#simply because of proximity

[tinyclowndancer]

Part 2

This is Doctor Casper Darling, formerly of the Federal Bureau of Control. I think this signal is coming through now, are you receiving me?

Something shifted, the previously observed interference disrupting my broadcast is gone. A fluctuation in gravitational forces. Either something moved out of the way, or my relative position to it changed the alignment, and or the condition of this whole plane spiraled to a more favorable position.

The ordinary rules of reality do not apply here. The best I can describe this place is as a dreamscape. But who is the dreamer?

And how do you wake up from this dream?

[authenticity2025]

When a relationship is birthed out of convenience or proximity or chemistry alone, it is bound to fail. We need more than a person’s physical presence to maintain a meaningful connection, but we routinely keep people around because… well, simply because they’re already around. The Minimalists, Everything That Remains

[silverspadesss]

okay. not for broadcast ramble as suggested in a previous post. bear in mind i have not played the timeloop yet so maybe some of this is contradicted by that BUT.

there’s something about julia and megan as foils to each other and being women in the 80s in an industry that was so male dominated and having to change themselves accordingly to get ahead, at the expense of their male counterparts. how they both became more like the person they’d lost, julia trying to be the friendly, entertaining one like peter as well as the smart professional one, megan becoming more jaded and less tolerant just like jeremy. only julia actively tried to achieve this persona whereas for megan it just sort of happened. but megan had no role in the loss of jeremy, she only had to deal with the aftermath and it was that that subconsciously shaped her that way. whereas julia was directly responsible for peter’s death and this new persona she had to take on was a consequence of it. these changes were a punishment and a constraint for julia, while for megan they finally helped her feel freer.

the similarities between peter and jeremy too. both at one point the best in the business at what they did, trusted and adored by the nation, by no means perfect and extremely rough around the edges but able to get away with it because they were men and less criticised for everything they did. they both had a commitment to the truth and valued honesty above all else, and part of their tragic downfall is them realising that they’d failed people and lost sight of the truth - peter’s guilt over not being able to stop the bombs, jeremy’s breakdown when he realises that he’s contributed to the news’ downfall. they both truly were, as alan says, ‘too honest for politics’. and because they’re less scrutinised for their shortcomings they have room to fully express this value and cling to it till the end. megan and julia however, are in a more precarious position, and this increased outside scrutiny coupled with their ambition makes them willing to be more flexible, go along with things a bit more if it will help them succeed.

it’s also interesting how jeremy at the beginning is shown to feel threatened by megan’s rise in her career but peter is only ever shown to have embraced and encouraged julia, especially in bits of your life. he wants julia to succeed and does his best to make sure she is respected as she deserves, a length not many men of the time, especially peter’s time, would have gone to. he’s a dab hand in entertainment tv and so he reassures her and helps her through her uncomfortableness, and julia clearly values his presence a lot. peter admires julia and is proud of what she’s achieved and what they’re going to continue to achieve together - his smug smile when he casually tells eamon he just insulted ‘the next prime minister’!!

anyway idk if any of this makes sense but these characters make me SO. i could ramble about them forever, especially julia. let me inside that woman’s head

[theradicalace]

the frustrating thing about pokemon go is it doesn't really account for people who like. don't have friends.

[fadeintolight]

pont pont vesszőcske

[inga-don-studio]

Dragging my sorry carcass out to do stuff I know I'll enjoy for my stupid mental health

I know I'll have a good time but I don't have to be happy about it

[wistful-pigeon]

Since introducing my girlfriend to Good Omens and her seeing the word "ngk" I, too, read it as "Nachine Gun Kelly" every damn time I see it

[mantisgodsdomain]

Gonna post about our iterator OC now. Fun fact: Unit of Radioactive Decay's umbilical arm has significantly less range of motion than other iterator models, including other iterator models from their generation!

It prioritizes delivery of water and nutrients to their puppet over movement, which makes it a good bit clunkier than other arms - almost all of the joints in there can only bend one way, and the few that don't are only two-way, unlike an arm like Pebbles that more or less lets him bend however the fuck he wants.

In general, they tend to prioritize having parts that are easily maintained or replaced over anything else - kind of a necessity for them, but some of the people who originally dreamed them up would have an utter heart attack over the sheer number of substitutions present in their structure by now.

[macabremiss]

I truly think that some people (for whatever reason) do not know what it is to share a space with another human being respectfully.

ppl are rlly trying to defend being on your phone during a movie in the theater what is going on

[austin-friars]

So far, i'm writing a series of queer poems and then a series of feminist/women centric peoms. especially, observing how women in history were treated.

[malvenor]

there's like a thousand posts about it on this site but it bears reiterating that the reason a lot of Americans will specify which state they come from rather than simply saying that they are from the US is simple. it's because, despite the relative physical proximity, someone from Massachusetts and someone from New York are basically two wholly different breeds of person. and neither is human.

[greengoblinswifey]

girl we need more fics about inho pls your writing is soooo good 😮‍💨

You Belong With Me— The Front Man/Hwang In Ho x Fem!Reader

summary— The Front Man grows protective of you and removes you from the game, keeping you safe in his private quarters. A deep emotional connection forms between you and your bond deepens in more ways than one.

warnings— age gap(reader is 20, he’s in his 40s), fingering, oral(m!receiving), praise kink, hair pulling, unprotected sex, creampie.

a/n— thank you, hope you like this <3

In the dead of night, you woke to the rough grip of two guards hauling you from your bunk. You tried to scream, but a hand clamped over your mouth, silencing you. They pulled you down the cold hallways, the walls echoing with the sounds of their pants and your cries. You had no idea what was happening until they stopped before a door you hadn’t seen before. The guards pushed it open, and standing on the other side was Hwang In-ho, the Front Man, the one they had told you they were taking you to. He looked down at you in his mask, unreadable expression, his voice cold and commanding as he spoke.

“You voted out,” he said, his voice steady, “but the majority has decided to stay. You won’t be going back. You’re staying with me now.”

Confusion flooded your senses. You’d voted out to escape the nightmare, but now you were here, in front of him. The air shifted as he noticed your fear, before he spoke again, “You’re safe now. No one will hurt you.”

The guards released their hold on you, but you didn’t move. Fear kept you rooted to the spot. “I don’t understand,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. “Why me?”

In-ho’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, then his tone shifted, becoming softer but more firm. “Because I won’t let anything happen to you.” He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “You’re too precious to be out there with them.”

You stayed quiet, still unsure of what was happening, but something about his words made your heart race—not from fear, but from the strange pull he had on you. He was being protective, almost possessive, and it made no sense. But you were too tired to fight it, too drained from everything you had already been through.

For the following days, you remained with him. In-ho wouldn’t let you return to the game. You slept in his room, far removed from the others, under his watchful eye. Every time you tried to ask why, he would simply tell you, “You’re safe here. No one will harm you.”

He never let you out of his sight for too long. During the days, he would be nearby, always watching, ensuring you were comfortable. His protectiveness only deepened as you became more and more accustomed to your new life under his care. You didn’t argue, after all, there was something oddly comforting about his presence, even if it unsettled you at the same time.

One evening, as you rested on the bed, In-ho approached you. His mask was off, and his sharp features were illuminated by the dim light. He crouched beside you, his dark eyes scanning your face making your breath hitch.

“You’ did well,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. His fingers reached up, gently brushing a few curls from your face, tucking them behind your ear. The simple gesture was so intimate. He was so close now, his warmth radiating off him as he spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve kept you here because you belong with me, away from them.”

His fingers lingered on your hair, his touch soft but firm. You didn’t pull away. Somehow, his proximity, the way he seemed so protective of you, had a strange pull. “No one will ever touch you again,” he added, possessively. His eyes never left yours, and there was a coldness in his tone that let you know he meant every word.

A part of you wanted to resist, to ask more questions, to demand to be let go. But the way he spoke to you, the way he cared for you, made it hard to find the strength to push him away. He hadn’t hurt you, not like the others. Instead, he had kept you safe.

“I don’t want you to go back,” he said softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek, “You’re my sweet little angel. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You looked up at him, not sure how to respond. But with him, the world felt a little less dangerous. The game, the chaos, seemed far away, as if they didn’t matter here, in his presence.

“You’re not going back,” he repeated, his voice firm, yet his gaze softened. “Not while I’m here. You belong with me.”

And in that moment, you understood that there was no escaping this, no going back. You were his now, and he wasn’t going to let you go. You stayed by his side, no longer a part of the game, but under his protection, whether you wanted it or not.

He leaned down, his presence overwhelming as his lips brushed against yours. It was soft at first, a gentle, almost hesitant kiss, like he was testing your response. You felt his body against you, his hands slowly moving to your back, pulling you closer. The touch felt unfamiliar yet comforting, and after everything that had happened, you melted into it, craving the sensation of being cared for, of being wanted.

His lips trailed down to your neck, and you gasped, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. He paused for a moment, his breath hot against your skin, before finding that sensitive spot just below your ear. A small hum of satisfaction left his lips as he nipped softly at your skin. His hand, still firmly on your back, slid lower, his fingers brushing against your waist before moving gently, teasingly lower and into your panties.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured. “So wet already, just for me.”

You felt his fingers rub gentle circles on your swollen clit, his touch light but electric, making your breath hitch. He paused, as if waiting for your response, his eyes searching yours for permission. “Just let me make you feel good,” he whispered, his voice tender yet firm. “It’s just us here. You can trust me.”

You felt a thick finger slip inside your pussy, the action making you press your lips together so you wouldn’t make a sound. He chuckled then moved back to your neck, licking and nipping as his fingers explored your pussy.

“Your pussy gets wet for strangers, doesn’t it?” he teased.

You whined and hid your face in his neck but he used his free hand to tilt your head to look up at him.

“I’m only teasing angel, and you’re my kind of woman either way,” he murmured.

His finger began thrusting and curling, finding the spongy spot inside you that had you writhing underneath him. He used a thumb to rub circles on your clit, the pleasure unlike any other you had felt. You grabbed his hand, as he increased the pace, feeling something build inside you. Were you really about to cum for him? He slipped another finger inside, curling and thrusting as the sound of your wet pussy filled your ears.

“Cum for me sweetheart, be my good girl,” he said.

You weren’t sure what you wanted anymore, but there was something in his gaze, something comforting in the way he pleasured you, that made it easy to let go and cum for him. The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you in that moment, where you could be pleasure and safe all at once.

“F-feels so good,” you finally whispered, your orgasm taking ahold of you.

“I know baby, I know,” he retorted, “I can make you feel even better.”

In that moment you didn’t know what he meant. What you did know was that you wanted to make him feel good too. Return the favor in the only way you could.

You could feel his gaze burning into you as you gently unbuttoned the top he had given you to put on that day, your heart racing. You paused for a moment, looking up at him, feeling a slight hesitation. His voice was calm. “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes soft but intense.

You nodded, keeping your eyes locked with his, your breath catching in your throat. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your chest.

Slowly, you let your movements flow as you continued to undress, your fingers trembling slightly, but you felt a rush of anticipation. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl as he took in every detail of your naked body.

You moved closer to him, your eyes never leaving his as you slowly began to unbutton his shirt. The action felt intimate, yet there was something thrilling about it. His breath hitched slightly as your hands moved lower, and you felt the heat of his body against yours as you slowly began to undress him.

“You're incredible,” he said softly, his voice filled with admiration. As you knelt before him, your gaze remained locked with his, and you felt a surge of confidence. His hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “You're so beautiful,” he repeated, his voice filled with awe.

He took off his boxers, his hard cock springing free in front of your face. He was so big and thick, the biggest you’d ever seen. With shaky hands you took ahold of him, slowly stroking as his eyes fluttered shut. You spat on the tip, using your thumb to spread your saliva along with the pre cum that had oozed out.

“That’s it, you’re a fucking natural,” he praised.

With your eyes on his, you slowly wrapped your plump lips around him, taking him into your mouth. You slid your tongue along his girth, suctioning your lips to give him the utmost pleasure. He hit the back of your throat and you let him settle there for a second before sliding your lips back up to the tip.

“Fuck, that’s it, just like that,” he moaned.

You licked the tip, savoring the taste of the salty pre cum before slowly taking him half way. “All the way down,” he growled. You went lower, taking his cock into the back of your throat as his fingers tangled in your curls. You began bobbing your head, breathing through your nose as your eyes teared up. He stared down at you, his lips apart as his breathing grew heavier. You were a sight for sore eyes, curls framing your face, tears brimming your eyes, pre cum and spit dripping down your chin and your mouth full.

“You look so beautiful like this, such a good cocksucker,” he murmured.

At his praises you began bobbing your head faster, sliding your tongue all over his shaft. Each time you went down, the tip slammed against your tonsil and he let out breathy moans that made your pussy throb.

“Fuck angel, I’m gonna cum in that pretty mouth,” he groaned.

Your hands went to his heavy balls, massaging them then moving down to take each into your mouth before moving back up to his cock and sliding your lips across the shaft.

“Here it comes, take all my cum in your mouth like a good girl sweetheart,” he said.

You suckled on the tip, stroking the base as you felt the unmistakable feeling of his hot cum shooting in your mouth. You stroked him through it then took him down your throat, swallowing his cum.

“Good girl, such a good girl,” he cooed.

He pulled you up, his hands immediately all over your naked body as he kissed you. He flipped you over so that he was on top of you, his dark eyes piercing yours. He leaned down once more, his lips pressed against yours then his tongue slipped inside your mouth. As his tongue sucked on yours, you felt his hard cock press against your pussy.

“Reach down and put my cock inside you,” he panted.

You did as you were told, your bottom lip going between your teeth at the pure intimacy of the moment. You took ahold of his shaft, dragging it up and down your folds as you moaned before pressing it inside your hole. Just the tip of his cock inside made you feel full and you gripped his bicep to ground yourself.

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as his cock deepened. “Tell me how good it feels,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. You could feel your orgasm building inside you, and though every inch of your body was alive with pleasure, you focused on him.

“It feels so good,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. He moaned softly, his hands gripping your waist tighter, guiding you with each thrust.

His lips trailed over your skin, kissing your neck, his teeth grazing gently as he picked up the pace. “You’re perfect,”’he murmured between kisses, his hands never leaving your body, his touch firm but gentle. “So responsive. I can't get enough of you.”

He kissed you deeply, his lips taking control, his tongue gently exploring as he moved above you. Each thrust brushed against your g spot and sent a shiver down your spine, you responded instinctively, your hands gripping his back as your body arched toward him. The rhythm of his movements was steady but increasingly intense, and every thrust felt more intimate than the last.

“Cum for me,” he urged, his voice husky. “I need you to cum on my cock.”

Your nails dug into his strong arms and he held you close, your pussy soaking his cock as your release washed over you. He kissed your forehead, guiding you through your high as you let out soft whimpers.

As he hovered above you, he whispered softly, “Get on your hands and knees.” His hands brushed your back as you obeyed, fingers lingering as he praised you for how perfect you were, how much he appreciated every moment with you.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, his tone dripping with admiration as he watched his cock disappear inside you. “I’ve never felt a pussy like this.”

His hands moved to your hair, fingers tangling in the coils as he pulled you closer, not in a harsh way, but with a sense of possession, as if he were claiming you. Each time his cock disappeared inside your pussy, you couldn't help but moan softly at how deep he was at this angle, the sensation of his cock sending waves of pleasure through you.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. His hands roamed, squeezing your ass, the praise never stopping, and it only made you ache for more. “I can't get enough of you.”

The combination of his words and the feeling of him so close to you made your body tremble, your moan louder this time, unable to contain the pleasure that built up within you. “You feel incredible,” he murmured again, his touch firm, guiding your ass back to meet his thrusts. He watched as your ass bounced against him, you were so sexy. A masterpiece.

You could hear him breathe deeply as he continued, his admiration never wavering. “You’re everything I’ve wanted,” he whispered.

He rolled his hips to meet your ass then leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “Cum with me,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be enveloped in the moment and you couldn’t hold back anymore. You creamed all over his cock, feeling a wave of warmth and satisfaction wash over you. Right after, you felt his cum fill your pussy.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice full of adoration as he collapsed on the bed and pulled you close. “You’re perfect,” he said, his hands brushing your curls back from your face, caressing you softly. His touch was possessive, yet kind, as if he wanted to protect you from everything.

“You belong with me,” he whispered.

[sammaggs]

"my house is an hour away"

3x10 Perfect Strangers | Distance

Unlike Americans, who measure colloquial distance spatially (eg. “I’m only 5 miles away,” “It took me an hour to drive 10 miles,” etc.), Canadians, for the most part, measure colloquial distance temporally (eg. “I live two hours away from Toronto,” “My house is three hours to the border,” etc.)

When the speed limits are 100km/hr on every highway, it gets real easy to divide distance up by hours instead of by clicks.

Fraser does it here in Perfect Strangers in a little throwaway line about the distance of the alleged perp from his victim at the time of the incident: he says Buffalo is “only two hours” from Toronto, instead of the American “only 100 miles.”

Fraser is closing the distance between himself and Ray here physically and conversationally, bringing Ray into his own way of thinking about distance and time.

Quiet Canadiana in due South [One] [Two] [Three]

[sweemmy]

⋆｡ﾟEveryone expresses jealousy in their own way; some choose subtlety, but these three don’t hesitate to be clear and direct when it comes to what they want. ﾟ｡⋆

— VI, Caitlyn, and Sevika.

VI.

When someone dares to invade your personal space, Vi doesn’t hesitate for a second to step in, positioning herself right by your side. Her proximity is a silent, yet powerful declaration: you’re with her, and she doesn’t need words to make that abundantly clear.

She crosses her arms with an air of determination, a faint furrow forming between her brows, as if she’s measuring the other person, calculating every word, every movement. If the tension lingers, her posture stiffens, gradually transforming into something more formidable, like a storm silently gathering inside her, though she strives to maintain a composed exterior, a mask of calm.

She can’t help but release one of her signature remarks, dripping with sarcasm. As the other person speaks, she leans closer to you and, in a whisper sharp enough to be heard, she quips, “Oh, wow! Didn’t know you started a fan club. When did you begin signing autographs?”

Vi doesn’t do subtlety when something bothers her. If the situation gets under her skin, she’ll make it known. She pulls you closer with an unmistakable, possessive gesture—her arm wrapping around you, her fingers intertwining with yours, or without a second thought, she plants a kiss on you, making sure everyone nearby knows exactly where your heart belongs.

Later, when the noise fades and the world quiets down, she gazes at you with a special kind of gleam in her eyes, absentmindedly caressing your hand. With a sigh filled with emotions, she confesses—though clearly reluctant—that she simply can’t help herself when it comes to you.

CAITLYN.

Caitlyn remains calm, but her body language speaks volumes. Her head lifts with a quiet pride, and her posture straightens, radiating a silent authority that requires no words.

Her gaze never wavers, as if she’s evaluating every word and gesture, absorbing even the slightest detail. The conversation flows, yet there’s an ever-present tension, as though she’s measuring the truth of every action, searching for any hidden threat.

Rather than interrupting, she gently touches your arm or wraps her hand around your waist, guiding you with a tenderness that’s still unwaveringly firm. It's an invitation to focus entirely on her, a subtle yet commanding gesture. Her touch is never abrupt, but always resolute.

If the other person misses the signals, Caitlyn has no hesitation in steering the conversation with a seemingly casual remark, but one heavy with meaning: "Don’t you think we could use a little space here, darling?"

When the tension finally ebbs away, she pauses for a moment, then smiles at you with a hint of shyness. "It’s nothing," she says, "it’s just... I don’t like sharing what truly matters to me."

SEVIKA.

Sevika is an enigma, her behavior often difficult to decipher. Yet, when jealousy takes hold of her, her gaze becomes icy and defiant, and her words turn sharp, almost cutting, especially towards the one who has earned her ire.

She places you behind her or by her side, deliberately positioning herself as a physical shield between you and anyone who dares get too close.

When tension fills the air, words are unnecessary for her to express discontent. Her mere presence is enough to make most people take a step back, feeling the weight of her quiet authority.

If she feels the need to intervene, it's done decisively, without fanfare. In a low, dry tone, she might simply say, "Are you done here? Because we don't have all day."

In private, she'll share her frustration with you, but in a way that's brief, honest, and possessive. "I don't do drama, but I can't stand fools who don’t know how to respect boundaries. You're mine, end of story."

[riddlesrose]

kissin him stupid

w/ the housewardens

in which you were recently gifted a tube of lipstick from grim, you're unsure of where he got it or why he decided it's yours now but it's given you a fantastic idea.

(he probably stole it from vil somehow and wants to place the blame on you..)

note; malleus' is the shortest but the most full of love i swear to goooood but the post itself is quite long

if riddle could form a proper sentence right now, he might scold you for slacking off, or breaking rule six hundred and seventeen, or he may just ask you to do it again. if colours could speak, his face would scream in comparison to the red accents in the housewarden’s room, uniform and matching hair. 

you attempt to keep a sober expression but he seriously cannot be so flustered by a single kiss? the red lip stain on his cheek is bright against the flush of his cheeks, as he sputters vowels and consonants, attempting to speak, to protest, to ask you what in the queen’s name are you doing.

you invited riddle over to the ramshackle dorm under the guise of needing help with studying, but you had this motive the entire time. riddle could feel your rebel to his help and directions if he ignored the obvious fact you hadn’t even cracked the spine of your book yet (to be fair it was only assigned today, and it was a new book), and the devious smile you attempted to hide until now. 

riddle took a breath, finally feeling sensible enough, “what… was that.” 

“affection, riddle. this isn’t new.” you shot, tone dripping in sarcasm. 

“yes, my rose, i know that. i mean,” he grabs hold of your uniform tie, drawing you closer, “what’s with the lipstick?” your head probably could have exploded, where did this riddle come from and how can he be drawn out more often?

you press a swift kiss to riddle’s other cheek, thanks to the proximity. “i have no explanation,” you press another kiss onto his forehead, “i simply was gifted it,” a kiss to his temple, “this morning.” the grip riddle has on your tie loosens completely as it falls back onto your chest, slightly wrinkled from the force. 

“i just had this ironed!” you frown. 

“i-i’ll get it done again.” riddle stands, brushing invisible dust off his jacket, though nothing could distract from the shade of pink that covers his face. 

“you’ll iron my tie for me? how kind.” you wrap an arm around riddle’s waist, pulling him close. he drops his forehead against your chest with a thud, inaudibly mumbling to himself. 

you wrap your other arm around him as he takes your face between his hands, slightly squishing into your cheeks he drags your face to his height, kissing you feverishly. 

“where did this riddle come from? i like him.” 

“i just felt… bold i suppose.” riddle’s red tinted lips smile against yours.

“do it again!”

leona stirs underneath you. you’re sat, straddling either side of his hips, weight pressed on his defined torso. leona doesn’t know it but you’ve practically trapped him where he sleeps. where he’s asleep currently, that is. in your dorm. 

on your couch.

using your pillows, taking in the setting sun like a true feline, though you would never dare utter the word feline anywhere near him lest you face the wrath of a moody boyfriend. 

you silently laugh to yourself, leaning down and pressing your lips on the prince’s temple.

leona stirs again at that, attempting to roll over – he cracks an eye when you gasp. slowly, coming to his senses, he furrows his brows at your positioning. you weren’t there when he fell asleep, when did you do that, and why are you sitting on him with half of a sinister smile across your lips…

and when did your lips turn red? he brings a hand up to rub his face, trying to shake the sleep out of his fogged mind, but you catch his hand before it makes contant. 

“don’t, it’ll mess up all my hard work,” you say with a half hint of embarrassment. (just a hint; only because you were caught before you could slip away undiscovered.)

leona’s confusion increases, as he detaches your hand from his wrist. he takes his freed hand up to your lips and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, smudging it further across the line of your lip.

he inspects his red finger, “is this… lipstick?” you purse your lips in an attempt to stifle the laugh that bubbles in your chest. he looks ridiculous; eyes half lidded, nose crunched in focus and red marks painting his face.

your tinted lips curl upwards slightly into a smug grin, “maybe?” if leona knows one thing, it’s smug grins. he matches yours and wipes his thumb on your cheek, smearing the lipstick off his thumb and onto your skin. 

you playfully swat his hand away and lean down to continue painting your masterpiece, placing another kiss on his skin – onto the spot between his eyebrows. leona’s hand find your hip, giving a teasing pinch to the side. 

leona may be a prince used to some pampering, but this is some treatment he could get used to. 

azul has a finger in every pie, as riddle likes to say. you’re very much aware of that as your boyfriend likes to talk your ear off about his investments, new opportunities and the lounge. you’re so very proud of all of his hard work but sometimes he gets off on a tangent that doesn’t stop until you make him. usually with a kiss. it flusters him just enough that he forgets what he was going on about and it works every time. 

this time, however, was a bit different. azul didn’t take notice of the hue change of your lips as you leaned in and shut him up. drawing back, you snicker at his pursed lips and flushed cheeks, and the red lipstick smeared around his lips.

azul peeked in your direction, curious. you usually find it funny when he’s flustered like this but you were laughing a little too much. he noticed the messy red lipstick and furrowed his brows, wiping a finger across his lips. 

you suppressed a smile as you watched him curiously examine his stained finger, “it’s lipstick.” he concludes. 

“well… obviously? i thought that would have been pretty clear,” you grab his hand, wiping the red off of his finger. 

before azul can retort you lean in to kiss him again; anywhere you can get your lips on before he shells himself away, utterly embarrassed. a kiss to his cheek, jaw, forehead, nose, other cheek, forehead again, has him sputtering, almost begging to be released. 

azul places his free hand on your shoulder, trying to push you away while laughing between breaths. when you do back up, leaning back on your hand, he almost looks sad. (as if he wasn’t actively trying to get you off!) 

“so, mister ashengrotto? feeling loved and appreciated yet?” you give him a toothy grin, watching as his face contorts from flustered to even-more-flustered. (if that’s possible.)

“well yes! i dare say i’m feeling very valued and cherished as well.” despite his rosy features, his voice is unwavering, full of conviction. 

his confident, put-together outer layer completely melts away when you’re alone with him, but this has him absolutely on fire, a feeling no number could replace. numbers can’t give affection, you give it tenfold in their stead. 

kalim’s permanent grin widens when you claim you’ve got a gift for him. he expectantly holds out his hands, making you shake your head. 

“it’s more of an eyes closed kind of gift,” you start, kalim instantly squeezes his eyes shut. he puts so much trust in you that you worry jamil has eyes everywhere. everywhere. but you brush the jesting idea away, believing that you wouldn’t even be allowed on scarabia grounds if jamil didn’t trust you with the housewarden. 

you turn to a nearby mirror, passing the tube of red lipstick over your lips. the smooth makeup applies nice and neatly. (doesn’t matter because you know it won’t be neat for long.)

you step back over to where kalim’s sitting on the edge of his bed, standing between his knees. he’s waiting not-so patiently, he looks like he’s almost vibrating, is he really that excited? you suppress a smile as you gently grab onto his jaw, tilting his head to the side as you press your lips to his cheek. his laughter immediately fills the room, making you press more kisses over his face. one to his forehead, one on the nose, another on the other cheek, his temples, and anywhere you can get before he’s laughing too much, pushing you away.

“it tickles,” he heaves a breath, “stop!” a wider smile grows on his face after seeing yours, the red lipstick you applied had smudged around your lips, looking not-so neat. his face isn’t much better, tan skin littered in red kisses.

while you’re mentally retaining the image of kalim covered in red lip marks, you notice him looking more intently at you. you raise a brow, curiously.

“my turn, give it here!” he reaches a hand out, expecting the tube of lipstick?

you look at him bewildered, “what?” 

“my turn!” he repeats. he seems real set on returning the ‘gift’ it seems. kalim’s all smiles as you hand him the black tube. he exposes the stick and passes it over his own lips, tossing it aside and pulling you down to his seated height. he flattens his lips across the expanse of your face, getting at any skin he can just like you did to him. 

when he deems he’s finished, you’re dazed and equally covered in red lipstick stains, smiles wide across your faces. matching stained faces for matching blitheringly infatuated idiots.

vil leans on the back of his vanity chair; his face littered in different coloured lip marks. the reason? he claims he wants to see which ones compliment him the most. 

you know he already knows exactly which shades of each brand line do exactly that. (thanks, rook.) vil doesn’t know that you know he’s already figured this out. 

you wipe the makeup remover-soaked cotton pad across your lips, ridding it of the pink. “what would all of your fans think if they knew you were being covered completely in rainbow kisses?” you wipe the moisture from your lips as vil reaches around you to grab another tube, but you stop him. 

“i’m sure they would lose their minds,” you reach into your pocket, revealing a miscellaneous tube of lipstick, it matches none of the previously discarded lipsticks, nor does it have a brand logo on it. “where did you find this?” vil takes the lipstick in his hand, nimbly examining the exterior. he removes the top to reveal a rich, velvety red colour. his eyes widen just slightly. 

“it’s a secret,” you wink and take the lipstick from him and apply it, smiling as you replace its cap and let it fall from your hand, onto a messy vanity behind you. 

vil wraps an arm around your neck, drawing you closer to his seated level, “well, share your secret with me, if you would be so kind.” you swiftly close the gap between yourself and the housewarden, administering a healthy dose of red onto his lips and the surrounding skin. 

he parts first, his cheeks dawn a hint of pink that’s hidden behind the various stains on his otherwise perfect skin. he truly is the most beautiful person ever. makeup or not, hair tied back or loose, vil is sincerely as pretty as the morning's first light, a flower; freshly bloomed, and a fresh set of nails. 

“you’re staring. not that i mind,” you snap out of your hazy daydream about your gorgeous boyfriend and back into reality. 

“yeah, sorry. you’re just really fucking pretty.” you lean down and tenderly kiss his forehead as he internally squeals like one of his fan-girls. he really hit the jackpot with you as his (second) biggest fan.

idia looks up at you with wide yellow eyes, but they have a sort of gloss over them that makes you believe he would not want you to get up and leave his dorm right now. you grin at his feeble attempt of a silent, inconclusive plea. an ask to what, you’re unsure because his face (minus the eyes) and hands grabbing at you tell you he’s very much enjoying you straddling his hips right now.

you reach into your pocket, revealing your master plan. a tube of lipstick, you swipe it over your lips once, then twice before replacing the cap and tossing it down, letting it hit the plush bedsheet you’re atop. 

the translucent tips of his hair start to turn pink as you lean down towards his face. a trembling hand comes up to your shoulder, not pushing you away but seemingly grounding the housewarden underneath you. “how cute,” you smile against his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another to his left cheek, then the right. one more on his forehead for good measure. maybe one more. okay, one last one couldn’t hurt.

you sit upright and drag a hand down idia’s chest, over the sweater you know is probably two sizes to large for him, (but that’s how he likes them you suppose and it just makes for a more comfortable sweater when you steal ‘em) while admiring the definitely not smudge-proof lipstick marks on idia’s face, giggling as you compare the red smears to his blue features. you wonder if-

the rapid rise and fall of idia’s chest catches your attention, it almost sounds like he’s hyperventilating, but when you look up to his face it’s surrounded by fiery pink hair and a flush across his cheeks, spanning down his neck, you realize he’s fine. probably a little more than fine. 

“well, that’s some false advertising,” you smile, wiping at the edges of your lips lightly with a finger. idia snaps out of his stupor, hastily agreeing with a stuttered breath. his hands find your hips, giving you a small squeeze. you lean down and press a proper kiss to his lips, you lift away just as quick as you bent down, pushing idia back down as he chases you up, hoping for more. a pitiful whine escapes him as his hair burns brighter. 

the red lipstick mixes with his natural blue lips gives him a sort of purple that would put the octavinelle’s house colour to shame. though, he almost looks forlorn. the usual solemn and gloomy housewarden; reduced to a blushing mess after a few kisses. 

hilarious, isn’t it?

malleus’s eyes flutter shut, a pleased sigh escapes his lips. his hands, hidden by your sweater, trace messy patterns on your back as his nails scratch lightly. he’s unsure of how he got himself into this humanoid predicament but he’s not complaining. 

you’re sat in his lap, placing kisses all over his face, leaving red lip marks behind. 

“you look like you’re enjoying this more than i am, malleus.” you bring a hand up to rake it through his bangs, pushing them behind his horns and revealing the shiny scales hidden beneath. 

the housewarden cracks a sharp emerald eye, examining your features. the slope of your nose, the curve of your stained lips, your eyelashes, cheeks. your eyes. oh how he loves your eyes, the way they look up to him with adoration, not fear or indifference like other humans do. 

you cup his cheek, “malleus?” 

he blinks once, twice. the gloss over his eyes breaks, refocusing on you. “i apologize, i was lost in thought.” 

“i could tell,” you trace your finger to the tip of his ear, then drop your hand back into your lap. “what were you thinking of? me?” 

“yes.” 

“woah, okay. blunt!” heat rises to your face. 

a hand leaves your back, trailing around your side and up to tuck a piece of hair away from your eyes. “was i not suppose to tell the truth?” 

“no, malleus, you should have said you were thinking of pancakes.” 

“but i wasn’t? i was thinking of-” you cut him off, placing a kiss on his lips. 

“now, let me resume my art.”

malleus is more than happy to sit as still as the gargoyle statues he studies while you press kisses all over his face. he is, truly is.

this was so self indulgent i ain’t even sorry (is my favouritism showing??)

masterlist

[hyeinette]

⟡ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒆𝒔─────𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝖺 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈, 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅.

f!r ⠀ 🦢⠀ 𝑓. est rl fluff kisses skinship ot7 drabble ─── 145O >ᴗ< 𓈒 𓈒 魂

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑦⠀⠀⠀୨୧ ⠀⠀⠀𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀⠀〝⠀ 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆. heeseung is rather strict about his phone, and if anyone else asked to use it, he’d hesitate, always peeking over their shoulder to make sure they didn’t see what they weren’t supposed to. but with you? he’s entirely different. the second you glance at his phone, it’s already yours. whether it be to google something stupid or just go through his camera roll, he wouldn’t mind. if you take a few silly photos of yourself—your tongue sticking out or your nose scrunched—he’d smile earnestly upon discovering them, staring at the pictures of you like you’re the prettiest, most dear thing ever (to him, you are). the only thing he doesn’t want you to stumble upon is the secret photo album that he’s made just for you; he goes through it when he’s especially missing you, but that’s far too embarrassing for you to find out. if you ever ask why he doesn’t care when you take his phone, he’d simply shrug, pretending to be casual, but the grin on his face gives him away. “because it’s you. and i trust you.”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆. jay likes to keep his personal space, and he always makes sure anyone around him is at a reasonable distance. he’s different with you, though, making an exception just because of how tender your touch is. sometimes, when the two of you are sitting next to each other and you’re feeling weirdly shy (despite the fact that you’re literally dating him), jay would notice. it’s in the way you contemplatively glance at his hand, debating whether to reach for it or not. he’d smile before deciding not to let you think any harder, grabbing your hand and holding it in his—tight enough to express his love, but not to the point where he’s hurting you. he’d shift closer, so close that there’s no space between the two of you, before tilting your head into the warmth of his neck while his thumb drew slow, soothing patterns up and down your arm. there’s no real explanation for you to be this close to jay—he just wants you to be. as uncharacteristic as it might be for him to crave proximity; he craves it with you, because it just feels so right. if anybody thought to tease him or you about it, he’d scowl, shooing them away, for all he wanted was a moment more with you and just you.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍. it’s not like jake lets you tickle him. he hates being tickled by anyone, let alone his girlfriend! too bad for him, ever since you learned of how ticklish he was, you’ve been absolutely abusing the fact: tickling him when you wanted something, when he said no to you… the likes. it’s just that everytime your hands reached for his ribs, he didn’t pull away, even though he very well could, being stronger than you and all. perhaps it was the way your eyes glimmered, reflecting the mischievousness in your head that completely stilled jake’s brain, rendering him defenseless. the giggles that left his mouth against his will made you laugh, as well. “no—stop! seriously!” he protests, but his hands lay at his sides, not even trying to push you off, an observation that made you grin. after a few more seconds of your hands on his torso and his laughter in the air, you finally decided to pull your hands away. as soon as you did, jake’s fingers wrapped around your wrists, pressing you against his undulating chest. you barely had time to process this, because before you knew it, his hands loosened on your wrist, moving to gently hold your face, and then his smiling lips were on yours: soft, yet playful still. when he pulled back and saw your half-closed eyes, he grinned even wider. “now you’re the speechless one,” he teased. “shut up! you giggle like a girl…”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍. “you know,” sunghoon’s accusatory voice cuts through your focus, making you freeze. you slowly turn to him with guilt written all over your face, caught in the act of rummaging through his color-coordinated closet, looking for yet another piece of clothing to ‘borrow.’ “you’re lucky i like you enough to let you take my clothes,” he says, a small smirk playing on his lips. “i’m not taking your clothes!” you lied, unconvincingly so. sunghoon just laughed and walked closer to you. he picked up a soft, gray hoodie—the one he knew was your favorite—and held it up to your torso. the familiar scent of sandalwood and roses greeted your nostrils as he hummed in consideration. “i don’t mind, though.” sunghoon’s tone was softer now. “you look cute in them. just you.” and it was true. sunghoon barely lets even his closest friends borrow his clothes—his wardrobe is far too expensive, and he doesn’t trust anyone to treat it right. but there’s something so cute about the way you look in his hoodies, the ones that you drown in, that fall all the way down to your thighs and hang over your hands; he can’t help but lend you any piece of his that you want. even if you do stain his clothes, he wouldn’t mind, not really. he would just laugh softly and kiss away your worried apologies while whispering that he could always buy another one. seeing you in his hoodies is worth any stain or wrinkle.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎. whenever anyone else so much as tries to grab a bite from his plate, sunoo slaps their hand away—“you have your own plate!” he’d say, even if they didn’t, as he shielded his plate. but you’re not anyone else, for the second his gaze caught yours lingering on his food, he’d smile, ready to give you anything you want off his plate and then some. “hungry?” sunoo tilts his head, your sheepish eyes giving him the answer he already knows. “here.” sunoo holds up a forkful of his mango fruit to your mouth. your eyes spoke depths of gratitude, and starvation. however, just as you leaned in, he laughed, pulling it away from you. “you have to say please, first.” your jaw dropped slightly in disbelief, but sunoo just shrugged, “it is my food, after all.” after a few seconds of silent expectancy, your expression shifted into one of desperation. “sunoo!” you whined, your tone drenched in plea and reprimand. his laughter softened, and he finally relented, letting you eat the fruit. the vague tang of the mango made you smile, and any irritation you held suddenly dissolved. “be glad i tolerate you,” you huff, plucking another slice off his plate while sunoo watched, his heart brimming with warmth. between all the mangos and the little jokes, sunoo decided that you were the sweetest thing of all.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍. jungwon is, without a doubt, one of the busiest people you know! he has places to be and things to do; if he’s having a particularly busy day, his first priority would be to finish any and all tasks he has, and if anyone else asks him to take a break and spend time with them, his answer would be an immediate but gentle ‘no.’ but, you on the other hand; nothing comes before you when you need him. he would give up anything to spend time with you, no matter when you asked. “jungwon, can we hang out? i’m bored,” you’d suggest, and without hesitation, he’d drop whatever he was doing to go see you. “won, 5 more minutes, stay.” you’d whine during the lazy mornings, pulling him back under the covers so you could once again be wrapped in the cozy, warm haven of his arms. it doesn’t matter if he has an important event or a choreo practice to attend—as soon as he sees you with that adorable bed-head and those big, sleep-dazed eyes that always managed to get their way, he’d be all yours once again (when was he not?), kissing you gently until you were lulled back to sleep in his grasp.

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈. riki hates being styled by anyone but himself. every outfit he wears is handpicked and carefully arranged to fit him best, down to even his socks! if anybody else even tried giving him suggestions on what to wear, he’d furrow his brows, and their words would go through one ear and out the other. however, with you, he’s different. as you go through his closet, inspecting his clothes, he’d watch you, absorbing everything you said, even if you didn’t know the first thing about fashion. “you should wear this…” you plucked out a dark hoodie, “and this!” you held up a pair of ripped, mud-dyed jeans proudly. and that’s exactly what he wore the next day. he’d saunter around in the outfit you chose and if anyone asks him about it, he’d proudly state “my girlfriend chose this for me. yeah, my girlfriend.” and if you went one step further and styled his hair for him, carefully tousling it with your hands, he’d lean into your touch with content, and for the rest of the day he’d make sure every strand of hair on his head stayed exactly as you placed it. your advice and input meant more than anything to him, of course.

𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝓈𝗍. @bywons