s there…and, again, he looks similar to Victim.)

Eventually enough changes have been made that anyone who spent a lot of time in the area would have to know somebody was there, even if they hadn’t seen Chosen himself. So Chosen decides to check out the actual house.

I don’t think he moves in, exactly. He’s gotten used to the sheep snuggling up with him, the barn cat purring on him, the horses’ quiet solidity, the chickens’ constant quiet clucking, the cow’s lowing, the hutch rabbits’ fluttering heartbeats. But there might be a few nights when he needs quiet and solitude, so he’ll slip into the house for the evening.

But even if he isn’t completely moving in, he still starts to fix up the house. It’s something to do.

(He was wary, when the neighbors began looking his way. But aside from the occasional greeting or acknowledgement, most seem content to pretend they haven’t noticed him. He relaxes a little more.)

Eventually it becomes clear that nobody is going to dispute his occupation of the farm. His presence has been accepted in all the ways he can discern.

He begins to think that maybe, he can find contentment here.

(The neighbors have grown comfortable enough with him to call advice to him over the fence, in passing. He has clearly not quite grown comfortable with the idea of having neighbors yet, but he recognizes that help is being offered; and little Toby found his ball back on his front steps the day after he kicked it over the fence, so the guy can’t be that bad.)

So time passes, and Chosen truly begins to settle into farm life.

One day, as he’s working on the interior of the house, he hears footsteps on the porch. Nobody has ventured so far as to visit him on the farm grounds yet, but they aren’t the heavy footfalls of aggression so he cautiously opens the door.

Only to see a roughed-up Victim fumbling for their spare key.

Chosen is immediately tense. But...Victim is favoring one leg, and their hands are shaking, and breathing seems to hurt, and frankly they look like one good punch might kill them. So he waits.

Victim’s initial reaction, after freezing in place, is simply a flatly nonplussed “what are you doing here.”

“…I live here.”

“…this is MY house!”

[ssahotchnerr]

i gotchu with domestic!aaron requests love: how about him being too tired from a case and r just washing his face and shaving his stubble (cuz the case was so long and busy he couldn't do it thoroughly) and he's just putty in r's hands <33

missed you

cw; description of shaving, language, fluff!!!!

a clang from the bathroom wakes you, followed by a shit.

you were sat up in bed before your mind even processed the sound, your heart rate shooting up from both the initial abruptness and panic. your first immediate thought was jack, but your suspicion changed once your bleary eyesight began to regain clarity. you were met with a dark bedroom, but a pillar of light was barely illuminating such, as the en suite bathroom door was slightly ajar. you glanced at the clock besides you, reading 2:42 am.

"aaron?"

"it's me." his familiar voice called back in confirmation, allowing your racing heart to calm.

you pushed aside the comforter, getting out of bed and joining him. it's been over a week since the two of you last saw each other, and a sense of peace overcame you. there was nothing more comforting than know exactly where he was, that he was safe. once again, he made it home to you.

"what was that?" you blinked a few times, your eyes adjusting to the light.

you were met with a low grumble. "i dropped something."

your eyes averted downwards, finding his container of shaving cream and picking it up. your eyes lifted to his face, analyzing him. he did have his fair share of stubble, but that's not what caught your attention.

exhaustion.

aaron had dark circles under his mildly red eyes, prominent lines complimenting such. they appeared to be weighing down his entire body- his shoulders slouched, his usually styled hair messy and hanging in front of his forehead, his skin pale. he looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

he probably hasn't.

not only that, your heart also ached at his intent to shave despite the hour.

without saying anything, you directed him a bit to the side, giving yourself the greater access to the sink. you turned the tap on and grabbed onto the washcloth aaron had waiting on the counter.

as you waited for the water to warm, your hand lifted to his cheek, rubbing your thumb against his rough stubble gently. at the contact, aaron nearly melted into your hand, a relieved breath exiting his mouth and his eyes shutting momentarily.

"i missed you." you whispered after a moment's silence.

his eyes opened to met yours. "i missed you."

you offered him a small, closed mouth smile and pulled your hand away, only to run your fingers under the stream of water to check the temperature. once you were satisfied, you held the washcloth underneath, soaking thoroughly before wringing out and bringing to his face.

again, aaron exhaled at the contact. one of his hands grasped the edge of the counter where he sat, to better support himself from collapsing in tiredness as you patted the damp cloth around his face. forehead, cheeks, the crevasses around his nose- dutifully wetting it. you then grabbed his face wash, untwisting the cap and squeezing a small amount into your palm.

after you applied the cleanser gently and helped him rinse, his shaving cream reentered your grasp. you applied the cream on his cheeks, covering every bit of stubble you could see.

"you could've waited until morning, silly." you said softly and he opened his eyes at your words, meeting your gaze. again, your heart sank to your stomach at the sight of his prominent eye bags.

aaron's eyebrows quirked in the way they did whenever he had a clever comeback, to whatever teasing remark you might've made, but in his tired state, he wasn't as enthusiastic, "i could've."

you hummed gently in response, taking the razor out of it's holder and raising it to his face. aaron flinched slightly as the blade touched his skin, causing you to softly shush him. in a whisper, you remind him that it's only you, that you would never hurt him. he relaxes.

"case end well?" you already knew he was probably too exhausted to speak, but small talk never hurt.

he sighed, "about as well as any case could."

you nodded, slowly grazing the blade against his skin. "we missed you. oh, jack got an perfect score on that spelling test."

"the one he was worried about?"

"mhm." you rinsed the razor, a smile forming on your lips. "we must've gone through the word list at least fifteen times. kept missing 'their'."

a smile pulled at the sides of aaron's lip, trying his hardest not to move his face and interrupt your handiwork. "switching up the e and i?" you hummed in confirmation. "yeah, i remember doing that."

you laughed softly, pulling your bottom lip into your teeth in concentration as you continued to rid his stubble. "i was going to say... he takes after you. he's a little smarty pants."

"but who's the one he practiced with?"

a comfortable silence fell over the two of you. again, you didn't want to push conversation. instead you fell into a routine of swipe and rinse, before speaking again.

"he's excited to tell you though, so you didn't hear this from me." you pulled his skin taut with your fingertips, being sure to get even the trickiest of areas.

"if he has any suspicions, i'll plead the fifth."

a ripple of affection shot right through you, lifting his chin up and over to grant yourself access to the underside of his jaw. "you better."

you fell back into rhythm, finishing silently in a matter of ten minutes or so. several times, you found yourself checking to see if aaron had fallen asleep right there- as his eyes were closed, breath even, slowly leaning into your touch more every time your hand simply skimmed his face. you wet the washcloth again, with cold water, and wiped away any remaining residue on his cheeks.

after your own hands were washed and a kiss was pressed to his forehead, you began putting the used materials back where they belonged, aaron straightening himself up.

once the bathroom was in order, you smacked his behind playfully, "c'mon, brush those teeth and come to bed."

as you turned to exit, aaron caught your hand, pulling you into his chest.

"missed you." his arms tightened their hold around you, his voice dull and sluggish with sleep.

you placed a kiss on his chest, clutching onto him just as tight. "love you."

[sandsorghum]

A Promising Ruse

You've been friends with Higuruma Hiromi for six years, his colleague for two months and now he's asked you to be his girlfriend...for just one weekend. What could go wrong?

a/n: AKA I give our favourite exhausted attorney a spin around the FakeDating!Trope. (Yes, we get to meet his family). Planning for this to be a multi-chapter fic, I was feeling goofy when I wrote this...

Normally, he'd be able to fend the hoard off on his own, more than comfortable being the resigned if badgered bachelor, however beleaguered he is by aunts pestering him with arrangements to meet with their "tennis club president's daughters".

Eagle-eyed and adeptly Higuruma weaves through the room so the mob of matchmakers can't converge on him all at once, adroitly avoiding engaging in any conversation which extends beyond a couple of minutes. His ears are alert to their wheedling praise, gauzy as their wolfish grins; No, he hadn't gotten a "super chic, new" haircut recently, it's in fact the exact same style he's been wearing for the past five annual family reunions.

Really, it's only troublesome when they make the concerted effort to attack in packs, deflecting and diminishing his deadpan defenses with their tittering. Inevitably one of them will comment on how this oh so brilliant demonstration of comedic wit makes him even more of a catch, and the others will pile on, sadistic in their ignorance as he writhes and wilts under a barrage of trite pleasantries, hardly informed by reality.

Has he- has he been working out???

He's almost too shocked by the insidious insipidness of the compliment to be annoyed, but Higuruma curses his lack of foresight anyway; Why hadn't he printed out that medical report with its urgent warnings about his cholesterol levels? He could've shoved it and all this facetiousness in their faces, triumphing in their stunned silence.

Instead he swiftly chugs down a half-full bottle of beer (hoping against hope one of them observes the velocity of the disappearing act as a penchant for alcoholism, or any other vice) then mumbles something about getting a refill, would they want one?

Higuruma kicks himself as the question slips from him and his aunts lunge, gushing about what a "considerate, fine young man" he is, surely deserving of a fine, young lady and oh, they just so happen to know where he might meet one, she does yoga, or fencing or makes her own hand-poured soy wax candles, see, they have a clip of her conducting a craft workshop at the village fair, demonstrating for all the little kiddies, gosh she's so good with them isn't she, Higuruma should save her contact, here they'll just take his phone so her name's spelled right-

Higuruma is contemplating how he can make stomping on his mobile with both feet look like an accident when he spots a miracle - a life raft lashed together with chicken carcasses and vegetable scraps. He grabs the dinghy of dirty dishes, excusing himself and does his best to conceal his cringe as one of his aunts remarks on how rare it is for a man to take the initiative on domestic duties to a chorus of approvals.

Wielding the plates as a shield Higuruma races from the dining area, tactically retreating across the drawbridge into kitchen as he scurries towards the sink with its reassuring moat of suds.

Of course it's not an entirely foolproof strategy, he could be cornered in the kitchen too; castle turned Alcatraz with a volley of pointed comments about his complexion whizzing over the turrets of the trays, those dark circles shadowing his face identical to bullseyes for how targeted his uncles' brusque inquiries are. Fortunately, all he has to do is suggest the wok needs a more thorough rinse, would they like to assist him? And then blessedly, they beat a hasty retreat and Higuruma gets to enjoy some solitude...for all of ten seconds before his gambit comes to bite him in the ass.

Some cousin pops in with their latest toddler in tow, cheerfully offering unsolicited advice, fussing about the stove top in a scheme to offload the infant clawing at his hips onto Higuruma, holding out the crimson faced cryptid doing its best impression of a banshee. It's the cousin closest to his age whom, up until a few years ago, had faced these very same ritualistic trials engineered by their relatives. Higuruma can't help feeling betrayed; so much for surviving the prisoners' dilemma together, or their fraternal bonds forged in the fires of their aunts' chirpy interrogations. Brothers in arms no longer.

Hastily Higuruma starts stacking and drying pans, occupying his hands and furiously buffing utensils till the spoons are concave mirrors catching the rich marinade of his misery, knowing he's running out of tines to shine while the shrieks and whines of the nominally humanoid spawn continue to climb and climb, his father fumbling awkwardly, haphazardly trying to hiccup his miniature replica with an odd jostling rhythm.

An unexpected saviour appears at the 11th hour, the aunt who owns the house sweeps into her kitchen, drawn to what is an apparently angelic cacophony. The heavenly host relieves the parent of the screaming cherubim, cooing some excuse for the colic baby (and an erroneous assessment that they aren't from the tenth circle of hell).

Too late however, Higuruma realises this is less divine intervention and more Grecian pantheon machinations as the aunt drops her guise of allyship, the formidable adversary commanding her emissary with a breezy, "Oh, Oetsu, don't forget to tell Hiromi about your charming co-worker! You were telling me she has a really pretty voice, when your company did a karaoke night right?"

Cousin Oetsu clears his throat and Higuruma shoots him a wounded glare. Et tu, brute?

"Yeah! She did quite a charismatic rendition of Livin' on a Prayer."

It takes every fiber of Higuruma's already strained optic nerves for his eyeballs not to roll to the ceiling. Trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea, he grits his teeth and spits a Hail Mary.

"I heard your 8-month-old son learned to sit up this spring?"

Cousin Oetsu and his aunt bare their teeth, with the kind of vicious incandescence that makes it into history books, accompanied by ominous pictures of looming mushroom clouds. It makes his bones brittle, but Higuruma knows he's bereft of any other choices.

Croaking his defeat, he mutters the nuclear question, "Did you record it?"

Higuruma doesn't know how many eons have elapsed when he finally stumbles out of the kitchen, having survived 27 folders of videos and photos (and what? TikToks as well now? what are those?) of babies doing incredible variations of very little to nothing at all - in most of the footage, the tiny creatures at least seemed as equally perplexed as him as to why their mere existence warranted this much wonder and fascination. He scarcely gets a moment to brace himself with a burning swig of amber liquid before having to deal with his immediate family.

Fortunately Higuruma has had years to practice, to perfect subtlety with those nips of whiskey vaccinating him against his mother's withering sighs, his father's jabs about his job prospects, his elder brother's boasts about the latest island resort he's invested in, and so on. But riding back to his apartment on the last train in an empty cabin, Higuruma has to admit to himself that what he can't outmaneuver is Time and the fact that yes, (he hears this in his mother's beseeching drone) Grandma's 95th birthday is coming up and a 96th doesn't seem an exceptionally realistic prospect; the dowager deserves to at least feel like all her descendants are on the track to her antiquated concepts of success and happiness, right?

So he enlists you, or not so much enlists as bribes you; A bargain, a steal really, doing just three weeks of your paperwork but you have his parking lot for the rest of the year - and you get to relish the normally poised, polished as silverware, eloquent Higuruma Hiromi out of his element; a rare chance to see this forthright, courtroom commanding orator with razor sharp intellect become an evasive, even sheepish, blushing boy outwitted by a nonagenarian in her tea parlour? You almost bruise yourself with the pinch when he implores you to pretend to be his partner, mumbling it around his mouthful of bourbon during a post-work week drink/drowning session. The request is garbled through the alcohol, but it doesn't do enough to disguise his desperation.

Higuruma Hiromi, at your mercy, in your debt - the rarest of opportunities. In all honesty he could have offered a measly three days of paperwork for this golden chance; but lucky for you your morose faux Romeo is none the wiser.

It's going to be a summer potluck type of thing, out in the country for a few days. You send him photos of sundresses listed on several boutiques' sites, to assess what would be, in your words "an appropriate amount of ankle to reveal in front of his relatives?" and you're sure you'd have heard his eyeballs rollicking to the back of his sockets if you weren't too busy inelegantly snorting out an espresso through your nose at his reminder that any sackcloth cowls or ermine fur-trimmed chemises will be at your own expense. How does he of all people know what a chemise is anyway?

But after that, you don't ambush, much less consult him in the cafeteria again about your fashion choices.

However, when the day comes, you wonder if your attire is sufficiently modest or if he's found something to nitpick about your chiffon midi dress with its square neckline. Met with his prolonged silence, you mentally race through the reflection you'd checked before opening your door to him; The silhouette isn't too snug, flattering without being figure-hugging, it traces rather than accentuates your waist and while there's a leg split along the long cream skirt embroidered with sunflowers, it ends a mere couple inches above your thigh. All things considered, very demure and unlikely to be the cause of hushed whispers or cardiac arrests from any female relatives aged 40 and up. So, you have half a mind to reach for Higuruma's pulse as he stands stock still on your front step without a single word, with saucer plate eyes. Scrutinizing as usual, you're sure.

Perhaps you had some strands out of place? You tuck a lock behind your ears and press your cherry tinted lips together.

"I have a band tee and an ancient pair of bermudas I could change into instead," you offer drolly, notching a fist at your hips.

Higuruma blinks, as if ridding himself of pirouetting black spots, a penalty for staring at the sun.

"Uh no no, it's fine. We should get going, it'll be a long drive."

You nod once, adjusting a strap along your otherwise bare shoulders, and Higuruma considers accounting for his abrupt onset of muteness. He registers your faintly concerned expression and racks his brain for an explanation; Maybe he could say it was something to do with how he's only ever seen you in a rotation of black or dark blue pantsuits and corporate attire - yes, that reason could hold water - until a memory of you in a particular navy pencil skirt trickles unbidden into Higuruma's mind and he blanches, just as he did back then when he'd bumped into you during that morning commute...

"Higuruma?"

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked if the car you rented was an automatic. My license does apply to manuals, but it's been a while since I've driven one."

"Oh yea. Yes, it's an automatic." Higuruma pats his left pocket, then his right, then checks the inner lining of his jacket, before finally pulling it out of his left pants pocket.

You keep the snigger off your face though you suspect it's sidled into your tone; luckily, for whatever reason, Higuruma's focus doesn't seem to be as laser pointed as it usually is.

"Okay, just let me get the Yakitake from the fridge," you hum.

"Yaki..take?"

"Yep, the place has really taken off. They recently opened a fifth outlet at Akasaka. I got it since your grandma enjoys cheesecake."

"She does..." Higuruma diverts the quizzical drawl in his voice to his gaze as it trails instead toward the large, glossy paper bag you pass him while you lock the door behind you.

"You mentioned it a few months ago, when we had that 71 year old accused of a string of B&Es into that bakery chain."

"Oh, right. Still don't understand why someone would try to steal sourdough starter. Or how it'd be kept in a safe."

"That place is popular for a reason, but too crowded! I get my sourdough from this reliable place, it's not far from Ichigaya Station. Shame they don't sell them in quarter loaves though, but at least they make for good croutons. I'll let you sample it next time."

"Croutons?"

"No," you say, unable to keep the giggle at bay this time, "a sandwich."

"I think I'm more of a vending machine shokupan kinda guy," he comments, unlocking the door on the passenger's seat side for you.

"Just by necessity, and you don't even like the tuna mayo!"

You continue to chide as you slide into the vehicle, "Nobody does - it's always the last flavour. Even those vacuum packed fish bars get sold out first."

You hear Higuruma's restrained sigh ghost over his words even above the sibilant hiss of seat belts being pulled into place.

"They're not so bad once you've had them three or four days in a row," Higuruma mutters, starting up the engine.

"A BLT," you declare, as the straps snap into their slots with a definitive click,"When we get back I'm introducing you to BLTs."

"I'm acquainted. That's how I discovered I dislike lettuce, especially raw."

"You know, I don't think I've ever recalled you being in the vicinity of a vegetable."

"Actually I had three of those martinis last Friday, so three very briny vegetables."

You stare at one of the most inarguably brilliant attorneys you've ever met in the span of your entire career, banking on silence to prompt an elaboration of his bizarre statement. When it doesn't come, you say slowly, "You know olives are a fruit right."

Higuruma fixes his gaze dead ahead through the windshield. You wonder if he'll put a crack through it.

"I knew that."

There's a two second gap, before he adds, "They were vodka martinis. I was referring to the potatoes it's distilled from."

You clap a palm over your mouth just in time, but the snicker that gets repressed reroutes to your shoulders instead, and you're certain the quiver will carry to your voice, so you simply say, "Sure, Higuruma. Sure."

The ripple of your mirth over his syllables is too enticing not to confirm what's in his periphery. Higuruma's gaze flickers to his left then snaps straight back onto the road; he's not about to risk a demerit point for being distracted by an unexpectedly blinding beam.

Perhaps he should get his shades out from the glove compartment; he can't let you see his focus waver.

This was supposed to be a simple, smooth drive after all, except now he can't help but wonder if this peculiar, unfamiliar tautness in his chest bodes ill for the ruse ahead of both of you...

@houseofsolisoccasum

[silverzoomies]

Summer Wind

tate langdon x reader smut

warnings: existential crisis, death, afterlife, implied/referenced character death, murder, angst, aged-up tate langdon, fingering, fingerfucking, kissing, canon divergence

word count: 4,690

a/n: another drabble. y'know that thing people do sometimes? where they "age-up" a character, but don't really age them up? i initially wrote this in response to that. but it somehow turned into a means of venting my existential terror instead. i was gonna include more smut. but tbh i didn't feel right about it. this one's gonna stay unfinished. sorry about the abrupt ending !!

inspired by the song summer wind by frank sinatra

You were dead for an indiscernible span of time.

You couldn't be sure how long. But you suspected a few years, at least. Through one of the top floor windows of your eternal purgatory; you watched the trees. Nature alternated between skeletal displays of branches, to vibrant arrays of color. Withered. Blooming. Withered. Blooming. Withered. Blooming again. Rinse and repeat.

Once you accepted your fate, things started clicking into place. Trapped in a vintage hotbox of murder, you put together the pieces of a long lost puzzle. And though some parts were still absent, you pushed yourself to move on. You might never figure out how you died, or who you were before. But to worry so much would be senseless at this point.

Through acceptance, you began to feel again. If only in small bursts. Abrupt, but worth cherishing.

One memory remained ever present. You had the sense you were a school guidance counselor in life. And in death, you took up the mantle again. Offering your services to the other souls lost in the house. One of the ghostly residents shared a similar occupation. Way back in his breathing years. He didn’t do it so much anymore. Instead, he spent time with his family, working towards redemption for his past actions.

You steered clear of most residents, fearful of their unpredictable episodes of bloodlust. They allowed the evil within the house to lure them further into madness. On the days they came to you for your services, you spoke to them in hopes they’d find absolution. Change in the afterlife was extremely difficult to achieve. Your 'clients' rarely ever scratched the surface of their tainted psyches. And any progress they made, they always resorted to their old habits in the end.

Only one of them ever found true change. Of course, he had to be the most wretched of them all.

You once felt sympathy for Tate, making excuses on his behalf. In the years when his heart still pumped blood through his veins; he was young. Misguided. Perhaps the pressures of his upbringing took too much of a toll on him. And in the afterlife, he suffered under the influence of the house itself. The evil buried deep within channeled through his broken soul.

But if such an evil did exist, it never took hold of you. Nor did it sink its venomous teeth into Violet, or her innocent mother, or that pure of heart baby, or even Ben Harmon himself - sinful a man as he was. They resisted, and so did you.

Tate was pure evil. Carnage incarnate. Maybe that made him susceptible to the influence of dark forces. But after talking with him for a few years, you accepted him for what he was. Foul from birth, deplorable in death. No matter how often you tried guiding him to goodness, he remained forever loathsome. The evil in him burned eternally, needing no kindling.

His own acceptance of that fact allowed him to change. In a more physical way, much like Moira. Tate embraced his fate, convinced the house was where he belonged. A punishment until the end of all things. Simultaneously, a safe haven from whatever lay in waiting after purgatory. Tate’s progress was very much real. Albeit, not the kind you aimed for.

You could see his growth in his features, rather than his morals. Sitting across from you during another weekly session, Tate fidgeted with a frayed hole in his jeans. With his blond brows creased, he stared down at the denim. As you watched him like this, you picked apart his finer details. Where his skin once beamed with the pale, ghostly image of youth; creases were now etched in. Faint, but noticeable lines curved under his eyes.

An aura of maturity emanated from him like a light much too dim. Tate carried the same mannerisms from his heyday - if one could even call it that. But he had long since graduated from his mentality of that era. Tate spoke of his past actions as if he regretted them, though you suspected he felt no real remorse. He used to cry all the time. He used to throw childish tantrums. But you couldn’t remember the last time you saw his soulless, black eyes water. Now…

He carried nothing but cold desolation. Common amongst those trapped in perpetual limbo.

“I saw her again today.” He admitted, his lidded eyes flitting up to meet yours, “She hasn’t changed any. Not like me. Not like…” Tate made a gesture at his face, his thumb grazing the angular shape of his jaw. Tiredly, he blinked, “Not like this. Fate’s a funny thing, isn’t it? I always thought we were fated to be together forever, but…”

On the sofa across from him, you kept your cheek perched in a hand. As you scribbled in your notebook, you took note of the way Tate’s features bled misery. All at the mention of her. It must have been painful for him, watching her stay the same. While he finally outgrew himself. Those changes only further separated the two of them. Obliterating any chance he had to make amends. If there ever was.

There especially wouldn’t be now. Even Tate was on the tailend of coming to terms with it.

“How’d it make you feel this time around?” You pressed in a soft tone, shifting on the couch. His dark hues zeroed in on your thighs, bare in a simple dress. The lining appeared cheap, glittering with sequins reminiscent of childhood nostalgia, “When you saw her?”

“Fuckin’...I dunno…” Tate put his face in his vascular hands, fingers curling into his hair, “She’s like a kid to me anymore. What am I supposed to think?”

“Maybe she’s content like that. In the same way you’re content the way you are now.” You shrugged, tenderly laughing, “Maybe teenage angst suits her that much.”

He shook his head, shifting from a criss cross position on the loveseat across from you. Bouncing a leg, Tate gave you a pointed look. His brows turned downward.

“We thought it fit me too, didn’t we? But look at me now."

You were. You were looking at him a lot. And he wasn't wrong. Teenage angst once paired well with Tate's immature nature. Back when he thought like a kid, and acted on impulse. These days, he'd become more lethargic. When he wasn’t consumed with blood lust. Rugged virility was his partner now. Coupled with the melancholy existentialism of a man pushing thirty.

“You wanted to move on.” You clarified, your teeth clicking the edge of a pen at your lips.

“Did I?” Tate bitterly laughed, the empty vacuums of his eyes caught your tongue in motion, “Doesn't seem like anyone else here wants to. ‘Cept Moira.”

“Well, they only think they can’t. They believe they’re tethered here, frozen in time at their moment of death. I used to think growth was impossible too. Until you…”

You took in his masculine features again. The scruff around his chin. So fair, and not too noticeable. Catching yourself in the midst of ogling him, you redirected your gaze to Tate’s eyes. Imposing. Starless. Easy to get lost in. He wasn’t ignorant to your attraction. A hint of grin pulled into his laugh lines and dimples.

“Does it scare you?” He asked, “What’s your excuse then?” Tate threw a condescending nod of his head, “If you’re so enlightened. If you know better than all of us - with your morals ‘n bullshit like that. Why haven’t you changed any since you died?"

Shrugging, you looked bashfully down at your notes.

“Why would I want to? If I can stay young for eternity. If I can keep these curves, and what’s left of my youth. What’s the point in growing older?” You admitted in truth.

“That’s a little superficial though, isn’t it?” Tate leaned back into the loveseat cushions, “Shit like that doesn’t matter here. Who are you tryna impress? And what’s anybody living gonna think? When they meet you, and find out you’re nothin’ but food for maggots now.” He teased, legs spread, one knee bouncing, “There’s gotta be another reason you haven’t moved on. You’re not like us. I dunno why you and the Harmons don’t just…y’know…go.” He trailed off, his gaze falling to his lap.

You saw his bitterness return in full force. Another miserable wave of longing washed over him. Yearning for something that didn’t exist anymore, and never would again.

“I…” You paused, doodling hasty flowers in your notebook. You avoided Tate’s eyes, “I wanna know how I died first. I wanna know who I was. Before I even consider moving on.”

Sinister acidity flashed through his vision, “Seriously? That’s what’s stopping you?” Tate huffed a harsh laugh, admitting without missing a beat, “You wanna know how you died? I’ll tell you. I stuck a knife in your back and stabbed you to death.” He confessed, monotone, “You know it too. You’ve known since we met. You’ve just been in denial this whole time.”

You sat up in an abrupt movement, scooting forward and tossing your notebook away.

“What?! What are you even talking ab-…I’ve been trying to figure this out for years, Tate! Years!” You threw out your hands, “You…you can’t be serious! Why would I be in denial about something like that??”

Tears of betrayal stung the corners of your eyes. Tate shrugged, seemingly unbothered. He crossed his arms, his eyes dark under the ridges of his brows.

“‘Cuz you feel bad for me. Or…uhm…you wanna feel bad for me.” He shrugged again, “Fuck if I know why. I’m the last guy you should have sympathy for.” Tate said, his black hues narrowing in thought.

“You didn’t…did you really stab me? Really? You’re not lying about that?” You almost shouted, clawing your fingers through your hair, “Please. Please tell me you’re lying!”

Tate appeared unfazed, ignoring you, “Do you love me or something? Is that why you’re so broken up about this?” He asked, desperate in his infinite search for validation.

“Why the fuck would you stab me?!” You shouted, full of wrathful turmoil.

You stood off the couch, surging toward him with your fists balled at your sides. Tate didn’t flinch. He pursed his lips, thoughtful again. With an insufferable aura of nonchalance, he shrugged once more.

“Wanted to.”

The blank emptiness in his expression told you everything you already knew. Tears streamed down your face, painting your cheeks and chin in damp threads.

“Where? Where did you stab me??”

Tate gestured with a nod of his head, towards the only window in the room. A summer breeze fluttered, catching the curtains in its dance. You wanted to find the radiant light of nature beautiful again. But it only served as a haunting reminder - the environment remained symbiotic with time. And you were forever left behind.

“Over there. By that window.” He said, watching you pad over to said window, the skirt of your dress fluttering.

The window. In the one room you always felt so drawn to, for reasons unknown. Now, you knew. Bracing your hands on the windowsill, you peered your head outside. Ghosting your skin, the air breathed an essence of life. Something you were no longer a part of. You used to be content with that fact. But now? Knowing your life was unfairly ripped from you, how could you ever move on? Your death wasn’t an accident. Nor had an irreversible illness seized your physical form. Just Tate.

His low voice droned from behind you and in your ear. A faint vibration followed, along with a presence at your back. You felt the soft texture of his sweater, but no body heat with it. One of his icy hands met your shoulder. He reached his other arm out. Tate pointed to a spot near the entrance gates.

“I didn’t wanna tell you. Because I didn’t wanna lose you too. But…” He paused for a beat, “It was on Halloween. Ten years or so years ago, I guess. I was gonna leave. Make my rounds. Y’know…like I used to. The house was-uh...up for grabs back then. You came up to the door. One of the kids here opened it for you. And you kinda...walked in. Tried lookin' for 'em. Wrong place, wrong time.” Tate lowered both his hands to yours, after sliding his fingers down the sides of your arms, “You were holdin’ hands with some kid the whole time. He had to be, like…seven? Eight? I don’t even remember what his costume was.” His lips curved in a grin, “But I still remember yours.”

Your fingers curled into the sill, scraping wood, indenting the paint.

Ten years.

“So, you stabbed me in front of a child?”

Another breeze blew by. The steady air picked up your dress with it, flitting delicate fabric. Glitter along the seams of it fell away, sparkling like microscopic crystallites in the wind. Tate’s long fingers drew patterns over the cold surface of your skin. Tracing infinity symbols onto your hands.

“Rapunzel.” He whispered, “That dress was kinda pretty on you. Sucks about all the blood.”

You remembered then. When death imbued you with unexpected consciousness, you wandered around the house in a blood-stained dress. And ever since, your afterlife wardrobe alternated only between dresses of similar styles. Always cheap fabrics. Decorated in craft materials. You assumed you must’ve loved playing dress up in life. The thought of perishing in a store bought Halloween costume never crossed your mind.

“Who was he?”

You sniffled, breath hitching without any need for oxygen. Tate brought a hand to your cheek, wiping away your tears. He loomed behind you. A cold-blooded apparition of your nightmares. His casual talk of violent depravity made your blood boil.

“Who, the kid?” He asked.

He lowered his hands to the sill. Looking out the window over your shoulder, Tate squinted in the sunlight.

“Yes! I don’t-” You burst into tears without warning, sobbing into your hands, “I-I don’t remember anything! Nothing! I had no idea…who was he??”

“Dunno…” he dropped his head, pressing his cheek to your hair, “I didn’t really stop to ask. He ran away. Right after I pushed you out of this window.”

“You pushed m-what?! You’re a fucking monster.” You whimpered. Wishing you could leap out and disappear with the oscillation of the wind, “You know you’re never getting out of here, don’t you? You’re never going to change, Tate. You’ll always be a monster.”

“Probably.” He droned, wrapping his arms around your middle. Pulling you closer, he added, “You’ll be stuck here too. If you don’t let go of that anger. If you let your rage consume you. All that bitterness and hatred. This house feeds off of it.” Another pause. He nuzzled the top of your head with his cheek, “Uhm…I know this won’t fix anything. But…I really am sorry I took your life from you.”

You huffed, staring teary eyed out the window. Taking in the vast, effervescent world you’d never be a part of - through the border that brought your demise.

“But I’m really stoked you’re here….��cuz it’s not as lonely with you around.” He admitted.

“I could always tell you to fuck off.” You choked, venomous in your revulsion.

“Yeah. You could. But you won’t.” He grabbed your arms with gentle hands, wheeling you around to face him. He took your tiny fingers in his palms. You refused to meet his eyes, “If you made me disappear, you wouldn’t have anybody.”

You decided to hit him where it hurt, strangling through tears, “I could always talk to Violet. She has such a good heart. Not like the rest of you. You’re all just…awful. So horrible and cruel!”

Tate clenched his jaw, dropping his forehead into yours.

“You’re right. She’s not.” He woefully mumbled, “How come I still miss her, huh? Been missin’ what we had for, like…forever. Now I’m pushin’ you away too. And you’re all I have left.”

“Maybe stop killing people, Tate?” You snuffed, tears catching your eyelashes. He wiped them away all the same, “Who knew death could be so miserable. I…I finally found out the one thing I’ve wanted to know after all these years. I thought a little closure might help me, but…” You cried, “I feel even more messed up.”

“Why? Do you love me?” He pressed with so little confidence, you felt he only said it to convince himself.

“I…” You hesitated, brows furrowed, “I cared about you. Even though you’re a lunatic. I wanted to give you a chance. But now…now I just want to shove you out this window like you did to me. I want to scream at you, Tate! I want to make you suffer! I want to-”

He shifted closer. Within this vicinity, his maturation became all the more clear. Your weeping hues glazed over the creases under his eyes. The blond bangs of his hair had thinned by a smidgen, losing its youthful shagginess. He was all fine lines and outward exhaustion. Had you met him like this in life, you’d think him a mere decade away from a mid-life crisis.

“Go ahead. If it helps. I don’t mind.” He reached down again, grabbing your hands and guiding them up to his chest, “Just let all that rage go…you can take it out on me.”

This was just another tactic of his. An attempt to appease you, in desperate hopes you’d forgive him. Still, you didn’t think twice. Whatever wrathful anguish you kept buried inside finally erupted. The soul crushing weight of loss tumbled down over you, sending you into a frenzy. You thrashed your arms, throwing your fists in shallow, but sharp strikes. Battering against Tate’s chest, you landed every blow - inspired by betrayal. He remained still, watching you with a hollow look.

Hits turned to scratches as your grief took hold of you. You clawed into Tate’s sweater, wailing, powerless to the pain of his disloyalty. Taken aback by your overwhelming emotions, you wondered how the afterlife could bring so much suffering. Tate wrapped his arms around you again, and you buried your nose in his sweater. Your sorrowful tears stained the stitching.

“I hate you. So much. So fucking much.” You whimpered.

“You said you cared about me.”

“I hate that I care about you.” You cried, sobbing into his sweater, “I-I want to hate you. I need to hate you. But you’re right. You’re fucking vile, and you’re right. If you were gone, I wouldn’t have anybody else.”

Shifting again, he tilted your head up with a cold hand under your chin. Tate stared down at you, weary with lonesome desolation. The endless monotony of purgatory brought forth nothing but turmoil. And that turmoil linked you both in all-consuming angst. When he dove in to kiss your lips, you allowed it. If only to feel something far less painful.

Tate hadn’t kissed anyone in over a decade. But he flowed naturally with you, wary of applying too much pressure. The last of your tears fell, and again, he wiped them away. Separation came slow, as he parted from your lips. He blinked, leering like he couldn’t believe you reciprocated. Another beat, and he dove in all over again.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Kissing in your ghostly state felt bleak as the dull air of winter. In the throes of lonesome yearning, death nuzzled death so intimately. You opened yourself up for him, moving back until you hit the windowsill. In your negligence, you sat on it. A calm, easy breeze enveloped your back, tickling your neck. His desirous kisses swallowed you in, his hands claiming your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He mumbled, his words weaving through every kiss.

Fate had yet to deliver you closeness of this kind. You couldn’t fathom how intimate connectedness might work in death. As Tate’s cold lips fell to your neck, the atmosphere between the two of you shifted. Something akin to the radiance of life saturated the air. Like the summer’s glow shining from outside. A few seconds more, and coldness turned to heat. Sensual heat.

“What does it feel like?” You asked, breathless without the need for air. You tipped your head back. Tate took this as an invitation to ravish more of you, “To make love after dying?”

The glossy warmth of his tongue painted gradual lines across your neck. He caressed you with a thumb, gliding the digit over your cheek. Under the newfound heat of his palm, you felt burning intensity. No one else brought you physical touch like this. Not since a time before you perished, so long ago.

All because of him.

“Feels kinda the same?” Tate muttered in a hushed voice. Capturing your lips again, he kissed you with cautious tenderness, “It’s a lot like being alive…from what I remember. Some of us get addicted to it. Like a drug. They suffer without it. Drives ‘em crazy.”

His forehead fell to yours once more, and Tate’s eyes fluttered shut. He continued stroking your cheek, cradling your face. As if you’d disappear once he let go. You noticed the way his chest heaved. Slowly, like his lungs were still infused with the essence of life. But when he moved in for another kiss, you felt no breath on your lips.

“Does it drive you crazy?” You whispered between kisses, “Do you suffer without it?”

“Not really.” He said, dragging his thumb over your lip, “Missed this, though. I miss it all the time.”

“What? Kissing?”

Tate nodded, blond brows creasing as his smile faded. For a beat or two more, he fell silent. Staring down into your eyes with all the liveliness of a barren void. You gazed into a cave-like abyss, lost with no light to guide you. Beckoned by the promise of something unseen.

“This feels…different…with you.” He whispered.

“Different how?” You shivered as his soft touches moved elsewhere, "Are you feeling guilty? Does it hurt? I hope it fucking hurts."

Dragging the tips of his fingers up and down your arms, he drew invisible lines with his nails. So careful. Like you’d shatter if he treated you too roughly. His palms settled over your hips, and again, he kissed you. Tate just couldn’t seem to stop doing so, even as you spoke to him with poison on your tongue.

“No. It’s warmer.” He squeezed your hips a little tighter, “Why…why’s it so warm with you?”

The initial kisses between you both were so frigid and lifeless. But now, somehow, so heated and real. You locked your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles. Inviting him forward, you loomed in the sill of the window. Your body tilted. In the arms of the summer’s air, you almost fell backwards. You had every reason to believe Tate would let you plummet.

But he didn’t. Not this time.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he kept you from slipping. Under your dress, his free hand sought the heat between your legs. His palm cradled warmth over thin cloth. Discreetly, he pressed the pads of his fingers to your sex over your panties. And the contact amplified a scorching fire within you. A vigor exceeding the bitterness of death.

You wondered if Tate had less experience than he claimed in therapy. It took him a few tries before he found your clit. His sizable fingers circled your little nub in easy motions. Drawing long, needy noises out of you. Silence lingered between you both in calm, but tense quiet. Until the rasp of his voice caught your attention.

“Do you feel this? Do you feel, like…anything?”

You whimpered in response - timid like a churchmouse - as wetness stained Tate’s fingers through fabric. Cotton once so pure and untouched became damp. He chuckled, the sinister rumble in his throat making your blood run cold. Until the warmth of desire lured you in before you could second guess yourself. Savoring the hot friction on your pussy, you allowed sin to taint your clarity.

"For you? No. Never. You're sick. You're twisted. You're-" You cut yourself off with another whimper, once Tate caressed you with more pressure.

“Oh, shit…” He hastily tugged your panties down your thighs. Cupping your bare cunt, he pressed firmly into your clit. Thick digits teased the blazing heat of your folds, “You do, don’t you?”

Tate’s fingers dipped into your slick valley, his digits predominantly larger than your own. You rolled your hips just a smidgen, careful not to lose your balance - lest you fall out the window. Again. Though, maybe a rough tumble onto the lawn would knock some sense back into your muddled head. His other arm stayed iron locked around your body, keeping you safe. He eased inside you with all the hesitance of a man out of practice.

"F-Fuck! Fuck this. Fuck you." You mumbled, hushed under airy moans.

Following the squeeze of pleasure in your core, came something you lost in the afterlife. You almost felt the pumping of your dead heart again. A ghostly sensation of life blossomed under your ribs. Warmth flowed through your veins in syrupy bliss. Cozy wind billowed from outside, tickling your skin. If you closed your eyes for long enough, basking in the ecstasy of true feeling - you might’ve believed you were somehow revived.

Flitting your lashes, your eyes gradually opened. The sunny glow of afternoon light painted Tate’s aged features, showering him in golden rays. An image far too heavenly for a cold-blooded monster birthed from sin. You looked lazily into his hues. A whirlpool of guilt intermingling with lifeless cruelty; all within his dusky eyes.

“Feels like…” He mumbled, clumsily nuzzling your clit with the pad of his thumb. Biting his lip, Tate stifled a groan. He buried his fingers to the knuckle in your cunt, “...like I can feel your blood pumping.” Adding a third digit, he stretched you open. Your walls made effortless room just for him. You whined, making him smirk, “Fuck, this is hot. You love it, huh?”

"No. No. No, I'd never! Not with you. I'm just-" You swallowed, feeling your cheeks burn, "It really does feel like-"

Post-mortem coldness became lost on you now. Left behind, alongside your broken hearted resentment. Instead, you were overcome with the lively spirit of beingness. The afterlife had been so unkind to you. For a decade now. It abandoned you to stew in the longevity of solitude. With no one but Tate to provide you true company. Bringing your hands up to his cheeks, you pulled him in for a kiss. Your fingers threaded through his blond locks. Winding your tongue sloppily with his, you whined.

"Make me cum." You asserted, your legs sealing tighter around him, "Make me cum, and I might forgive you."

A flash of vulnerable sweetness overtook Tate's face, his puppydog eyes lighting up. An almighty flood of euphoria built up to a radiant crescendo, as his digits fucked you into oblivion. You clamped around his fingers, squirming with such intensity - he almost lost his hold on you. Tranquility found you at the peak of your climax. A divine miracle. As you cried little pleas into Tate’s lips, you felt as though you grew angel’s wings. As if some ethereal being descended from the heavens themselves, stole you away, and led you to the golden gates.

As you shuddered, your paradisal tremors eventually subsided. Blissful nirvana faded, and the hollow nothingness of death’s touch came again. Outside, the world continued on in slow-moving seconds. And in the distant horizon, the sun began its steady fall into night. Tate’s nose brushed yours. Looming in so close, he withdrew his drenched digits from your pussy. Leaving even more forsaken emptiness behind.

“I could…do that kinda thing for you every day…if you wanted me to.” He whispered, peppering your forehead in kisses, “It feels really good, doesn’t it? Just…please don’t make me go away? Please…”

[stealingyourbones]

Hello

I just finished reading the chemistry teacher Danny phantom post and saw you and your twin mention a really chaotic chemistry teacher you had

It's fine if not, but I was wondering if you had any more stories about that teacher?

They sounded really fun and I am now curious what other antics they got up to.

Sorry if I'm asking too much.

Oh no absolutely I can! That man was my chemistry teacher for two years and was my favorite teacher of all time.

Ok sO.

- The Fume Hood Incident (twin shall explain @bonebrokebuddy)

- making an absolute SHIT ton of thermite when we couldn’t inhale boron gas as our last chemistry club experiment. We initially wanted to melt a hole in a junk car with it but the dude who offered his car backed out :(

- did the “exploding gummy bear” experiment that made a lot of very toxic gas for shits and giggles. We had to stay in another teachers classroom for the next class period because the room had ventilate for a while.

- once burned some extra magnesium for fun DIRECTLY UNDER THE FIRE DETECTOR and made the entire school leave because the fire alarm got set off in the dead of winter. Things akin to this happened two more times.

- since the first incident, he found out how to TURN OFF the fire detectors in his room whenever he’s doing experiments involving fire. Evidently he failed twice in this exercise.

- self medicated ADHD with coffee and drank at least 3 pots of the stuff during school hours. He had his own coffee machine in the classroom. Once did a presentation on potency stuff and brought in espresso for the class to drink. That man drank a whole pot of it before the end of the school day.

- during said coffee drinking experiments, he broke his one mug he used and used a new beaker for 2 weeks until he bothered to get a new one. Rinse and repeat this exact scenario from the beginning of his teaching until he left.

- would buy pure chemical or whatever un watered down esque chemicals are and would lower the molar count himself because “he didn’t want to pay for water” and did it IN THE CLASS ROOM BY HIMSELF WITH NO FUME HOOD. (Chemistry terms are bad I haven’t had a chem class in 5 years)

- this man is now a college professor I think. Where he rightfully should be because there is no way the experiments we did with him were given a green light through the wavers we signed.

- he bought the school a blast shield with the rest of the chemistry club funds to encourage the next chem teacher to do more dangerous experiments. (They never did :( )

These are just annecdotes. If @bonebrokebuddy wants to add onto it they’re free to do so :)

[syubseokie]

all on my tongue (i want it) | khj

― pairing: kim hongjoong x pierced afab!reader ― genre: explicit, a lil fluff, idol au ― word count: 2.6k ― warnings: oral sex (m receiving), cum swallowing, pet names (baby, babe), reader has a tongue piercing, a hint of cockwarming ― summary: Your voice is coaxing but not demanding, and Hongjoong acquiesce to your siren call. Soon, the gentle prodding of your tongue bleeds into longer strokes and your lover shivers at the sensation. Yet, something feels different... OR The one where you surprises Hongjoong with a new tongue piercing ― notes: at the end.

"Do you think I'd suit a tongue piercing?"

The question is completely random and you had not even realised the words left your mouth until you noticed your sister stare at you with wide-eyes and an excited grin.

"Yes, oh my god!"

You hum, pulling a quick inhale on your vape, before asking, "Should we go get it done now?"

"Damn! Hongjoong only left last night and you're already spiralling." She teases. "Let me smoke this last cone and then we can go."

You wave your dismissively, thinking over the spontaneity of this afternoon's session with your sister and the upcoming event. It was not often your sister had a day off, but being that you were at home on your own for the next month, she decided to "pull a sickie" and crash your apartment; arms lined with snacks, a bag of the devil's lettuce, and her home-made gravity bong.

The sound of spluttered coughing brings you out of your quiet musing and you snort as she chugs back her fruit juice. "You good?"

She nods, a slight wheeze escaping her lips, before she reaches over to take a hit from your vape. You allow her to do so, stealing her drink and taking a gulp, before standing up and motioning her to follow. "Alright, let's go get a tongue piercing."

∞

"What are we getting today, hun?"

It suddenly hits what you're about to do as you fill in the consent form, and you hope your voice is clear of nerves when you reply, "Tongue piercing."

Once the form is completed and the payment finalised, you and your sister follow the piercer into a smaller room where she instructs you to sit on the edge of a black cushioned table. Your sister sits on a chair opposite you, playing absentmindedly with her own tongue bar, but you can see the excitement in her eyes as your piercer preps the required instruments.

"Don't be nervous," your sister chimes when she notices your gaze, "You're going to look so cool with it once it's done. And it doesn't even hurt!"

You glance at the clamp in the piercer's gloved grasp before looking back to your sibling. "You sure?"

She offers you a reassuring smile. "Trust me. The healing process is probably worse than the actual needle and it doesn't even take that long to heal either."

The piercer agrees, informing you of what to expect in the coming days and weeks as your tongue heals. They remind you to rinse your mouth daily with warm water and salt, and also advise what foods will be easier to eat during the next two weeks. "Are you ready?"

You inhale deeply, steeling your nerves. "Let's do it."

∞

Using the bathroom mirror, you stare at the cute barbell that sits on your tongue. After three-and-a-half weeks since your initial visit, you returned to the piercing studio to check the healing progression. You had spotted the light blue aurora borealis designed jewellery in the glass cabinet when you entered the store for your follow-up appointment, and after receiving the go ahead to change the piece to a slightly shorter bar, you requested the pretty one that had caught your eye.

Safe to say, you were very happy with your impulsive decision and you had a feeling your boyfriend would be too.

Speaking of...

The feeling of excitement (and, to be honest, relief) floods your system when you glance at your phone to see Hongjoong's text reminding you he and the members were finally back in the country. You do not consider yourself a needy partner, but you cannot deny how much you missed him — or at least being in the same time zone. Phone calls, voice notes, and sending tiktoks could only fill the gap of his missing presence so much, and you could not wait to wrap your arms around his frame once again.

Nor could you wait to wrap your tongue around his c—

The sound of his ringtone breaks through your thoughts, and you are quick to answer his call.

"Baby?"

A smile graces your features when you hear the familiar endearment, and you switch off the bathroom light before making your way into the living room. "Hi Joongie," you reply with a soft voice. "Are you out of the airport now?"

"I am. Did you want to come to our place or should I come to your apartment?"

You hum, mulling the options over. "I'm not too fussed. What's easier for you?" There is a bit of rustling on his end and you faintly hear Wooyoung's voice in the background.

"I'll come to your place," he decides. "I'll drop my things off first and shower before heading over. Is that okay?"

"Of course, love. Are you sure you're not tired, though? We can always see each other tomorrow or once you've settled back in. I'm not going anywhere, Joong."

Despite the tiredness you hear in his tone, he waves off your concern with assurance that he wants to see you. "I miss you."

His words make your chest flutter and you can't help but internally roll your eyes at how soft you are for him. "Alright then. I'll get some food sorted."

"You are heaven-sent. See you soon."

∞

It is just over an hour later when you hear the tell-tale sign of your apartment door opening, followed by the removal of shoes and Hongjoong's dulcet voice calling out for you. Having just finished whipping up a pot of stir-fry with whatever you had in your fridge, the aroma of a home cooked meal wafting through the air and the low sounds of lo-fi music welcomes your boyfriend into your place.

Quickly wiping your hands with a kitchen towel, you go to greet Hongjoong but his excitement to see you is palpable as he meets you halfway with a playful "Honey, I'm home!", before wrapping you in his embrace. You chuckle, allowing him to bury his head in your neck, and return his hug. His scent is familiar and overwhelming in the best of ways, solidifying his physical presence.

"I'm glad you're back," you murmur while gently running your fingers through his hair. "I missed you."

He responds with a low hum and his arms around you tighten just a fraction. "I missed you too. So much." He slightly loosens his hold enough to press a much-needed kiss to your lips, but before he can deepen the action, you pull away and offer him a knowing smile.

"Are you hungry? Food's ready."

He shakes his head and brings you back into his arms. "Not hungry right now. Not for food anyway." His mouth begins a trail from your collarbones, up your neck, and back towards your lips, his hands stationed in your hips to steady your wavering frame. "One month away from you is far too long."

You cannot help but sigh happily at the sensations he offers; tilting your head back to grant him access to your neck as he makes his way back down the opposite side. "You're being dramatic. It wasn't that bad. I'm sure you and your right hand became well acquainted again on the nights you really missed me."

Hongjoong huffs, his breath tickling your neck deliciously and you fight the urge to rub your thighs together because there was no way you were going to let him know just how much he was affecting you. God, you are so weak for him.

"While that's true," he says, his thumbs digging into your sides just a little deeper, making you emit a small, undignified sound, "It certainly doesn't beat the feeling of your tight pussy. Or your mouth."

His vulgar words stir something inside of you, and you quickly decide that food can definitely wait. "In that case," you hum, pushing him towards your sofa, "I have a surprise for you."

He responds with a single eyebrow raise before collapsing on the furniture as you settle on your knees in front of him. A knowing smirk plays on your lips when you see the outline of his semi pressing against the confines of his black jeans, and you waste no time in unzipping his pants and pulling him out of his briefs. A quiet hiss escapes his mouth once you begin stroking him gently, coaxing him into full hardness before placing a chaste kiss on the tip.

"Close your eyes, Joongie. Let me make you feel good."

Hongjoong does not argue; simply allowing his head to fall against the back of the chair and his eyes to flutter shut. Your touches are magic in the way he feels the tension in his muscles ease and a giant sigh mixed with relief and pleasure fall from his lips. Kitten licks from his tip down to the base are less of a teasing gesture and more of a warm up before the sound of you spitting into your palm and taking hold of his hard member makes his balls clench in anticipation. He moans softly and resists the urge to beg for your mouth. You know what he needs at this very moment, and all he has to do is enjoy it.

"Relax for me, baby."

Your voice is coaxing but not demanding, and Hongjoong acquiesce to your siren call. Soon, the gentle prodding of your tongue bleeds into longer strokes and your lover shivers at the sensation. Yet, something feels different—

With purpose, you flatten your tongue against Hongjoong's cock and drag it upwards in a painstakingly slow motion. His nostrils flare, and just as he opens his eyes to lock with yours, you swipe your muscle along the slit of the head, making sure he feels the piercing where you want him to.

"Holy fuck—" he gasps, staring at you in awe. "Baby, did you— fuck —did you get your tongue pierced?"

Your eyes twinkle in delight. Rather than respond verbally, you choose to focus on bringing your boyfriend to perfect absolution by taking him in your mouth and slowly pushing him down your throat. The sound he makes is one that has you clenching in excitement, and it isn't long before you feel his hands settle on the back of your head. You hum around his cock, the vibrations making him moan again, before dragging your lips and tongue back to the tip. You continue doing this in a relaxed manner for a few minutes, enjoying the sounds falling from your boyfriend’s lips, until you decide to up the ante by steadying your palms on his thighs and increasing your pace.

"Shit!"

Satisfied with his reaction, you carry on; occasionally meeting his dark gaze with your own, but never stopping. Even when you begin to feel that familiar dull ache in your jaw, you switch up your movements by including your hands to work in tandem with your mouth.

Hongjoong is in pure bliss. Soft pants and whispers of your name and how good you are drip in honey-covered ecstasy, and he believes that if the world were to end that moment, there is no other way he would go (except, maybe, between your thighs but semantics ). The sound of wet slurps mixed with the sensation of your pierced tongue and soft hands brings him closer to that just-out-of-reach high, but when you take him wholly in your mouth again — your nose pressing against his neatly trimmed pubic bone — and swallow, that high brushes against the frays of his sanity.

"Baby," he mutters with a choked gasp, "f-fuck, baby, I'm really—" another wheeze as his orgasm crawls up the base of his spine. "I'm really fucking close."

You do not pull back. In fact, your grip on his thighs tighten as you bob your head up and down his length with determination while maintaining eye contact. Drool leaks from the corner of your mouth with each push and pull, and there are unshed tears pooling in your waterline. You are not particularly fond of the mess that comes with giving head, but Hongjoong loves it messy and you love making him happy.

Hongjoong is at his wits ends and barely coherent when he tries to warn you. "Shit. Baby. I'm going to — f-fuck — I'm so close ." His words are desperate, body tense and breathing shallow. "Please, baby. Where? Where c-can I...?"

You pull back and take hold of his throbbing cock. Spews of curses and praise mixed with wet squelches resound loudly. You close your eyes and open your mouth with your tongue out.

The sight of the pretty coloured jewel sitting snugly on the awaiting muscle is enough to send Hongjoong over the edge.

A long, drawn-out groan is heard seconds before you taste the familiar thick, warm fluid. Your upper lip catches a bit of his release too and you eagerly swipe along its plushness. The pulsating member in your hand is a reminder that he is still going, and you teasingly stroke him until his whines signal his oversensitivity. Yet, even when he pleads your name with a warning hiss, you offer gentle kisses and soft licks to his softening cock.

—

Hongjoong shudders as exhaustion finally settles in. Normally, his stamina allows him to last a lot longer, but having gone without you than what is normal, he is not surprised at how quickly he succumbed to the pleasure of your warm mouth and knowing hands. Hongjoong does not know what nation he saved in his past life to have met you in this one, but as he watches you swallow his cum with a grateful sigh and a wistful smile, he wisely chooses not to question it. He is unsure how much time passes — though he suspects it has only been less than a few minutes — when you gently usher him to consciousness and hand him a hot bowl of the food you had prepared. There is another bowl in your hand for yourself, and he eagerly accepts the meal before gesturing to you to join him on the couch.

"Welcome home, Joongie."

Yeah. Hongjoong wisely chooses not to question it at all.

∞

A little something extra:

03:48am Buttcrack (Sister): A little birdy told me your boyfriend is home 👀 03:49am Buttcrack (Sister): Did you show him your piercing yet? 03:49am Buttcrack (Sister): What did he say? 03:51am Buttcrack (Sister): Helloooooo ??? 03:55am Buttcrack (Sister): Bro you better be dead or giving him head 03:57am You: It's literally crackhead hours wtf go to sleep 03:57am Buttcrack (Sister): What did Hongjoong say about your piercing? 03:58am You: Idk I was too busy sucking his dick 03:58am Buttcrack (Sister): Gross 03:58am Buttcrack (Sister): 🤢🤢🤢 03:59am You: gave him that hwak-TUH gawk gawk 3000 04:00am Buttcrack (Sister): brotha eugh 04:02am You: Fuck off I'm going back to sleep

Switching your phone to DND and placing it back on the charging dock, you curl back into Hongjoong's arms and close your eyes. His cock inside of you twitches and, despite the sensitivity you feel as a result of the activities that took place after your meal, you clench around him.

"Who were you texting?" Your boyfriend tiredly mumbles as he drags you on top of him.

"My sister."

He makes a humming noise and softly traces patterns along your bare back. "What did she want?"

"Wanted to know what you thought of my piercing. Told her I was too busy sucking your dick to ask." You answer, sleep dragging you into its warm embrace.

It is silent for a few moments. You are on the edge of fully succumbing to the land of dreams when Hongjoong's voice brings you back—

"Maybe I should get a tongue piercing."

―

fin.

a/n: hey, hi, hello!

uh…it's been a minute lol. and i'm an ateez girlie now (atiny wassuuuuuup)! i've had this sitting in the dungeons for a while after i spontaneously decided to get my tongue pierced at the start of this year when my partner visited their home country for a month. fun fact: all interactions with reader and reader's sister are actual conversations that transpired between my own sister and i (because she's the enabler out of all my siblings lmao). anywho, thought this would be a little fun thing to publish after two years of radio silence. i have been going through the trenches y'all and the imposter syndrome hit HARD when it came to my writing.

thank you so much for reading my work. i am always open to thoughts and feedback, so feel free to drop a like, reblog or leave me a comment!

please look forward to my other work ♡

―

masterlist | ao3 | twitter

[cuddlepilefics]

Homecooked meals @fluff-cember

@hurtcember : 23 bedbound

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Seungmin

Caregivers: Stray Kids

TW: emeto

No one’s POV.:

“Lix, do you know if we have any tea left?”, Seungmin hummed as he shifted on the couch. Him and Felix were enjoying a quiet evening watching movies but he just couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Shrugging, Felix muttered: “I dunno, why don’t you go check? Do you want me to check for you?” – “Please”, Seungmin breathed. He wouldn’t usually make one of his friends get up but his stomach hurt and had he known for sure that they had tea, he would’ve gone and made himself a cup, but not knowing whether the effort would actually be rewarded made it hard for the vocalist to find the energy to get up. 

“Good news is, we still have some peppermint tea, though that’s all we have”, Felix informed, “I turned on the kettle in case you’re fine with peppermint.” – “Peppermint’s alright”, Seungmin mumbled, resting his chin on his knees that he had drawn up to his chest. Taking a seat next to the younger, Felix frowned: “Are you okay? You look peachy.” – “Stomach’s been bothering me since lunch and it’s really starting to hurt now”, Seungmin admitted, nervously palming at his middle. “What did you have?”, Felix asked since they had both spent the day out. Taking a shaky breath, the vocalist mumbled: “Some sort of stir-fry. Gosh, I can still taste it every time I burp and it’s not sitting right at all.” – “I’m sorry. I’ll get you your tea and we’ll see whether that soothes your stomach”, Felix cooed as he got up to head back to the kitchen.

As they resumed their movie, Seungmin slowly sipped his tea. It felt nice initially, until the liquid started to slosh around and he shakily placed the cup onto the coffee table. Curling even further into himself, Seungmin felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Felix reached over to rub his back for comfort but the younger couldn’t bear to be touched right now. A wave of heat washed over him and he felt the fabric of his hoodie cling to his skin when he tried to switch up his position. 

“I think, I’ll go sit in the bathroom for a bit”, Seungmin announced quietly, already walking off while Felix fumbled to pause their movie. The dancer was shocked, sure, he had known that his friend wasn’t feeling well but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. Though, knowing how Seungmin always tried to hide his struggle, he should’ve known there was more to it the moment the younger spoke up about not feeling well. The sound of retching pulled Felix from his thoughts and he followed Seungmin to the bathroom, only to find the door unsurprisingly locked. Of course, his friend wanted his space. Since Felix didn’t remember who Seungmin had been out with, he texted their group chat afraid one of the other members might have gotten food poisoning too.

Felix had expected Seungmin to just shuffle out of the bathroom at some point when he felt like he was done but that didn’t happen. The Aussie had heard the lock click but Seungmin made no move to exit, so he went to check on the younger. “Here, I got you some water”, Felix hummed as he approached the slumped figure on the floor. A soft, pained whimper escaped Seungmin before he looked up at Felix, face ashy pale, his forehead coated with a sheen of sweat. Kneeling down next to the vocalist, Felix brushed the damp bangs out of his face and frowned: “Do you at least want to rinse your mouth? Come on, I’ll help you sit up.” Despite the Aussie’s help, Seungmin shook from the strain and weakly rinsed his mouth before leaning against the bathtub, closing his eyes.

Running a wash cloth under cold water, Felix gently wiped Seungmin’s face and whispered: “How are you doing now?” – “Awful, ‘s so much worse than earlier”, Seungmin groaned, holding his head, “’m so dizzy an’ my head hurts.” – “Should we get you to bed? I’ll bring a bucket”, the older offered, holding out both of his hands. It took him quite a bit of effort to maneuver Seungmin off the floor but even more to keep him on his feet. The room seemed to spin around him and Seungmin desperately clung to Felix to not lose his balance. “I got you”, the Aussie promised, “Just try to put one foot in front of the other and I’ll make sure you end up in your room.”

Seungmin shook from the strain as he collapsed on his bed, stunned that he could go from feeling a little uncomfortable to miserable in such a short time. Promising to be back soon, Felix rushed to fetch their cleaning bucket and Seungmin’s water bottle. The younger had curled up on his side and Felix cooed: “Can I get you anything? I’m sorry you feel so awful.” – “Could you stay and distract me? Please?”, Seungmin breathed, throat raw from being sick. Of course, Felix couldn’t deny him and sat with him gossiping about the protagonists of the movie they had been watching.

With how deeply he had fallen asleep to Felix’ rambling, Seungmin didn’t wake up when their doorbell rang and Felix rushed to open before it would ring again. The Aussie’s face lit up when he realized their friends had come over to help them out and he followed Minho to the kitchen, where the older started making some soup. Chan started the rice cooker and Jeongin picked up some of Seungmin’s favorite tea, knowing the other had run out of it only a couple days ago. “Changbin and Hyunjin are on their way too but they said they’d take a detour to pick up some medicine”, Chan informed softly, “How’s he doing?” – “Got really sick”, Felix pouted worriedly, “He was so dizzy, he could barely walk but he’s asleep now.” – “Oh dear, I’ll go check on him”, the leader sighed, quietly making his way to Seungmin’s room.

From outside the door, Chan could already hear Seungmin cough and rushed to step in. The younger had snatched the bucket off the floor and forcefully choked up a wave of what seemed to be mainly water. Chan was by his side in an instant and rubbed his back, wincing when he felt his dongsaeng tremble. He was quick to take a hold of the bucket when Seungmin was done, the boy’s energy spent, causing him to collapse back into his cushions. It was only when Chan had placed the bucket on the floor that he noticed the younger was full on crying and he gently brushed his sweaty hair out of his face, cooing: “Oh, Seungminnie.” – “’m sorry”, Seungmin whimpered hoarsely, “Wasn’t quick enough.” It took Chan a moment before he understood what the other was talking about. There was a wet stain on his blanket though it seemed that most had landed in the bucket.

Carefully folding the blanket up, Chan placed it on the floor and promised: “It’s okay, don’t worry, Min. Can you sit up for me?” Seungmin shook his head, tearily glancing up at Chan. The only reason he had managed to sit up was the adrenaline but now…. “Here, I’ll help you. You probably don’t want to drink right now?”, the leader hummed as he carefully sat Seungmin up by the shoulders. Shaking his head, the younger closed his eyes against the dizziness. Chan still steadied him by the shoulders and pulled the desk chair closer with his foot, explaining: “Your sheets are completely sweaty too, so I’ll help you move over to your desk chair and quickly change the sheet. With the way you look, you’re probably going to be bedbound for the next couple of days and you should at least be comfortable.”

Seungmin whimpered as he sat in the chair, the upright position not really helping. Chan had handed him the bin from under the desk, afraid the stench coming from the bucket would make him sick again. The leader made quick work of stripping the sheets and replacing them with fresh ones from Seungmin’s closet. When he was done, he carefully lifted the younger out of his seat and placed him back on his bed with the bin next to him. “Try to get comfy and I’ll be back in a moment”, Chan instructed, picking up the sweaty sheets, soiled blanket and bucket. While he started a wash load and rinsed out the bucket, Felix brought Seungmin the fluffy blanket from the couch, heart aching for his dongsaeng.

“Hyun-Bin hyungs will be here with some medicine soon”, Felix promised as he covered Seungmin with the blanket and rubbed his back through the soft material. Wiping his eyes to dry the tears, the younger sniffled: “I’m never eating out again.” – “That’s okay”, Minho chuckled sympathetically. They hadn’t heard the dancer appear in the doorway but Felix smiled when the older hummed: “I’ll gladly prepare homecooked meals for you if it means you’ll eat. We got soup and rice ready, so whenever you feel like you could handle a few bites, let us know.” – “Thanks”, Seungmin whimpered, still far to nauseous to stomach anything. Jeongin joined them with a cup and thermos bottle, whispering: “Your throat must be so painful, hyung. I restocked your tea because you said you ran out during our last vocal lesson.” – “I love you, maknae”, Seungmin slurred, making his friends gasp.

“We really need to worry now, Chan-hyung”, Minho frowned when the leader returned with the bucket. Nodding along, Jeongin explained: “Seungmin was nice and he said he loves me.” – “Oh, fuck off”, Seungmin groaned hoarsely, making the others laugh. “Guess everything’s fine after all”, Minho shrugged, turning to the door, “I’ll let Changbin and Hyunjin in when they get here and then you can take something to calm your stomach.” 

Seungmin kept dozing in short intervals with Chan tracing his back, while the others gave them some space. The medicine Changbin fed the younger helped some and Minho could even convince him to have a few bites of rice and a small scoop of soup before going back to sleep. Chan had been right, Seungmin was far to dizzy to get out of bed for the next few days, only spending a few hours a day on the couch when one of the members carried him there so he could get a change of scenery. Minho was able to nurse him back to health though, the vocalist’s trust in him probably being the only reason he let himself be talked into consuming anything at all.

Even after Seungmin recovered, he still preferred homecooked meals whenever he got the opportunity.

[turnertable]

tolerate it

Alex Turner x Reader (am era !)

written by: me, first time doing angst

requested by: @bellaturner <3

music for the fic: tolerate it by Taylor Swift

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angsty, sad, slight sexual references and pushing about

The future looked bleak for them but for Alex, it had never been more bright. He had recently cut his hair short, Y/N hated it. He claimed it was for the new album but all she could see was her teenage love fading away before her eyes. Their love was something the tabloids had praised from the dancefloor days. "The High School Sweethearts of Sheffield" plastered on the front page of newspaper after paper, her face started to come out of print in the last year.

Y/N found herself perched on yet another stool out of the frame of the newest photoshoot of her boyfriend, scrolling her phone aimlessly and barely noticing Alex's next move. If those ridiculous rockabilly sunglasses left his face, Y/N might have taken interest but at Alex's rate, they had likely been surgically screwed to his nose bridge.

He posed relentlessly and attempted to look over at Y/N, realizing she had no idea what was even happening. Once that was clear, Alex huffed and rolled his eyes beneath the shades, remaining focused on the shoot because he couldn't care less about her opinion at this moment. He was Alex Turner: the acquitted persona of rock and roll in Britain; Olympic opener and soon to be Glastonbury sensation yet again.

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

The shoot concluded in due time and Y/N mumbled to herself, "Thank fucking god." as she threw my phone into her bag and stood up. Alex read her lips and huffed slightly with frustration, as he thanked the photographer and went to leave. They met at the door and he nodded at her wordlessly, not wanting to talk to her til they had a minute to discuss her annoyance. She led them out and they stood at the cub by the door of the studio: Alex immediately got his cigarettes out and offered her one,

"Fuck off with that." Y/N scolded him viciously, "It doesn't make you cool." Alex sighed and pulled out his lighter, a silver Zippo with the band's initials carved into it.

"You used t'smoke, me luv. 'member at The Leadmill when you'd pass em owt to anyone?" Alex reflected as he lit the cigarette. Y/N noticed his accent slip at the use of "the" and looked down.

"I was a kid, Al. We found them around Jamie's that one weekend." She muttered in response to try to entertain his idea, not wanting to see that version of her Alex relay nostalgia to her.

He smiled slightly with an exhale as he looked over, "Oh yeh, he still talks about tha, tha knows. Still got ya tho.." He tried to cheer her up because he did love her endlessly but he knew this was a lot for her to process.

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

The last few months had been frequent fights and sex to make up for it all, where Alex would promise nothing had changed and it would be ok until the next designer jacket would come home and rinse repeat. No amount of money could fix it either for Y/N. Yes, it was nice to be personally styled for an awards show but where Alex would come home and laugh all night with her being himself again, the persona never dropped nowadays.

Y/N nodded and went on her phone to call the taxi, letting Alex finish the cigarette in silence as she stepped away and only demonstrated the metaphoric distance between them. She spoke quietly and got the taxi booked, forcing herself not to think of Sheffield, circa 2005. Sitting on the curbside, her lips never leaving Alex's the whole way home. Drunk and giggling at the way the city looked at night from the taxi window. He'd carry her home as she kicked her legs with excitement to be in bed with him yet again. However here she stood with a smartphone and a man she no longer recognised as the love of her life.

As the taxi pulled up, Y/N opened her own door and got in, finally looking over at her boyfriend as she spoke to the taxi driver promptly, desperately wanting to be in solitude. She looked at him with a neutral look of almost curiosity, searching for any and if so, some glimmer of hope in him and love that would last. No dice. Alex looked over and offered her his hand to hold, a common quirk of his. Y/N took it and looked out the window, the tears pricking at her eyes as the taxi pulled off. A solemn silence hung over them like a ghost in the passenger seat the whole journey home. It could be dealt with at the house, like usual.

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

As the taxi rounded the corner by the house, Alex thanked the driver and nodded at Y/N to say, "in we go." Y/N offered the taxi driver a thank you as well and stepped out of the car, letting Alex open the door and not even attempting to get her keys from her bag. Alex unlocked the door and kicked off his shoes, leaving Y/N to shut it and lean on the wall of the hallway.

"What the fuck is up nah?" Alex started the argument, making Y/N prick up. He finished the conflict but it was unusual for him to bring up an issue without prompt. Alex stood arms crossed at the silence before removing his glasses and rubbing his temple. "Just tell me, please Y/N."

"Why did I have to come to that?" Y/N met his tone and removed her own shoes. "That's the third this week…" She continued and reminded him of how much this weighed on her schedule.

"Well excuse meh for bein successful suddenleh, didn't seem t'bother you when I were 19…" Alex retorted to push her buttons yet again with the memories of their relationship. He tried to walk off to go get a drink, he'd been drinking a lot more frequently since the fighting started. While Alex could hold his drink, it was a new habit he had picked up with the look.

"Yeah well my teenage boyfriend with spots had some fucking intellect not to just lap at anyone who offers him a moment in the spotlight!" Y/N raised her voice and rolled her eyes, trying to stop him from drinking, "I swear if I see you drinking again for another night…" she continued in the cold tone.

"Oh fuck off, 'm 27 now and so are you, act it." He said sternly and lightly pushed her out of his way. "I'll do what I wan, babe" He stormed off to the kitchen to get a glass and the bottle of whiskey on the side, half empty from how often he had been consuming it.

Y/N followed in a huff and tried to keep fighting him, "You really wanna talk about acting, Alexander? What the fuck are you wearing?" She scanned his body and outfit of a leather jacket and tight blue jeans, making Alex smirk slightly as he knew what to do.

"Jeans, you like em babeh?" He tried to give her the eyes that said "you want me really" and stood over her to offer her an embrace. "Can get me out of em if you're nice to meh…" He chuckled softly and held her lower back where he was met with a scoff and a push.

"Get off me, James Dean. Tell me when Alex is back…" She went to sit at the table, making Alex huff and turn back to his drink with annoyance.

"You make me fucking drink…" He mumbled to himself quietly enough for her to miss it. "I'm not gonna be tha kid anymore, you do realize tha, reyt?" He announced as he poured the whiskey and recapped the bottle. "I hate who I were, a spotteh teenager with a squeaky voice on stickeh stages an people throwing shit at meh." He turned to her and finally admitted.

"I fell in love with that kid, Alex." Y/N let the truth slip too, "and I still do love him, ok?" he continued as she looked down sadly, sniffling at the words. "My Alex is gone, he was my home, my safety and you're just this husk of who he was. You're everything we mocked in bars while I waited to hear the same 10 songs every night." Her voice trembled at it all as she looked up at him where all his anger had turned to sympathy yet again.

"But babeh…you could make new memories with new Alex." He heard himself and mentally cursed at his words but persisted on: "We could 'ave a famileh and get married and the band will onleh get more famous and you'll reap t'benefits wiv us.." He tried to reassure her as he leaned down to get her level. "We could be happy again one day, me love. This is just a rough patch…"

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

Y/N listened intently and her face soured at the idea that the band was involved with the future of them. She thought and chose her words carefully as she knew the band's importance to him, especially with him bringing it up here.

"Alex, it's not been a rough patch for you though, has it? The tears started welling up in her eyes, continuing through the melancholy. "You'll be ok, babe. I just won't be. My boy is gone and maybe that's the problem. I'm just not happy anymore…"

His face dropped and his chest went tight when he heard her claims, "You're n-not 'appy? As in wiv me or??" His voice shook as he spoke quietly, staring at her with torment. "I can get ya someone to talk ta, I promise babeh please…" He begged at her feet practically.

Y/N shook her head and looked down, "I'm so sorry, Alex…I love you so much but this version of you, I'm not in love with him. Please just make me proud…" She gasped between sobs and watched the tears roll down her chest. Alex's eyes began to water at the realization of the situation, the blunt actuality of her saying that to his face. How long has she been thinking of telling him?

"Are ya sayin what I think you're sayin?" Alex mumbled as he wiped his nose slightly. Y/N simply nodded and he sighed to himself, "Well shit, tha's about 10 years of me life gone. Is there anythin I can do at all to change yer mind?" He pleaded incessantly through his tears. "I love you, Y/N. Please…"

Y/N sat up straight and held his face softly, kissing his head, "It's ok Alex, we're just different people, darling…" She wiped her eyes and smiled gently at him. "I love you too, Al."

The knife stuck in and twisted at the nickname, it was hers from the moment she muttered it at 17 when they met. Alex's eyes were full of sadness but he nodded and tried to smile, "I understand and I respect yer decision but you do realize t' next album is gonna be so bloodeh sad nah…" He managed a laugh that Y/N echoed.

"Oh yeah, I want sad proses about me now…" She cupped his face and delivered the last kiss, "if that boy ever wants to come back to see me again, he's more than welcome…" She said softly and wiped his eyes with a smile. He nodded and smiled back.

"I think this might be t' soppiest breakup ever…" Alex hums, stands up to get his drink and reaching for another glass before turning to her,

"One for the road?"

[p0orbaby]

Fun Sponge

summary: the beach isn’t for everyone, Ella!

warnings: none I don’t think

a/n: some more grumpy!reader for you all. i’m just writing myself at this point

word count: 882

-

“You’re so weird”

“Thank you”

“That wasn’t meant as a compliment,” Ella clarifies, then sighs as Alessia turns and narrows her eyes at her.

“What?” Ella asks. “She’s the only person I know who doesn’t like going on holiday”

“I do like holidays, I’m just confused about why you have to crash ours,” you said, a barely there smile playing on your lips. You tightened your arms around Alessia’s frame as she sits sideways in your lap. “Why did we bring her again?” you whisper to her, your lips grazing her ear. You feel her shiver.

Alessia chuckled softly, her fingers tracing circles on the back of your neck. “Baby, we’re with the whole team, remember?” she whispers back with a smirk.

“Yeah, but they’re all way less annoying,” you muttered, your attention focused again on the brunette sitting beside you.

“I can hear you, you know?”

“Good, you were meant to”

“Babe, calm down”

Alessia is good like that. Always there to make sure you don’t get too ahead of yourself. Though sometimes you wish she’d let you have at it. Tooney can be a collosol pain in your ass.

“Less, tell your girlfriend to stop being boring”

“I’m not going scuba diving Ella. I’m very partial to solid ground and I will not entertain sharing my personal space with rogue sea life” You deadpan.

Ella rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “You’re impossible. What’s the point of a beach holiday if you don’t even put one toe in the sea?”

“Oh I don’t know. To enjoy the sun, rinse the all-inclusive cocktails, hope and pray for peace and quiet, ogle Alessia in her bikini. Lots of points” you state matter of factly.

She shot back, “But it’s a beach! You’re supposed to enjoy the whole package, not just mope in the shade”

You wrap your arms around Alessia even tighter and bury your face into her neck. Your opinion on the matter set firmly in stone.

As you nestle into your girlfriend's warmth, Ella’s exasperation lingers in the air. She huffs, “Fine, enjoy your smoked pineapple margs, alone. We’ll be over there making sandcastles or something before our diving slot if you change your mind. Coming Less?”

Alessia hesitates, glancing at you sceptically before untangling herself from your embrace.

Your head snaps up, the look on your face one of utter betrayal. “Seriously? You’re ditching me for some sea turtles?”

Alessia chuckles, leaning forward to grab the palms you had reached out for her. “I know, I know, but it sounds fun. I’ll make it up to you later. I promise”

Ella grinns, seizing the opportunity. “And balance has been restored. Look after our stuff yeah?”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, I’ll be here, guarding the sunscreen like it’s the only thing I’m useful for”

Alessia pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then several to your lips, “I’ll be back before you know it. I miss you already” she shouts as she walks away.

“Glorified bodyguard” you mutter to yourself as the two girls stride into the distance.

At least you get to read some of your book in relative peace.

-

You have no idea how much time has passed, but suddenly a shock of cold water splashes over you, jolting you awake with an uncharacteristic yelp.

You lift a tired hand in front of your face to block the sun from your eyes, only to find Ella standing over you, grinning mischievously.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead! You missed out big time, but don't worry, I'm here to fill you in”. She announces, then proceeds to recount the whole thing with an overwhelming level of detail.

Alessia, expertly anticipating your annoyance plops down beside you and whispers an apology, offering a comforting kiss to the underside of your jaw. Her warmth soothes your initial irritation as Ella continues her painfully enthusiastic monologue.

"And then, this giant sea turtle swam right past me. I swear, it felt like a scene from a documentary, but we were actually living it!"

You manage a half-smile, your mind wandering as you try to savor the last moments of your nap.

"Oh, and the coral reefs! They were like a living, breathing masterpiece. I could've stayed down there forever”

Alessia nudges you, a hand coming up to stroke some hair out of your face to get your attention. Your eyes meet hers and she rolls them playfully.

"I even saw a clownfish! You know, like Nemo? It was adorable!"

You nod absentmindedly, your thoughts more focused on your girlfriend as she leans over you to finish the rest of your abandoned margarita than Ella’s rambling. She smells like sunscreen and seawater and you can’t help but relax a little.

Eventually Ella stops and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in. Finally she’s run out of steam.

“You know what? That actually sounds super fun” you say, and Ella looks at you like a cat who’s got the cream.

“You think?”

“Absolutely fucking not”

She shoots back, offended “You’re impossible. Did you even hear anything I said?”

You wave a dismissive hand in her direction, “Something about sea turtles and coral reefs, right?”

“Oh my god, I hate you. I actually hate you so much”

“Can I get that in writing?”

[onlyseokmins]

aftercare • w.j.h.

Pairing: wen junhui x gn!reader

Genres: implied smut (minors dni!), fwb!au, aftercare!au

Warnings: swearing, gooey-ooey shit tbh, lil sneak of possessiveness, tiny angst if u squint, feelings ew, mentions of sex but it's actually really soft but lmk if i missed smth

WC: 1.3k

A/N: a request i kind of got a lil carried away with idk if this is what they were looking for but this is what my brain came up with askdjfksdj i think i made it gender neutral 🤞🏻 but if i missed up please let me know - i didn't intend to but it just turned out that way :3

Sweaty bodies lay against one another, bedsheets tangled and damp from the rigorous amounts of exertion earlier. Yet it's not uncomfortable at all.

It hits Junhui first, coming out of his post-nut clarity with a startling — almost terrifying — realization. You looked good earlier. Good enough to eat. Decked out in a sexy little fit that had everyone's heads turning at the club… and effectively turning him on.

He'd had his hands all over you in record time. The need to touch and claim you as his for all to see was ravenous. All-consuming. Not even a half hour had passed before he'd worked up your sexual tension so high on the dance floor with slow grinding and sneaky groping. Then he was teasing and prepping you with nimble fingers during the ride back to his place. 

Tongue battling yours, mouths and lips sloppily making out while he struggled to open the door. Immediately dropping to his knees to explore your intimate parts once the lock clicked and you were inside, back pressed firmly against the other side as he slid down to have his way with you.

Junhui is very well-acquainted with your body but nothing gets him going like finding a new way to make you squirm and moan louder. 

For him.

But now, thoroughly fucked out and fucked well, you have a glowing vulnerable air of softness around you. All for him. Alone.

And he finds you as gorgeous — if not even more so — as he did before. Just as radiant as when you first met, standing out amongst everyone else in a subtle way that drew him in.

Junhui had genuinely wanted to get to know you first. Approached you with honest intentions. It was you who shuffled the cards and set the rules, putting the initial offer on the table to win the game. And how could he resist?

He lost the reckless deal willingly and easily dived into this odd arrangement of not-quite-friends with plenty of sexual benefits. But his heart had already clumsily fallen for you even back then.

With his brain only catching up to speed now. So he can't help but place what feels like an instinctual kiss on your nose that he'd denied doing before, watching with an astounding amount of endearment at how your eyes nearly cross at the action.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

You follow his lead, guided by his hand holding yours. Tremors and shaky legs are but a by-product your aching body experiences after sex with him. Normally that would inflate Junhui's ego — maybe even rile him up enough for another round.

But contrary to the roughness he exhibits and indulges your bedroom desires with, the warm cast of the nightlight he'd installed in the bathroom (after one too many stumbles with you in the dark) dials down those lust-filled feelings with… something different.

Of course, you act like you don't notice the sudden shift between you two. Simply choosing to stare blankly ahead, posture slouched unattractively over the toilet that he helped you sit on. Yet he's never seen you any lovelier despite the telltale empty look in your eyes. More than likely planning the usual, sneaky exodus he can't seem to encourage you from forgetting.

"You'll stay the night?" The man tries not to sound too hopeful — too needy — while wetting a fresh washrag under warm water for you after rinsing off the one used on himself. "I… accidentally ripped all your clothes anyways."

"Sure there's something I could salvage."

"You can get all cozy and snuggle underneath the new blanket I just bought. It has cute cat faces on it and it's super fuzzy."

"Or you could give me something to wear, bet you have something laying around that I can use."

"I mean, I could since it doesn't bother me if you borrow something of mine. Or you could leave a couple pairs of clothing here next time for next time. I told you I didn't mind."

Junhui expects a disappointed, slightly annoyed sigh of his name like usual. But he should know what happens when he breaks the mode; it triggers a butterfly effect. 

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?" you question pointedly, though you let him gently pick up your hand so he can dab at it. Palm to palm, it lays lax against his — neither holding but not pulling away — and he takes that as a win. "I spent a good amount of money on those, you know."

"I'll buy you more."

"Junhui…"

He focuses on the tender motions of wiping your arm, ignoring the warning call of his name that's always delivered in a cold tone. Once he reaches past your shoulder and sweeps delicately across your collarbones littered with teeth marks, his eyes are drawn up to your slightly chapped lips that are set in a frown.

"Um, don't worry I can also have them fixed. My friend's good at stitching and it's not like they're… in pieces."

"So they're wearable."

He whispers loudly in mild frustration, "Why do you keep trying so hard to escape?" even though you've made no effort to physically move.

"I'm only escaping if you're keeping me against my will. Otherwise it's simply called leaving."

"But I don't want you to leave! Can't you see I'd rather have you stay?"

"… Why?"

"Why?" he repeats incredulously and leaves the wet cloth to hang on your opposite shoulder. Bare fingers brush the side of your neck, cup your cheek, and a thumb sweetly rubs at the corner of your mouth. Brown eyes raise from the curve of your lips to the cute bump of your nose to finally meet your eyes. Despite your aloof front, he can see how they flicker with an uncertainty he wishes to soothe. "Because I like you. If you want to be held captive, just say the word."

"You're crazy."

"Crazy for you, sure. But I am definitely in my right mind and I mean what I say."

Suddenly backing away with a tug, Junhui urges you to stand with him. You still ask your demanding questions even as he releases his hold on your upper body and squats. A gentle hand grasps your outer thigh while the other gingerly strokes the delicate flesh between your legs and downwards. Dutifully cleaning away the mixed stains of your releases. 

"What if you're wrong? What if you regret it?"

A chaste kiss is delivered below your belly button as he works on the other leg. "I won't."

"You'll get tired of me… you'll miss being free."

"Is that why you're trying to leave first? Because you think I'll walk away one day?" He takes your silence as an answer and rises to his full height. "Won't you give me a chance? Even if it gets to that point, if we hit a crossroads where it's not easy anymore, and you think we'll go our separate ways… Only if you want me to, I'll make sure to prove you wrong. That we can make it through together."

"Why though? Do you really think — "

"Because I like you. And I want to learn to love you… and maybe, just maybe, you might be able to love me in return too."

"But Jun…"

His name falls from your lips in such a soft tone, a stark difference from earlier and he pulls you into a hug. Dry and warm skin becomes a comforting embrace against your cooler, damp body. He's safe. As much as it scares you shitless, it's oddly soothing. He's soothing. 

Maybe it sparks something deep inside your chest you've tried to bury as he finishes cleaning you up, the steady touch of his hands expressing what words yet cannot. Returning to lay on his bed, the cozy cat blanket covering your naked bodies… perhaps you realize "I love you" has never sounded better wrapped in the undertoning of the words "I'll make the same promise to you when morning comes," followed later by Junhui's low snores. 

You doze away letting his arms encompass you, dreaming of the possible future that may become a reality — the one with him in it.

onlyseokmins: March 2023 ©

[emeraldcatears]

An intro to Common Events (A noob's first crafting system)

So, yeah, I made my first go at a crafting system. Let's introduce Common Events to see how I did it.

In this case I've made a "Potion Book" for my halfling potion crafter to use in order to select a recipe to make. I made the book as a standard key item - the sort that can't be consumed or sold or used on anyone... except I made it usable from the menu screen and gave it a Common Event effect.

You can pick Common Event as an effect on the last page of the effects menu for something like an item or skill. When it's used it triggers the common event you've put in the dropdown.

So what is a Common Event?

Common Events are events built in the Database instead of on a map. The contents of these events are made with the same event commands as any other event, and there's even a way to call a common event from a standard on-map event, as show below:

Calling a Common Event from a map can be used for things you use a lot, such as a shop inventory that remains the same across different locations, so you only have to make adjustments to the one event in order to update every shop.

But that's not how I'm using it today. Instead I'm using a Common Event in order to make an event that's activated by an item.

The rest of the crafting system is a simple series of Show Choice commands, Change Item commands, and the like.

I just made a handful of potions to craft using the book for now. Since the Show Choices menu only allows 6 options if I want to add more later I'll either have to make choice 5 a "show more choices" option or look into alternate ways to build a selection menu. For the sake of this example this will function just fine, though. I also set Cancel to Disallow so the player will actually have to pick a choice from the options, even if it is only to exit the menu.

So let's say the player wants to make a Potion. Well, we need to 1) check that enough of the ingredients are available, 2) remove those ingredients from the inventory, and 3) give the player a potion to replace them. That's really all there is to make a super simple crafting system.

For the first part, I'll use a Control Variable command to count the medicinal roots in the inventory and save that number as a variable.

Then I made a Conditional Branch to check that the variable storing the number of medicinal roots in the party's inventory is greater than or equal to the amount needed to make a potion.

If the condition is met, then the next step is to tell the player how many \V[22] they have and offer the choice to make the potion if they have enough. \V[22] is how you can call the number saved in a variable (in this case, variable 22) into a text command so the player can see what's in the variable. If V[22] is less than 2...

I decided to add a Jump to Label here (and the Label itself before the initial Show Choices) so the player will be returned to the original potions options if they can't make the item, rather than just ending the event and kicking them back to the field and having to open the potion book from the key items all over again to try another recipe.

If they do have enough they get a new Show Choices asking if they want to go ahead and make the potion. No will Jump back to the same label while yes...

changes the items (minus two medicinal roots and plus one potion) and plays a sound effect.

From there it's just rinsing and repeating for whatever other potions the book lets you brew!

Finally, I decide that when the player chooses to Exit the potion making menu they should be taken back to the menu screen instead of just left out on the map, so I add an Open Menu Screen command after a sound effect of the book being closed.

I'd rather make it so they go back to the Key Item menu specifically to end up right where they left off, but I'm not sure how to do that (yet). (If you know then let me know, otherwise it's off to do some more research.)

When I test the item in game all I have to do is select the Potion Book in the inventory and...

It's not pretty, but it's functional. Learning comes first, pretty comes later.