#probably will ponder his design a bit further when have the time

[xitsensunmoon]

The rarest visitor on this blog... Not just Sun... MER Sun...

[irlbop]

Imagine, though, that the first three Papas hadn’t been assassinated, and there really was a plan to have them reincorporated into the Ghost Project. Perhaps not as the frontmen audiences were more familiar with, but there was certainly use to be found. The Ministry could be resourceful when it wanted to be, after all.

Primo would probably feel confused at best, fatigues at worst as the memories of touring and strutting about began to reappear in the marrow of his bones. He was far from young when the Ghost Project had been revived under his visage, and he’d certainly not gotten any younger in the decade that had passed since he passed on the position.

Ever the diligent shepherd throughout his life, the eldest Emeritus son had found himself quite enjoying his retirement: It had allowed him more time to rest, more time to tend to his personal passions. Further to the point, though, what more did he have to offer? Ghost had prospered with each succession. As far as he was concerned, he had done his job: It was now up to the Next Guy to keep it going.

But, ever the good son and dedicated brother, he hears out the proposal. The stage may not call him back, but the Church does. And for that, he must listen.

Secondo would furrow his brow, almost reflexively creating a slight sneer. Though, it’s not out of disgust so much as uncertainty. And Secondo is very rarely a hesitant person.

He knew how the Church saw him: Angry, bitter, so on and so forth. The very things that contributed to the decision to end his tenure.

…Well, that, and perhaps his exorbitant spending on the Ministry’s dime. There was only so much he could get away with under the justification of gluttony, lust, and sloth, evidently.

Regardless, though, he found the prospect somewhat suspicious. After he retired the mitre, the Ministry appeared to want little to do with him. The Clergy kept interactions to a minimum, and most paperwork had been designated to other members often before. Most who look forward to his presence are Siblings with an appetite they claimed only he could satiate — and frankly, he was content with that.

He was far from a dullard, but Secondo couldn’t fathom what the Ministry realistically could pull from him at this point. Perhaps, then, “conflicted” is the better expression he wore: Eyes narrowing at the prospect as he pondered what this could mean, quiet anger that they would demand more of him after he had given them plenty, but also curiosity.

And a bit of temptation. Best to hear the details. Perhaps maybe even confirm the perks. He would keep his guard up of course, but maybe he could regain access to the Black Card if he played the right cards…

And then…There’s Terzo. Of the Papas present, he was the most emotionally expressive.

“Prone to fits of flamboyancy,” Primo would muse if he were in a gentler mood.

“A shameless twit with no damn self-control,” Secondo would insistently correct.

If that moment had been someone’s first exposure to Terzo, however, they probably would not have guessed it. He is the picture of calm. Almost ennui. Heterochromatic eyes sit beneath bushy brows, hooded as though the proposal were someone waxing poetry of the gilded lily that was doing taxes.

If someone who did know of Terzo and his antics were to see him, they might have concluded one of two options: That he was either zoning out, fantasizing about all the schlong and balls and pussy he could be investing time in; or he was hungover and/or high and thus not computing a single syllable that tumbled into his ears.

But Terzo was stone-cold sober. And he was hanging on to every word like claws sink into flesh.

The fact of the matter is that yes, Terzo could be loud. He could be showy. He was outspoken, enduring, a consummate performer. But that didn’t mean Terzo was dumb. It was so easy to simplify him down to a happy-go-lucky himbo of some sort that people — even his own brothers — would often forget the bottom line: He was still an Emeritus, born from a line coated in blood and shadow.

And in that moment, the blood and shadows within him were boiling, as though the essence of The Pit had found itself replaced into his mortal form.

In that moment, he was putting those years of breathing exercises to use by tempering his inhales and exhales to feel less heated, less sharp. Without the papal paints to give illusion to his features, his features seemed sharper, but not necessarily menacing. He was white-knuckling it in those gloves he was almost never without, ever thankful that their cloth texture didn’t give away his feelings like the squeak of leather would.

They want them back? They want him back? How about a proper send-off to his papacy first? How about an actual final show, one last thing to give to the followers he’d busted his ass off to give to the Church? An apology card signed by the Clergy, an Edible Arrangement, something!

He brought home a goddamn Grammy. And how did they repay him?

By dragging him off of the stage, mind-song. This was the way the most successful Antipope to date’s reign had ended: Not with a bang, not with a kazoo, but with a whimper.

He had given the Church everything he had: His youth to studies, his adulthood preparing for succession, his mind, body, and soul put to the form of song for them to exploit. He even gave them things he did not actually possess, but dressed up just enough to superficially please them. Yet now they come back, ready to take even more? What was even left in their eyes to snatch, he might’ve wondered beneath it all?

A dark bile flowed through his veins like the Serpent through Eden. And oh, how this domain did love its corruption. That is, except for when it conflicted with what they wanted. And what this church of expression and freedom wanted, as far as Terzo saw it, was control. Power. All that uncreative jazz. You were only as free as they saw fit.

Well. Fine. This church loved serpents so much, why not become what they loved? He could slither pitifully on his belly. He could sit in wait. He could speak honeyed words. He could remind them he was but a soft, simple creature.

He could bite.

What this proposal to reincorporate himself and his brothers foretold, he did not yet know. And it frankly didn’t matter to him: He would take it. He would take it and cradle it and slowly nurture it with his venom until the Ministry would recognize the necrosis developing far too late to stop it.

He was, after all, an Emeritus: The favored bloodline of the Dark One. He was insurrection, he was spite.

“I see…” he uttered, stifling a nonexistent yawn.

“And this…idea that you have: What’s in it for me?”

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #30 journey

Chapters 1 to 6 here on AO3

If you like the tattoo AU give it some love on my AO3, please. It would mean a lot to me. TYSM!

+++++

White Pony Tattoo - Part Ten (journey)

Eight days later, once again, John found himself hovering in front of 221 Baker Street. He wondered if there would ever come a time when he would be able to simply just walk inside because he was sure about it like every other normal person would probably do.

The days since he had last seen Sherlock had flown by, with John barely noticing the passage of time. He had thought a lot about what Mrs Hudson had said to him in her kitchen. Not the threat she had uttered. But the thing about Sherlock having had a hard time in his past.

John had pondered about what might have happened to him, what had hurt Sherlock so much that he had needed to put up that wall of protection around himself. To build an armour around his heart.

Of course, John wouldn’t ask. He also promised himself not to stalk Sherlock on the internet any further. If Sherlock wanted to trust John with telling him anything about his past, it was solely up to Sherlock to take the first step into this direction.

Calais Reno, the movie star, whom John had begun to follow on Instagram out of sheer curiosity, had posted a picture of the newly acquired tattoo yesterday. It had been placed on the outer side of the right calf and reminded John of a mixture between HG Wells’ steampunk-inspired time machine and Doctor Who’s Tardis. It was intricately detailed and although it was very close to a technical drawing, the image seemed three-dimensional. Given that the movie star was known to be a fan of stories about time travel, it was the perfect choice.

John would have expected nothing less, coming from Sherlock.

Which made him more and more curious about the phoenix Sherlock would put onto him this afternoon. Excited. Also, a bit anxious. What if he didn’t like Sherlock’s design after all? Sherlock had only texted John, giving him a time and a date when the tatooing would take place but he had not given the tiniest hint concerning its design.

John remembered very well the part of Sherlock’s shop sign that demanded no arguing. He would just have to trust Sherlock, John supposed.

Into battle. John opened the door.

Sherlock, dressed in a deep green shirt today, was already waiting and welcomed John with a radiant smile. This time, he reciprocated John’s firm hug with much more comfort and surety.

Without further ado, John was led into the tattoo parlour behind the curtain and Sherlock wordlessly gestured at the computer screen. It showed a black-hued phoenix. In a realistic 3D view that turned from side to side in an endless loop as if John was moving his arm. The firy bird totally eclipsed the Virgin Mary tattoo, depicted in faint red hues underneath, leaving not even the least bit of ink uncovered.

John stared with his mouth hanging open and didn’t know what to say.

“Given that you just perform the perfect impersonification of a gold fish, I take it that the design pleases you.” Sherlock deadpanned.

“Holy cow, Sherlock, this is,” John’s voice was hoarse as a multitude of feelings rushed through him, “this is… perfection.”

 John must have chosen the right word because Sherlock’s face flushed red.

“It had to be. More than any tattoo before.” Sherlock swallowed, fiddling awkwardly with his hands. “I made it for you, John.”

“Sherlock, I…”

But Sherlock launched into a flurry of rapid movements, starting to set up everything for the tattoo session. It looked like a meticulously rehearsed ballet performance and John was transfixed by the lithe beauty and grace.

“Get comfortable in the seat,” Sherlock said whilst putting various needles, phials and two tattoo guns onto a tray, “I estimate that it will take three and a half hours to tattoo the phoenix. If you need a break, to move or stretch, just say so.”

John did as he had been asked and then Sherlock took off his dress-shirt to put on sterile surgical gloves. Underneath it, Sherlock wore a skin-tight black t-shirt where the short sleeves had been cut off. For the very first time, John saw Sherlock’s arms and the sight made him grateful that he was already sitting.

Sherlock’s arms were nothing short of spectacular.

Beautifully muscled, like a dancer’s, skin milky-white and smooth like marble. His right arm was not tattooed, but the left was wholly covered with intricate lines of deep black and brilliant red. From John’s point of view, they looked like dancing flames.

Sherlock apparently felt John’s eyes on him because he suddenly kept still. He turned, stepped up to John and held out the tattooed arm so that John could take a look at its front side. He carefully watched John’s reaction.

“You also have a phoenix on your arm!” John gasped. “A huge phoenix surrounded by flames!”

“Brilliant observation, John.”

John realized that every time Sherlock had become sarcastic before, at least when he had talked to John, it had been an indicator of Sherlock being nervous. Something that he would never openly admit.

But what should Sherlock be nervous about?

The tattoo was beautiful and perfect and then John remembered what Sherlock had said about perfect tattoos. That they had to connect to their wearer’s personality and history. The implications of Sherlock’s professional credo in connection with chosing a phoenix for himself made John dizzy.

Did that mean…

“Are you a survivor, too?” John blurted, overwhelmed by his sudden epiphany.

Sherlock sighed. He fought an inner battle, the pros and cons of the choice he was about to make clearly written on his face.

John didn’t say anything, knowing Sherlock needed time for what this was. To find the courage and the trust to tell John about it.

When Sherlock had made his decision, he straightened his back and carefully wiped every emotion off his face, but his eyes stayed wary and apprehensive and he looked right over John’s head.

“It’s been a long journey before I’ve arrived where I am now.” Sherlock gestured with his hand to the tattoo parlour. “It’s not been a joy ride for a very long time. I’ve literally died, John! My heart had stopped and I’ve been brought back to life.”

John simply nodded one time. He did not dare move another muscle, lest Sherlock might get spooked and retreat back into his shell.

Sherlock took a deep breath, gathering his strength. He slowly searched for John’s eyes. After finding them, he asked silently.

“Have you ever wondered why I chose the name White Pony Tattoo?”

++++++

tagging some people @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @calaisreno

[quillandink333]

Kagami

Kazuma Asougi + Original Character

SPOILERS FOR THE GREAT ACE ATTORNEY CHRONICLES ~ Read ahead at your own risk!

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

WARNINGS: amnesia, psychosis, child abuse, academic trauma

Summary: The apprentice prosecutor’s lost memories of his life in Japan come flooding back in a great tsunami when he sees the face of his father trapped in wax.

Masterlist

“Haha-ue!” the little boy shouted as he ran out into the garden towards his mother. “Haha-ue, guess what!”

Crouched down as she tended to one of her moss patches—the boy had always wondered why she chose to raise a moss garden, considering her niche in flower arrangement—she turned her head with a subtle smile. “Ah, Kazuma-kun. How was your iaido lesson?”

“Good.” He stood up straight and proud with his left hand around the scabbard of his quarter-size wooden sword, keeping the right concealed within his hakama. Behind him, his father and swordsmanship instructor stood in the back doorway and fondly regarded his family, having brought Kazuma home from the dojo moments ago. “I have something for you!”

“Oh?”

He took his hand out and, with a zealous bow, presented her with a fistful of dainty, pink flowers.

“My, how lovely.” She received the posy, lovingly tied together with a crude bit of decorative knottery using a piece of dried grass. “Wherever did you find these? Hopefully in the wild and not in someone else’s garden,” she sternly questioned.

“Mm! They mean, ‘I will always protect you.’”

To his utter surprise, his heartfelt gesture was met with an outburst of laughter. Even taken out of context, this was a rare sight to behold; he could probably count the number of times he’d seen his mother smile on one hand. He couldn’t make up his mind on how to feel about her reception until, once her chuckling came to a dwindle, she asked, “Kazuma-kun, do you know what kind of flower these are?”

“Oh. Uhm…” He shook his lowered head with a sheepish look on his face.

“They’re cyclamens,” his mother informed him. “Now, let me ask you another question.” Kazuma stood to attention while she pondered the best words to use. “How did you come to think the meaning of cyclamens was, ‘I will always protect you?’”

“Well, I just thought, since you always give flowers different meanings… You know, when you make arrangements for your friends from the ikebana school.”

“First of all, they’re not my friends. They’re my peers,” she stubbornly denied, though thanks to his father’s regular reassurance, Kazuma could see straight through her stoic facade to the true, tender love and care that lay beneath. “And second, there’s something you must understand about hanakotoba. It’s that you can’t simply make up whatever meaning you see fit for any flower you please.”

“You can’t?”

“No. You see, if everyone did that, there would be no order, no rhyme or reason, and hanakotoba would lose all meaning. It would have no point if you had to tell the recipient your own intended meaning for the flower you were giving them every time. Really, the very idea of that is just—”

But as her impassioned rant continued, the word ‘lost’ seemed to be written more and more boldly in the poor boy’s expression by the second.

She cut herself short, sparing him from further confusion. “Come,” she said, stashing the posey of cyclamens delicately in her kimono sleeve and rising to her feet. “I think it best that I simply show you what I mean.”

Kazuma followed his mother from the garden to the humble, six-mat section of the house designated as her flower arranging studio, but not before leaving his prized training sword with his father as she had forbidden him from bringing it into said room. Something about ‘disrupting the sacred tranquility,’ she’d explained. Despite his strong attachment to his sword, this condition of hers was of little concern. Until now, he’d never been allowed entry to his mother’s studio whatsoever. The chance to finally see what was hidden behind the doors to where she spent so much of her spare time made him forget all about having to leave behind the item he’d always carried with him everywhere at all times since the day his father had first entrusted it to him. He knew he’d get it back first thing after this anyway.

The six-year-old looked around in awe at the collection of tools and vessels of all shapes and sizes—everything a master of the delicate art of flower arrangement required—as she took a book off the tall shelf lined up against the far wall. “Come sit, Kazuma-kun.” She seated herself seiza-style on one of the mats and patted the space next to her with her empty hand. As he promptly followed her direction, plopping down beside her and mirroring her position, she opened the tome in her lap and flipped through a few of its pages.

“This is what you wanted to show me?” he questioned. Though his literacy was exceptional for his age, it only took a glance for him to figure out that the text it contained was leagues above his current reading level. There were a handful of colourless floral illustrations scattered throughout, but not nearly enough.

“Yes. This is my copy of the first and only edition of Japan’s Flower Dictionary,” she proudly stated. “Which means no touching.”

“Sorry,” muttered Kazuma as he reluctantly pulled his hand back to his lap.

She proceeded to enlighten him about the purpose of this ‘Flower Dictionary,’ pointing out the entries for each species and how their meanings originated in various legends and historical events dating back centuries, or in other cases due to their unique characteristics. “Some flowers have more than one meaning,” she went on. “For instance, cyclamens like these can express either shyness or jealousy, depending on the colour.” Kazuma nodded along with wide eyes, following her finger across the words he couldn’t read. “Do you remember your birth flower?”

“Yes! It was the Chinese bellflower,” he promptly recited. “You told me last year.”

“That’s right,” she nearly smiled. “In hanakotoba, the Chinese bellflower symbolises ‘patience’ and ‘endless love.’” This had the boy practically gagging at the girly sentiment, which made the woman’s imminent grin all the more difficult to suppress.

“Um, Haha-ue?” The little boy tugged on her sleeve. “Are there any flowers that do mean, ‘I’ll always protect you?’”

Closing the book in her lap, she smiled fondly down at him and placed an arm round his shoulders. “None that I know of, I’m afraid. But that’s alright. Cyclamens happen to be one of my favourites, you know.”

A couple of years passed by in a flash. Kazuma was eight now, and still the academic prodigy his parents and extended family took such pride in. He had to study hard; he had his father’s shoes to fill, now that he was setting off for his own studies to the distant lands of Great Britain. Despite how much he would miss spending time with him, he held his head high in his absence, knowing he was the one and only son of a future hero of Japan.

It was the day of Genshin’s departure. Kazuma and his mother were on the train back to their estate in Yokohama. It wasn’t long after their boarding that a field of striking red flowers came into view through the carriage window. The boy recognised them to be spider lilies. As he watched the world go by, he wondered to himself about what sort of meaning they carried in the language of flowers.

He was just about to voice his curiosity, but when he turned to his mother, he was stopped by the sight of her. She sat gazing out the window upon the field of crimson in deathly silence, a dark, foreboding look frozen upon her face.

In the end, Kazuma decided not to ask. Maybe he was better off not knowing, he thought. Just as he would’ve been better off never having caught sight of that grim expression of hers.

The two of them lived alone together for the following six years. All the while, they would spend each day looking forward to the next letter from London. Young Kazuma was always especially eager to hear of his father’s noble exploits. But when the day finally came that the travelling students were to return home, fate had other ideas for the Asougis. It was then, just as Kazuma was preparing to enter his teenage years, that he learned of his father’s untimely demise.

Ever since the terrible news came, his mother became more and more despondent by the day. She’d always presented a relatively distant exterior, never one to talk much about herself or her past, since as far back as he could remember. But after moving in with the Mikotobas, she rarely spoke to him or anyone else and even more rarely ventured outside. All she seemed interested in anymore was how well he performed in school. And so, he became all the more determined to excel in whatever ways available to him, just in the hopes of giving her something to smile about.

Then one day, a letter was delivered to their doorstep. A letter from London, sent by one Barok van Zieks. Except when it came, it had already been mistakenly delivered to the Asougi main family household. Of course, upon reading the contents of the letter, they disowned what was left of the broken little branch family on the spot.

The arrival of that cursed letter marked the beginning of the widow Asougi’s slow and torturous passing. Worse yet, she wasn’t the only one tortured by it. Kazuma could do little but watch as the bitterness of undue exile changed her into a cruel, heartless husk of her former self. Her transformation turned his education from an aspiration for which he’d strive into a ledge from which he’d forever dangle above the bottomless ravine of humiliation and failure. Even still, none of this made any difference to him. He knew she was not long for the world, and so he would do whatever it took to become the son his mother wanted.

Karuma, a symbol of justice once wielded by his scorned father, the heroic Asougi Genshin. It became clear the moment the illustrious sword was passed into Kazuma’s hands, that his mother’s time among them had at last reached a merciful end.

“Haha-ue,” he addressed, disrupting the impenetrable silence hanging in the air of her room. “I have a question that I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.”

“What?”

“You’ve always had a passion for flowers, and for all the various meanings assigned to them over the ages, and yet you decided to raise a moss garden rather than a flower garden. Why?”

“Because moss doesn’t wither and die each year the way flowers do.” She didn’t meet his eyes when she spoke, only staring emptily up at the ceiling. “Moss stays alive and present year-round, even if it loses its bright green lustre every now and again when it isn’t watered properly. It persists, despite the strains of neglect and of the ever changing seasons.”

His eyes wandered to the white chrysanthemums and pink cyclamens placed by her pillow. He himself had diligently arranged them for her, using what small portion he’d inherited of her talent for the art. “Thank you.”

“Now I have a question for you.”

She was looking him in the eye now, her own suddenly alight with a certain conviction that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“What is it?”

“Do you deny the allegations against Genshin? Do you believe in his innocence, enough that’s you’d stake your honour on it?”

“Of course I do,” he answered without a moment’s hesitation. The question required no deep thinking or internal debate. His father’s was the very face of justice in his eyes, despite the ignorant slander that the rest of the family cast upon him. “I’ve never doubted it for a second.”

“Then listen closely now.”

The night Kazuma’s mother passed away, he did not grieve, nor did he on the night of her funeral. Her parting words had awoken something within him. Something restless, unyielding, and burning with an anger that could not be quenched.

The instant he saw it, everything flashed before him all at once before he could so much as blink. It was as if he’d been seeing the world in monochrome until now. Everything suddenly had meaning. His voyage to Great Britain, his knowledge of the law, his mentor—the person responsible for utterly destroying his life—but the thing most prominently on his mind was the voice in his head.

Even now, she was barking relentlessly in his ear, berating him for having the gall to forget. It was the voice of Asougi Kagami. All this time, the one haunting his every thought and action had been the ghost of his own eternally grieving mother.

Kazuma let out a wretched, bone-chilling scream.

[aks-of-the-weak]

Incipit: My stupid fucking game doesn't work. These two stupid functions have like 450 lines together and the whole thing is like half a dozen for() loops all nested into each other nested into a while() loop. I tested it thoroughly. I thought i was done with it and put a nice bow and wrapping on it and sent it in the mail. Now i find that the recipient was always destined to be and that this gift is not a beautiful craft of art, but an abyss which beckons for my gaze just as it also beckons to gaze back. And i will gaze. But not today. Today is a day for coping. Today i will chain lose seven games of League of Legends, but sandwiched between those i will attempt a brand new coping method, #homestuck OC improv writing. Let's goooooooo.

3rd Post: Gemoloron, The Sign of the Potent. No, i'm not going to use That meaning of the word… i hope?

Constellation: Oh man, what could this one be? Maybe this bit represents eyes, but then what has ma— Biblically accurate angels. C'mon, I know it's a biblically accurate angel, you know it's a biblically accurate angel, even the homestuck redditors knew it was a biblically accurate angel. This brings up at least one question, is the Troll Bible a thing? The answer to that question is basically irrelevant, so i won't ponder it any further. I actually already know where i want to go for those first two paragraphs because i thought of it while writing the intro. You know what else has many eyes? That's right, Flies, and maybe dragonflies, and maybe basically half of all other bugs, but that includes Flies. A Fly's two eyes are actually compound eyes which contain thousands of individual lenses inside. There's probably a connection to make with Belzebub who's sometimes also an angel, but i don't really wanna. Point is, Rage being the aspect of Chaos and Goldies being the caste for duality makes them a match made in heaven (heh). The nature of this sign is all about contradiction, being both Gracious Holy Angel and Gross Disgusting Fly. This is a design i want to communicate in both the constellation and the lusus while emphasizing the eyes, so here's what i'm thinking about (see picture below) (i fucking hate insects, why did i pick this, i don't want to be editing a picture of one for many minutes) (Holy fuck, the GIMP perspective tool is awesome. Why have i never used that before??). Ok, so, facts first, this image is awful. It also kind of fucks (heh). A fly with human eyes, yet another mystical symbol. I really thought mystical symbol constellations weren't going to be a dime a dozen back when i was on the first post, yet here we are. As stated before it symbolizes Contradiction and Contrasts, but primarily between the Ugly and the Beautiful.

Lusus: Aight, i actually image edited the lusus too this time around. Gods, brace yourself because this one is also genuinely awful, no "it fucks" involved. (see picture below). This time instead of being a fly with angel (human) eyes it's an angel with Fly eyes. It reverses, because contradictions, contrasts. This guy is actually stupid as fuck, like fly-level intelligence. When the character is introduce we quickly notice that all their window are broken. Then, a bit later we hear a sound of broken glass from out of frame and the next panel pans out with this jackass with his head through a window trying to crawl out of it. Right next to him is a wide open door. He's at no risk of harming himself on the sharp glass tho, he's actually ~3m tall with physical strength enough to rival the Spidermom, but he's so stupid he can't use a weapon or even punch or kick. The only way he ever attacks is by flying at extreme speed and crashing his body into shit. Our character can't invite anyone to their home because this dude is too stupid to understand the concept of a "friend" and will just ram any and all that gets close to the house, killing it instantly. He's not vicious or anything, tho. When something aproaches he'll stand visibly and menacingly in the sky, meaning he mostly only ever murders wild animals too dumb to understand that warning. Finally, the only thing it ever does other than murder shit in the stupidest way possible and break windows trying to get in and out of the house is clean. Because flies do that. Any sign of dirt, dust or glass shard he sees gets broomed right out of the house. Because apparently he's smart enough to use his limbs for that. Ok dude.

Physicality: You might have noticed this lusus has a single clipped wing which i haven't mentioned. This is because i just added it, right now, after the lusus paragraph is done. Why? To establish numerology, of course. I have a last name to start this character with. Beluth. The name is a deformation of Belzebuth, another name of Beelzebub, but also alludes to the last symbolic element of the character which i will get to shortly. Beluth is, like many gold bloods, a powerful psion. Unlike most goldbloods, Beluth's powers are particularly stunted in the range department, allowing her to levitate objects no further than her arms' reach, which are fortunately rather long. She uses this power effectively through their kind abstratus, 5xRevlvrkind, by levitating each revolver simultaneously. Each revolver having, of course, 5 chambers per cylinder. For physical appearance, the eyes are pretty important so i'll start with that. Remember Die from The Felt? Remember that guy? Remember how he always has that look as if you just caught him doing something unspeakable at 3am. Essentially, that's Beluth's resting face, but she's self-conscious about it so she's grown out long bangs that covers her face. Beluth is a great fan of alternian "Western" movies (troll cowboy movies) and so dresses herself in a cowboy jacket, a large cowboy hat further obscuring her face and 6 revolver holsters stacked on top of each other. The middle left holster is always empty. Her body shape is very lanky, tall and thin, which gives her an intimidating/badass look when her face is covered and inversely furthers the crazed kinda bozo look when it's unveiled.

Personality: Finally to tie it all together. Rage is the aspect of Truth, Chaos and the Incomprehensible. The human-eyed fly is a constellation that symbolizes the contrast between the ugly and the beautiful. Gemolorn is titled the Sign of the Potent. That third element i feel isn't as important to be smoothly integrated so i'm writing it off as done from the generally high power level of the character and her lusus. The second is integrated from the previous paragraph, though subverted. "Ugly" has been replaced by "Gaunt, kinda bizarro look", Beluth's inner appearance, and "Beautiful" by "Cool badass cowboy look", the outer appearance which she has crafted for herself. The obvious arc from here is a "learn to let down the mask and accept yourself for who you are" narrative, but imo that fucking sucks right now. This style is something Beluth has made for herself, something that reflects her hobby and something that's partly fed from her inner appearance itself. So rather, as the story progresses, Beluth progressively goes from a fangirl simply mimicking cowboys to actually becoming one. she loses the hat, the jacket, even the bangs, yet she's still out there ridin' through the wasteland catchin' outlaws. "Quickest barrels this side o' the empire. She be shootin' so fast, even 'er shadow's surprised", says an old grizzled ranger drinking his whisky from the corner of a saloon. Get it? The crazed look itself becomes part of her mythos. You are the cowboy Beluth. it's you. I think that's pretty good over all. Her gunslinging style comprises particularly bouncy bullets that bounce all over creating an incomprehensible/chaotic barrage. It think that, plus everything before which kind of relates to finding an inner deeper Truth is enough to relate her to her aspect.

Excipit: I liked this character a lot. I hated the making of this post a lot. i meant for this series to be quick writing exercises for when i have a few hours to kill, but it turned out to be day-long endeavors, partly because of my chronic inefficiency at basically everything. i actually wrote the first and second half of it with a 1 and a half week gap between the two. Plus now i have to see it through because i thought of a decent way to recycle the signs and the ideas for the constellations for one of my games. Also, originally i meant for most of these characters to be ungendered because gender isn't usually relevant to the kind of characters i write. But that makes it marginally more of a pain to write so i'll just use whatever pronouns i hc them as. also i didn't use that meaning of the word. Congrats present me from past me.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Chosen (Park Seonghwa) Rated

Pairing: Creature! Park Seonghwa × Human! Reader (Female)

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Sci-Fi/Fantasy AU.

Summary: Symbolizing purity, innocence, and daintiness, the Daughters of Aster had been hand-picked since a young age to be brought up and raised for a very special task: to carry the offspring of the nobility in the kingdom, which just so happens to consist of cold-blooded humanoid creatures. And now that she's become of age, it's Y/N's turn to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

Word Count: 5.6K

Warnings: Tentai content including tentacle bondage, tentacle sucking, breast play, suction play, breeding kink, penetration with tentacles, multiple orgasms, semi voyeurism, reader is a virgin and Seonghwa is whipped for her, mentions of eggs, and stomach bulges. (It's my first time writing actual tentacle smut so I apologize if it sucks.)

༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

Gulping harshly as she pressed a hand to open the large, metal gate that guarded the huge mansion, the young woman hesitantly stepped inside the spacious and grim-looking garden. Underestimating the weight of the gate, she softly jolted back when it suddenly slipped out of her grasp and clashed back into place. She winced momentarily when the loud noise seemed to resonate, spooking several of the small critters and ravens that roamed around the small terrain. Glancing back, she half expected an old groundskeeper to swoop out of one of the trees and chastise her reckless behavior. But nothing surrounded the area except the foliage, trees, and rose bushes that added to the beauty of the grand estate.

Gathering back her courage, the quaint young woman took slow and careful steps across the small dirt path that led straight to the front stairs of the mansion. It was a somewhat terrifying architectural design, reminiscent of the old gothic-styled cathedrals from ancient times, not at all fashioned after the pompous and outlandish French designs most of the other members of the aristocracy preferred. The gray stone walls made the place seem cold and distant, the hardly lit windows signaled that it was probably rarely inhabited, and the black ravens perched on the top of the sculpted angel monuments lined up through the staircase only made the sensation feel more haunting and chilly.

Finally, in front of the main entrance, she hesitated as her fingers brushed along the round metal door handle. She felt frozen with fear as she realized there was no returning after all. This was the moment she had been prepared for her entire life. In a few moments, she was about to meet.....

Her master.

Just that thought sent shivers down her spine. She did not wish to ponder too much on the various horror stories she often heard back in the institute, nor imagine what kind of life she would live now as a surrogate to one of...their kind.

In the very moment she lifted her hand once again, she took a jerked back when the door seemingly opened by itself, a young maid looking surprised to see her standing there. Upon inspecting her attire and recognizing the crest that held her dark blue cloak in place, the maid's expression beamed with joy.

"Oh! You must be Miss Y/N correct?"

Nodding her head and affirming it was indeed she, Y/N felt puzzled when the tiny maid practically yanked her inside, albeit not intended to harm her, she simply seemed excited about her presence, which frankly made no sense to her. It was not as if surrogates were treated with kindness let alone respect. When her hands reached up towards her neck, the young woman was quick to stop her.

"Oh please! Let me do that for you."

Although she was not particularly fond of people coming up so close in her personal space, she maintained a calm demeanor whilst the maid removed the long cloak off her frame, delicate hands folding it perfectly and tucking it under her arm.

"I'll have this cleaned and ironed out for you Miss before taking it back to your room. You must be famished after coming here after such a long journey." She paused briefly and examined Y/N's complexion, which seemed rather pale and depleted, making her pout rather sadly at the state their new guest was in.

"If you would like, I can ask the cook to prepare a meal for you. Do tell, what is your favorite dish?"

Y/N waved a dismissive hand at the kind lady's offer.

"Please, do not trouble yourself. I am not the least bit hungry." Indeed, it was not a lie. She was overly anxious and uneasy that she did not believe it to be possible to even fathom stomaching any sort of sustenance at that moment.

"If you do not mind and if it is allowed... I would much prefer to retire for the evening." Y/N humbly requested.

Nodding with the understanding that the new company was weary, the young maid took hold of a golden bell tied around her waist and proceeded to ring it moderately. In mere seconds, a tall sharply dressed gentleman came up and bowed towards her.

"Cedric would you please escort Miss Y/N to her room?"

Gesturing for her to follow, the butler guided her up the flight of stairs into the second story of the house. Passing through a long corridor, Y/N glanced now and then at the outside patio through the windows that overlooked the gardens. They were much larger than what she initially thought, and the longer she looked, the denser the trees seemed to appear. She was so distracted by the scenery that she nearly collided face-first into the poor butler's back had he not spoken up first and made her steps come into a screeching halt.

"This will be your room from now on miss." Producing a string of keys out of his pocket, Cedric unlocked the door and gently pushed it open, stepping inside to make room for Y/N to pass.

Her breath was nearly taken away by the sheer size of the room. It was double the size of the old living space she used to share with 6 other girls back in the institute and was furnished with more than what she'd ever need. The decor too seemed like something more befitting for someone of the family than for someone of her station.

"If there is anything the matter with the decor or should you prefer a different pattern, you may simply speak the word and the Master shall arrange for the room to be modified as you like."

At the mention of the Master, Y/N felt that nerve-racking tingle travels down her body once again.

"Shall you need any assistance, please feel free to ring the bell attached by your bed and one of us will be more than happy to aid you?" Reaching for the door handle, Cedric bid her good night before closing the door to leave her to her thoughts.

Still feeling cold from the long walk, Y/N stepped closer to the fireplace, outstretching her hands in hopes of warming them up. She was grateful that although not expecting her early, they had prepared a nice fire to warm up her room. After getting filled with the heat, Y/N went over to one of the dressers so that she could change into her night attire. Upon opening the many drawers, she was shocked at not finding any of her old clothes, instead, there was an abundance of luxurious clothing which she did not recognize. Storming over to the large wardrobe, she too found that none of her personal belongings had been delivered, they seemed to have all been replaced with new apparel. Knowing that she had no choice, she went back to the first dresser that she had looked in before and rummaged through to find the plainest and simple nightgown she could find. Reaching for the row of buttons training down the middle of her blouse, she undid them one by one with utter care before slipping it off her body, letting the garment fall on the floor. Running the zipper down, her long and flowing skirt joined her blouse, one foot delicately kicking them away for the time being. Standing there in nothing but her undergarments made Y/N suddenly feel apprehensive. She carefully looked around the room again, feeling the strange sensation that someone was watching her. Shaking that thought out of her head, she quickly threw the nightgown over her head and finished dressing. The fabric was soft to the touch and it didn't scratch against her delicate skin, but the most surprising factor was that it fit like a glove on her body. It made her wonder if perhaps they had prepared it in advance or it was merely a coincidence.

Picking up her discarded clothes, she neatly placed them on the table near her, slightly folding them and smoothing them over. Going over to the bed, she pulled back the covers before sliding her body onto the mattress and covering herself. She couldn't help the small blissful sigh coming out of her mouth as her sore limbs welcomed the soft and comfortable bed, the pillow feeling like a fluffy cloud. As she laid there, she began to reminisce about all the events that led up to that very moment, or more specifically, that very morning during the Auctioning.

Hearing the loud applause coming from the other end of the room, Y/N tried to calm her nerves, knowing she was the next one in line to face the crowd. As soon as she took one step forward, she was stopped by none other than the Head of the Institute, who took hold of her wrist and looked at the girl behind her.

"Abigail, you go next. Y/N, you're coming with me."

Without so much as a further explanation, Y/N found herself dragged away from the waiting room where her fellow inmates also looked at each other in confusion at the sudden interruption. Y/N wanted to speak up and ask what was happening, was she not to be auctioned off to one of the many noble families? The old woman of course knew all the questions Y/N had, but she didn't say a word until they were outside in the front of the building, where there was a carriage awaiting her.

"Your personal belongings have already been sent out to your new home. We've received word to have you delivered as soon as possible." Even with that brief explanation, Y/N still didn't understand anything. Noticing her distressed state, the Headmistress sighed softly.

"Y/N, you are not to be auctioned off like the rest of the girls. Someone has already purchased you many months back, but it seems they accidentally forgot it and thus added you to the lineup. Luckily, I managed to find you before you stood up on that platform. Certainly avoided a disaster." The old woman chuckled, yet that did not relieve Y/N's worries.

What did she mean someone had already bought her? Who were they? Where was she sold off to?

Unfortunately, none of those questions were answered, instead, she found herself being pushed inside the carriage and speedily taken away to an unfamiliar side of the country that she had never seen before, away to who knew where until she ended up right in the place she was currently in.

Drowsy and tear-filled eyes eventually closed even whilst remembering the events of the day. Y/N knew she was more than likely lucid dreaming as she slowly drifted off to sleep. She didn't feel fully unaware of her surroundings though, and perhaps it was that skeptical feeling that kept her on edge and guarded against anything around her. It especially came into help when she seemingly felt something stroke her cheek, gliding down to caress the outline of her jaw. At first, she believed it was nothing more than her imagination, but when she felt a thumb running across her bottom lip, she opened her eyes, screaming and sitting up when she saw a dark figure standing right in front of her. He was started himself by her outburst, immediately retracting his hand when he witnessed how agitated his innocent act had made her.

"I'm sorry..... I didn't mean to frighten you." His voice was soothing and low, clearly intended so that she'd calm down.

"Would you mind if I..." His gesture indicated that he wanted permission to come near her again, which she felt like she had no choice but to give.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, the handsome stranger reached out and cupped the sides of her face, moving it slowly to the left and then towards the right, eyes drinking up every detail of her countenance.

"My God, you're even more beautiful than the last time I saw you tending to the gardens in that place."

Hearing those words made Y/N widen her eyes. How did he know about that? Unless...

"Are... Are you my new master?" She couldn't even believe it.

The young man giggled softly.

"If you don't mind, I would much rather prefer if you called me by my name, Seonghwa." He introduced himself. Y/N briefly nodded, but obviously, it wasn't enough for him as he leaned in close, nose nearly bumping into her own.

"Please say it." He urged her to.

"Seonghwa." She breathed out his name, to which he let out a gentle smile as one of his hands moved to tuck some of her hair behind her ear.

"Once again, I apologize for startling you, my dear. I just got impatient and couldn't resist myself. I just had to see you." He confessed before getting up out of her space.

"You must be tired so I'll leave you be now. Get some rest love and I'll see you in the morning."

Y/N expected him to walk towards the same door she had come inside from, but she looked with astonishment as Seonghwa went over towards another door which she had mistakenly assumed to be her bathroom, and opened it up.

"My room adjoins to yours, so if you ever want to come and see me, I'm just a knock away." He fought hard to not laugh at her flustered expression, whispering out another good night before retreating into his chambers.

Y/N released a breath she didn't know she was holding. So far her new master looked...normal? Nothing at all like what she expected from the many tales that roamed back at the institute. Seonghwa was nothing that she expected, exceptionally beautiful, poised, kind, and gallant. But she knew she could not be fooled by his charming manners, after all, none of the members of the aristocracy were actual humans...

And it was only a matter of time before she figured out what sort of monster Seonghwa was.

༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

Y/N tried to steady her heartbeat as Seonghwa drew closer to her, lips brushing against her own. Although this was the exact moment she had been prepared all her life for, she still felt a tinge of nervousness as she felt Seonghwa's hands clasp around her waist, his body, which was all bare save for the briefs between his thighs, pressing against her own.

"Tell me, my dear has anyone ever kissed you before?" He smiled when she shook her head.

"May I kiss you?" His inquiry sounded so sweet and pure that Y/N didn't think twice about lifting her face and closing her eyes.

Seonghwa's lips were soft, reminding her of the soft petals belonging to the different roses in the gardens outside, precious little buds that she had been granted permission to take care of in the month she had been living with him. He had never once denied her anything and had been very attentive to her every need. And now as he tenderly kissed her, pouring his heart into the loving kiss, Y/N wondered if this is what love felt like, that foreign emotion that she'd often hear spoken about yet always been told it would never be something she or any of the other girls at the Institute would ever experience. She didn't know, but she knew that she enjoyed whatever this was, this feeling of Seonghwa's lips closing over hers, only to pull away and then dive back in, each minute that passed enabling his kissing to become more ardent and passionate. It was truly breathtaking for her, as she'd often find herself gasping for air each time his lips would pull apart from her mouth.

Starting at the corners of her lips, Seonghwa began pressing butterfly kisses down towards her jaw. Y/N's breath hitched, neck tilting back when she felt him nibbling against her skin. It seemed as if he knew exactly where to direct his attention towards, her sharp breaths an indication that she was warming up to his touches. Releasing one hand off her face, he moved it down until his fingers brushed against her collarbone, treading dangerously close to her covered bosoms.

"Now tell me, love has anyone ever touched you here?"

As if on instinct, Y/N arched her back towards his palms when they lightly squeezed at her pillowy mounds, a light, and embarrassed moan being uttered by her for the first time in her life.

"N-no, no one's ever touched me there." Her shy confession made him smirk as he then dropped his hand down to lift her flimsy nightgown.

"What about here? Has anyone touched here?"

Cupping her sex, he found it warm and inviting, his body aching to be inside of her, to fill her up and breed her as he wanted to. He didn't need her to answer, just her mouth going agape and emitting the cutest whimpers he had ever heard was enough of an answer.

"No of course not. You're pure and completely untouched by anyone else....." When she felt his fingers slide across her wettened folds, her hands reached out and gripped against his biceps, using them to keep herself steady as they continued exploring her deepest places. It felt so unusual yet wonderful to have Seonghwa pry open her lips, fingers ever so gradually slipping past her tightness to lodge inside her warm cavern. Once settled, they began moving, pulling themselves out before coming back in. To distract her, Seonghwa stooped down to kiss her once more, it felt more rushed than before, tongue occasionally poking outwards to scrape against the roof of her mouth. As his fingers worked hard to stretch her open and mouth busied in devouring her adorable whines, it was all to prepare her and get her to ease up before he continued with anything. Pulling away with a deep inhale, Seonghwa used his free thumb to wipe away the excess saliva on her bottom lip, breath ghosting over her own.

"Y/N... I'm going to need you to stay calm and not freak out. All right?"

By his tone, Y/N deduced that she was about to figure out just what exactly it was that made him different from her. She could feel him hesitate, looking just as scared as she did the first time she arrived at the estate. Just as she was about to assure him that she was not afraid, she felt something crawl up her legs, it was somewhat slimy and had a couple of ridges along the underside of it. Glancing down, she nearly fell back onto the bed when she witnessed two long tentacles wrapping themselves around her thighs, tearing up part of the silk fabric of her nightgown. Before she could stumble back, another tentacle launched out to wrap around her waist, pulling her forward to help her regain her balance. She breathed heavily, looking visibly shocked as she realized they were coming out of none other than Seonghwa himself. He scanned her face, trying to read her reactions. Scared? Disgusted? Apprehensive? It was rather difficult to make out exactly what she thought about his tendrils holding her steady and tightening around her body. Wanting to test something, he produced two more tentacles, these slightly thinner than the previous ones. They moved closer towards Y/N, who of course, instinctively recoiled from the unusual limbs.

"Don't worry. If I were in your position, I'd be utterly revolted as well." Although he spoke out those words with a dry smile, they held a lot of pain within them and it made Y/N saddened to hear him. Wanting to make up for it, she outstretched her hand towards the nearest tendril, the very limb slightly pulling away when it felt her come near. No doubt Seonghwa was hesitant about having her touch him. Undeterred, Y/N reached out once more, this time the tentacle didn't recoil but subtly leaned into her touch. Ever so slowly, it began to wrap around her arm, looping itself around her wrist, and settling itself on top of her palm. Y/N couldn't resist herself as she softly squeezed at the tender limb, thumb curiously playing around with the tiny suction cups along the underside of it. She couldn't help but giggle when it slightly slithered itself to attach some of the cups onto her palm, applying light pressure that had a rather pleasant feeling. So amused by the bizarre member, she didn't realize that the other thin tentacle had moved until she felt it loop itself on her other arm, the same as the one on her right side. Seonghwa felt relieved when she didn't seem afraid anymore, instead, she now smiled up towards him, fingers gently caressing the smooth surface of his tentacles. Unbeknownst to her, he could feel every touch ministered on them, the tentacles being a part of him, an extension of him. And they were highly sensitive to any sort of contact made with them.

"Can we...can we continue?" There was a slight quiver in his voice that did not go unnoticed by the woman held hostage by his slimy tendrils. Understanding exactly what he was referring to, Y/N nodded, eagerly awaiting to see just how Seonghwa would impregnate her.

Feeling herself lifted off the floor, the tentacles gently laid her down on the bed, detaching themselves momentarily off her body as they began poking around at the semi-ruined fabric of her attire. Grasping at several ends, Y/N gasped astonishingly when they tore off the rest of her dress, discarding the remaining pieces on the floor. Laying there completely naked in front of Seonghwa, who did not hide anything in his stare as they raked her entire body. Feeling self-conscious, Y/N moved to cover herself but the tentacles were faster as they wrapped around her wrists and ankles, holding the first ones above her face while the other ones kept her legs apart, allowing Seonghwa to fully gawk at her wetness. The thought of burying himself deep in her and breeding her made him uncontrollably hard.

Y/N squirmed as several more tentacles sprouted out of Seonghwa's body, making her question just how many he could produce. Two medium-sized ones traveled up her sternum, oozing out some sort of secretion that trickled onto her breasts. The tentacles then latched themselves onto her perky mounds, twisting and pulling at her nipples until they hardened and poked out. They continued to toy around with her boobs, flicking against her sensitive nubs now and then before going back to clamp down and attach their suction cups to her tender skin. Y/N shuddered as she felt them slightly vibrate, adding to the daze-inducing state she was drifting off to.

Just as she was distracted in enjoying the pleasure the two tentacles were giving her, she let out a shriek when she felt another slimy organ come up and flit at her clit. The tentacles around her ankles kept her from closing her thighs, leaving her with no choice but to succumb to the movements made in her delicate button. It felt so surreal, so extraordinary, and she writhed around on the bed as much as she was able to when the tiny end of the tentacle sped up and rubbed faster against her swelling clit, the delicious friction making her mouth water. She wondered if this was the bliss some of the girls back home talked about, the ones who had gone out of their way to break the solemn vow they swore about remaining intact and pure, forcing them out of the Institute as they were no longer considered valuable vessels for future buyers.

"If this is what they enjoyed then, I would have gladly broken my vow too." Y/N mused to herself. But then she remembered had she broken her vow she would have never been able to meet Seonghwa, and she'd grown attached to him in that short period of meeting him.

"No... It's better this way. Having saved my body just for him so he can use it as he pleases. Have me carry his children. Oh, God." She felt herself clench around nothing as she thought about being stuffed by him, carrying his babies. Months before, the idea of carrying the offspring of some humanoid stranger horrified her. Now, it thrilled her and she looked forward to it.

"I'm going to slide a few more inside of you now, ok? It might feel uncomfortable, but I promise I'll make sure you don't feel any pain." Y/N vigorously nodded, the tentacles around her ankles spreading her legs further and bringing them up so her knees were bent.

Two thinner tentacles, even thinner than the ones around her wrists came out and began probing around her hole, stretching it ever so slightly before sliding inside her. Y/N felt them scraping against her tender walls, leaving her flabbergasted at feeling them creep deeper and deeper against her right muscles, stopping once they reached her cervix. Ever so carefully, they position themselves at her opening, prying her cervix open. A dull sting shot up her body, not exactly painful, but it wasn't exactly pleasant to feel. Noticing this, Seonghwa made the tentacles release their hold on her tight rim.

"Perhaps I might need to make use of this after all."

Y/N didn't know exactly what 'this' was, all she felt was the two tentacles lightly thrust inside of her, tips flicking up to tease at her sweet spot. And then she felt it, the tentacles oozed some sort of secretion to coat her inner walls, even moving to spread some of the liquid against the entrance of her womb. The tentacle working on her clit had to momentarily stop when Y/N began spasming, small gasps and moans spilling out her lips, not realizing that she had just had a subtle orgasm, but Seonghwa knew. He felt when her juices covered her walls, causing them to become more slick and wet, an effect produced by the natural pheromones his tentacles had just sprayed inside her, helping her to relax and not feel any more discomfort. Although it would also make her highly sensitive, meaning she would become a sticky and panting mess by the end of it, every stroke or brush inside her body would be heightened considerably. And Seonghwa was rather curious to see how that would play out.

Finally, a rather large and thick tentacle sprung out, heading directly towards her opening. It contracted itself as it skimmed past her entrance, flowing smoothly thanks to the previous tentacles that had worked Y/N's core open and the pheromones he had induced into her. At first, nothing seemed to happen, then Y/N's mouth flew open as she felt the tentacle start expanding, bottoming out inside of her, forcing her stretched-out muscles to widen even more. Unable to resist the urge, she looked down, nearly wheezing as she looked at the tightly nestled tentacle inside of her, pulsing inside her slick covered borders. Just those small pulsing vibrations had her throwing her head back as more liquids seeped out of her. Feeling her arousal coating its skin, it seemed to rile up the large tentacle as it began pushing itself further until it reached the entrance of her cervix.

"Usually humanoids of my kind would place as many eggs can fit inside their surrogate's womb... But I don't wish to overwhelm you with that, especially since it's your first time." With a smug grin, Seonghwa stooped forward and placed a hand on top of her abdomen.

"So let's just try it with two."

The large tentacle began contracting once more, wriggling around as if trying to get something out. Y/N soon felt what it was as a smooth, round, and semi-hard object began pushing itself inside of her. The two smaller tentacles, which were still lodged on the sides of her walls, went back to pry her cervix open, allowing the egg easier access as it traveled through her tunnel and nestling itself inside her womb. Seonghwa watched proudly as her belly swelled up as soon as the egg lodged itself in her, fingers brushing against the oval outline bulging out of her skin.

"So pretty, so beautiful." He praised her, teeth tugging down at his bottom lip as a hidden tentacle had come out to rid him of his last article of clothing, stroking his hardened cock generously, the suction cups paying close attention to his leaking head.

"How are you feeling so far love?" Seonghwa wanted to make sure she was fine before proceeding.

Y/N fluttered her eyes open, soft pants spewing out her mouth.

"Please...more." That was all she could manage to mumble out.

Satisfied by her answer, the massive limb started wriggling once more, popping out another egg that scraped deliciously against the roof of her cave, journeying past her barriers and plopping next to the previous egg, joining it inside her womb. With slight embarrassment, Y/N cried out as another wave of pleasure poured out of her, hands wanting to cover her reddened face at the thought of so easily cumming by the mere thought of Seonghwa's eggs inside her while his tentacle continued throbbing inside her.

"Don't feel ashamed my love. I just so happen to enjoy watching your face contort with pleasure." His admittance only made her more sheepish and flustered.

"We're almost done, love. I just need to fertilize my eggs."

Y/N groaned loudly when the tentacle began moving, thrusting itself in and out, her previous juices seeping out every time it pulled out her body, creating a wet stain on the sheets underneath. Maybe it was her imagination, but Y/N swore she could feel the eggs move inside her, bouncing each time the tentacle pushed back inside her. The tendrils around her ankles and wrists tightened themselves, holding her steady as the tentacle started to plunge itself faster and deeper into her, twitching every so often, a sign it was getting ready to squirt into her womb.

Seonghwa was also enjoying the spectacle, watching closely as he was about to impregnate his darling surrogate, the tentacle wrapped around the shaft matching the movement the larger one was doing. He felt blessed to be able to feel both sensations at once, one being his cock stimulated while his tentacle had to endure Y/N's tightness clench unbearably around his slimy member. It was ecstasy for both of them, their grunts and moans echoing inside Seonghwa's room. Wanting her to experience the maximum pleasure he could offer, the tentacles laid out across her chest went back to their previous task of playing with her nipples, suckling on her tender flesh whilst the one between her legs toyed with her swollen clit. It was all so much for her that Y/N couldn't help it as her third orgasm of the night overtook her, this one more intense and prolonged by the endless amount of attention her body was receiving.

"Seonghwa!" She cried out, tears of over-stimulation brimming at the corners of her eyes.

Hearing her call out to him, Seonghwa himself hissed as the tentacle worked him over the edge, spurts of cum trickling down onto it as well as splattering onto the floor. The tentacle that was now coated with his cum moved towards Y/N's face, lightly tapping on her cheek. Turning to face it, she inhaled sharply and didn't hesitate to allow it to slide past her lips and wiggle inside her mouth. She moaned around the appendage, sucking on it, the sensations flowing back to Seonghwa's cock.

"Oh fuck." He exclaimed, the tentacle pushing itself on the back of her throat while the one between her legs rapidly moved to finish its final task.

Y/N's wailing was partially muffled by the tentacle stuffing her mouth, her body and mind spiraling out of control as she felt thick ropes of warm cum being gushed out of the tentacle and shooting straight into her womb. She could even feel her stomach swelling up even more by just the liquids being poured into her. It was enough to have her crying out once more, a state of euphoria clouding her mind as her 4th high shocked her senses, numbing everything except the feeling of the tentacles around and in her. Seonghwa himself didn't need further stimulation, cumming untouched for the second time when he finally finished breeding her, mouth drawing out long and labored breaths as he started to come down from his high.

Slowly, one by one the tentacles started pulling away from Y/N's body, disappearing back into Seonghwa's body. Both of them groaned deeply when the last tentacle pulled out of her agape hole, some of the leftover cum dribbling out onto the bed. Y/N felt so sore and so full, her hands reaching down to caress her now swollen stomach, surprised at how big it looked. She felt ready to pop at any moment. With utmost care, Seonghwa moved her further into the bed, helping her rest her head against one of the pillows and covering her up with the warm blanket. It wasn't long until she felt his body press up against hers, pulling her as close as was possible as one hand protectively wrapped around her belly.

"Thank you..."

She was so weary after that intense session that she could only mumble a barely audible 'huh?' at his words. Chuckling, Seonghwa pressed a kiss against her cheek.

"Thank you for carrying my babies. You have no idea how happy I am at this moment."

She could only manage to give out a faint smile at his words, fastly falling asleep when she felt him hum a soft tune against her ear.

"I'm so glad I chose you."

༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

Taglist: @little-precious-baby @multidreams-and-desires @yunhofingers @deja-vux @brie02 @daniblogs164 @couchpotatoaniki @a-soft-hornytiny @yunsangoveryonder @minhyukmyluv @nanamarkie @mingismoon @ateezbabysitters @rainteez02 @harry-the-pottypus

[alderaani]

more than gold

summary:  A lost Jedi Temple, a riddle, some literature, and feelings that Cody isn't ready to speak out loud. | AO3

note: written for @codywanweek and the alt day 5 prompt Sith/Jedi Artefact Shenanigans! sliding in on the last day with one more thing written than expected, so i’m happy with that! i’m pretty ill today so i hope it actually makes some coherent sense 😂 also if the riddle was super obvious, soz, never written one before and turns out it’s really hard.

-

“You know, I could have sworn I told you not to touch that,” Cody says conversationally, from where he’s splayed out on his back.

“Really? I’m sure I didn’t hear you,” Obi-Wan says, cheerful despite being crumpled in a heap. His elbow is in Cody’s gut. Cody glares at him.

The room they’re lying in is circular, stone, carved out of some Forced-damned mountain and according to Obi-wan, practically thrumming with power. The ceiling is high and vaulted, letting in slivers of light where intricate mirror systems catch the sunlight of double suns and project it deep underground. It takes on a slightly blue cast, reflecting off the huge pool of water they were lucky to not fall into. Four walkways at each cardinal point lead to a central platform, and interspersed between them are four waterfalls.

It should be serene. Except now the waterfalls are travelling backwards, and all the doors, including the one they came in by, are blocked. Cody scrambles up onto his elbows, dislodging Obi-Wan with a grunt.

“What did you do?”

Obi-Wan follows his gaze and gasps, delighted. “Now, will you look at that?”

Cody is looking. Frankly, he doesn’t trust this place enough to not keep his eye on it at all times. Obi-Wan keeps saying that this temple was built long ago, by ancient, peaceful Jedi as a place of learning, and that it won’t hurt them. After they got cut off from the rest of their men at the entrance, however, Cody thinks he could be forgiven for having his doubts.

As Obi-Wan himself proves, peace-keeping hardly rules out danger.

“Amazing,” Obi-Wan breathes, hoisting himself to his feet without a second glance, to walk back up to the plinth and stalk round it, examining the incomprehensible runes engraved there.

Cody is left to peel himself off the floor, and instead goes to prod at the barriers now sealing the exits with the end of his blaster. He tries not to look too much at Obi-Wan, at the soft sweep of his hair and the span of his shoulders. Being on their own like this is something he’s avoided, of late - not because he doesn’t enjoy it, but because he’s starting to enjoy it all too much.

He doesn’t trust the way his heart leaps when Obi-Wan smiles, when he asks him to call him ‘Obi-Wan’, when the cycle draws on and they’re up late again, companionably finishing reports and debating strategy. Or, as they had been doing until Cody got cold feet and started finding excuses, debating novels, which Obi-Wan checked out of the Temple archives and read aloud, one chapter at a time, before they turned in for the night.

He doesn’t trust himself not to ruin this by overstepping. There’s something about his general that makes him lose all control of his tongue, and puts him in danger of voicing thoughts that really he should not be having at all.

It’s agony. It’s bliss. It’s stretching him to breaking point, and this is possibly the worst situation they could have ended up in, really.

“These are made out of water,” he says over his shoulder, grunting as he tries to push his blaster through. He is, of course, unsuccessful.

“Ingenious,” Obi-Wan says. “How did they manage that, I wonder?”

Cody cuts a glance back at him, and grins, despite his exasperation.

“You’re not more worried about how we’re going to get out?”

Obi-Wan waves a hand. “I’m sure the path will reveal itself, in time. Oh, look - Cody, I think this is a puzzle!”

Cody bites back a groan. They do not have time for this. They never really had time for it, but Obi-Wan promised it would be a brief detour on their way to the capital for hyperspace lane access negotiations. He’d looked so excited by recon reports of a lost temple that Cody just hadn’t been able to say no. He’s never able to say no to Obi-Wan, even when he isn’t following orders. It’s probably his fatal flaw.

“I don’t suppose there’s an off switch? A back button?” He asks hopelessly. The Force, at least the Jedi sort, very rarely seems to work that way. Obi-Wan is always talking about moving through problems, about seeking balance and adapting to what’s around you, rather than manipulating it. It’s not Cody’s favoured approach; he was trained to leverage his environment to its maximum advantage, and finds he has little patience for anything else.

Obi-Wan snorts. “This is a defensive mechanism, I’m afraid. Judging by the architecture this was built at the height of the Sith Wars. This artefact is designed to trap us here until we understand the mechanism and progress, or until, back when the temple was occupied, someone would come and deal with the intruder.”

“That doesn’t sound very peaceful,” Cody says.

Obi-Wan shoots him an amused look, the warm, soft kind that makes heat rise from the pit of Cody’s belly right up to his ears.

“Even a pacifist may defend himself,” he says, then leans over the pedestal. “Now, how about you stop grousing and come help me with this?”

Cody rolls his eyes, but goes, slinging his blaster across his back and crossing his arms.

“And stop looming,” Obi-Wan laughs, catching one of Cody’s gloved hands and pulling it down to rest at his side. The simple touch makes Cody’s cheeks burn.

“Don’t see what help I can give you, Sir,” he says, frowning down at the characters surrounding the bright blue artefact. “I was never any good at Ithorian.”

Obi-Wan pauses, then tilts his head up. “Ah. Is that what it is?”

“I - I think so?” Cody was never any good at his language flashtraining; he never had the proper patience for it, but he can usually figure out the basics.

“No, no,” Obi-Wan muses, stroking at his beard with his free hand. “You’re quite right. Goodness me, it's been a long time since I last saw this dialect. Let’s see now…”

Cody steps back and waits, keeping his attention firmly split between their blocked exit points while Obi-Wan ponders. The slow upward movement of the waterfalls is eerie - it still makes noise, but none of it is right. Instead of the gentle patter he expects of water joining a larger pool, there’s a faint gurgling as they move further into each grate, travelling somewhere he cannot see.

Obi-Wan finishes his fifth circle round the platform, and the hand at his chin goes still. Cody stands at attention, expectant.

“It’s a riddle,” Obi-Wan says, and if possible, his delight grows. “Yes - the language is coming back to me now. Do you know, I haven’t looked at Ithorian in maybe 12 years?”

“Sir?” Cody says, tilting his head to look at the characters more closely. He doesn’t have even a passing proficiency at modern Ithorian, and presumably it’s changed a bit over the millennia. His training was focused on the basics, and only the useful bits, at that. He thinks he can make out the words for ‘ water ’, and ‘ enemy’ , both of which are either unhelpfully descriptive or frankly discouraging, but that’s about the extent of it.

“My old master - he loved prophecies. When I was a teenager I could never see the point of it, but it meant I spent a lot of time learning the old Ithorian dialects. They’re known as the most peaceful species, did you know?” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “They’ll exile anyone violent, it’s quite remarkable, really. I suppose in some sort of idealistic emulation, a lot of the early Jedi texts are written in their dialect.”

His blue eyes are keen, his laser sharp focus firmly on the podium. It gives Cody a moment to observe his clever fingers, the long line of his neck, the open delight with which he tackles this new problem. It’s a rare thing, to see him so relaxed, and Cody can’t help the fond smile that creeps up on him despite the circumstances. This almost makes it worth it, and on reflection, he’d rather an ancient temple than the last thing that had made Obi-Wan so happy; a wretched, bioluminescent fungus, which had infected half the battalion and given them hives. Their general had studied it for weeks.

Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up. Cody barely trusts himself to speak.

“I didn’t know, Sir,” Cody croaks, then pauses, fishing for something normal to say. “Didn’t we have to defend the governor’s daughter from an Ithorian bounty hunter on Ganaris-IV?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan grins. “Those exiles have to go somewhere, don’t they?”

Cody huffs a laugh and reaches up to scratch his neck at the seam of his bucket.

“Let’s just hope they didn’t all come here. What’s this riddle, then?”

Obi-Wan shifts to the side, then points at a spot on the podium. “As I said, it’s been a long time, but I think it starts here, and goes something like:

A thing to be forged, where water is thicker,

Worth more than gold, unless it’s pyrite that glitters.

An enemy of my enemy, or in hard times, in need,

Sometimes fair-weather, or in high places indeed.

What are you, traveller? ”

All of Cody’s hopes that it would be something nice and obvious, like “lightsaber” or, given what’s going on around them, “gravity”, escape from him like smoke. Jedi and their metaphors. It’s not just a quirk of Obi-Wan’s, clearly.

“Does that mean anything to you, Sir?” he asks, turning the words over in his head once, twice, then frowning when nothing comes immediately.

Obi-Wan’s brow is also furrowed, but in a leisurely, meditative manner.

“...I have some ideas, I think,” he says. “How about you, my friend?”

What does he think? He thinks that there are other sorts of puzzles he is much better suited to. Word play and idioms...what does a clone have to offer that?

Still, Obi-Wan is watching him, expectant and gentle, and he sifts back through the lines, a little more seriously this time.

“Ice, maybe?”

Obi-Wan nods, slowly. “Perhaps. Walk me through it.”

Cody swallows. “Ice is something that can be made, right? It’s not exactly forged, but…”

He trails off in uncertainty.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan says with another one of those soft, devastating smiles. It fractures all the thoughts in Cody’s head, and he has to stop, clear his throat and gather up all the pieces.

“I suppose...it’s just thicker water, isn’t it? On warm planets it’s a valuable commodity, it’s found in high places, and I suppose if you wanted snow, a freeze would be fair weather.”

Obi-Wan is rubbing his beard again, and he’s still smiling. “Fascinating. I would never have thought of that...only, I don’t think it’s quite there. That mention of pyrite is troublesome, and the ‘enemy of my enemy’, where does that fit in?”

Cody shrugs his shoulders, frustrated, and feels a hot flush creep up his neck. “Don’t know why you’re asking me, to be honest, Sir. Kamino hardly covered poetry.”

There’s a slight pause, then Obi-Wan’s hand is on his again, tugging it slowly down from where he’s crossed his arms.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he says, soft.

“Do what?” Cody’s voice is gruff.

“Dismiss yourself. You do it sometimes when we’re reading together. There is often no right and wrong answer to these things, no secret. There is only perspective, and you see things I never would, if only you would trust yourself.”

Cody looks down and away, back towards the waterfalls and their slow, glacial climb. He isn’t sure that’s true. He enjoys what Obi-Wan shares with him, what other lives he gets to touch in their books, but more than anything they convince him that, beyond war, he knows very little of anything at all. He would like to, someday.

His eyes land on Obi-Wan’s lips briefly, before he tears them away. Particular experiences he would like to know more than others.

There was one book that Obi-Wan had read early on, back when this infatuation was just setting its first tendrils into him, about a forbidden romance at the heart of the old Mandalorian court. Two heirs of rival clans battling to be together against the good approval of their noble relatives. It had been torrid, ridiculous and entirely unexpected when Obi-Wan had suggested they break up their reports with some literature.

But what it had done was give him the words to express the crawling heat in his stomach, the urge he has to reach out, to touch, to soothe, to care for. He’d known what he wanted before that, of course, in a more rudimentary manner, but it had gifted him the language of yearning.

Suddenly, a particular passage springs into his mind and he straightens.

“You don’t think it could mean ally, do you? In Beneath the Armour, Mata threatens Clan Riza by saying he has ‘allies in high places’.”

Obi-Wan pauses, and then a brilliant smile spreads over his face. “Yes, that’s it! Pyrite - Fool’s Gold; a false friend! Brilliant Cody, whatever made you think of that?”

Cody grins, even though Obi-Wan can’t see it, and doesn’t answer.

“Is that really it?”

“I think you’re very close,” Obi-Wan says. “The characters engraved into the platform...yes! Stand close to me, Commander.”

Cody does, watching curiously as Obi-Wan lifts his hands, shuts his eyes, frowns, and pushes . Six blocks that make up the platform lift, the characters on each glowing bright, lurid blue. Under their feet, something scrapes, shifts and clunks, before the platform lurches upwards, spinning gently.

There’s a thunderous gurgling sound, before all of the pool beneath drains away.

“The answer,” Obi-Wan says, slightly breathless, his hair a little out of place. “Was friend.”

“The doorways are still blocked,” Cody notes drily. The plinth with the blue orb that started this whole mess has also risen, and underneath it are a set of very wet, slimy looking steps. “I don’t suppose it’s as simple as just walking down these and getting in?”

“Likely not,” Obi-Wan agrees, then inexplicably shifts a little closer, so that they are sharing space. Cody’s heart skips a beat. “But it’s like I told you, Cody. You are far greater than what you have been given.”

Cody coughs and looks at his feet, at their boots almost toe to toe, pleasure at the praise singing low through his body.

“Now,” Obi-Wan says, too close and not close enough. “How do you feel about another puzzle?”

Cody groans, laughing, and after a moment, follows his General into the dark.

[queenshelby]

A New Life

Part Four: A Day at the Zoo

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 2,790

Warning: Fluff, Self-Esteem Issues, Body Image Issues

The following morning, Cillian picked you and Max up from your house at 8 o’clock after having borrowed a car seat from Cian.

‘Thank you for taking us to the Zoo, Cillian’ Max said excitedly as Cillian helped him into his seat.

‘That’s alright buddy’ Cillian said and you couldn’t help but be a little bit excited. Whilst you never liked going to the Zoo, you liked the fact that you and Max got to spend the day with Cillian.

He had a fantastic sense of humour and Max really seemed to like him which put you at ease quite significantly.

After Max and you sat down in the car, Cillian opened two of the windows slightly and told you that he had put some sickie bags and wet wipes into the glove box for Max just in case you needed them. Another thing he remembered was that Max often got car sick and he certainly didn’t seem to be bothered by it. In fact, he was quite well prepared.

To your surprise, Max did well in the car and was fascinated with some of the gadgets, including the TV screens in the back.

‘Made it without Max getting sick. That’s new. Thank you for taking it easy around the corners’ you said, causing Cillian to laugh.

‘You are welcome’ Cillian said before helping Max out of the car and picking up his plush bunny toy which had fallen to the floor.

‘That’s one well loved rabbit’ Cillian observed as he looked at the rather old and half destroyed fluffy toy and you explained to him that Max had this bunny since he’s been a baby. In fact, Cian had bought it for him when you were still pregnant with Max.

***

After twenty minutes, two cinnamon donuts and a take away coffee, you finally arrived at the tiger enclosure.

‘I can’t see, I can’t see’ Max said somewhat disappointed as the tiger was roaming around from the left to the right and he was simply too small to look over the larger children in front of him.

‘Sweetie, you are too heavy for me to pick up’ you said as Max pulled on your t-shirt and began to pout.

‘I can put him up on my shoulders if you want’ Cillian suggested, ensuring that you would be okay with it before saying anything to Max.

Of course, you had no objections and Max was quick to climb onto Cillian’s shoulders so that he could see the tiger, still walking from the left to the right and roaming around his enclosure.

‘Max, careful!’ you said worryingly as he was clinging onto Cillian’s hair but Cillian didn’t seem to mind.

Taking you by the hand for a brief second to pull through the crowds, Cillian moved over to the left slightly to give Max a better view and you followed him while watching Max smile with excitement.

‘Have you counted how many stripes he’s got?’ Cillian then asked your son.

‘Too many for me to count Cillian’ Max laughed before Cillian told him about the tiger, reading from the sign in front of him and asking Max questions in order to keep him engaged.

You were truly surprised how well Cillian and Max were getting on and how patient and engaging Cillian was with him.

‘Elephants next?’ Cillian asked as, eventually, the tiger went into his little cave for a rest and Max nodded.

Without Max getting down from Cillian’s shoulders, you both walked towards the Elephant enclosure.

‘Can you tell me what sounds an elephant makes?’ Cillian asked and, when Max and Cillian both pretended to be elephants, you couldn’t help but laugh.

The entire day was a blast and, for the first time in a long while, you and Max both felt comfortable being around someone new. It felt like you both had known Cillian for a long time and you were quite impressed by his character.

‘What a lovely family’ you then heard all of a sudden as one elderly women in the crowd walked past you and, whilst Cillian wanted to correct her, you simply said ‘thanks’ and laughed.

***

After your day at the zoo, Max fell asleep in the car fairly quickly and whilst you were keen to take up Cillian’s offer to have dinner in town, you didn’t think that Max would be up for it. He had a big day.

‘I am not sure if Max is up for dinner in town. He’s tuckered out completely’ you said, looking back towards him.

‘I figured that he would be tired after all this walking around’ Cillian chuckled ‘But, if you want to, I can cook something at your house instead and we can watch a movie with Max’ Cillian offered.

‘You can cook?’ you asked since no man had ever cooked for you before.

‘You seem surprised’ Cillian observed, causing you to laugh and nod before accepting his offer.

‘I suppose spaghetti would be winner, right?’ Cillian then asked and you nodded again before asking a question which you have been pondering on about for the entire day.

‘You are so good with Max. How come you never had children?’ you asked before telling Cillian that he didn’t have to answer this question if he didn’t want to.

‘My ex-wife never wanted children and I had to accept that I suppose’ Cillian explained.

‘How long were you married for?’ you then asked.

‘Ten years. But we were together for fifteen. I had one relationship after that, but it was a disaster’ Cillian chuckled and you talked about his marriage and why it ended before Cillian carefully and quietly asked about Max’s father.

You told Cillian that he had died in a car accident when Max was only two years old and that Max didn’t remember much about him.

‘We had our differences but were determined to make it work for Max. We were high school sweethearts and met when we were 16’ you explained, thinking back to all the irrational choices you made in the past.

***

An hour later, you arrived at your apartment following a small detour to the local supermarket.

‘Cillian is making us spaghetti’ you said to Max while you helped unpack the grocery bags.

‘It’s my favourite. Can I have lots of cheese please?’ Max then asked and, of course, you nodded before telling him to play in his room while you were going to help with the food.

Cillian pre-prepared the food for later with your help before you all sat down together and watched a cartoon movie which almost sent Cillian to sleep. His eyes kept shutting closed as he leaned against the large cushion on the L-shaped lounge and you had to give him a nudge now and then to make him stay awake.

Luckily, Max lost interest in the movie after thirty minutes and asked Cillian whether he wanted to see his dinosaur collection.

Sure enough, Cillian was very interested in dinosaurs and, after they managed to give each of the toys a name, you played two games of UNO before serving dinner.

‘This is much better than mum’s spaghetti’ Max observed, causing you to pout and Cillian to apologise.

‘It is pretty good’ you observed before thanking Cillian for cooking and taking you both to the zoo.

‘We had a fantastic day, didn’t we Max?’ you said and Max nodded and yawned at the same time.

***

‘I probably should drive home soon’ Cillian said after you cleaned up the dishes and Max had changed himself into his pyjamas.

‘Do you want to stay for a wine and watch a more interesting movie after I put Max to bed?’ you then quickly asked, hoping that you wouldn’t sound too desperate.

‘I suppose I could leave the car here and pick it up tomorrow’ Cillian then said, not intending to drink and drive and you nodded in agreement.

Cillian’s house was only 20 minutes by foot from your apartment and he could easily call a taxi or sleep on your lounge if he didn’t want to walk.

‘Can Cillian read me a bedtime story then?’ Max asked, clearly having overheard your conversation.

‘If that’s alright with your mum, I sure can’ Cillian offered which prompted Max to quickly find a book and his favourite bunny toy.

Listening to Cillian read a bedtime story to Max made your heart melt once again. Not only did you think that Cillian was an incredibly kind person who was good with children, but also was he rather attractive.

Quite to your surprise, you adored the small wrinkles around his eyes and the few grey hairs on his head as his hair was growing out on the sides.

Then, of course, there were those deep blue eyes and razor-sharp cheek bones and you wondered what your mind was doing to you, feeling some sort of attraction towards a man who was clearly much older than you.

***

‘Thank you for reading to him’ you said when Cillian came back into the living and you tugged Max into bed and gave him a goodnight kiss.

‘That’s perfectly fine Y/N’ Cillian assured you before sitting down while you poured two glasses of red wine.

‘So what are we watching?’ he asked and you suggested to put something on which has him in it after Cian told you that one of Cillian’s shows was on Netflix.

You had only just signed up to Netflix when you came to Ireland as, frankly, working on TV made you less interested in watching it during your spare time but, now that you were taking some time off after having resigned as a host from one of Australia’s design shows after your ex’s constant publicly stunts, this has changed.

You hadn’t seen any of Cillian’s work yet and you certainly didn’t know much about him. Unlike he did with you, you haven’t resorted to Google yet to find out more, wanting to paint your own picture about him and not being influenced by media.

‘Absolutely not. I hate watching myself’ Cillian chuckled before suggesting a different movie on Netflix. His comment made you laugh.

‘I get that. I hate watching myself too’ you chuckled and, after he turned on the movie, it didn’t take you long to get comfortable together on your small sofa and you quite enjoyed sitting so closely next to him.

As you were sitting next to him, you couldn’t help but notice the scent of his aftershave which was musky but yet fresh and sporty. Glancing over towards him without him noticing, you quickly got mesmerised with his freckled skin and you couldn’t help your eyes from wandering further down, observing his neck and the small area of exposed skin above the neckline of his t-shirt.

Clearly, he had a little bit of chest hair. Or was it a lot? You were curious as you thought that, the way it extended above the neckline of his t-shirt looked quite sexy.

Your fixation on Cillian’s skin and scent, however, soon came to an end when you received a text message from one of your closest friends in Australia.

In her text message, she linked an article from an Australian tabloid and, whilst you knew that you should probably ignore it, you couldn’t help but click on the link.

When you opened the link you couldn’t believe your eyes. Clearly, your ex-partner had shared your last holiday pictures to a water theme park in Australia’s Northern Territory and they were far from flattering.

Cillian immediately noticed that something was wrong and paused the movie before asking you whether you were alright as tears had built up in your eyes.

‘My ex is making my life miserable’ you huffed out before telling Cillian about the unflattering pictures and comments from the tabloids.

According to the online magazine you should have chosen your outfit better to hide your scars and the publisher criticised that you were hosting a design show while, according to him, you obviously didn’t care much about your own appearances.

‘Can I see?’ Cillian asked and, whilst you were almost ashamed to show him, you did, knowing that it was on the world wide web anyway.

You saw Cillian’s eyebrows rise as he read through the article before, suddenly, he started laughing.

‘What an eejit’ he chuckled and you looked at him somewhat confused.

‘Irish for idiot’ Cillian clarified before carrying on. ‘Look, these people obviously have nothing better to do than to criticise humans for being human. You wore a bikini on a water slide. Seems logical to me. I mean what else would you wear when you visit a water park in a country where it’s so fucking hot?’ Cillian said, handing you back your phone.

‘That’s not the point Cillian. My ex knows how self-conscious I am. He continuously used to put me down and, ever since my emergency c-section when I had Max, I have been trying very hard to hide my body. Obviously, I was right to do so. I mean look at this shit now’ you said rather upset.

‘Y/N, you need to stop being so hard on yourself. You are a very attractive woman and any man out there would be lucky to have you. Despite, from what I just saw, there is nothing wrong with your body. You are stunning. You’ve got a few scars, so what?’ Cillian said reassuringly while taking your hands into his.

‘And a little baby weight I never managed to get rid of’ you chuckled and, whilst you knew it wasn’t really a big deal, you felt as though, being in the public eye required you to look perfect at all times.

‘You are perfect Y/N. You really cannot let this stuff get to you and you should tell your friend not to bother sending these things to you either’ Cillian said, knowing very well what reading bad press feels like.

‘So, you actually don’t care when you read something bad about yourself?’ you asked, not realising how much press Cillian had to deal with in comparison to you.

‘I gave up caring about twenty years ago’ Cillian chuckled. ‘You should too. It feels better that way’ he then said and you couldn’t agree more. You knew you had to care less but, the truth was, you had realised that this life wasn’t for you.

‘That’s why I gave up TV and advertising. I just want to concentrate on writing and the other things I’ve been working on’ you explained before changing the topic to something more pleasant which was your upcoming theatre date and trip to Kerry.

When you mentioned your upcoming trip to Kerry, Cillian told you that Cian invited him and Laura as well and you couldn’t help but laugh.

‘So, Laura…do you like her?’ you asked.

‘She is nice I guess. But, I honestly am not interested in a relationship or dating right now’ Cillian told you before advising you that he would have to head home soon. He had an early start.

***

By the time Cillian had left it was already 9 o ‘clock and you decided to have a bath and then head into bed as well.

For a minute or two, you pondered on about the article that had been published in Australia but, then, you remembered Cillian’s words. You had to ignore them.

Instead of dwelling on about them, you felt as though you wanted to know a little more about Cillian. Until this point, you had refused to google him but you realised that you didn’t even know his surname nor did you know how old he was and you certainly didn’t want to sound weird, asking him or Cian those things.

You tried your luck putting the words ‘Cillian’, ‘Actor’ and ‘Irish’ into the search tab as, surely, there couldn’t be too many actors with his name out there.

To your surprise, his name and pictures of him popped up immediately. You didn’t have to do much investigation and you were quite shocked to see his extensive filmography.

Even more so, you were surprised by the fact that he had just recently turned 45.

‘How the fuck can this man be 45 already?’ you asked yourself silently and couldn’t help yourself flicking through the many pictures.

Going through them one by one, you realised again how handsome he was and whilst you were certainly attracted to him, the fact that he was rather famous turned you off and made it much easier for you to turn off your attraction towards him. At least so you thought.

 Tag List:

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall@elenavampire21 @hanster1998@mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang@0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney@missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15  @stickyknightflowerbailiff @im-constantly-fangirling @goldensunflowe-r  @tellingyouastory  @captivatedbycillianmurphy​  @namelesslosers​  @littlewhiterose​  @ttzamara​  @ttzamara @cilleveryone  ​

@peaky-cillian​

@severewobblerlightdragon​  @ysmmsy​  

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby  @thenattitude

[realcube]

rq; could you possibly write a one shot about the reader having AD(H)D and has a really hard time focusing on core academics (math, science, english, history) because they feel scared about stimming and/or fidgeting in front of people and so they ask tamaki for help?

tw; very mild angst, fluff, stimming, i use the word ‘embrassing’ too much, swearing

words; 2.7k

it only took a moment of skimming over your latest progress report for you to understand the situation.

you continued to thrive in practical subjects like physical education, graphic design and manufacturing — the three main reasons you managed to secure your spot in the support course — but your core subjects seemed to be lacking.

for the last two years, you managed to score flying colours in all your subjects. but now, it was starting to appear as though your golden era was coming to a close. what was once a report with only scores greater than 90%, was now a range of totals anywhere from 90 to 50%.

this meant you were still passing all of your classes but these grades were only indications of how you were doing now; you knew that if you continued to struggle in all of your core courses, you might not finish your third year of UA highschool.

you simply wouldn't allow for your grades to decline further, so like any good student would, you made a list of ways you could improve.

number one was, of course, study more. however, you were almost certain that discipline and diligence aren't the causes of the issue.

number two was to ask for help from your teacher and although this was a completely valid option, you still felt like the problem ran deeper than your ability to comprehend the material. after all, you had made it this far without having to do so.

before you could even ponder number three, your pen ran out of ink. with a huff, you reach out to grab a new one from your pencil case, until you noticed that in the spot where your pencil case usually sits on your desk, there was nothing.

it was as though the void had caused all your memories of yesterday to come crashing down on you in an instant; it was almost nauseating. yet it, ironically, provided some clarity as to the location of your stationary.

two days ago, after school, you paid a visit to tamaki's house to deliver the gear he had commissioned. however, what was initially meant to be a casual interaction, somehow turned into a game of pictionary (with mirio and nejire there too, of course), for which you needed to bring your pencil case out of your bag. amidst your awkward goodbyes, you must've forgotten to put it back into your bag, hence your pencil case is probably lying dejected on tamaki's coffee table.

this left you with no choice but to throw on your jacket and begin your journey to tamaki's house. fortunately, he only lived a bus ride away from your home, yet you still mentally rebuked yourself for the whole length of aforementioned bus ride due to the fact that every time you would interact with tamaki, it felt like you were digging a deeper grave for yourself.

partially because you always found yourself oversharing with him — not that it was a one-sided ordeal — and you couldn't begin to explain why; he kinda just had a comforting aura about him. albeit you haven’t said anything embarrassing yet but the possibility of that happening was way too large. plus taking into consideration your complicated feelings for each other, leaving your pencil case at his house was a disaster waiting to occur.

or perhaps you were overthinking it. either way, you were now standing in front of his door with your school uniform and backpack on during a saturday afternoon because you had no idea what else to wear.

after ringing the doorbell, you stood as a patient statue in the cold until tamaki reluctantly opened the door and only poked his head out. “hello?”

emphasis on ‘only’, because he was truly committed to not allowing you to see him in his casual-wear, for some reason. a part of him reasoned that there was no way you would expect him to be wearing his school uniform on a saturday, but the majority of his brain was screaming about how he had to hide his clothes from you at all costs. especially since he was wearing socks, comfy trackpants and — most shamefully — a sweater with a small octopus design on it. and what would you think of him if you saw that his choice in loungewear was so childish?! it would be utterly humiliating.

completely unaware that tamaki was having a crisis behind the door, you pulled your most authentic smile and said the line you had been rehearing on the bus, “hi, tamaki. sorry for coming unannounced, but i think i left my pencil case on your coffee table when we were playing pictionary with mirio and nejire.”

“oh.” tamaki was almost too panicked to process what you just said but once he did, he immediately recalled the moment he noticed that you had left behind your pencil case. at the time, he planned on calling you to ask if he could drop it off at your house, but his nerves got the better of him and he decided to keep procrastinating the call until he completely forgot.

though, if he remembered correctly, the pencil case should be lying on his desk after he moved it there in hopes that the convenient location would remind him to return it; which it evidently did not.

“yeah. uh, i’ve got it. i’ll just go get it.” his face tingled with warmth slightly as he retracted it from the doorway, resulting in him finally realising how cold it is outside. in fact, since the eaves of his house shielded you for the climate, he didn’t even notice that it was snowing!

the polite bone in him got to work before the rest of him could react, as he blurted out, “come in, make yourself at home.”

fuck! i mean, it’s not that he doesn’t want you in his house — quite the opposite actually — but rather now he had to dart off to his bedroom before you could catch a glimpse of his sweater. but at least now this gave him an opportunity to change into something less embarrassing.

closing the door behind you, you were now left alone in tamaki’s living room. your eyes followed his figure as he dashed towards his bedroom, “odd.” you murmured to yourself. you weren’t exactly tamaki’s BFF but you were close enough to him that you could tell when he was acting weird.

but you didn’t think to much of it. actually, you were slightly grateful for this weird spike in tamaki’s behaviour because if he doesn’t want you around, that just means you are less likely to overshare and catch feelings, which means better outcomes in the long run, right?

after changing into a plain blue sweater and collecting your pencil case, tamaki strolled into the living room and handed it to you with a weak smile, “here you go.” he almost whispered, patiently waiting for your response so he could mentally prepare himself for goodbyes or another hour (or so) of conversation.

“thank you!” you basically squealed, pulling off your bag to stuff your pencil case back inside. while adjusting the straps on your shoulders, you took a moment to appreciate tamaki’s familiar attire, “oh, i love your sweater; i have a similar one with a cute little octopus on it.”

tamaki concluded that neither of you would be saying goodbye for a long while.

“thank you.” he responded with a soft smile, folding his arms over his chest as he made his way towards the kitchen, “um, so how are you?” he inquired, assuming that it was a pretty harmless question that would simply help get the conversation off the ground while he prepared tea.

“i’m good. but i don’t think i can say the same for my progress report.” you said with an awkward chuckle, standing aside as you watched tamaki put the kettle on. “and how are y--”

“what do you mean?” tamaki asked, disregarding the fact that he didn’t answer the question himself. although, simply put, this was because he found that conversation came more naturally to him when he was with you; or perhaps that is a slight overstatement. he tended to be more curious and inquisitive when talking to you and it wasn’t hard to tell.

until now you and mirio simply brushed it off as tamaki’s interest towards the support course, since you were the one who manufactured most of his gear. yet nejire always teased him as she believed that tamaki’s interest was caused by a different sort of passion.

nevertheless, regardless of tamaki’s motives, you still found yourself consistently answering his questions, “eh, well, i’ve just not been performing as well as i hoped.” you replied plainly with a shrug.

“is that all?”

no matter how many questions he asked, each one still managed to catch you off-guard. “um,” your throat ran dry, which might’ve been a sign from a deity to stop talking, but your swallowing was your way of proving that you did not care. although you will probably regret it later, talking with tamaki always relieved you.

“well,” you started, the lump in your throat growing by the second, “i guess i have a bit of trouble focussing in some classes too. but i mean, maybe it is because i drink too much caffeine? i’m not even sure to be honest.” that was lie, you were  90% sure of what the problem was, but you wanted to hear tamaki’s response before you proceeded, to determine whether he’d be open-minded about it.

“there is no such thing as too much caffeine.” he joked, handing you a cup of tea while he sipped on his own. “so it’s probably something else.”

he’s too good. it’s as if he knew you were withholding information.

“well,” you began once more, trying your best to appear clueless, “i guess moving helps me focus, but no once else in the class does it so wouldn’t it be embarrassing if i was the only one?”

“i don’t think it would be embarrassing at all.” he spoke softly, leading you back into the living room and offer you a seat on the couch beside him, which you graciously accepted. “but if you think it is, then i have something to help.”

before you could say anything, tamaki got up and headed towards his bedroom; leaving you to drink his heavenly tea while he searched. though, only a few minutes passed before you felt his arms slither over your shoulders to hook two clips together by your neck.

“there.” he said with a proud smile, “this is one of my cloaks that i use in my hero costume. you can tie it together so it covers the whole front half of your body.”

observing your reflection in the blackened TV, you smiled upon seeing for your own eyes that everything he said was true. it was like wearing a cape that goes around your whole body, and it had a nice hood! “wow, this is so adorable!” you cheered, then paused, “but how is it going to help me focus?”

“well, you can do whatever you want underneath it and no one will notice.”

ignoring the shady implications of that sentence, you moved your hand around underneath the cloak and he was right! no one would see you fidgeting underneath the cloak, and hopefully the professor’s voice would cover any sounds you made. plus, it looked pretty badass.

“this might work! are cloaks included in dress-code?” you joked, but you weren’t laughing for long as you turned to look at tamaki who was wearing an upset expression with his head hung low, “no.”

“oh.” you sighed, unclipping the cloak and handing it back to tamaki with a slight smile, “it’s fine. thank you for your help, and the tea. it was delicious, but i’ll probably have to start cutting back on the caffeine.” you gave it a chef’s kiss yet he didn’t even chuckle like he usually does. it was almost scary how your true emotions reflected onto him, as it seemed like the whole atmosphere had changed.

“(y/n).” tamaki uttered with a much more serious tone; eyes filled with determination yet trained onto the cloak in his hands. “you shouldn’t be embarrassed-- or at least, I, um, don’t think you should be.”

your eyes widened at how sternly he said the first part; granted, he became flustered when it came to the second part, but it really showed you how firmly he stood by what he was saying. you nodded for him to continue as he looked like he still had a lot on his mind.

“it’s unfair that you have trouble focussing because of what other people think. so my two cents is that you should do whatever you need to do, and, um, not care about other people... well, i mean, you should care about them, but just not what they think about you. because like, you can’t really control that--”

he found himself having to abruptly shut his mouth to stop himself from prattling on any further. especially since most of what he was saying was probably none sense that he mistook for inspirational, or at least that is what he gathered from the shocked look you wore; it was ironic how humiliated he was.

“that’s nice to hear.” you hummed, a kind smile gracing your features in place of the previous stunned expression, “though it’s hard to believe coming from someone as cool as you, tamaki.”

“cool?”

“yeah.” you chuckled, rolling your eyes at his baffled look which he must have been faking. surely he knows how highly thought of and respected he is throughout the whole school. he is in the big three, for fucks’ sake! “there is probably a better word to describe it, but you are one of the most badass people i know.”

“badass?” it was as if all he was capable of doing was repeating these words to you with an innocent yet confused gaze.

“yes!” you enthused, “so, is there anything you even have to be embarrassed about?”

“i do!” he almost whined, and without thinking, he stormed to his bedroom only to grab the sweater he cast aside earlier to show it to you, “look! an octopus sweater, isn’t this embarrassing?”

you deadpanned, unsure as to whether he was joking or not. “stimming is very different from a octopus sweater but go on.” however after a few moments of actually analysing the design on the article of clothing, you exclaimed, “oi, i have that exact same sweater! how is a cute little octopus embarrassing? plus, it would be extra cute on you because you have tentacles.”

in a moment of frustration and wanting to prove a point, he threw the sweater aside and began to sheepishly grab at the ends of his sleeves, “well, you know what’s even more embarrassing? having a crush on someone for three whole years and not having the balls to ask them out! and on top of that, being to nervous to return my crush’s stuff after you left it at my house.”

you weren’t sure if he meant to switch out ‘my crush’ with ‘you’ on purpose or if he was just confused. either way, you found yourself leaning in to wrap the poor boy in an overdue embrace, smiling against his chest as he hugged back. “that was..” you faltered, allowing tamaki to interject with “mortifying” but you were quick to correct him, “i think that was a very unique way to confess, and i'm just glad you did.”

your chuckle that followed was left to echo around the room as tamaki stood still and silent, simply enjoying the comfort in your arms as feeling the pleasure of time escape him. until eventually he whispered close to your ear, “so since i know more about embarrassment than you thought, will you take my advice now?”

you snickered, gently tracing shapes onto his back, “i was going to take your advice either way because if i don’t get good grades and remain in the support course, how will i graduate with you?”

“good point.” he hummed, not-so silently enjoying the relaxing sensations near his spine, “but we are not wearing matching octopus hats.”

how did manage to shoot down your idea before you even proposed it?

[aurheatum]

rhea and identity. part 1: what’s in a name

Alright,  because I’m constantly thinking about her and why not! Here’s part one in a series about Rhea and her view of her identity and selfhood: focusing on her name and aliases throughout the years. 

spoilers for the entirety of three houses below :) 

As a preview part two and three will be on her role as a mother and then her role as a child in the story and psychologically. Both will probably be quite a bit longer than this one as here I’m covering stuff I’ve mostly talked about before, but good to have it in one place with citations, so let’s go!

An interesting tendency I’ve seen in fandom is to place Rhea’s role as Rhea, herself, the archbishop and Rhea as Seiros, the warrior and avenger, as diametrically opposed to one another. This makes a lot of sense as Crimson Flower - the one route where Rhea literally has any agency at all in part two of the game - itself uses this in both story and gameplay. Here when we meet Rhea on the battlefield at Taltean she is in the unique “Saint” class and her dialogue prior to being fought makes it quite clear that she has “become Seiros”.

Field of Revenge

Church soldier: Lady Rhea….

Rhea: Call me Seiros now.

Rhea: I am no longer the archbishop, but rather a warrior.

(later on in the final map Catherine also ends up correcting her speech and referring to her as “Lady Seiros”)

But hm. I wonder what difference in the CF route split led her to take on this persona? Could it have something to do with the fact she has once again come face to face with a human using Agarthan technology to infiltrate / sack her family’s tomb in aid of another who’s literally wielding her mom aka god as a weapon of war?

The one thing fandom overlooks is that from the few scant sources we have in canon Seiros is just as much a falsified identity as the current Rhea is, if not more so. You can see in the official FE3h character design breakdown that there is a note pointing to Seiros’s hair that has been translated as “her hair is dyed, but only the tips show another color” (source post for that here).

It is difficult to see in book scans available but thankfully her Fire Emblem Heroes art makes it even clearer that the light blond we see on Seiros isn’t her true coloring. Compare to the in game Saint model.

(slightly related: back when FEH seiros came out there was some fan pondering on whether nabatean hair darkens as the person gets older and i just think that’s really neat)

All of the references to her in The History of Fódlan and other church doctrine describe her as a saint and messenger of the goddess, but never otherworldly or inhuman. This combined with Rhea’s claim in VW that she “called herself Seiros” seems to make it clear that this was a role she took on after the Red Canyon Massacre had happened, most likely to hide her origin as the one survivor there and protect the other remaining Nabateans of the land from further scrutiny.

I actually think its quite creative that fandom has decided to use Seiros as shorthand for Rhea before she started playing at human, but I also think it is very haunting and deliberate that we do not know Rhea’s real name. Most likely not even Seteth or his brothers know it seeing as Rhea being the one surviving Nabatean from Zanado must mean they all met some time after the Red Canyon Massacre took place and most likely right around when Rhea became Seiros.

The only person who could possibly know Rhea’s true name is Sothis, and I think that’s important. I also think it is important to note that everything we know of the Seiros identity was created due to the trauma of Zanado’s destruction as it is pertinent to understanding why she falls back on it when she interprets events as repeating in Crimson Flower.

[meat--grindr]

I can request a story of Yandere Brahms with his reader, where Brahms kidnaps the reader by taking her inside the walls of the Mansion to be loved and protected. How did you come to this situation, maybe you can have a little NFSW?

Ahh, Brahms. How I love him so. I just wanted to let you know before we get into anything too serious, that this might be a little different than you were expecting, and for that I’m going to apologize right off the bat. I’ll admit I’m a massive weeb, but I never really saw the appeal of yanderes. Cringe, I know. So, I’m going to do my best here and take yandere more as ‘possessive’ if that’s alright? Also, I took some liberties with ‘kidnapping’ as you’ll see, just because I don’t want to walk too far into non-consensual territory when there’s NSFW involved. I don’t want to write anything explicitly non-consensual here, so it was a fine line to walk, but I think I found an okay solution. If this isn’t at all what you’re looking for, maybe drop me a PM and we can try to work something out? Anyway have like 5000-ish words of Brahms smut :)

Possessive (Yandere [?] Brahms (Female Reader) – NSFW

·       Standing at the foot of the stairs, you are struck, though certainly not for the first time, by the beauty of the house in which you find yourself. The golden hue of the wood which panels the walls reflect and amplify the soft glow emanating from beneath frosted glass lampshades. The diffused amber glow is cast about the room, throwing elongated shadows against the walls and into the far corners. From your place at the very bottom of the stairwell, the ceiling, now several floors above you, is lost to the early darkness of a winter evening.

·       Through the window, you can see the first soft flakes of snow drifting through the air. But here, inside, with your back braced against the newel post, you are warm. Tipping your head back, you gaze up into the yawning void above and cast your mind into it, losing yourself in daydreams of the beautiful rooms it conceals; your bedroom with its fourposter bed, all draped in velvet and silk—the dark, lacquered wood of the study, which still smells of cigar smoke, though as far as you can tell one hasn’t been lit in there for years—and, of course, the library.

·       Dark shelves line the walls, so tall they stretch from the wooden floor to the moulded ceiling. They stand, filled nearly past capacity with volumes of every shape and size, from encyclopedias so large you can lift only one at a time, to pocket novellas no bigger than your palm. Pages and spines alike, embossed with gold and silver shimmer from both the shelves and the tables set beside each of the overstuffed armchairs. The plush rug which lies beneath those tables and chairs makes even the floor a comfortable place to stretch out and lose oneself in a book. And the smell. Old leather and paper, printing ink and glue, dust and the very passage of time itself. It’s like every crooked old bookstore you’ve ever entered tucked away in a cozy corner of your own home. Whether or not you remember having dreamt of owning a private library, you were quite sure you could never go back to life without one and find yourself contented.

·       Even now, you long to curl up in one of those plush chairs and sink into another world until bedtime. You knew a soft blanket and a half-finished novel waited for you there, begging you to come back and see to them. And why shouldn’t you? What else was there to do on a chilly night such as this? The day’s chores were completed—the rat traps were checked (empty as always), the laundry was done, wood for the fire was stacked in the shed, and the supper dishes had been washed and put away. There is very little else that requires your attention. So why not?

·       Your socked feet sink into the plush, green carpeting as you mount the stairs. The banister is pleasantly cool and smooth beneath your fingertips. As you ascend, the light from below begins to dim, unable to reach any further into the darkness above. The difference made by the two flights of stairs between the lighted foyer and the dark second floor leaves you light-blinded and blinking in the shadows.

·       When again you regain your sight enough to behold it, even in partial darkness, the hallway that stretches before you is beautiful—the wooden paneling on the lower half of the walls takes on a sleek shine, while the deep green wallpaper above it fades into a stately and sober black. The paintings and portraits that line the walls are somber; muted without the proper lighting to show their colours, but they are no less impressive or imposing. A ship, barely visible, save for the canvas sails, is tossed on a rapidly darkening sea, lighting flashing far in the distance—a bright brushstroke of pure white, clear even in deep shadow. An old woman, her name rendered illegible in the gloom, stares down her nose at you in deep disapproval. Her eyes, like the rest of her, are severe and grey, and they seem, through either a trick of the light or the mastery of the painter, to follow you down the hall.

·       It is very dark. A thin, watery light filters through a small window at the end of the hall, but it does little to help guide you. You suppose you could turn on one of the many lamps that line the long and ponderous hall, but you know you can find your way just find without one. You’d spent several adventurous afternoons and many restless nights exploring the house and grounds. Though in the beginning you could barely follow the straight hall from the front door to the kitchen without getting lost, these days, you rarely, if ever, found yourself wandering the halls with no idea where you were.

·       You reach out, brushing the wallpaper with the tips of your fingers as you walk, grounding yourself in the darkness. It’s almost rough to the touch, stiff with age, though it’s clearly been well taken care of. In the daylight, there is little sign of aging at all - no scuffs or faded sections. You knew the house itself was well over a hundred years old, but it showed its age in astonishingly few places. Sure, the phones were ancient and the lack of wi-fi was irritating but—

·       Thump.

·       You freeze in place. You’re sure the sound had come from within the wall, just to the left of where you stood. There is something in there. The blood roars in your ear as you press it up against the wallpaper, straining to hear even a hint of movement, be it the shifting of the wood as the house settles, or the pitter-patter of something living. The seconds stretch on into minutes, but no further sounds come. You scrunch up your nose, feeling rather silly. It’s probably just a mouse…or maybe a rat. It sounded big. Perhaps those traps were good for something after all.

·       Your gaze lingers on the spot for a moment longer, but still, there is nothing but silence. Maybe it had been the house creaking in the wind. Old houses were prone to groaning after all. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to move some of the traps further up into the house for a little bit, just to be on the safe side.

·       You turn and continue down the hall, mind once again turning to the blanket, the book, and the comfy glow of the library. You press your palm flat against the wall as you walk, the whisper of your skin sliding over the wallpaper barely audible, even in the quiet that envelops the house at night.

·       Then your fingers catch against something—an indentation in the wallpaper. It’s subtle, but definitely there. You stop to inspect it closer, worried that perhaps your assessment about the house not showing its age may have come a little hastily. Your fingers explore the seam with care, and you decide it’s not a crack—it’s too regular, too straight. It feels intentional in its design. And it’s practically invisible in the darkness—likely just as difficult to spot in daylight considering how frequently you find yourself in this hall and your failure to take notice of it before now.

·       You crouch down, following the seam with your fingers. It stretches all the way down to the floor. Why…it’s almost like…a little door…

·       Almost at the same moment this thought trickles into your mind, the little section of wall gives way beneath your touch, swinging inward on silent hinges.

·       From within the inky darkness beyond, a pair of long, thin arms surge forth, snaking around your waist. The grip in which they envelop you is bruising as you are pulled back into the darkness beyond the secret door.

·       It slams behind you hard enough to rattle the picture frames in the hall. You scream, long and hard, struggling against the arms that cage you. You flail your limbs, lashing out blindly with fists and feet and nails, hoping desperately to strike your attacker, or at least wriggle enough to squirm from their crushing grasp. But the grip around your midsection only tightens, squeezing the very air from your lungs.

·       You lurch into motion, the figure in the darkness half-carrying, half-dragging you along a narrow passageway. You try to scream again but find you can’t get enough air to do so. Instead, you lash out, legs kicking against the walls, knees and shins colliding painfully with rough, wooden support beams and sharp corners.

·       While rounding a particularly tight corner, you manage to kick the opposite wall hard enough to throw your attacker off balance. A hissing shower of dust and plaster rains down on the pair of you. The figure stumbles, grip relaxing for only a moment, but it’s enough. You wriggle from their crushing grasp and dart back the way you came.

·       The figure recovers quickly, and you can hear them bolting after you in the darkness. It doesn’t take long before they’re on you again, one large hand fisted deep in your hair, wrenching your head back. You cry out in pain, stumbling back against the intruder. The hand in your hair doesn’t relinquish it’s hold as their other arm wraps around your chest, locking in place like an iron bar. You struggle uselessly, hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you’re dragged back the way you’d come, seemingly with even less regard for your physical well-being.

·       Not far beyond the corner where you’d made your escape, you’re shoved to the ground unceremoniously. As you make to crawl away, the figure circles around you, blocking your path of escape. Even as your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can’t see much more than an outline. Even so, you can tell they’re much bigger than you. You feel a large hand sliding beneath your knees, and another on the small of your back and suddenly, the floor beneath you drops away. Instinctively, your arms shoot out, fumbling in the darkness for something solid to grab hold of. Your grasping hands find a fist-full of the intruder’s shirt. It’s soft and well-worn in your hands, and you clutch so tightly to it that you can feel your fingers beginning to cramp almost immediately. A soft rumble rolls through the figure, and after a moment, you realize they’re laughing at you. You want to let go, but the fear of tumbling backward into the darkness stills your hands.

·       With the way you’re being jostled about, you get the distinct impression that you’re ascending a flight of stairs. Secret tunnels and staircases in the walls? Under any other circumstance, you would be ecstatic, ready to drop everything and explore them. But caught as you were, in the arms of a stranger, there is nothing but panic within you. Taking advantage of your new position, you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the intention to scream, though you’re sure there’s no one around to hear you.

·       “Don’t.” So, it’s a man? His voice is soft, a half-whisper that thrums through your body where it’s pressed up against his chest. There is a distinctly British tilt to his voice, and it’s oddly muffled, as though something was covering his mouth. You’re reminded of those old cartoon bandits who wore bandanas across their mouths. He doesn’t want to be identified. The though sends a cold chill through you. This isn’t good. “Scream and I’ll drop you.”

·       The scream dies in your throat. While you certainly don’t like being caught in a strange man’s grip, the thought of lying broken at the bottom of a secret staircase no one else seems to know about hammers a worse kind of fear into your gut. You could die…or not and that might be the worse option: injured and completely at a stranger’s mercy. No. As it stands, if you follow his instructions, you remain unharmed, and the longer you remain unharmed, the better your chances of finding a way out.

·       At the top of the steps, you find yourself in front of a rough wooden door. Here he readjusts his grip on you, bracing your weight against his hips as he taps the door open with a gentle kick.

·       Suddenly, you’re bathed in a soft, golden light cast by the dozens of candles that lay scattered about the room. After so much time spent in the dark, the burst of light dazzles your eyes. In spite of your fear, you curl up against the strange man’s chest, turning away from the light that blinds and burns your eyes. It’s too much too soon.

·       The man laughs again, bouncing you gently in his arms, like one would a small child, “No hiding.”

·       His tone is light, but it is still a command. Sensing scant room for disobedience, you turn your face up towards his, cracking one eye open, then the other. You had been told not to, but in the flickering light, as you blink up at the face of your kidnapper, you can do nothing to stop the scream that builds in your throat.

·       His face is hidden, not behind a bandana, but a porcelain mask. The pale white surface is littered with a spider’s web of thin cracks and what looks to be dried blood. Your eyes sweep over the soft curve of the mouth, the delicate nose which turns up at the end, and the empty spaces behind which dark, human eyes burn into your own.

·       The moment the scream leaves you, ringing loud in the enclosed space, the man snarls, striding into the room with purpose. As he weaves through the maze of dusty old furniture, you beat your fists against his chest, squirming in his grip, trying with renewed desperation to escape his clutches. “Let me go! Let me go!!”

·       Ignoring your pleas, he stalks to the far corner of the room, where a low-slung cot waits, tucked close against a rough brick wall. He dumps you none too gently onto it, and you scrabble backward, knocking your head against the wall behind you. Your ears ring with the force of the blow, but your eyes remain trained on the masked man as he clambers onto the cot with you.

·       You jam yourself back into the corner, as far from the menacing figure as possible. He comes toward you slowly, laughing, as though this were all some silly game the pair of you were enjoying. You kick at him, and he swats your leg away, his shoulders shaking with laughter. His eyes, however, aren’t laughing. Where they peak out from beneath the mask, they blaze with only one thing: hunger.

·       You kick out at him again, catching him, this time, on the jaw, just beneath the edge of his mask. And just like that he’s not laughing anymore. He goes frighteningly still, and there’s a change in the air. You know he’s done playing.

·       He lunges for you, and you shriek, cowering back against the wall, the rough bricks digging into the flesh of your arms. His hands close around your ankles and he pulls you down toward him.

·       He slots himself between your legs, pinning your thighs down with boney knees. You squirm beneath him, but he’s too heavy for you to shake off. He looms above you in the candlelight, breathing hard, his eyes flashing behind the mask. With a jolt, you realize he’s going to hurt you. You’re so sure, you flinch, cringing away from him as much as is possible, bracing for the pain that’s sure to come.

·       But, when his knuckles brush against your cheek, it’s not in anger. It’s a gentle caress that jolts through you like an electric current. You turn to look at him, as he brushes the damp hair back from your forehead. He stares at you for a long moment, drinking in your shock, before leaning down to press cool porcelain lips against yours.

·       The kindness of his gestures surprises you almost more than any blow he could have delivered. When he promised to play rough, he usually meant it. With shaking hands, you reach up to touch his face. Your fingers slip beneath the mask, brushing the hair and skin beneath with feather-light touches. You want to see his face, want kisses from his real lips, want—

·       But the man’s fingers curl around your wrists, wrenching your hands from his face. “No.” There is force behind the word equal to the force with which he pins your wrists against the sheets, indenting the mattress beneath them. His voice, in that same soft whisper from before, rasps in your ear, “Not even when we’re playing, Love.”

·       You swallow hard, all the pretenses of your little experiment dropping away in an instant. You realize you came dangerously close to crossing a line. “Okay. Brahms. I-I’m sorry.”

·       You expect that he’ll want to stop now, and you wouldn’t blame him if he did, but he surprises you by nuzzling against your neck, “Not ‘Brahms.’”

·       So, he still wants to play. You smile up at him. “Oh, right! Sorry.”

·       He bends over your neck again, pressing porcelain kisses against your neck. You crane your head back, eager to make up for your misstep with the mask. There’s something about these kisses that makes your heart flutter—perhaps it’s simply the rush of a new sensation against sensitive flesh, or maybe it’s the knowledge that his real lips lay just beneath that hard surface, so close and yet completely out of reach.

·       When he lets go of your left wrist, you’re so caught up in these kisses, that you barely register it. That is until you feel the mask slide in an unnatural direction against your skin, and you feel Brahms’ real lips against your neck for the first time. Your whole body jerks forward, pressing against him with a soft sigh on your lips. His mouth is softer and warmer than you ever could have imagined. Even his beard feels good where it scratches against you.

·       His teeth scrape over your pulse, drawing another sound from you. You throw your arms around his neck and pull him down on top of you. His laugh rasps out against your throat, as he stamps warm kisses all across your collarbone.

·       You roll your hips against his and he groans, the sound rumbling deep within his chest. He surges upward fixing his teeth into the meat of your neck as he grinds down against you, letting you feel just how badly he wants you. His name slips between your teeth as a hiss and you feel him smile against your neck. His tongue flickers over the mark he’s left, though it’s more to lay further claim than to soothe the ache his teeth pushed into your flesh.

·       When he pulls back, he’s already pushing the mask back into place, though you catch a quick flash of the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth.

·       He looks down at you, eyes sliding slow down your body, head cocked to the side like he’s thinking. He has that hungry look about him again and it lights a white-hot bolt of desire in your gut. You lift your hips, rolling them against his, relishing both the spark of pleasure that shoots through your stomach, and the shiver that rolls down his spine. A little whine escapes his lips, and you feel your heart leap. God, you’d do anything to hear that sound again. He meets the roll of your body with a stuttering jolt of his own.

·       You can’t help but beam up at him. “What are you thinking about Brah—Mister?”

·       He sighs deeply, running his hands down your chest, his fingers tracing along your ribs. “About all the things I could do to you…”

·       A breathless puff of laughter escapes you, “Oh, yeah?” You guide his hands down to your hips, hoping he’ll take the hint. “Like what?”

·       “Hm…let’s see. I could, hold you down,” His hands, still resting beneath yours tighten against your hips, pushing you down against the mattress. You try to buck up against him, but he holds you fast, “I don’t think so, Love.” He grips you hard, dipping his head to whisper into your ear, “I could just hold you here, and you’d have to take whatever I decide to give you.” His thumbs trace the seams of your hips. Even through your jeans it makes you shudder.

·       “Or, I could give you very little at all,” He lets go of your hips in favour of ghosting a hand down your thigh. His other hand presses gently against your zipper. His fingers trail down the seam, until you feel the pressure against your clit and jerk against his hand. He pulls away, “Just enough to keep you interested, but not enough to satisfy you.”

·       You whine, feeling a damp patch growing in your underwear. You know he’d get such a charge from dragging this out, teasing you until your arousal had soaked through the denim of your jeans. You could hear him now, ‘A few kisses and some dirty words…it’s that easy?' While you’d usually be willing to indulge him, you weren’t willing to give him that satisfaction today. He was already so uppity as it was. “Or you could just toss my legs over your shoulders and take what you want.” You toss an arm over your forehead in an attempt at playing toward his flair for the dramatic, “Look at me, baby. I’m defenseless.” You roll your hips against him again, nice and slow. You can tell by the hitch in his breathing that you’ve almost got him convinced. You can barely keep the smirk from your face as you arch your back, and whimper for him, “Please?”

·       That one word is all it takes to break him. In a flash he’s slipped out of his cardigan and tossed it off into the darkness of the attic. His suspenders follow suit with a metallic clinking. It isn’t until he’s unbuttoning his trousers that you realize you have mere seconds to undo your own before Brahms falls upon you and tears them off himself. You’ve lost more than one good pair of jeans this way and you don’t intend to lose another if you can help it.

·       Your shaking hands fumble with the button, managing to pop it only after a few tries. Taking them off from your position underneath Brahms is no small feat, especially considering his reluctance to move, now that his trousers rest about his knees and he’s rolling his hips against your still clothed thigh, his cock already leaking against the denim.

·       “Want you now.” His voice is rough, breaking in time with the thrusting of his hips.

·       “I know, baby. But you’ve gotta wait.”

·       Brahms huffs in irritation. ‘Wait’ is not a word he likes to hear at the best of times, let alone when his dick is this hard.

·       You tap his hip gently. “C’mon, up.”

·       He drops his head against your shoulder with a petulant whimper, his hips stuttering against your thigh.

·       “Brahms…” You sigh, half-frustrated, half-amused. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find it incredibly sexy when Brahms acted like a brat, but your pleasure was at stake here as well. “You can’t fuck me properly with my jeans on.”

·       His hips slow for a moment, and he whines again.

·       “C’mon, be a good boy for me.” You feel his cock pulse against your thigh, and he relents. He scoots back just enough for you to push your jeans and underwear down your thighs. Brahms takes care of the rest, tearing the offending fabric from your legs and tossing it from the bed to join his cardigan on the floor.

·       His hands are on your shoulders in an instant, shoving you back against the mattress, all patience spent. You feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and barely have a time to take a breath before he’s pushing inside with a single, smooth stroke.

·       “F-Fuuuck…”

·       “Yeah, that’s the idea, baby.” Your hands are fisted tightly in the sheets, your voice tight as your body grows accustomed to the stretch once again. You’ve taken Brahms with little preparation before. You know you can handle it, but somehow the girth of him almost always comes as a surprise.

·       To his credit, he does his best to keep still until you give him the ‘okay,’ though you can feel his hips shaking with the effort. He’s mouthy while he waits though, any trace of the gentleman within him his gone, replaced by a cursing, dirty-talking stranger, “Gonna pound you into this mattress, gonna fuck you like—fuck you’re so wet—like your my whore…mine, mine, ah fuck! Mine.”

·       You roll your hips, testing the water, and he bites back a string of curses. His hips stutter forward unbidden, and you moan low in your throat.

·       Behind the mask, you see his eyes roll back. He starts to beg then, changing his tune entirely, “Please, Love, let me fuck you, please, please, please. I promise I’ll be good. I will, just please!”

·       You reach up, carding your fingers through his hair, “Show me what a good boy you are, make us feel good, baby.”

·       Without missing a beat, Brahms’ hips take up a frantic rhythm, tearing a litany of pretty sounds from your throat. Your hands tangle themselves in his hair as he drops his head to press doll’s mouth kisses against your throat.

·       Your hand slips between your bodies, spreading your lips to circle your clit. You buck against him, gasping his name as the pleasure courses through you two-fold.

·       A strong hand grasps your wrist again pulling it away from your clit. “We mustn’t touch what isn’t ours.” You nearly whine in frustration, but your displeasure is quickly forgotten when you feel the soft pads of Brahms’ fingers against your sensitive flesh.

·       “You,” he groans in pleasure, angling his hips to push deeper inside of you, “You belong to me.” He punctuates the sentiment with a sharp snap of his hips. “That means I am the only one who can make you feel good.” He presses his fingers hard against your clit, and your thighs begin to shake. “Tell me who you belong to.”

·       It takes you a second to find your voice. “Y-You, Brahms.”

·       “Yesss,” the rhythm of his thrusts is beginning to fall by the wayside as his hips buck and stutter. “Say it again.” His fingers circle your clit faster, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm.

·       “Fuck, Brahms! I’m yours! A-All yours! You’re gonna make me cum.”

·       “Mine.” You feel the mask slide to the side again and his lips are on your neck. You feel his teeth graze the bite mark he’d left. His teeth are in your throat, his fingers on your clit, his cock in your cunt, and you’re cumming. His name tumbles from your lips, the only coherent thought in your mind.

·       He groans against your neck, trying to fuck you through it, but you’re too tight around him, forcing him into an agitated stillness. His fingers work your clit feverishly until you push his hand away, too oversensitive to stand another second of it.

·       You’re still almost painfully tight around him when the rhythmic pulsing of your own orgasm begins to push him over the edge. He thrusts into you once, twice, thrice more, before pulling out and shaking apart, his cum painting your thighs and stomach. He whimpers and trembles, fisting his cock through the aftershocks of his orgasm, desperate to chase every last ounce of pleasure.

·       Only when he’s well and truly spent, nearly sobbing from the agony of the overstimulation does he flop down on the cot beside you, panting heavily, cock still twitching against his thighs.

·       He kicks off his trousers, and curls up by your side, throwing an arm around you. For the longest time, the only sound in the room is that of your breathing slowing in tandem as you each come down from your high.

·       Brahms’ voice is small when he speaks up at last, “Did I do okay?”

·       You turn to face him, laying on your side. You reach out a hand and readjust his mask, before pressing a soft kiss against the delicate bow of his lips. “You were perfect. Thank you, Brahms.”

·       He nods once, but he doesn’t look convinced. There’s tension in his shoulders, and he won’t look you in the eyes.

·       “What’s wrong, honey?”

·       He shakes his head, burrowing against your side. “Nothing…”

·       “It doesn’t look like nothing to me. It’s okay to talk to me about things like this, you know.”

·       He’s silent for a little while longer, and you wonder if he needs a little more prodding to use his words. But then, he speaks, “I wasn’t…too rough? In the passages?”

·       “No, baby. No. It was exactly like we talked about.”

·       “Okay.” There’s a little touch of a frown in his voice, like he’s trying to puzzle something through in his mind. “I didn’t expect you to fight me so hard. It felt…real.”

·       “I wanted to make it seem real. Did I upset you?”

·       There’s a long pause, but when he speaks, he sounds genuine. “I don’t think so. It was a little…thrilling.”

·       You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your throat, “It was, wasn’t it? Where did you get an idea like that? Pretending to kidnap me and all that?”

·       He’s quiet for a moment, as he remembers a time not so long ago, when the idea was meant to be more reality than fantasy. He was supposed to have that girl. He should have done better, should have fought for her harder, should have killed her and buried her in the yard with the others. He should have done a lot of things. The scar on his stomach burns with the memory of all the things he should have done. But they don’t matter now. She doesn’t matter now. He has you.

·       He presses another kiss against your neck and lies, “Recreation of a scene from 'Jane Eyre.' You know how I adore that novel. And you being such a pretty lady, simply had to fill the role of the damsel in distress.”

·       “If you say so.” You snuggle closer against his chest. He really was a very strange man. A yawn blossoms in the base of your jaw, but you do your best to fight it off. You know you’ll be sore later, but for now you’re happy and sated and perfectly content to doze in the arms of the man you love.

·       Then a thought hits you, “Hold on, Jane Eyre doesn’t get kidnapped, Brahms.”

·       He chuckles softly against your shoulder, “So you have been reading my books after all.”

[chudleycanonficfest]

Dancing Around You

Day 31, Post #2 by @adenei

Title: Dancing Around You

Author: adenei

Pairing: James x Lily

Prompt: First Date

Rating: T 

TW: Some language and mentions of past abuse.

a/n: inspired by the scene in In The Heights when Vanessa and Usnavi go to the club.

*****************

I walk into the corner shop in my neighborhood and see James, Remus and Sirius talking by the counter. The scene causes more annoyance to course through me, which probably stems from the shit mood I’m already in. James and Sirius are supposed to be working, since this is their job. And why isn’t Remus at the broadcast station across the street at his own job?

So what if James owned the shop after it was left to him when his parents passed? Work is still work, and he shouldn’t be skiving off while on shift. I’ve busted my arse day in and day out for the last three years so I could save up to rent a flat in Camden to pursue a career as an interior designer. Moving out of Peckham to a more centralized location will help put me on the map as a well sought after designer.

But that was all for nothing. I’ve just returned from my meeting with the realtor, and despite having enough rent saved up for a whole year, plus the security deposit, he waved me off as if I belonged in the slums! The twat said I needed someone to co-sign a lease with me. Tears sting my eyes as I’m reminded once again of how alone I am. Having walked out at seventeen to escape my parents’ emotional abuse for the last seven years, I had no one to turn to despite the close-knit neighborhood I lived in because this was a secret goal that no one knew about.

I’m sure Marlene’s mum would be more than happy to co-sign a lease with me, but I couldn’t ask that of her. Not when she’s done so much for me already. No, I just need to hold my head high and keep moving forward. I put on my business face and strengthen my resolve, so the boys don’t suspect anything out of the ordinary.

Walking over to the fridge, I grab a Fanta and a Coke for Mrs. McKinnon. When I left the office earlier for my appointment, she asked me to bring one back. Now, I have to return to my job as her secretary at her own Real Estate office and try not to resent every client who walks in the door. When I shut the refrigerator door and turn to head to the register, I see James leaning against the glass of another fridge door.

When the hell did he creep up on me?

“Evans, how’s it going?”

“It’s been better.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

For a moment, I think about letting him in. I open my mouth to say something, but change my mind at the last second.

“You wish.”

“Right, well, what are you doing tomorrow?”

Narrowing my eyes, I observe James. We’ve been friends for years, and it’s a friendship I cherish more than anything. He’s always been there to make me laugh, to match my sarcasm and wit, and he’s never been afraid to go toe-to-toe with me. I know him well, almost as well as I know myself, but I’m not expecting his question or the butterflies that flutter in my stomach in response.

I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive. His perpetual bedhead, black hair and piercing yet kind hazel eyes have always stood out to me. It’s no secret that he’s fit from lifting boxes all day and playing on a club football team in his free time. But I’ve never allowed myself to think there could be anything more between us besides friendship.

So, why does it feel like he’s asking me out? Am I misreading the signs? I decide to keep the ball in his court to get a better read on his intentions.

“I’m going dancing with Marlene and Mary,” I reply, keeping my voice cool and collected.

“Oh, sounds like fun.” He glances down at the bottles in my hands. “All set, then?”

I nod, and If I’m not mistaken, his shoulders slump as he turns to head back to the counter. Should I have invited him and the guys to join us? Before I can ponder it further, Sirius cuts me off and pushes me back into the aisle.

“You and the girls are going dancing? That sounds like fun. I’d bet my buddy over there would love to join you.” He raises his eyebrows as if willing me to catch his subtle hint, which I do.

“Wait, was James just trying to ask me out tomorrow?”

Sirius shrugs. “Probably, but you two have been friends forever, and despite his smooth-talking with most females, he seems to get tongue-tied around you.”

A burst of laughter bubbles out of me. “James? Tongue-tied? Around me? What are you smoking?”

“Nothing, Evans. Just pointing out a fact.”

Fine, if Sirius is going to pester me about this, I will prove him wrong. I brush past him toward James so I can pay for the drinks and be on my way. Sliding a couple pounds to James over the counter, I smirk at him.

“You know, Potter, I could use a dancing partner tomorrow night. Pick me up at eight?”

His head snaps up, and he looks shocked before a goofy smile replaces the surprise on his face. “Er, yeah, alright. I mean, if you’re sure—”

Cutting him off, I put him out of his misery. “Great, see you then.”

The following evening, we’re walking into Alohomora, the most popular nightclub in Peckham. My friends and I frequent the club at least once a month. I love its mix of neons glowing amongst the blacklights and the worn leather benches framing the booths around the perimeter of the dance floor. It’s come to feel like a second home to me.

Dancing is an outlet for my frustrations. I love letting the music consume my soul as the loud thumps of the bass vibrate through my body as I spin on the floor. Tonight will be no different, except that James is with me. As my date. At least, I think he’s my date. Neither of us have actually talked about what this is.

“Wow, I haven’t been here in ages. Have they changed the layout recently?” James asks.

“Not that I can recall,” I wave his question off as I hear a number of people shout my name in greeting.

“I didn’t realize how popular you were here, Evans. I’m impressed.”

“Impressed by what? It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I have more friends than you three. I hope that doesn’t make you jealous.” My playful banter is accompanied by a smirk as James laughs.

“Me? Jealous? Of course not. Care for a drink first?”

“Sure.”

Usually, I’d prefer to dance a bit first, but I don’t want to drag James onto the dance floor if he doesn’t want to. I’m not even sure if he enjoys dancing since I’ve never seen him here before. He’s flagging down the bartender when someone calls to me.

“Lily! Hey, Lily!” Terry Fawcett is pushing his way through the crowded dance floor. “Wanna dance?”

He holds out his hand when he reaches me, but I shake my head.

“Sorry, Ter, I’m here with someone else tonight.”

James turns as he overhears the interaction and waves me on. He contorts his face in a weird, ‘trying to be chill, but still looks sort of pained’ way.

“It’s alright, Evans, go ahead.”

I’m taken aback. Maybe we really weren’t on a date. “But—are you sure?”

“Yeah, just save one for me later.”

“Oh, well, alright.”

My hand falls into Terry’s even though I’m not certain I want to dance with him. There’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’m not used to as I walk away from James. It’s ridiculous, but I think I’m actually disappointed that James passed me off so easily. And I’m just as mad at Sirius for even putting the thought that James might fancy me in my head because it’s all I’ve been able to think about since yesterday afternoon.

Well, there’s only one way to find out once and for all if he cares. Make him jealous.

I dance as I’ve never danced before when the music changes to an upbeat Latin tune. I spin around the floor, dancing with Terry before I’m passed off to other men that I’ve danced with once or twice in the past. It takes everything in my power to not steal glances at James, but I do catch when his baffled look turns dark as he begins to scowl at the men who are practically lined up to dance with me.

By the time he does walk out to the dance floor to cut in, I’m exhausted. He pulls me into his arms, but I’m still annoyed that he’s waited this long.

“Potter, I need a break.”

I pull away from him and walk toward the bar, where Sirius holds two drinks in his hands. I grab one and slam it down, shoving the glass into his chest once it’s empty. Then, I turn and head for the exit to get some air. It’s much quieter on the street, save for the ambient sounds of traffic in the background, a stark contrast to inside the club. I lean against the wall as I catch my breath and watch the cars go by.

The door to the club opens, and the music splits the night air as James steps out.

“Evans, what the hell was that?”

“What was what?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

What? Is he angry? Good. Let him be angry.

“You! You ask me to come with you, spend all night dancing with other blokes, and then when I try to cut in, you ditch me.”

A derisive bark escapes my lips as I push off the wall and step closer to him, matching his stance.

“Don’t you dare try to blame this on me, Potter. You’re the one who pushed me away! I would have been perfectly happy dancing with you all night, but no, you sat back and watched as I danced with everyone else.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do!?”

He can’t be serious right now, playing the victim and passing this onto me. There’s no way I’m letting him get away with this. I step even closer, thankful that my heels bring me closer to eye level with him, so it’s more of an even match.

“I don’t know, put your arm around me and tell the bloke to fuck off? That I’m taken?”

“Are you taken?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

Our breathing is heavy, chests heaving as our noses are a hair’s width apart. All I can focus on is the intensity in his eyes, the gold flecks burning like the flames in a fire. I wait for him to say something, or do something, anything except stare at me. I give him more than enough time, and he doesn’t make a move, so I decide that I’m done.

As much as I don’t want to, I break eye contact and turn away. I’m not in the mood to stay out, so I begin the walk home. James and I are friends, and that’s all we’ll ever be, but that doesn’t stop me from cursing Sirius for putting the thought that we could be more in my head. Because now that I’ve accepted the thought, I’m not sure I want to stay friends. But it’s clear now, this wasn’t meant to be anything special, and I was stupid for thinking it could be.

[hyucks-archive]

blooming.

word count: 6,721

genre: fluff, angst if you squint, and a dash of badboy!jaehyun

member(s): jaehyun, featuring johnny

warning(s): fictional depiction of achromatopsia

author’s note: i just really wanted to write a flower shop au, but somehow it turned into this

Blue.

The deliveryman checks through the delivery invoice once more, ensuring that all that is on the list has been successfully handed over to you. “All good,” he says, handing you the delivery acknowledgement slip. You sign in the designated area, passed the slip back to him, and gave a slight bow, “Thanks, Mr Kang,” you say, wrapping your fingers loosely around the last bunch of flowers. Daffodils, to be exact.

“Don’t forget, those are yellow,” he says, pointing at the daffodils in your hands.

You smile, “Thank you. See you next week!”

Slowly, and carefully, you place the daffodils into the one remaining empty vase that sat beside the purple delphiniums. Taking a step back, you smile in satisfaction, imagining and loving how the bright yellow daffodils probably perfectly complemented the deep purple delphiniums. You dust off your gloved hands, making your way back to the counter, where there were some stray craft and wrapping paper laying around, which you needed to clean up. Just as you slid the scissors back into the stationery holder, the wind chimes sound, indicating a new customer.

“Welcome,” you greet, plastering on your best smile. The male bows, “Hi there,” he says, waving.

“May I know what you’re looking for?”

He purses his lips, eyes browsing through the very many flowers that decorated the place. He hums in thought, “Different flowers have different meanings, right?” he asks, eyeing the vases of fresh roses that were neatly displayed in a row.

“Yes, they do. May I know who you’re getting the flowers for? Or if there is any specific message you’d like to deliver through the flowers?”

As he ponders, the wind chimes sound again, your attention averting to the second customer. To no surprise, it was Jung Jaehyun, with a baseball cap atop his head, his face barely visible. He looks at you, so you flash him a smile and a slight nod of the head, as a sign of acknowledgement. You inform the male in front of you, “I’ll be a minute,” before walking over to Jaehyun.

“Do you mind waiting?” you ask. He shakes his head. You gesture for him to follow as you lead the way to the mini waiting area located in the corner of the store. He takes a seat while you turn to grab a fine china tea cup and saucer, the prettiest florals decorating its surfaces. Lifting the teapot, the fragrance of its contents immediately diffuses into the atmosphere, your lips forming a pleased smile.

“Here,” you say, placing the cup of tea on the table, in front of Jaehyun. “Fresh chamomile tea.” He leans forward and breathes in the fragrance of the tea, dimples appearing on the lower right half of his face, the only area that was visible. “Thank you,” his voice deep and rich. Jaehyun watches as you return to the customer, whom was finally able to make a decision.

“What flowers should I get if I want to profess my love? You know, something that isn’t as cliché as a rose?” he says. You nod your head in acknowledgement of his sentiments, clarifying, “Is she a long-term partner of yours?”

“Actually, no. Not yet, at least. I was going to confess to her tonight, with some flowers.”

Jaehyun notices how your smile changes into one of confidence as you gesture the customer’s attention towards the vase of purple lilacs. “I’d suggest gifting her a bouquet of purple lilacs. Purple lilacs are associated with the beginning of new love, symbolising the first emotions of love,” you share, pulling out a purple lilac for the customer to get a closer look. He nods in understanding, taking a good look at the lilac, “It’s really pretty,” he commends. “Can you wrap it up for me?”

“Would you like to write her a message as well?” you asked as you lead the way to the counter.

“Yes, please. That would be nice.”

“You can pick a card from here,” you say, gesturing towards the variety of cards. While the customer looks through the different designs, you walk over to the waiting area. Jaehyun isn’t bothered, he simply continues to give you his full attention. Meanwhile, you retrieve another set of fine china, pouring a second cup of chamomile tea. Placing it on the table, opposite from where Jaehyun is seated, you called over to the customer, “Here’s a cup of chamomile tea. You may sit here while you craft the message.”

Jaehyun continues to watch as you begin to wrap the purple lilacs.

Pulling out the wrapping paper drawer, you scanned through the labels, taking out a piece from the ‘light purple’ pile. Grabbing a pair of scissors, you bunched the stems of the flower together, delicately trimming them to ensure that they are the same length. Jaehyun continues to stare, noticing how serious your expression is when you are focusing on doing the best possible job you could with producing the perfect confession bouquet.

Completing the finishing touches with a shiny purple ribbon, you held the bouquet of purple lilacs up, admiring and imagining how pretty it looks. Satisfied with your work, you looked towards the waiting area, where the customer was still seated, intently writing out what you assumed to be a heartfelt message for his soon-to-be significant other. You couldn’t help the smile that naturally forms at the thought of how a simple flower holds so much meaning, that it could bring two people together. Meanwhile, Jaehyun wonders the meaning behind your expression.

“Done,” the customer says, placing the card into the translucent lilac-coloured envelope. He finishes the chamomile tea, gets up, and heads towards the counter, handing you the card while he reaches into his pocket for his credit card.

“I hope your wish comes true,” you say, completing the transaction. He doesn’t forget to express his gratitude, “Thank you. I hope your business flourishes,” before taking his leave.

Jaehyun gets up from his seat, walking over to you. You were busy clearing the remains of the scrap pieces of ribbon and the stems which you cut off earlier. He leans his body against the counter, persistent in making it known that he is, and has been, watching you. You weren’t in the least bit fazed by this. Something about Jaehyun’s presence was calming to you.

Whenever you were with him, you are tranquil. Blue – represents peace and tranquillity. Maybe Jaehyun is your blue.

“Why? Don’t act as if you’ve never seen me wrap bouquets before.”

Jung Jaehyun – that’s literally all you knew about him. Other than his face, of course. You knew nothing of his background, nothing of how he even came to know about your shop, not even his hair colour. All you knew was that he’d stop by once every week. There isn’t even a day of expectance. He just comes when he wants to, and goes when he feels like it. You’ve never questioned him before, and you didn’t intend to, not anywhere in the near future.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen someone come in without a flower in mind,” he says, tilting his head to the side so that he could see you better. You didn’t even bother to look up at him; you already knew the smirk he had on his face, for no good reason whatsoever. “I didn’t know you knew the meaning behind flowers,” he continues. “Or were you just lucky you know about purple lilacs?”

With your back turned towards him, you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m a florist, Jaehyun. Of course I know the meaning behind each flower.”

Jaehyun doesn’t reply. A moment of silence later, you turned around, only to meet eyes with Jaehyun, who hadn’t moved an inch from his position. He was still slouched over the counter, staring at you. That’s when you noticed the cut on his cheek, the dressing on the wound on his forehead, and what you assumed to be a slight bruise by the side of his lip. You were stunned for a moment, but you were quick to recollect yourself, maintaining your calm and relaxed demeanour.

“No wonder you’re in a cap today,” you comment, looking away. You focused your attention to recording the sale in your sales log book, “I assume you’ve already applied ointment?”

“I came here so you could do it for me,” he replies.

“I can see the bandage on your forehead, Jaehyun.”

“Johnny took care of it for me yesterday. It needs to be changed,” he says. “Can’t you see the scar right here is already all dried up?” He points at the cut on his cheek, purposefully brushing his finger against it, feigning a dramatic ‘ouch’ as he slouches further, eyes glancing towards you for some form of a reaction.

You chuckled, reaching for the first aid kit that was kept in the cabinet below the printer. You gesture for Jaehyun to take a seat as you placed the kit on the table. “You’re always staring at me. What exactly are you looking for?” you asked, picking out the ointment, saline water, bandage, and cotton buds. “Nothing. I just like people watching, and you’re the only person here that I can watch,” he states, eyes still fixed on you.

Gently, you peeled the bandage off of Jaehyun’s forehead. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?”

With your vision focused on his wound as you cleansed it with saline water, you reply, “Is there a need for me to?”

“I thought you’d be curious.”

You contemplated for a moment. Were you?

“I guess I thought wrong,” Jaehyun says, interrupting your thought process. He looks away for the first time, looking past the variety of flowers you had on display. He shifts his head to the right a little, trying to get a better look at the flowers, but is forced to reposition his head with the gentle yet rough push on the cheek from you. “Stay still.”

Jaehyun’s eyes finds its way to your face once more, “Are there flowers with negative meanings too?”

You placed the bandage over his forehead wound, reaching for another capsule of saline water, “What kind of negative meanings?”

“Maybe a flower that represents your hatred towards someone?”

“Aconite represents hatred. Orange lilies represent hatred and disdain,” you say, finally finished with applying ointment on the cut on his cheek. “All done,” you say, throwing the used cotton buds and bandage wrappers into the bin. You placed the medicine back into the box, reorganising it a little, before closing the first aid kit and putting it back in its place.

“Maybe one day I should send bouquets of hatred to my enemies,” Jaehyun says, suddenly all smiley.

“Finally, you’re going to buy something other than a red rose?” you gasp, feigning astonishment. Another thing about Jaehyun’s weekly visits; he always finishes the night off by purchasing a single red rose. He never talked about who they were for, but you’ve never questioned him about it either. You were simply happy to be able to have a guaranteed sale even in the slower months.

“Who said I’d buy them from you? Can’t get your hands dirty by asking you to prepare all those nasty bouquets for me.” Jaehyun lets out a chuckle when he sees the smile that forms on your face along with the subtle shaking of your head upon hearing that. He watches as you pull out a drawer, his eyes darting down in curiosity. He notices how the entire drawer was so organised; everything had a specific spot, each of which, were labelled clearly. Although he has been here many times, it was his first time getting a look at what was in the drawers behind the counter.

“Wow, why did you label everything so specifically?” he questions, pointing to the label that read ‘light blue ribbons’, “Even down to the exact colours?”

“Huh? Oh, I just like to be specific,” you reply, quickly closing the drawer. Jaehyun picked up on the slight awkwardness in your voice, and he definitely took note of how quickly you averted the topic, “Shall I get you the red rose now?”

Jaehyun nods his head, so you walk to where the roses were placed. Counting from the left, the third vase housed the red roses. You pick one out, heading back to the counter to wrap it up with some silver plastic. You hand it over to Jaehyun once you were done, and he takes it from you with a smile. As usual, he places the cash on the table. As you collect the cash, Jaehyun takes the opportunity to take a good look at the henna on the underside of your wrist. Chrysanthemums, he notes.

“I guess I’ll see you next week?”

He meets eyes with you, nodding his head, “Thanks.” He waves the rose in the air, turns, and takes his leave. Pulling out his phone, he searches for the meaning behind chrysanthemums.

“Red chrysanthemums symbolise love, white chrysanthemums symbolise loyalty and honesty, violet chrysanthemums symbolise a wish to get well,” Jaehyun pauses, looking up at the mostly empty street. “Yellow chrysanthemums symbolise neglected love or sorrow,” he finishes. The image of the copper-orange chrysanthemum henna on the underside of your wrist flashes in his mind once more. The problem is, henna comes in only one colour.

“Which one is it?” Jaehyun murmurs.

Yellow.

Today was a slow business day. Initially, you were debating whether or not to just close the shop early, since it was already past four in the afternoon, a timing where it is extremely safe to say that no one will be purchasing flowers for the rest of the day. Instead, you find yourself seated opposite Jung Jaehyun at six in the afternoon, a pot of Osmanthus tea between the two of you.

“Don’t you like slow days like this?” he asks, watching people briskly walk by. You had your eyes on his cheek, half-focused on analysing how perfectly placed his dimple is, half-focused on whatever conversation you were having.

“Sometimes. Other times, I just really want to find an owner for all the pretty flowers here,” you reply, shifting your eyes to look around the shop. You can only imagine how beautiful the scene before you must be, but that’s all there is to it. Your imagination. You couldn’t help but lower your head, shifting your eyes to focus on your shoes.

“It’s boring, though,” he says, with a hint of what may have, or may not have been, a pout. You chuckle in response, “It’s because of slow days that you managed to learn and recognise all the different flowers here.”

“Maybe next time we should do something fun together. You know, something other than just sitting here, talking the night away?” Jaehyun turns to look at you, his smile soft and genuine. You often ponder upon the fact that Jaehyun is, what they term a ‘mafia’, yet there was the clear possibility that Jaehyun is a representation of what they term as ‘pleasant’. The two are obvious juxtapositions.

Whichever it is, Jaehyun’s smile had an effect on you. It makes you warm; almost hopeful. Yellow – signifies optimism and idealism. Is Jaehyun your yellow?

Jaehyun tilts his head to the side, waving a hand to get your attention. You looked at him, nodding your head, “Sure, why not?” You’ve never stepped out of your apartment, the florist’s, and the supermarket since forever anyway. Maybe this would be good for you. Maybe this is an actual opportunity for you. After all, the smile plastered on Jaehyun’s face as he stares at you, eyes gleaming with excitement at the sound of your reply, makes you feel yellow.

“Great,” he says, getting up. “I’ll take one red rose, please.”

Jaehyun takes note of the hyacinths on the underside of your wrist as you hold out the red rose, neatly wrapped. He looks up, flashes a smile, nods his head in acknowledgement, before turning to leave. “I’m looking forward to next week,” he says, waving as he leaves.

Once out, he pulls out his phone, searching up ‘hyacinths’.

“Yellow hyacinths symbolise jealousy, white hyacinths symbolise loveliness or prayers for someone, red hyacinths symbolise recreation, purple hyacinths symbolise asking for forgiveness, or deep regret,” Jaehyun reads aloud, brows knitting together. Again, it was inked with henna. There was no telling what colour you intended for the hyacinths to be.

Jaehyun knows well that you weren’t the type of person to simply choose a flower that you think is pretty. All of your actions and words always have a meaning behind them. There was just no possible way for Jaehyun to decipher these meanings without some form of a clue. It was beginning to frustrate him a little. He was beginning to doubt, if he really even knows you well enough.

He thinks about the hyacinths you had drawn on the underside of your wrist once more; why was there a compulsion to believe that they are meant to be purple?

Purple.

You’ve been anticipating. Every time the wind chimes would sound, you’d snap to attention, with only one person that you’d very much like to see walk through the glass doors of the florist’s. As each day dwindled by, you began to wonder if everything was just an empty promise. Now that it was Sunday, the last day of the week, you can only be affirmed that it was indeed, nothing but an empty promise.

Jaehyun hasn’t showed up. There is only thirteen minutes left before you’d close up.

And at that moment, the wind chimes whistles as the sudden rush of air tickles them. You whip your head in the direction of the chimes, the last 1 percent of hopefulness your motivating factor, only for the overwhelming rush of disappointment to wash over you. Nevertheless, he smiles sweetly, making his way towards you.

“I know that look,” Johnny says, facial expression filled with tease, “Are you disheartened that it’s me?”

“A little,” you admit. Johnny lets out a low chuckle, “Honest as always. It’s no wonder Jaehyun loves frequenting here so much.”

“Nah, he just comes for his red rose. I sell the freshest ones in this neighbourhood, you see.”

Johnny’s eyes widens, before he breaks out into a hearty chuckle. He shakes his head, “Honest, but lacking in terms of wit,” he comments. You glare at him, replying with, “Rude.” You knew what Johnny was referring to. You weren’t dumb. You just acted oblivious. No harm in that, right?

“Hey, as Jaehyun always says, and I quote, “Lost time is never found again.” You really never know what’s going to happen,” Johnny says, resting his hands on the counter. He leans forward a little, in a half-whispering voice, he adds on, “I know something’s going on here.”

You looked down, fixating on the counter surface. Johnny’s right. Something is going on here.

You didn’t need to be a genius to know that a guy doesn’t just frequent a shop weekly for no good reason. A guy doesn’t just sit and stare at you all the time for no reason. A guy doesn’t ask you so many expository questions for no reason. A guy doesn’t show interest in the things you do, and the things you like, for no reason. Still, Jaehyun’s thoughts, Jaehyun’s feelings, they are all pretty much a mystery to you. You’ve never felt like you had the right to question him, to know about him. You didn’t want to fall.

There’s something about you that nobody’s going to accept at all. Not even Jaehyun.

“Um, hello? I’m still here?” Johnny says, catching your attention. You had drifted off into so much thought you hadn’t noticed that Johnny had made a round around the shop. He steps back into the spot before the counter, in front of you. Only now, he had a single flower in each hand. They were both irises.

He holds them out, showing them to you. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were slightly stunned. You could feel the nerves building up inside of you, almost towards a mode of panic. What were you going to do? What is Johnny trying to do? What’s he going to say? How are you going to answer him?

And then it hits you; Jaehyun’s voice plays in your head, “You don’t have to control your thoughts. You just have to stop letting them control you.” You allow his words to replay in your head, again and again, like a recorder playing on repeat. Somehow, it was effective. You could feel the tension release a little, your heartbeat regulating once more. You couldn’t help the small smile that forms on your lips.

Purple – represents wisdom and spirituality. For who he is, and what he does, there were genuine pockets of time where Jaehyun didn’t seem like someone from the underworld. He seemed to always know what to say, no matter the situation. Maybe that is his magic touch? Maybe, he didn’t only teach you wisdom, he also taught you purple.

“Excuse me?” Johnny calls out. Once again, your eyes snap up to meet his. His features were slightly scrunched together, his lips forming a frown. An expression of slight… disgust? He raises a brow, “You need to stop zoning out on me like that.”

You shrug, apologising. Johnny quickly gets back on track with his queries, re-spotlighting the irises he held in either hand. “So, Jaehyun told me you know all the meanings behind every flower. Tell me about these two. They’re the same flower, but the colours make a difference, right?” He looks at you expectantly. You gulp, biting the inside of your lips on reflex. Do you take a chance? Gosh, heck it.

“Well, white irises are a symbolism of purity,” you begin, cautiously. As you spoke every word, you tried to gauge how on track or off track you were based on Johnny’s expression. He raises both brows; a bad sign.

“I meant these two irises,” he says. “Oh,” you reply, “I thought you wanted to know all of them,” you lie. But that’s good. One colour down, only three to go. You have a two-third chance of getting it right. Take the leap.

“Yellow irises symbolise passion.” Johnny nods in understanding. It’s fifty-fifty now. “And blue irises symbolise faith and hope.” Johnny deadpans. Shoot.

“I thought we understood I was asking about the meaning behind these two colours,” he says, turning to return the irises to their respective vases. “Right, purple irises symbolise royalty and wisdom,” you finish off. Luckily, it didn’t seem like Johnny had picked up on anything. He seemed to be riding on the idea that you were just overtly passionate in sharing your knowledge.

“Anyway, I’m here to get Jaehyun’s red rose,” he says, coming back to the counter. “And to let you know he hasn’t broken his promise, he just couldn’t make it today.” At that, you smiled, a burst of yellow. Is it possible? To go from disappointment to anticipation, in the span of the time it took for Johnny to say that one sentence?

Johnny is patient as you wrap the red rose. When you are done, he hands you the cash.

“Can’t wait to see you again,” he says, remembering to add, “Concealment makes the soul a swamp!” before rushing out the door, ridding you of the opportunity to say anything. Was that a jab at the avoidance of feelings, or something more? You let the curiosity go to rest, because you knew you wouldn’t be able to get any answers.

Johnny arrives back at the hideout. Jaehyun was already there, expecting his return. He greets his comrade with a smile and a shoulder bump, retrieving the red rose from Johnny’s hand.

“Did you get it?” Jaehyun questions, holding out his hand. Johnny smirks, “You’re lucky I am experienced with this kind of thing.” He pulls out his phone, unlocks it, and clicks into his gallery. He enlarges the latest photo he had taken, handing the phone over to Jaehyun. Jaehyun takes a good look at it – “Silver brunia balls,” Jaehyun identifies.

“What the heck is that?” Johnny questions, while Jaehyun had already keyed in his search.

“It’s a grey flower. It means chivalry.” Jaehyun couldn’t understand. Why chivalry, out of nowhere? Could it be that there was an encounter with someone chivalrous?

“Hey, but, do you know something?” Johnny says, tapping Jaehyun on the shoulder. The younger boy looks at him questioningly, to which Johnny continues, “As a distraction, I was just talking to y/n. Then I picked up two random flowers that were the same flower, just different colours. Held it out, and asked for the meaning behind the two flowers. I don’t know what it was, but y/n gave me the meaning of a colour of the flower that wasn’t even in my hand.”

Jaehyun raises a brow, “Maybe y/n thought you were asking for the meanings of all the colours.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what y/n said. Then I clarified myself, and y/n made the same mistake again. Like, is y/n just messing with me? That’s so weird.” Johnny dismisses the conversation, now that he was done with whatever he had to say. “Anyway, I’m going to shower.”

Jaehyun sits back down, staring at the red rose he was still holding in his hand. The more aware he became, the faster the inkling he had begins to realise.

Grey.

Jaehyun pops his head through the glass doors, the sunlight shining from behind him giving him the most ethereal look possible, but you could barely see him. When he shifts away from the light, you aren’t able to pinpoint it accurately, but you could tell he has on much lighter colours than he usually wore. His smile was bright, almost excited, his skin fully healed back to its flawless state.

“Are you ready?” he asks. You looked at him, expression blank. “There’s still two hours until closing time.”

Jaehyun enters the florist, speaking as he walks, “Come on. The sun is supposed to set early today.” He arrives next to you, tilting his body forward, his head aligned in your direct vision. His smile grows wider, eyes twinkling in cooperation, “Let’s go, hm?”

Within an hour, through your very dark, tinted sunglasses, you find yourself in awe of the gorgeous view Jaehyun has made known to you. The soothing sound produced by the gentle waves make you feel calm and at peace; blue. This is one of the rare moments where you can feel nature, where you can connect to it, where you can draw your own picture of it, imprinting it in the deep depths of your imagination. You smile, looking far out. You kind of love this feeling.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Jaehyun says, eyeing your expression.

“Very.” Your simple yet straightforward reply causes a spark to light in Jaehyun’s heart. Granted, you always have a smile on your face. But for the first time, you smiled because of him.

“Let’s go sit over there.” Jaehyun gestures towards a picnic mat that was all set up and ready. “You prepared that?” You take a step forward, towards the mat. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just a piece of cloth. I don’t want to get my butt dirty.”

You roll your eyes, removing your sneakers, setting them neatly by the side. You take a seat, hugging your knees to your chest. You really enjoy the feeling of the ocean breeze tickling at your skin. Jaehyun sits himself beside you, internally amused at how amazed you seem to be at everything. “Have you never been to the beach?” he asks, attention on you.

You contemplate for a moment. Did you want to be honest? Jaehyun probably deserves a little honesty, right?

“Yeah,” you admit. Jaehyun listens intently, as you continue, “I’ve read about it in books though. The glistening waters, usually in a light, beautiful hue of blue, the golden sand, the white rays of sunlight, the sunkissed skin of those who frequent the beach,” you look towards Jaehyun, “I’ve read all about it,” you finished, flashing a proud smile. Jaehyun doesn’t return the smile. He could only guess the reason why you’ve never been to a beach.

But you knew the reason best yourself. You’ve never felt that you had the right, nor the ability to be able to be in the presence of sights that are so beautiful, that can only be appreciated in its full, blooming form. You’ve never had the confidence to come to face a scenery that you would never be able to take in as it is. All your life, everything was pure imagination. But Jaehyun… he gave you the confidence, the minute hope that you were capable of painting the perfect picture.

Ridding the many reasons he’d listed in his head, Jaehyun reaches into his pocket, pulling out the bracelet he had gotten custom-made, as what he would like to believe as a gift for you. But a part of him knew, that it wasn’t a mere gift. It doubled as a test, a test which would dawn on him all the answers he’s been looking for. He takes in a breath, bracing himself.

“Give me your wrist,” Jaehyun says, holding a hand out. You look at him, raising both brows. “Why?”

“Just give it to me,” he says, gesturing for you to hurry up. You place your wrist in his hand, waiting patiently as he brings out his other hand from behind his back. Gently, he hooks the silver bracelet around your wrist, the fit just right, with enough room for breathability. Your mouth parts slightly, truly surprised. You weren’t expecting anything.

Holding one of the precious charms between your fingers, you looked closely, “Are these alstroemerias?”

Jaehyun smiles, nodding his head, “It’s so well done, right?”

You nod your head, inspecting all six alstroemerias that dangled from the bracelet. Alstroemerias comes in six colours – pink, red, orange, yellow, white, and blue. Did Jaehyun select six different coloured alstroemerias? Or were they all of a single colour?

Jaehyun anticipates, pursing his lips as he watches you look at every single alstroemeria charm. Your next sentence is probably going to give him the answer he needs. He waits, he sees you in thought, and he couldn’t help but feel that the answer was already clear. Which is why he isn’t even surprised when you say, “Why alstroemerias?”

You are a florist. Jaehyun knows that. Jaehyun also knows that because you are a florist, you’d know exactly what his gift meant, without having to ask any questions.

“Pink and red alstroemerias represents warmth and affection towards a friend, right?” Jaehyun spells it out for you. He doesn’t want to put you under any form of pressure of having to guess what colours the six charms were. He sees you nod your head, your grin widening, “That’s really sweet of you. Thanks.”

Jaehyun recalls all of the moments that had happened before, where the red herring was dangling in his face, yet he wasn’t sensitive enough to pick up on them.

Jaehyun remembers standing across the street, watching as you mapped out the exact placement of every type and colour of flower. Initially, he had thought you were simply overtly obsessed with writing everything down. Now, he realises you were memorising the placements. Jaehyun remembers the time he had visited in the morning, which coincided with the time the delivery truck would come. He recalls overhearing how the deliveryman repeated three or four times, that the last box of flowers, were white carnations. He had thought the deliveryman just didn’t want you to forget that you had one more type of flower that you’ve yet to put away. Now, he realises you needed someone to tell you, to know which vase the flower goes into.

Even the extremely detailed labels in the drawers; you didn’t put them there for organisation. You needed them there. And the incident with Johnny, the forever dimly-lit florist’s, the tinted sunglasses, they were all screaming at him. Even right at this moment, it is already night time. But, could you tell? Why hadn’t he realised it sooner? He’s so good at being observant, at predicting the moves of the other gangs, yet he was so bad at paying attention to the one person that means something to him.

Jaehyun sighs, running a hand through his hair, as though frustrated. You rest a hand on his shoulder, voice soft, “Are you alright? Is something wrong?”

“Yeah,” he says, forcing a tired smile. Touching your chin with his thumb and pointer, he turns your head in the direction of the ocean, “Enjoy the view.” You don’t think much of it. As you continue to get lost in the comfort of the atmosphere, Jaehyun calls, “Hey.” Without turning to look, you hum in response.

“I’ll take care of you,” Jaehyun says, his eyes taking in the entirety of your side profile. No matter the angle, he couldn’t help but love the way your skin illuminated under the moonlight, the way your eyes twinkled from the reflection of the lights, the way the side of your lips were almost always tugged upwards. He watches as your lips formed the words, “Is that a promise?”

“No. It’s a fact.”

Your body stiffens. You could tell from his tone. Jaehyun meant what he said, it is sincere, it is genuine.

Grey – security and reliability. The blanket of security Jaehyun had just cast; it was grey. Your eyes shift to focus on Jaehyun, who was looking straight at you. His expression was comforting. His presence was assuring. And even though you have always and will always only be able to see him in greyscale, his entire being has never felt greyer than it does right now. He makes you feel secure, his presence reliable.

You return the smile.

On his way home, Jaehyun searches up the meaning behind tulips, the flower that you had on the underside of your wrist this time round.

“Pink tulips symbolise happiness and confidence, purple tulips symbolise royalty, yellow tulips symbolise cheerful thoughts, white tulips symbolise forgiveness, red tulips symbolise true, everlasting love,” Jaehyun reads aloud. He locks his phone, sliding it back into his pocket.

“At least they’re all positive meanings this time,” he says with a small smile.

He couldn’t help but wish for the tulips to be red.

Red.

Henna was a part of your every Sunday routine. This week, however, you had allowed the tulips to fade, and you hadn’t replaced the henna with any other flower. The pink and red alstroemerias that hung off the silver chain on your wrist is decorative enough.

“Warmth and affection towards a friend,” you recite with a soft smile.

Your attention is attracted to the entrance of the florist, Jaehyun making an entrance with his usual sweet, comforting smile. Jaehyun had a bag slung over his shoulder today. He sets it down on the countertop, greeting, “Hello.” He pulls a stool over, taking a seat opposite you.

“I’m here to prove a fact,” he says.

“What fact?”

Jaehyun holds a finger up, a sign to wait. You nod your head, patient as he reaches into his bag, pulling out a device. It was a rectangular device. There were two buttons on the side. Jaehyun pulls the top quarter off, revealing a right-angled triangle jutting out of the device. On its body, there is also a circular pop up with lines, seemingly to be where sound would come out from.

“Judging by your facial expression, I’m assuming you have no idea what this is?” he says, holding it up. You shake your head, “What is it?”

A glint of excitement twinkles in Jaehyun’s eyes. He reaches into the side pocket of his bag, pulling out a rectangular strip of paper. You could see that the paper was divided into six equal boxes. You weren’t sure what to expect.

“Do you know what colour this is?” Jaehyun asks, referring to the strip in hand. You blinked a few times, about to answer, but Jaehyun doesn’t let you. “Watch this,” he says, almost giggling from all the excitement. He presses the ‘on’ button on the device. You watch as he places the slant of the triangular top of the device directly against a box on the paper.

“Very light blue,” the device reads. Jaehyun giggles, amused by your shocked expression. Jaehyun moves the device downwards, onto the next box. ‘Dark purple,” the device reads. You couldn’t contain the shock and interest the device has piqued. You’ve never seen nor heard of such a device your whole entire life. But, more importantly, if Jaehyun brought such a device for you, then…

“It’s so cool, isn’t it? Now you try.” Jaehyun places the device in your hand, “It’s black, by the way.”

You look at Jaehyun. From your gaze, he knew what you were thinking.

“I figured it out on my own,” he says. You nod your head, shifting your vision towards the device in your hand. “Go on, try it out,” he urges.

You place the detector against the counter top. “White,” it reads. You smile.

“It’s a talking colour detector,” Jaehyun explains, “Now you don’t have to always memorise everything. You can just use it to know what colour something is.”

“So this is why you suddenly said you’d protect me,” you say, resting the device back down on the counter.

“Of course not,” Jaehyun says, looking at you with a serious expression. “Just because you have achromatopsia doesn’t make you any less able than me. You’re still an independent human being.”

It was as though time had stopped for a few seconds. The eye contact you shared with Jaehyun. For the first time, red – the feeling of love.

Abruptly, you press the colour detector against Jaehyun’s left cheek. “Light pink,” it reads. Jaehyun pushes your hand away, scrambling up onto his feet, taking a few steps away from you. You laugh, thoroughly enjoying how flustered Jaehyun is.

“Pink symbolises love and romance,” you tease.

“Really? That must explain why you’re always pink in the cheeks around me,” he says, almost nonchalantly. He watches for your reaction. You scrunch your nose, hitting Jaehyun in the arm. He laughs, genuinely loving the reactions he’s able to elicit from you.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Jaehyun starts, refocusing. “I’m here to prove that fact.” He reaches into his bag once more, this time, pulling out an entire bouquet of roses. You scoff, brows knitting together in absolute confusion. Jaehyun holds it out in front of you, “This is for you.”

You scoff again, rolling your eyes. You weren’t sure if you should be laughing or offended.

“Jaehyun, more than half of these roses are dead,” you say, looking at the bouquet made up of three-quarters of dead roses, a handful of dying roses, and two relatively fresh roses. “Is this supposed to be romantic?” you question, in slight disbelief. Jaehyun seems unaffected, simply gesturing towards the talking colour detector, “Go on, find out what colour they are.”

You picked up the detector, pressing it against the petal of one of the fresh roses. “Red,” it reads. You immediately looked at Jaehyun. He had a shy, adorable smile on his face.

“Red roses are the traditional symbol for love and romance. Most of all,” he pauses, taking a step towards you. He isn’t extremely close, but he is definitely closer than he’s ever been before. Swiftly, he pulls you in by the waist, your bodies pressing against each other. You leaned your head back as much as possible, almost straining your neck, staring up at him with the widest eyes, and possibly, the pinkest face.

“The red rose will always be the best way to say ‘I love you’,” he finishes.

You are almost 100 percent sure he could feel your rapid heartbeat.

You didn’t know what to say. At least, you’ve uncovered the mystery receiver behind the single red rose Jaehyun would purchase every visit over the months. And you are definitely 100 percent sure that Jung Jaehyun isn’t aware that he is the only colour you needed in your world.

“Rose too,” you reply.

[artxyra]

The Secret Life of MDC | Part 5

Part 5 – Haha, wait you’re serious?

Fun fact: This rewrite was supposed to be five parts, but as I was writing and changing things, I have no idea how long this is going to be.

Parts 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

What a relaxing evening the couples group plus one was having. Everyone but Jon and Damian was wearing a disguise of some sort. Marinette in her usual lace netted veil, Chloe with her hair down and sunglasses on, and Adrien with a dark wig and punk clothes. It was never easy being out and open like this, but it was relaxing.

“I’m telling you, she’s not worth it.” Marinette states before taking a sip of her ice coffee beverage. She doesn’t know how or when their conversation regarding the upcoming gala turned into a revenge plan to reveal the liar that has made her life miserable back in Paris.

“Angel, she is making up stories about me. How can I not make her suffer any more than she had made you?” Damian asks taking her hand into his own. Marinette huffs unsure what to say.

“C’mon buggy, even Luka agrees with him. Let him take over for a moment.” Adrien comments showing the designer his phone with a series of messages from Luka on the screen.

Marinette still doesn’t reply. Instead, she looks up to the sky as of it hoping for a miracle. Nothing was working.

“Kagami even she said she’ll help hide the body. Just give me the okay and she’ll be on the next flight here or I’ll go get her with Kaalki.” Chloe adds in taping away on her phone as if she wasn’t paying attention.

“Absolutely not. Look, guys, we have three weeks left here and I don’t want to spend it worrying about the class despite being the damn TA for this exchange. I already need to finish the touch-ups on our dresses and grade like a shit ton of assignments.” Marinette groans leaning into Damian’s chest. He places a kiss on her forehead before resting his chin on her head.

“Why are you guys even like this?” It’s Jon’s turn to cry out in frustration. Everyone turns to him with an eyebrow raised. The half-Kryptonian should no better by now than to question anything his boyfriend and friends do. “Alright, alright, I fold. What do I need to do?”

“Stay my handsome hero.” Adrien absently adds swooning in Jon’s arms looking upward to the hero. Shaking his head, Adrien turns to Marinette and blinks. “Did I really just say that?”

Marinette tries to hide her giggles, nodding. However, Chloe didn’t even try to hide her laughs causing the model to blush.

“I actually liked it,” Jon says before placing a kiss on the blonde’s cheek furthering his blush to a deeper red.

“Ooh, Gami just replied back to me, she wants to see if we can do a movie night stream?” Chloe asks on behalf of her girlfriend. Planning movie nights are often frequent amongst the group especially when they are missing each other.

“I know my father wouldn’t mind, but depending on who’s staying at the manor tonight it might turn into a family affair,” Damian responds gently pushing Marinette off of him and stand up to stretch.

“She’s fine with that.”

“Good; I’ll message Alfred to set to the theatre room.” Damian pulls out his phone and immediately proceeds to message the family butler.

“You know he’ll probably send a message with an image of the theatre room decked out with pillows and blankets with the caption: already have, young master.” Marinette jokes but little did she know her guess was actually right.

Damian’s phone dings with a message from Alfred. It is indeed a photo of the theatre room with pillows and blanket gently piled together. Underneath the photo is the message “Already done, young master, just be home before dark.”

“How does he do that?” Adrien wonders before adding, “It’s witchcraft?”

“You know as well as my brothers that we still do not know that answer.” Damian murmurs sliding his phone back into his pocket. He then holds out his hand for Marinette to take as she pushes herself off the wooden bench.

“We should head back then…” Marinette is then cut off by her phone along with her blonde sibling’s phones simultaneously buzzing. The three Parisians grab their phones and see the answer.

It’s the Headmistress of Gotham Academy calling her. Confused, Marinette answers the call just as Adrien and Chloe read the variety of messages from the classmates or at least those that still have their numbers.

Damian and Jon look to one another cautiously. It’s not every day that the trio’s phone would go off especially when they are not in a group chat with the others. Damian takes a step closer to Marinette as panic rises her eyes.

When the call ends, Marinette takes a series of deep breaths. “First the Riddler and now this shit. They better be damn glad to stay on this trip once we find them.” Was the only thing that would come out of the designer’s mouth.

Chloe and Adrien stop reading. “Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.” This really draws two teens to their friends. Adrien stays silent which is unlike him especially when there isn’t a battle or around them.

“Um, care to fill us in?” Jon asks knowing that Damian would not as he tries to get answers from Marinette.

“Apparently Mlle. Bustier and the GA staff are losing their heads.” Chloe starts.

“Nino messaged me that something had happened after we left,” Adrien adds shuffling his feet against the ground.

“Yeah; Alya and Lie-la are missing. The headmistress says that no one has seen since we left and asked if we, more specifically I, knew about their whereabouts.” Marinette shakes her head, “Which I have no clue about. I’m not a sheep’s keeper.” The noirette sighs, face-palming.

“I guess movie night is off then.” Jon ponders.

“No, no, we can still find them before it gets super late. By we, I mean Robin and Superboy along with the Gotham’s miraculous team.” Marinette counters before anyone could get a word in.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Chloe asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, let’s just hope the liar’s big mouth didn’t get her in trouble with the Joker or any other Gotham villain,” Marinette grumbles as if all happiness crash and burned right in front of her.

“And here I have thought that after last week, they would stay on the down-low, but no~ they just had to disappear. This will really put a stick into Mlle. Bustier’s teaching qualifications.” Chloe groans as she starts packing her stuff up with looks ready to kill.

“I’ll see you in a bit, suit and all. I have damage control to handle before we make our next steps.” Marinette and Adrien give their significant others a peck on the lips. As much as Damian hates the veil covering her eyes, he knows the pain the reset inside them.

“I’ll talk things through with the family. Maybe even hack into the security cameras for some leads.” He whispers into her ear holding her arms. Marinette looks up to Damian and nods.

~*~

If those phone calls didn’t give light to the current situation, it would have been like walking into the middle of a war zone. Everywhere you look there were teachers asking questions, normally this would never happen to Gotham Academy, but when the exchange happens it like the school turns on its head.

Chloe, Adrien, and Marinette decided to split up. Adrien went to speak to Nino to see if he had knowledge of his girlfriend. Chloe sneaked into the security room while Marinette takes on her teacher assistant role to speak with Mlle. Bustier and the GA headmistress.

Marinette could tell how heated the conversation is from just a few feet away. The closer she got the more she could tell that Caline was sweating where she was standing.

“Marinette doesn’t belong in conversations like this.” Caline tries to get Marinette removed from the conversation the moment she sees the girl, but the headmistress wasn’t having that.

“Marinette is allowed to be here, Ms. Bustier, she is apparently the only one with the contact information regarding your students.” The headmistress states and it was true. Even though Marinette is technically the class representative despite no longer being a student of the school, she still holds vital information regarding the class.

“Hold on, you didn’t contact our parents?” Realization began to hit. “We were nearly killed last week and today, not even a full week since we have arrived, you have lost two students.”

“Marinette, you guys made it back safely, and I just didn’t have time to call everyone’s parents or guardians.” Caline is really trying to save face here.

“We’re in a whole another country. It is your duty to inform parents and or guardians about any situation, mishap, whatever happens to them.” Marinette nearly screams at the teacher. Anger could not even begin to be Marinette’s main emotion.

“I’m sure they’ll show up, Alya and Lila are very responsible.” Seriously? She cannot be for real.

“Mlle. Bustier,” Marinette takes a deep breath, clasps her hands together. “They can be killed here. I may not like those two but even I know the importance of safety here in Gotham.”

“Marinette, I’ll take it from here. How about you go help the others in finding the two missing girls.” The GA headmistress says placing a hand on the designer’s shoulder. Marinette calms down and nods. It was for the best.

Marching down the halls, everyone avoided Marinette. How could they not, she was a woman on a warpath. The Paris exchange students have never seen Marinette so angry before it was causing them to quake in their shoes.

Adrien was finishing his conversation with Nino when he joins Marinette’s side on the march to glory. Chloe had just finished up with the security room before she joined her crew. Together, the three exits the school grounds knowing exactly where they are heading to.

It was no secret that everyone knows each other identity between the Batfam and the Miraculous crew. So, when Alfred pulled up in a disguised car, with the window rolled down he simply raises an eyebrow. The trio gets in as the school just watches in shock. Nothing was making sense to them.

“So, I found that they did indeed leave minutes after we did. The cameras lost them upon walking across the streets towards this building.” Chloe states pointing to the screen with confidence.

“From what I had gathered from Nino, they had missed their check-in time at least three times before the flags were raised. As you know the class aside from us needs to check-in with the teachers at least once an hour after what happened last week.” Adrien then adds in.

Marinette nods before she turns to Tim, who was surprising on his fourth cup of coffee.

“Tim, what did you find?”  She asks before sliding a coffee flavor “health” bar over to the hacker. Tim takes it and slides the bar into his pocket.

“Let’s just say its not the Joker behind their missing appearance. We got Gordon on the lookout, but you know what they say when it comes close to nighttime here in Gotham.”

“Out of everyone, it had to be the two of them. If my job wasn’t also kind of on the stake, I would have just left them to figure it out and stay out of it.”

“You know that’s not true Mars; you love to save people even those who let deserves it.”

“Who asked you, Kitten, let him bitch about things that we know would never happen.”

If it wasn’t for the growing tension in the room, everyone would have burst out laughing.

“We got movement,” Jason calls out while cleaning one of his guns.

Everyone catches the other’s eyes before simultaneously nodding. It’s going to be a long night ahead of them.

Tag List: *View my Tagging System guidelines for how to to be properly tagged or removed.

Note: The SPECIFIC Tag list is officially closed. If you wanted to follow the story please mark the tag fic:The Secret Life of MDC.

Permanent Tag List: @vixen-uchiha | @i-is-mysterious | @kuroko26 | @maribat-is-lifeblood | @marinettepotterandplagg | @loveswifi | @ladybug-182 | @novaloptr | @elijahcrevan | @rebecarojas07 | @nanakeid | @mystery-5-5 | @sparkle9510 | @aestheticnpoetic | @toodaloo-kangaroo | @more-or-less-human-i-guess | @crazylittlemunchkin | @softlysobbingpostendgame | @purplesundaze | @fantasyloversblog | @susiej1118 | @chocolateherringtacofan | @tog84 | @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss | @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen

Unspecific Tag List: @g-arya | @jardimazul | @jeminiikrystal | @zalladane | @bluerosette23 | @dast218 | @midnighttreesgaming | @myazael | @pepelachanel | @storyecho | @urbanpineapplefarmer

Specific Tag List:  @virgil-is-a-cutie | @thejustmesimplyme | @mewwitch | @tamoni112 | @goggles-mcgee | @bb-basbusa | @mochinek0 | @schrodingers25 | @jessigurl-design | @constancetruggle | @shamefullove | @mindfulmagics | @scribblinggraveyard | @clumsy-owl-4178 | @captainmac6 | @vivilakitty | @sonif50  | @emjrabbitwolf | @northernbluetongue | @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl | | @zebrabaker  | @readinganawfullot | @thebananathatwrites | @hypnosharkrebeldreamer | @zerotosiki | @poshplumcot | @luciferge | @mariae2900 | @minightrose | @theatreandcomicfreak| @thequestionablyhuman | @thepeacetea | @never-neverland | @sassydepression | @multishipper1needshalp | @actual-disaster-human | @queencommonsense | @novicevoice | @vgirl-10123 | @lunar-wolf-warrior | @dahjokester | @ur-average-reader |  @gimme-more-caffeine | @reaperfeels | @interobanginyourmom | @elspethshadow | @my-name-is-michell | @redscarlet95 | @razzledazzle247 | @casual-darkness | @romanoff-queen | @7-sage-7 | @lily-codie19 | @two-faced-biatch | @spicybelladonna |  @heaven428 | @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry | @slytherinsheashire | @zazzlejazzle | @moonlitarchangels | @naclychilli | @dur55 | @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff | @scrumptiouslyelegantchaosqueen | @eliza-bich | @ravennightingaleandavatempus | @thestressmademedoit | @queen-in-a-flower-crown | @elmokingkong | @wolf-for-life | @hoodiewitaboggie| @tellmeicantdothis | @frieddonutsweets | @k-poplunardreams | @moonlightstar64 | @sam-spectra | @bigpicklebananatree | @how-to-fuction-properly | @spookiist | @fidget-eep | @loysydark | @books-and-left-behind-journals | @paradoxal-occurance |

[takuyakistall]

I recently re-read his Dorm SSR personal story here! A few questions and thoughts lingered inside my head as I read it and it collectively got worse when @poisonepel​ started questioning things too. Which ultimately led to me writing this down while running on half a brain cell and a spoonful of rice for lunch. This isn’t necessarily an analysis but more of just me questioning a lot of stuff. I already pointed out things that are already obvious so it might get repetitive. Placed under the cut since it’s a bit lengthy! I tried my best to be coherent in the very least.

Rook’s Nickname for Jade - Rook calls Jade “Monsieur Mastermind” and perhaps you’re already telling me right now that I shouldn’t look deeper into this since it doesn’t look like it matters anyway but let me tell you right now that I tend to overanalyze things when it comes to Jade. I find it a bit odd how Rook calls Jade the mastermind, presuming that we’re talking about the Octavinelle trio, when it’s often Azul that’s shown to be as such. Of course, it’s been revealed that Rook analyzes or stalks nearly everything that happens to catch his interest (Jade’s Gym Personal). So it’s safe to presume that his judgement is, if not entirely correct, accurate. “Your staple food, your habits, your walking speed, when you sleep, your heart rate, how many times you blink… those and many others I have recorded perfectly.” Just by reading this line alone I became pretty sure that he observed something deeper than that--which is his personality.

       The question is, why is Jade the mastermind instead of Azul? Why is Azul’s nickname “Roi du Fort” instead of being the mastermind? Well, it might be common knowledge but Jade, in a way, controls Azul despite what it looks like to the public which is Azul controlling Jade since he, as the higher authority, has power over him. I read a popular post explaining why Jade probably undertakes the role of a servant rather than taking the position for himself knowing that he has the full capabilities to do so. This will be explained further later in a different note.

What I’m trying to imply is that behind the scenes, Azul isn’t really the mastermind behind everything despite what it seems. It’s Jade who’s really in control of things, by picking up the act of a servant or butler. 

“If the entire hierarchy collapses just due to the absence of a single person, then that proves that they aren’t all as great as they seem.” - I just had the need to point this particular line out since it just seemed so… Jade. Everything about this line just screams out the same vibes he radiates, cold and severe. I know he’s faking the whole thing about having a falling out with Azul and wanting to join Pomefiore but I think it is true that without him, Octavinelle won’t nearly be as great from when he was still there.

First of all, He’s Octavinelle’s vice-dorm leader. Surely, being in such a high position, he carries a lot of duties that only he can do as the acting vice leader. There’s also the fact that he does it superbly than other people which is why Octavinelle is the way it is right now, it would be hard to replace him. They would have to look for someone who’s on par with Jade, in the very least.

Secondly, he’s somewhat an emotional pillar to Azul. Judging from their childhood and current relationship as of now, I like to think that a big reason why Azul is the way he is right now, is because of Jade and Floyd acting as his emotional support or whatever even though they insist that their relationship is purely just for business and will drop it if it’s no longer beneficiary to them. The main reason why I think that way is because of the Octavinelle CM which has a scene of Azul holding a bubble in between his hands. Inside the bubble were the twins in their eel forms. The next thing that happened--the bubble popped and disappeared, along with the tweels inside it. We could see the horror on Azul’s face when it happened in that scene and slowly led to the overblot scene which says a lot about how Azul views the twins. Have a more detailed explanation regarding their relationship here! Summary, Azul will lose his shit if Jade were to disappear. Now, where is Octavinelle in all of this? Probably a mess in the corner right there with their dorm leader not in his right state of mind. In short, Octavinelle will probably crumble under the absence of Jade. The reason why Octavinelle is still functioning under Azul’s command during this whole stunt Jade is making is precisely because Azul knew that it was all an act.

"Jade’s excellence in everything he does is renowned even among the Dorm Leaders. He might be a super secretary or something to be able to answer Azul's difficult requests." - Vil's words to Rook during their little talk about letting Jade into Pomefiore. This stuck out to me because back then I didn't really give this much thought but now that I'm re-reading this, it makes me wonder how good is Jade at his job as a Vice Dorm Leader? These words coming from Vil hold a certain weight I can't describe, for him to say that his excellence is renowned even among the Dorm Leaders and to be described as a Super Secretary.

For Jade to have earned this kind of reputation despite being in the land for only two years so far is quite a feat! I would've expected less from someone else but this is Jade we're talking about so, ignoring his terrible weakness in flying, I can assume that Jade worked hard for him to have reached this kind of performance level in such a short time. To be recognized by almost all of the Dorm Leaders isn't an easy feat.

Jade as an attendant - During his first day as Vil's attendant, Vil mentioned how off-putting he is from the fact that Jade was almost too good for someone on their first day. "You managed to get on such friendly terms with the stuffy and straight-laced people of the industry in such little time; and you were also perfect when it came to helping out with the shooting. You've worked much harder than I thought you would." His words. I think this is due to the nature of Jade's silver tongue, which is being able to speak in a way that makes other people do or believe what you want them to do or believe. It seems very fitting for a character like Jade.

Because of the recent personals that got released for Jade, namely the Birthday SSR, they talked about family there and it got me thinking quite a bit as to how Jade can speak so eloquently especially now that I've read that he managed to get on the good side of people who are probably way older than he is and straight-laced, no less. He vaguely mentioned their family background when he was telling a story from his childhood and said how different people would come over to their party and offer them presents. I'm assuming that these people are possibly older than he is, judging from the fact that one of them attempted to give the twins liquor despite them being at a young age, and I thought that maybe Jade grew up used to being surrounded by adults to the point where he picks up a lot of speech patterns and habits. Which inevitably leads to what he is right now. Nothing is confirmed yet, this is a mere thought I had.

Jade's past with Azul - It's briefly mentioned here in the story. Jade mentioned how there weren't as many mer-folk as there are humans so they were all basically put in the same class together during elementary school. Azul didn't catch his interest back then, it seems. He mentioned not being able to remember the very reason why the three of them—Jade, Floyd, and Azul—ended up together currently in Night Raven College.

I am genuinely curious as to what actually made the twins interested in someone like Azul. Correct me if I'm wrong but they did mention it in Chapter 3, right? Was it the growing interest when they finally took notice of Azul using his unique magic on basically everyone who fell into his trap? Someone tell me the details if it was ever mentioned, my memory is failing me.

“Tenebres” - The shoe brand Vil wanted to get his hands on but unfortunately did not obtain, particularly, the Mirror Shoe. "Tenebres" apparently only sells their products to people who they deem worthy for designs, even the designer themselves has yet to make a public appearance as they are shrouded in mystery. Vil didn't have enough time to acquire it but, surprise! Jade Leech has somehow managed to get his perfect hands on the pair of red shoes Vil wanted so much. Frankly enough, Vil was impressed he managed to obtain something he could not—alone, no less.

This is just me pondering but this particular line made me wonder, "Heh, they did some at the cost of a bit of trouble. No matter, how about you try these on instead of dwelling on the matter?", to what lengths did he actually have to go through to obtain just a pair of shoes? Or rather, what connections does he have to be able to obtain this so easily and brush it off with a mere, "cost of a bit of trouble" when clearly Vil already expressed the difficulty in obtaining these?

Another note I have to make but not completely sure if it's relevant is his family. As I've said before, they mentioned that they deal with a lot of people due to the nature of their business and that made me wonder if the designer/owner of this certain shoe brand is one of them? Perhaps Jade was able to easily contact them because of connections his family has although Floyd's wish in the event Stars & Wishes contradicts this possibility.

In Floyd's wish, he mentioned wanting a pair of shoes and Idia immediately asked him why he couldn't just buy them. Floyd answered with a simple, "I can't usually get them." Because of the price. Which, again, contradicts my theory about the Leech family being connected to the shoe brand. Although! Vil did mention how the shoe brand only sells it to people they deem worthy. Perhaps, Floyd isn't…? No—it still wouldn't explain how easily Jade got the shoes and had the brand get Vil a job there as an ambassador. Surely, that isn't due to just any normal connections anymore. Definitely shady, I want to know more.

Jade is in control - As I've said earlier, Jade is somewhat in control despite playing the role of a servant. Prime example is when Vil told him his throat was parched, Jade immediately acted upon it fully knowing what his original intentions were. He gave Vil a drink that the Mostro Lounge was apparently serving without having Vil question it further and even went as far as to let Jade take a picture and post it—even he decided the caption for the post! With a simple flow of events just like that, Jade has managed to manipulate Vil without him knowing. He did it all while taking in the role of a servant and that in itself says a lot about how he does things

I think it's worth it to take note of the fact that Jade does not like bringing attention to himself and merely brushes it off as mere shyness of some sorts when really, all he wants to do is lay low and draw as little attention to himself. It makes his job easier that way—perhaps that's the reason why he lets Azul take the spotlight all the damn time.

Another thing to take note of is something I saw from a post in Tumblr which basically sums up the whole reason why Jade is always adopting the butler persona wherever he goes. It's because he likes to be in control that way—you'd let down your guard around him and let him serve you. You want a drink? He'll serve you a drink but-! He is in control over what you will get. That's exactly what happened in this exact scene, Vil waltzed right into the center of Jade's palms.

Vil never noticed - I'm not saying Vil is dumb, because he is most definitely not. Although through the very end, I don't know if it's just because Vil got carried away with the feeling of achievement taking over him due to recent events but he did just brush away the reason why Jade was in Pomefiore in the first place and let him go away peacefully, "So long as he doesn't bare his fangs at us." In other words, Jade managed to outsmart Vil and possibly, Rook.

This is probably one of the reasons why I am confident enough to say that Jade truly is one of the most cunning bitches in the entire game because this whole ordeal just pretty much proved it.

Aftermath - There we go! We got an explanation about how Jade managed to manipulate and use Vil for his own gains err, in this context, probably Azul's. When Jade took a picture of Vil with the drink and posted it, he did it with the intention of taking advantage of Vil's popularity and viewer reach. Jade expressed his thankfulness when he mentioned how Vil saw him as "useful" perhaps his reputation prior helped him reach his goal? 

Azul praised Jade with something along the lines of "As expected of you, Jade. You're the best Night Raven's College has to offer when it comes to sneaking into another's pockets after all." Which really just backs up some of the statements I made earlier about how Jade manipulates people by letting people let their guard down around him while thinking they're the ones who have power over Jade when clearly it's not as simple as it seems. Azul mentioning that only Jade could pull off something like this just puts me off for some reason but I'll leave it be for the time being.

After that, Jade and Azul had a conversation that started with Azul asking him if he had any difficulties during his stay in Pomefiore and if he had any troubles keeping up with Vil. Jade, jokingly(?), responded that it was nothing compared to Azul's demands and orders and his time at Pomefiore was actually a vacation of some sorts for him. Which really makes me wonder what jobs does Azul usually give him if this one was somewhat of a break for Jade? A task that seemed impossible to Floyd, Jade said it was a vacation. It's a bit frightening but I guess that's his charm? Hard-working is one way to put it. 

That's the end of my Dorm SSR mini-analysis, I guess! Thank you for sticking with me till the end even though a lot of these might be repetitive. I'll probably add more depending on future brainrot but for now, this is fine. Feel free to tell me what you think about this!

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Morning Routine (Jung Wooyoung) Rated

Part Two

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung × Reader (Female)

Genre: Smut, Fluff.

Summary: Seeing an advertisement online in need of a camera handler, Wooyoung jumps at the opportunity, not knowing his employer is a renowned camgirl.

Word Count: 4.3+K

Warnings: Exhibitionism, voyeurism, nude taping, masturbating in shower, breast play, a rather tamed smut

Taglist: @seacottons @multidreams-and-desires @galaxteez @deja-vux @yunhofingers @little-precious-baby @brie02 @couchpotatoaniki @daniblogs164 @a-soft-hornytiny @yunsangoveryonder @minhyukmyluv @nanamarkie @mingismoon @ateezbabysitters

▩━━━━━━▩━━━━━━▩━━━━━━▩

"Wanted: Experienced photographer/Camera Operator for personal/private filming. If interested, please contact number below for more information or details. Students majoring in said field are welcomed to apply. 19+ only."

Seeing the advertisement, Wooyoung's eyes popped up. Usually most jobs wouldn't even allow people without a degree or years of experience. And it would be perfect practice that didn't include boring or basic projects his professor would often assign, not to mention a little extra money would come in handy.

Not thinking twice about it, he quickly dialed the phone number listed and waited patiently as it rang. It took a while, but eventually someone on the other side picked up.

"Hello?" He discerned that it was a young female's tone.

"Hi! I was calling about the advertisement for a camera man?" He inquired.

"Are you 19 or over?" She immediately asked for his age, which slightly confused him. But thinking about it, he kinda understood why she might want someone older. After all, teenagers weren't exactly reliable or responsible when it came to taking on a job. She probably wanted to avoid them dipping out on her randomly.

"I'm 21 and very serious in my work." He assured her, already making it clear his intentions to be committed to the job she was offering.

"Hmm...I take it you probably haven't had a lot of experience outside of college right?"

Wooyoung slightly gulped as she discerned correctly. But she did say students were welcomed to apply and he was fairly confident in his skills.

"N-no but I can assure you that I'll work hard and meet your expectations."

There was a deep and defeaning silence that had Wooyoung worrying. He could already feel her hesitation to hire him or give him a chance. He was so worked up on being rejected once more that the slight giggle that ensued after that pause momentarily confused him.

"I like your attitude and drive already. What did you say your name was?" She asked.

"Jung Wooyoung." He answered right away.

"Well Wooyoung, how soon can you start?"

His mood lightened up quite significantly at hearing her say those words.

"If you'd like, I can come over to the location you wish after I get done with my classes tomorrow." He offered.

"All right, just one thing....... do you think you'd be able to stay over at my place for a few nights?"

Although he thought it was a rather unusual request, he didn't put too much thought, especially since someone was offering him a chance to actually have some work.

"Um.. of course."

Unbeknownst to him, the woman on the other side had her lips curling up into a smirk.

"Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you real soon Wooyoung."

▩━━━━━━▩━━━━━━▩━━━━━━▩

Checking the direction that was sent to him, Wooyoung looked at the corresponding number on the front door to make sure it was indeed where he needed to be. Adjusting the bag that was hanging by his shoulders, he slowly walked up to the vintage style house and rang the doorbell. Hearing the soft patter of footsteps coming from inside, Wooyoung mentally prepared himself to see a middle aged lady carrying a Siamese cat as soon as the door opened. But he was not prepared by the sight awaiting him. Indeed there was a cat in the arms of the figure in front of him, although it was a Persian cat and not a Siamese, but that wasn't the most surprising factor. What shocked him was to see a very young woman near his age be the one holding the cat in her arms, her face illuminated by the warm smile she was donning.

"You must be Wooyoung. I'm Y/N." She extended her hand out towards him, prompting the feline in her grasp to shuffle around and climb part of its body on her shoulder. Judging by the slight crinkle of her nose, Wooyoung guessed the cat probably clung its claws into their master's skin.

"Yes I am. It's a pleasure to meet you. I promise you won't regret hiring me." Taking hold of her hand, he gave it a firm shake while his face radiated the most reassuring smile he could make.

"Oh trust me, I don't think I'm going to." Her lips formed a rather curious smirk that slightly baffled him.

She gestured for him to step inside, which he immediately did as he tried to ignore the slight hissing the Persian cat gave him when his shoulder barely made contact against its swaying tail.

"Baby stop. He's going to be around for a while so be on your best behavior." She chastised her cat as she closed the door.

Y/N let out a soft 'hmph' when the cat suddenly jumped out of her arms and ran over to where Wooyoung was standing. He got stiff and held his breath when the cat pressed her nose on his leg and began sniffing him. Pulling back, she licked her lips and then scurried off somewhere in the other part of the house.

"Well we know for sure she doesn't dislike you." Y/N chuckled slightly.

"But I take it she doesn't like me?" Wooyoung raised an eyebrow.

"She's a cat, it'll take time for her to get used to you, that's all."

Shrugging softly, Y/N walked over to the kitchen and started taking out a few cups and saucers from the cupboard.

"I was brewing tea before you got here, would you like to share a cup with me?" Removing it from the stove top, she held up the elegant teapot to him after she finished her question.

"Oh, thank you." He gladly accepted her gesture.

Noticing him standing there awkwardly, Y/N pointed to one of the chairs surrounding the kitchen island.

"Wooyoung don't be too tense and just make yourself comfortable. After all, you're going to be staying with me for a few days."

Her words reminded him about that particular part of the job, that still felt odd to him and he was very curious to find out why she needed him to stay over with her.

"So.... can I ask what exactly is this project you're hiring me for that requires me to stay here?" He asked as he pulled a chair forward so he could sit on it.

"Oh yes, I thought you'd probably ask me about that since it is rather unusual."

She paused briefly so she could properly pour the tea into the cups, the rich aroma filling the atmosphere with its notes of chamomile and lemon. After sliding a cup over to him, she turned behind her to grab a tray that contained sugar cubes, honey, steamed milk and a few lemon wedges, all in different saucers or dishes that matched the tea set that they were currently drinking in. The cute floral design amused Wooyoung slightly. He could tell Y/N seemed to have a thing for classy and vintage style aesthetic, her house and the things inside was a major clue to it.

Pouring a tiny teaspoon of honey and some milk in her tea, Y/N carefully stirred them in the cup before finally answering the question Wooyoung had been pondering over.

"Well to make a long story short, I wish to film an everyday vlog for my....channel." Lifting the cup to her face, she gently blew on it before taking small sips out of it.

"Channel? Like for YouTube or like that?" Wooyoung himself started drinking his own cup of tea, preferring not to add anything to it since he liked straight tea as it was.

"Yeah something like that. But basically, I wanted to show my viewers how I live and what not. Show them what I do inside my home that they hadn't seen before. For example, I wanted you to stay over because I wanted to film my morning routine. I want to capture every move I make from the moment I wake up to when I get ready to start my day. Am I making sense?" She worried she was probably confusing Wooyoung even further, but he was actually not. It had become a popular trend this day to document a person's morning routine for people to see.

"Yes you are, no worries. Now I understand why you needed me to stay over." The smile he had was half covered by the cup that was brought back over to his lips.

"I mean if you're uncomfortable by it or would rather not, I completely understand."

Wooyoung quickly dismissed her worries, shaking his head as he cleared his throat.

"Trust me, I'm not uncomfortable and I'd love to help you in your project. It'll help me out as well, you know, gain experience and have someone to put as a reference if I ever want to get another job."

Y/N giggled softly at that and nodded.

"Ahh yes. I guess if you look at it from that angle, of course you would accept."

They spent a few minutes in a serene and tranquil silence, the only noises heard was the sipping of their lips against the rim of their cups. Wooyoung tried not to notice the way Y/N would occasionally stare intently to him, a slightly curious grin on her face at times. It wasn't that it made him uncomfortable, but it certainly made him self conscious, especially since he put a lot of effort into looking as presentable as possible. Did she perhaps thought it was too much? Or not enough? Or was it because she thought he looked funny? Whatever it was he got no chance to ask about it since he only opened his mouth to let out a sharp yell when he felt a certain feline's claws tangled themselves on his thigh, the sharpness of her claws even sinking into his skin.

"Baby!" Y/N got up from her seat and quickly removed the paws of her cat off her guest. She looked extremely embarrased as she apologized profusely before shooing the cat off to another room.

"I'm sorry. She tends to get a bit aggressive when trying to play. She didn't hurt you too much right?"

Dropping down on her knees in front of him, Y/N gently examined the damage done: a slight tear in his jeans but no visible signs of a deep scratch or anything.

"N-no it's fine, I'm fine." Wooyoung uttered.

He tried so hard not to blush at the position she was currently in. On her knees, between his legs as one of her hands caressed the attacked spot in an effort to soothe the pain. Wooyoung wanted to smack himself right then and there for the dirty picture his brain had imagined about the semi stranger in front of him, and his cheeks started to produce a pink hue when his body involuntarily started making a visible effect of his reaction to her stance by him in between his legs. He gulped as he realized she would be able to see the bulge that was starting to show.

"If you want, I could mend your pants for you-"

"No that's fine don't worry!" Wooyoung stood up from his seat and inconspicuously hid his tiny problem by pulling his sweatshirt further down as he moved away from Y/N.

"I mean, these pants were old. I was going to throw them out anyway." He tried as much as he could to seem as normal as possible, but judging from the look on her face he was probably not doing a good job. Luckily she seemed to not question his behavior and instead decided to start cleaning up the dishes that they used.

"Here let me help you with that." Wooyoung offered, trying to take some of the china off her hands but Y/N pulled her hands back so he wouldn't touch them.

"It's ok, don't worry about it. You're my guest and I'm very particular about the way to clean my silverware and dining sets. Nothing against you, I'm just.... slightly obsessive compulsive." She remarked in the most cheerful tone one could have while giving him a shy smile.

"Umm ok..." Wooyoung scratched the back of his head.

"If you want, why don't you bring the rest of your stuff so I can show you where you're staying?" Y/N suggested.

"Yeah. Sure."

Wasting no time and thinking keeping his mind occupied could help cool him down, Wooyoung picked up his keys and nearly sprinted out the door. Y/N hummed a soft tune to herself as she ran the cups under the lukewarm water. Her eyes were staring out her window, watching as her guest was head deep in the back of his car's trunk. She giggled softly as she remembered the flustered look on his face just a few minutes ago, tongue poking out at the image of his crotch outlined in those tight jeans of his. She looked down when she felt a soft face nuzzling itself against her ankle, soft purring coming out of her cat's throat before letting out a meowing noise. Bending down, Y/N gently scratched under Baby's chin as she liked.

"Yes I think he is absolutely adorable as well Baby.."

Picking her up, Y/N kissed the top of her head and smirked.

"And I'm going to have lots of fun with him."

▩━━━━━━▩━━━━━━▩━━━━━━▩

"Ok you ready?"

Looking over at the girl still in her bed, Wooyoung got a thumbs up to let him know she was indeed ready. Turning on his camera, he held up his hand and started putting one finger down at a time to count down the starting time. Hearing the slight beep of the camera go off, Y/N immediately plastered on a commercial worthy smile.

"Hello my darlings. As I promised you guys, I'm going to take you guys through my morning routine step by step. I hope you all enjoy it." She finished off her words with a wink before tearing off the blanket off her body.

Wooyoung had to give it to her, she definitely didn't seem to be camera shy nor awkward in front of the lens. He liked that she had confidence. Then he remembered that she had a channel of some sorts and that was probably the reason why. He stepped back a few steps to fully capture her as she neatly tucked her covers under her mattress, impressively folding the corners of her bed like they did in 5 star hotels. Smoothing out the top before patting it down, she looked at the camera once more.

"As you already know, I like to make sure everything looks absolutely pretty for you guys." Her voice dropped slightly in tone as she said those words.

Getting up from the floor, she pointed over to her still sleeping cat that was perched on its bed by her window. Wooyoung made sure to angle the camera towards her, zooming in slightly.

"She won't wake up for another hour or so....perfect amount of time to get all clean and dolled up."

Beckoning him over, Wooyoung carefully followed her inside her adjoined bathroom, keeping a steady hand as he made sure to capture everything inside. From the long vanity with its mirror to the walk in shower with its clear glass lining, all of it looking spotless and shiny. Clapping her hands together, Y/N beamed with enthusiasm.

"And of course, the first thing I do each morning is wash up."

When he heard that, Wooyoung thought she meant like her skincare routine as he had noticed her cleansers and toners perfectly lined up next to the faucet sink. But he was not prepared to suddenly be hit with the image of her bare chest in front of him when she suddenly pulled her black satin tank top off and let it drop to the floor, his own jaw going slightly agape. As if he couldn't get anymore flustered, he nearly wheezed when she turned around and bent over to slide her matching pajama shorts down her smooth legs, her ass staring him right in the face. It took everything in Wooyoung's strength not to drop the camera when Y/N stood back up and turned around so that her completely nude body would be in the frame. She giggled as she took notice of Wooyoung's beet red face, further teasing him as she kicked her discarded lace panties by his feet, the poor boy swallowing hard as one of his hands shook nervously.

"Eyes up here baby." He immediately looked up from the ground when he heard her sweet and sultry voice.

Walking over to him, Y/N snaked one of her hands to grab at one of his belt loops so he could follow her. Opening the large glass door to the shower, Y/N released his belt loop and made a sign for him to stay there and keep the camera towards her. Stepping inside the enclosed space, she twisted the knob on the tile wall enough so that the shower head above her would start pouring out the refreshing and cool water onto her body. She released a soft moan when she felt it splash onto her, hands gliding down her torso and thighs as her eyes closed and reveled in the tingling and cooling feeling of the water dripping down on her.

Wooyoung stood there completely speechless and flabbergasted, his eyes unable to blink the longer he stared at the scene before him. It felt completely wrong to be there, to watch and film as this girl he just met the day before stand naked in front of him and continue her shower routine as if he wasn't even there. He just couldn't believe it, couldn't believe what he had gotten himself in to when he called and accepted to work for her. But he still accepted and he had a job to complete so he tried his best to look as composed as possible as he kept the camera pointed at her.

And yet more often than not he found himself biting down on his lip hard, trying to suppress the groans threatening to spill out as he continued to watch her as she did the most normal things a person often did while they took a shower. The camera captured every minute starting from when she lathered her head with her shampoo, its scent of coconut and hibiscus filling the entire room with fragrance that further made the tight feeling in Wooyoung's pants ache even more. His eyes were exclusively locked on her body, watching as the water cascaded down her soft skin, focusing especially on her breasts. He licked his lips as he took in the way her nipples peaked out due to the temperature of the water, wanting nothing more than to take one of them in his mouth and suck on it. The fact that Y/N would purposefully bring her hands up at times to cup or rub against her fleshy mounds wasn't helping his case, it only made him more sad that it wasn't his own hands touching and caressing her breasts. He was willing to bet they were probably the most soft and squishy pillow like tits to exist.

Wooyoung was really aching when she poured some of the pomegranate scented body wash into her sponge and began to distribute it around her body, starting from her arms and working them down her legs and between her thighs. He didn't mean to but he couldn't help himself as he fantasized about being him the one who was lathering her body, imagining all the things he'd do if he could. Like perhaps teasing her by grazing his fingers across her wet folds or even pressing his thumb down on her sensitive clit. Either way, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her if he got the chance, but he doubted that would ever happen. So he decided to take what he could of the moment and perhaps use it for fap material when he was alone.

As if knowing exactly what he was thinking about, Y/N turned her body to fully face him and smirked. Sliding her hands up her torso, she took hold of her breasts and gave them a tight squeeze before releasing them. Wooyoung could not help the audible whine that spilled out from his tongue as he saw her repeat the same action a couple more times. Pressing her boobs together, her thumbs played with the hardened nipples, tweaking at them and even giving them slight pinches every now and then. Wooyoung knew she was doing it on purpose, trying to arouse him even further....and it was working perfectly.

With one hand kept on one of her breasts, the other one snaked its way in between her luscious thighs. Dipping one finger inside her entrance, her lips parted and began spilling out breathy moans as she started to slide her finger in and out of her body.

"Oh fuck..." Wooyoung muttered, not caring about if his words got recorded or not. He became too invested in watching as Y/N continued fingering herself in front of him. She looked absolutely exquisite, body drenched in the rippling water as she continued to stuff her pussy with another one of her fingers. Her eyes shut tightly and her head tilted back as she let out even louder whimpers when she began scissoring inside her fleshy core. Her hand that was on her breasts pulled away to twist the showerhead knob so the pressure of the water could be at its lowest setting. Without the intense sound of the splashing water, her strangled noises became more audible as well as the slopping and squealching sounds her dripping pussy was making due to the intensity of her rapid finger movements. Wooyoung could clearly see and hear that the sounds were definition not due to the shower she was taking. Y/N was definitely horny and the slick her heat collected was clear evidence of it.

Having someone as hot as Wooyoung not only watching but helping her film something that thousands of other people would see, and more likely than not jerk off to, made her weak. She loved having people watch her do naughty things as she was doing now, it thrilled her and riled her up even more. And she loved seeing the effects it had on others, like the obvious bulge in between Wooyoung's thick thighs. She could practically make out just how big he was given how painfully hard his erection seemed, and that image served to help push her over the edge. With high pitched whines and cries, she shuddered as she felt herself cum all over her hand, her fingers slowing their movements down to help prolong her orgasm without making her become overly sensitive. She panted heavily as she took out her fingers and brought them up to her lips so she could lick off the secretion left from her climax.

Wooyoung's tongue poked out as he witnessed the pornographic image of Y/N drinking up her juices as if it was a delicious and sweet dessert.

"It probably is and it only makes me crave to have her smother my face with her pussy even more." He mused inwardly to himself.

He was so lost in his fantasy that he didn't notice Y/N had completely turned off the water and finished until her breasts were displayed right in front of the camera lens. He let out a soft stutter when her hand came up and pressed the pause button, being careful not to drop any water onto the camera.

"I'm going to finish drying myself off in my room so you can have some .....alone time." She snorted softly as she passed by him, her hand brushing against his crotch which made Wooyoung hiss softly.

Grabbing the towel that was hanging on the wall, Y/N wrapped it around her body, tucking it in so it wouldn't fall down. Stooping over, she picked up her lace panties and looked back at Wooyoung.

"Here, in case you need a little help." She flung it over to him, which he catches in his free hand.

Wooyoung stared at the underwear and then at Y/N with a dumbfounded expression.

"So I take it this is why you specifically wanted 19 plus people?" He quirked an eyebrow up, one corner of his lips pulling up into a knowing smile.

"Yes. I might as well mention now that I'm a camgirl with a porn channel." She explained.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out when you flashed your boobs at me."

They both bursted out laughing at his little joke.

"Ok but seriously, are you sure you're comfortable with all this?" Y/N asked.

Wooyoung looked down at her before looking back down at the panties in his hand.

"I'm definitely going to be hard most of the time, but I think I'll be fine." He assured her with a mischievous smile as he set down his camera on the vanity dresser. With a sly smirk, he began unzipping his pants, not missing any of the facial reactions she was making as he began to pull his cock out of its confinement.

"I mean, I got up close fap material with an actual pornstar. What guy wouldn't want my job?" Cocking his head to the side, he rubbed the tip of his dick with his thumb, spreading some of the precum down the shaft. Although she had said she would give him alone time, Y/N couldn't move her feet out the door as she stared intently at the way Wooyoung hugged his length.

"Wanna watch me jerk off with your panties to your image?"

Stepping forward, Wooyoung reached up and pulled the towel off Y/N's body, causing her to inhale sharply at his bold move. Sucking in a breath, Wooyoung shamelessly looked down at her body as he placed the hand that had Y/N's panties around the base of his cock.

"Just stay there and don't move beautiful...."