#so if i want to wear what i make i have to properly learn lace techniques and how to draft my own button ups

[bakingmoomins]

Having knitting as a hobby and living in a pretty warm country is so painful sometimes

[fatuismooches]

Imagine Fragile!Reader with the most unhinged mouth when they decide they had enough.

Like in the Akademiya days, whenever our precious Zandik was getting bullied and [Name] just had enough, [Name] decides to point out every. single. flaw. On someone’s form by social standards to put them to shame just to silence them and Zandik is just left speechless when this first happens.

“ Your front right tooth is tilted by 8 degrees, your left foot is pointing slightly more inwards, your hair has tangles by the right inner portion by about the 6 inches point, your buttons are not properly ordered, your wearing unmatched socks no one should be able to see, and the laces on your shoes are too loose so fix them up you lazy excuse of an scholar… also, you should talk to your lover, I heard she was busy with another person.. I understand why, I wouldn’t want to be with you either.”

and they just turn to Zandik and be like ‘let’s get going, shall we?’ And than when the two leave [Name] is smiling as if they didn’t just roast the living daylights out of someone. Like [Name] has one hell of a mouth. And Zandik’s like : Hello? Where the hell did you get that from??

This continues after Fragile!Reader wakes up from coma, and the Fatui Harbingers or Subordinates have learned joy to try and argue with you. This person is someone to truly not argue with, no matter how frail they may be physically. They may have no strength in their bones, but they have strength in their words.

Than whenever [Name] is done arguing they just go back to spoiling prime or whoever segment they were talking to with cuddles, sweets, or indulging in conversation.

(Bet that [Name] would absolutely KILL someone with their words if anyone makes fun of Zandy.)

Unlike your dear lover, who had a general lack of patience and grumpiness toward his fellow scholars, you were the chiller one who was certainly better at dealing with people than he was (although that wasn't really anything special when the person in question was Zandik.) This was a quality he thought was foolish at the beginning, but now... he still thinks such niceties are foolish... except when you're directing them to him of course! Still, he always wondered what could make someone as sweet and composed finally tick.

Turns out it was him. Needless to say, he'd always noticed your discontentment with the unsavory rumors floating around the school but he'd never that it'd upset you to that degree. Should his heart flutter at someone caring for him to that extent, or be annoyed at you wasting your energy on such people? To be honest, he thinks it's a bit amusing how you were always telling him to ignore them, especially considering they were too cowardly to actually say things to his face, but then you just went and did that - but then immediately went back to normal. Can he utilize that tongue of yours for some other endeavors? It would be very useful!

A section about this trait of yours is swiftly added to the Fatui Handbook: "Although [Name] is quite agreeable and lenient, incurring their wrath will subject you to a prompt tongue lashing, and therefore, Lord Dottore's judgment. To cool off, they will go and cuddle with one of the Dottores who will be paying you a visit soon."

(Luckily most of the agents have never seen Zandy, but any segment who dares to tease him a bit too much will have you hovering behind them menacingly.)

[minhosimthings]

imagine birthday sex with jake, he buys you a nice bra and panty lingerie set to wear under your gorgeous dress for the dinner he was taking you to.

after dinner he slowly removes your dress behind you while you’re both looking at your body in the mirror. he worships your entire body, slowly caressing your waist and hips. the entire night is about you and your pleasure, and he makes sure you know that. praising you endlessly and gently touching you everywhere. — 🦝 anon

I AM SO HORNY RN WTF. Also annonie I hope this is what you wanted I'm sorry I couldn't write a full fic! But I hope you enjoy this 739 word imagine thing I wrote 😗😗 also you're my first emoji anon so I don't wanna disappoint you!

More under the cut!

No but imagine if it was something you'd be wanting to have for so long, that one very expensive lingerie set. You knew you couldn't afford it so you just resorted to staring at it whenever you'd pass by the store. But your boyfriend on the other hand, being the man he is, would cross Heaven and Earth in order to get you that.

So it wouldn't be much of a surprise when you'd find a tiny red box on the top of your bed next to your dress with the note "Early birthday present" on top of it.

And he wouldn't stop during the party either, his hand would always linger on top of your thigh, his skin never leaving the touch of yours. And when Jay joked that it was like you two were attatched at the hip, you thought it was the truth.

Later on, after the party got over, you'd go off to get your makeup off, staring at yourself in the mirror, about to reach into your makeup drawer, when a hand would wrap around your waist, leaving small kisses all over your shoulder.

You'd laugh at first, joking about how it tickled, but you'd soon learn what Jake wanted after his hand trailed down your back, clutching the gold zipper as if it was his trophy.

"You're so pretty." He'd complement you, his low voice combined with his accent sending you into a realm you never wanted to return from.

His hand would go down to your ass, the dress being tore off from your body in the process. His fingers and lips would trace masterpieces onto your body, one of them toying with the waistband of your panties. He thrived in the fact that you looked exactly like the goddess he thought you'd look like when he bought the lingerie.

The mirror had never seemed like a better place to fuck you.

"You're so tight.." Jake would say as he looked at his dick trying to enter your hole, "such a good girl for me aren't you?"

Your hips would try to move but his hold is unyielding, your hips captive as he makes you scream into the mirror. The cold feel of the glass pressed against your cheek, as Jake stretched you out from behind combined with the sweet words spilling from his mouth, it provided you with the ultimate pleasure. You could feel him biting your shoulder, feeling the swirling sensation that by now you know, it's your release.

"Ah-ah darling taking me so well." He'd moan, feeling the knot in his stomach. Jake would get drunk on your heavenly moans, the curve of your breasts, properly illustrated by the lace of the bra, and the lining of your hips, where he'd leave marks for everyone to know who you belong to.

His hips press to your back as your eyes roll to the back of your skull as a strong orgasm runs throw your system, you scream as his teeth dig into your showled, he doesn't stop, not until you start coming down.

You feel Jake's hot release coat your ass, the mirror all fogged up by your heavy breaths.

"You're so pretty like this you know?" Jake would complement you again, as if it was his job to sing you praises.

You are left panting as he kisses your shoulder, flipping you over the counter to line his tip up against your entrance.

The stretch he provided you with along with the sweet whispers in your ear about how you're doing so well for him, you'd have thought you were in Heaven.

"Fuck princess you're so wet for me." He'd moan, feeling your walls tighten around his dick.

The symphony of your sinful sounds was the orchestra to Jake's ears, your moans filling them as he repeatedly touched your g-spot, he always was smug of the fact that he knew what got you going crazy for him.

At this point your eyes were closed, and you were savouring that sweet space between wakefulness and dreams. You were lost in a point where all you knew, all you would ever know, was the sweet sensation of him filling you. All you could hear was that wet thwap, that light smacking, and all you could feel was his girth sliding in and out of your thighs.

It was safe to say that this was the best birthday present ever.

[http-paprika]

IVY AND IRON THORNS

CHAPTER I

a medieval au / sir simon riley x lady reader / 3.3k / warnings descriptions of violence, gore, death, and religious practice / taglist open

betrothed to the prince of a nearby land, you embark on a journey that changes your life forever…

masterlist / chapter II

Above your head, the sky is deep and dark, the morning stars twinkling as you are drawn awake. Maids hurrying about your bed chambers, packing trunks full of fine dresses in vibrant, rich colors of blues, pinks, and reds. You watch your life belongings stowed away into the heavy trunks and chests as you sleepily rub your eyes, still wishing you were happily asleep in the warmth of your bed and annoyed by the prospects of the journey ahead.

 Four days and three nights you will travel with your mother and escort. A long trek to your betrothed and his lands. But it is necessary, every day you overhear the rumblings of your father’s enemies encroaching on farmlands and forests, raiding villages, and terrorizing peasants. This marriage of convenience will strengthen the lands and riches, providing allies from raiders and wars. It is your duty as the only child to ensure the peace of your people and to continue the family line.

 “Mistress, you mustn’t be falling asleep now. We still have much to do before your journey.” The head maid scolds you as your head bows while she brushes out your hair. “You can sleep in the carriage.” 

 “But I’m tired!” You whine, reminding the head maid that you are still treated like a girl. Allowed to do as you please and act out as you want. No one dares to scold the lone daughter, your happiness is of the utmost importance.

 “Ach, we all are, Mistress. But you are to be married and become a wife. You must start acting as such and put your childish behaviors behind you.” She reprimands you, tilting your head up right before picking up the ornate silver brush and pulling the bristles through your locks.

 Instinctually, your lip pushes out in a pout. A frown forms as the oak door of your bed chambers pushes open and your mother, the Lady of the castle, strides in. Her garments and hair are simple and plain compared to her normal daily wear, she is dressed for the travel and looks over at your dress of choice disapproving. 

 “Don’t you think it’s a little much for traveling, my dear?” She frowns at the red velvet dress, a gift from your father when merchants from afar visited the castle. It’s your favorite dress, beautiful with fine embroidery. “Shouldn’t you save this for when we arrive at Darenby Castle?”

 “No, I want to wear it today. This is my wedding week, and the bride shall wear what the bride wants.” You announce, lifting your chin with a proud smile. Your mother shakes her head but does not pester you further, placing a kiss on your cheek before giving final instructions to the maids and manservants. She departs from the room with one last lingering glance, you are her shining star. The only one of her offspring who’d lived past childhood, she’s been trying hard to hide her grief for your sake. But you’d heard the whispers, her pleading with your father not to send you so far away, and chose to hide away the feeling it left you with.

 When your hair is done up, out of your face, and lying beautifully, the chambermaids help you into the dress, lacing it up and tying it closed. You catch your reflection in the looking glass, letting out a satisfied hum, so young and fair to the eyes. It was no wonder that when the Prince first laid eyes on you, he joined the long line of suitors.

 “I don’t know how you’ll manage to be even prettier on the day of your wedding. But you will, Mistress.” One of the maids says sheepishly, looking up at you with wide eyes. She is younger than you, only having served in the castle for one year and still learning how to properly behave and address you. But her compliment kept you from scolding her and making sure the head maid put her in her place.

 “Yes, I will. Won’t I?” She shakes her head vigorously at your question, before returning to her work and allowing you a moment to take a final good look at your room. Many years had you spent in here: sleeping, learning, playing, and growing. It’s your fortress of refuge from everything, a place you can run to. And you will never return. Even if the Prince allows you to visit, they will room you in the dreadful East Wing where your horrid aunt stayed for so long.

 Eventually, as the sun begins to paint the early morning sky shades of pale blue, orange, pink, and purple you journey through the halls of the castle. Down stone steps and over wooden floors to the bailey where the carriage, cart, and horses are loaded and preparing for departure. Your father is talking with the escort, giving instructions for the journey as you approach him. 

 “Ah, my dear! What a beautiful rose you are this morning.” He beams, approving of your appearance which took after your mother. “And a bride you shall be. I received a letter from the Prince just last night, he is looking forward to your arrival with much anticipation.” 

 “As am I.” You reply cheeks tinged pink from praise. Though you will miss your home, the gardens, and the grand hall, you are anxious to begin the new journey. To receive a new title, one far greater than you would’ve inherited from your parents. Princess has such a beautiful ring to it– like you were born for it. 

 As the carriage begins to drive away, all of heaven seems to shine for you as you and the escort depart from the castle. The colorful songbirds singing your farewell, the flowers blooming alive for the spring, the world was awake for you.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Thunder drums out, the noise exploding in your ears as you startle awake. Heart racing as wind howls and tears at the curtains of the carriage, rain beginning to pelt out. Your eyes shift around the interior of the carriage as you try to compose yourself as your mother had, but fear of the storm holds onto you.

 The escort is yelling amongst themselves, one of the knights speaking to your mother about what must be done. For the past two days, the journey was passing well. Besides being jostled around on bumpy dirt roads and having to listen to your mother read passages of Latin, you hadn’t minded. And the growing excitement of seeing your fiance made everything fade away.

 But the sun has hidden, dark clouds bursting open as all of heaven’s floods fall to the earth. Another clap of thunder scares you, lightning cracking along the blackened sky as the escort pushes through the weather. The choice had been made to push through, you’re told there’s an abbey not too far away that will provide safety from the storm.

 Rain continues to soak into the carriage as you move to your mother’s side, clinging to her for warmth and security. She stays calm, praying the entire time and holding you close as the carriage drives on slowly, bumping through the mud and puddles. The horses fighting against their handlers, every time thunder sounds and lightning strikes, you can hear the creatures neigh in protest. 

 For a moment, you close your eyes and cover your ears. Trying to block out all the noise and chaos hoping it will all pass. But it only gets louder, violent shouts muffled by the storm, the sound of metal clanging and snapping as swords battle. When you open your eyes, an arrow cuts through the curtains of the carriage. In fear, you scream as it pierces into the wood. 

 Your mother’s prayers fall on deaf ears from God as the door is thrown open, and a man in a torn brown cloak and scarf wrapped around his face sneers down at you. In his hands, a silver blade is still covered in scarlet blood.

 “Please, we’ll give you whatever you ask for. Gold, silver, merchant goods!” Your mother offers as he steps into the carriage, towering over you. 

 “Oh, I know what I want.” He looks down at you, pulling the scarf from his face. In the dim light from the lanterns, his yellowed teeth glint as his eyes trail over you, his face littered with scars and marks from the years.

 Another scream rips from your throat as he lunges at you. But your mother pushes you aside, causing you to tumble out of the carriage landing in a puddle of sludge with a painful thud. The cold water seeps through your dress and undergarments as you stay frozen. Around you the troop of bandits are slaying your escort, men falling lifelessly into the mire. All you can see are the silhouettes struggling in the carriage before the lantern is knocked down. 

 With horror, stuck in the mud, you listen to the blood-curdling scream as your mother is murdered. The sound of the blade piercing through her dress, skin, and bones haunting you before the bandit turns out of the carriage to find you. 

 In vain, you try to crawl away and out of the mud. But you let out a cry when you put your palm down on the road, snapping your wrist close to your chest as you rub the skin. Everything hurts, everything. Your heart, your hips, and your hands all sing with pain as the bandit grabs at your hair and yanks you back. A sharp cry leaves your lips from the pain as he drags you close with a sick look on his pasty face, his blade pushed against your throat. One slice and you’d be done for.

 “Please! Please! I’m too young!” You cry, begging at the final chance of life. Tears fall from your eyes, mixing with rain on your cheeks. And you wonder if maybe you should perish, joining your mother in the afterlife. Even hell sounds better than this misery as you wait for him to inflict pain. 

 But it doesn’t come, instead, something squelches and cracks. Warm liquid spray onto your face before the bandit drops you, his body crumpling to the ground beside you. Finally, peeling your eyes open another scream tears from your throat as you look at the headless body, his blood being washed from your face with the rain.

 You do not look at your savior as you stare at the bandit. Another scream threatens to spill out when the head is dropped mere feet from you. Whatever nightmare this is, you hope and pray you will wake from it soon. Back with your mother alive and the sun shining down on you. 

Lightning dances across the sky again, the light strikes and blinds your eyes. The deep red velvet of your dress is ruined by the rain and mud. Your cries are drowned out by the roar of the thunder as you shake from the cold. 

 In a mere moment, all you had known, the world that had been promised for you had been torn from your trembling hands. God had abandoned you as quickly as the sun had abandoned the sky. You are plagued by the darkness as your mother and escort are delivered from this life to the next. 

 Then warmth floods in your arm as a man in black armor sinks to your level, his knee digging into the mire. You cannot see his face, the intricate design of his helmet somehow scares you more than you already are. The skull helmet shines as lightning brightens the sky momentarily before he pulls up his visor and stares at you with concern. His nose and mouth are covered with a black cloth, but his eyes are aflame in the darkness. Only softening when they see how helpless you are as you shrink away from him.

Your savior.

 “Can you stand?” He asks over the wind. You shake your head, still frozen in place as he stands. You do not know this man, this knight is not one of your own. In this moment, you can only hope he is truly an ally and not a foe.

 The knight towers above you, his stature tall and broad, calling to his companion for aid. Another knight in the same dark armor joins you with the reins of a horse in his hand. You catch sight of a crest on the shaffron of the creature, but you do not recognize the marks. 

 “Help her on while I set the beasts free.” The knight orders his companion. You tremble as the smaller knight wraps an arm around your back and another on your stomach before pulling you up from the mud. It splashes when you stand and struggle to walk, your knees threatening to buckle as he leads you to the mare. 

 Slowly, you use what strength you have left to mount the horse. Wincing when he pushes you up and your dress tears along the side seams. It’s ornate, not meant for riding a horse, especially since you are not sitting side-saddle. If you were not in such a ruined state of mind, you would’ve been humiliated by your stockings and underskirt showing. But you can only think of how you were still breathing, damp air still clinging to your lungs. 

 You turn your head and watch as your horses that had not been killed are set loose, turning and running into the deep, wild forest before the tall knight returns to you and his horse. In his hand, he holds a torn piece of the carriage curtain and throws it over your lap to warm you, your cloak doing nothing to fight against the rain and cold. 

 When he mounts the horse, saddling behind you, reality finally dawns on you. They’re taking you away. You’re being taken away by strangers, away from your escort, your mother, your life! 

 “No, no. Please, I can’t leave her! Don’t take me away from her!” You twist to look at the knight, pounding your fists into the metal of his chest plate. Wincing with every hit as your right wrist continues to sting. “Please! She’s my mother! She’s a baroness, a lady, a woman of God, she deserves a burial!” 

 “There is nothing we can do for her.” He states, flipping his visor down to cover his face again. And when you try to push off the horse, his arms cage you in as he picks up the reigns. “And if I leave you here, you’ll meet the same fate as her. There’s nothing around for miles. You’ll starve, or be eaten by wolves, or killed when the rest of the bandits come looking for their brothers.” 

 “I won’t leave her!” You cry again, but your pleas fall on deaf ears as he orders the horse to move. “Mother! Mother!” 

 With grief, you watch as the carriage, cart, and bodies disappear behind you. The forest surrounds you and blocks your view as the knight and his companion abandon the road. With a steady pace, they traveled through the dark thicket, relying on the silvers of lightning as their only source of light. 

 When the rain ceases, night has fallen over the land. And with the full moon peeking out of the clouds over you, the horses tread to a halt. Your body is aching when the knight dismounts, his boots heavily stomping against the damp grass. He offers a gauntlet hand out for you to take, and just as slowly as you mounted the horse, you dismount. 

 “We’ll camp here for the night. By twilight tomorrow we’ll reach Tharn Castle.” You blink and furrow your brows. How far had your escort strayed from the main road and their destination while you had slept? The castle's name doesn’t even sound familiar to you as the knight unloads his horse, and to your right, his companion does the same. 

 “John, find some wood. This one’s teeth were chattering the whole ride.” He remarks, pointing to you. You had concluded that this knight was the leader, he’d only given orders to the shorter one and had directed the party through the forest. Whoever he is, he demands respect and attention from his presence alone. 

 You stand unsure, your face numb from crying as they set up camp. The tall knight unrolls his bundle, laying the ragged blanket down on the grass.  “Sit,” He orders you, before turning to sift through his pack. You sink onto the thick fabric, still shivering as John prepares a fire for your camp. Slowly, your senses calm down, grief numb in your veins as you watch the two work. 

 When the fire is crackling happily, embers sparking and jumping, John begins to pull off his helmet and gauntlets. He shakes out his hair and you note how peculiar the cut is. You wonder if you had completely fallen into a crueler, strange world that is steeped with death and knights in black armor. 

 “So, you gonna tell us your name, lassie?” John speaks up as the other knight prepares food. “Or say anything to us?”

 “John, she just witnessed a horrid tragedy.” The knight says warningly, glancing over at you. “I don’t think she’ll say much unless we force her.” 

 “Aye, you’re probably right, Simon. Sorry, lassie.” Simon, that was the name of your savior and captor. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to scream at him or thank him. 

A wolf howls deep in the woods and startles you back into attention. They both notice how you jerk back to caution, watching as you wince. The sharp pain in your wrist has only gotten worse with time. 

 “Let me see it,” Simon orders you, pulling bandages from his pack. When you hesitate, he rolls his dark eyes. “I won’t bite.” 

 You relent, stretching out your wrist for him to see in the gleam of the firelight. Deep, purple bruises have bloomed along your skin and are burrowing deep below, aching to the bone. 

 “It’s not broken, it’ll mend soon.” He tells you, his gloved thumb runs over the skin and pushes your sleeve up further. You watch as he slowly wraps the bandage around, pulling it tight and firm before tying it. “Try not to put pressure on it until the bruises fade.” 

 You nod, still unable to speak to either of them as he moves away and back to the rations of food. He offers you a slice of bread, but after the horrors you’d witnessed in the hours prior, your appetite is gone. Buried deep in the pits of your stomach that bubbled with sick.

 “If you’re not going to eat, try and rest. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us and you need all your strength after today.” Simon encourages as he stands, wrapping up the remaining bread and putting it back into his pack. 

 “What about the wolves?” You quietly ask, your voice wavering as the sound of distant howls fills the night. John snorts from his side of the campfire, quickly glancing down when Simon glares at him. 

 “They don’t like fire.” He tells you, but his sword stays in its sheath on his hip for a quick draw. “And after this afternoon, you should know that you’re safe with us. No harm will come to you in our care.” 

 Cautiously your eyes wander over the camp as you shift down onto the blanket. Simon has stalked to the edge of the camp, looking out into the forest and John is watching you as if you might spring away. The rough fabric digs into your skin and dress as you lay down, but it is better than the cold grass. You are too tired to complain about how uncomfortable you are, and it scares you that just a day before you would have. 

 It’s cruel how time works. How quickly the sun rising and setting destroys one’s whole world. This morning you had awoke a lady with the world offered on a silver platter, you were ready to be married to the Prince, and to give a proper farewell to your mother. 

 Now your fate was in the hands of the men who’d found you and whatever waited behind the stone walls of Tharn Castle.

taglist @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @ghostlythots

[miioouu]

His Favourite Camgirl

whatever you dooooo, don't imagine yourself as Soap's favourite camgirl.

tw: suggestive, camgirl!reader, umm uncreativity when it comes to soap's username. pls halp

You really never revealed your identity, you want your audience to appreciate the lingerie you get yourself using their money; the lace rosé bodysuit embroidered with pink and orange flowers, white satin set with over exaggerated baby blue bows, and sometimes, when they haven't been behaving properly, you show up with the leather black set that barely covers you.

You liked to keep your face hidden, except when your fingers pushed past your lips, circling your tongue around them before dipping them under your panties. And you'd lean over slightly, for you it's to get a better view of the chat, for them it's to get a heavenly glimpse at your chest. And they can't see it, he can't see it, the way your eyes twinkle when you see the nasty comment 'Soap69' (very original, i know) left there. Your favourite subscriber, your favourite fan. Of course he was; he's been supporting you since the beginning, he never missed your lives, he always knew what to say in the comments to make you edge closer to the cliff of your orgasm.

Just like him, you stayed awake after your shows, daydreaming what he'd look like, what his voice would sound like when he'd whisper the praises in your ear instead of typing them out on a stupid screen. It's become an obsession that you're too ashamed to admit, you're always thinking of him when you're choosing what to wear, whether it's for your lives, or for the pictures you innocently post on other social media apps. His likes and reactions always made you smile and blush.

"Texting your boyfriend?" your coworker would ask, and how are you supposed to tell the old lady that no, it's your fan leaving a sweet comment on your most recent post? So you just nod, not wanting to explain yourself, not wanting to have an awkward conversation. But that conversation made you think of him even more, consuming your every thought. Even when you should be too busy focusing on your pleasure in front of the camera, you're thinking of him. He prefers the more innocent act, he likes to see you in shades of blues, he likes when you use that pink transparent dildo he got you from your wishlist. It's him, him, him, him, on your mind all the time. It's Soap.

"Soap" voice breathless and dripping with pleasure and desperation, like honey oozing from its comb. And you didn't realise your mistake until it was too late. Your eyes went wide as you saw the other viewers congratulate him in the chat, some even jealous, but it's really his comment that you focused on, that made you reach that extraordinary high "Yeah that's right, kitten, only I can make you cum like that…"

And it wasn't a lie, after that show you really couldn't reach your orgasm without the thought of him. You learned not to say his name on your live shows, but when it's only you and his favourite minty bullet vibrator late at night, you're moaning his username over and over and over again like a mantra, like it's the only thing you can say. And isn't usually the fan that is supposed to be obsessed over the camgirl? Wasn't he supposed to be the annoying stalker? (secretly he is, unbeknown to you, he is) Why is it you that is crazy over him then? So much that you couldn't think straight, not when you're at work, not when you're driving, not when you're cooking. And it's when you accidentally cut yourself as you were chopping some onions that you've had enough, you wanted him, you needed him, and without giving it a second thought you grabbed your phone, scrolling until you found your app, searching up for his username and sliding right into his private messages with a shy "Hiii. I've been thinking of you a lot, you're such a sweet fan. I'd like to know you better, if you're ok with that, of course…"

[spatialwave]

thinking about the last ask someone made about jordan and bras, and marie asking jordan about their powers and they stumble on how they choose clothes that fit and then the bra question is made, or maybe is when they are already dating and marie just ask plainly "do you ever wear a bra?" and jordan explains that most of the times no but they like lacy bralettes and marie just a little

ok this topic makes me BLUSH because jordan is just… learning!!! 🥺 also, i took a bit of a creative spin on this i hope you like it.

-

since jordan had discovered their powers as a young child, they were taught by their father that it wasn’t good to be a girl whenever they wanted. that jordan was their first born son, and that was more important than being able to shift into the opposite gender. they often looked to their mom for support, who couldn’t give it.

jordan had learned a thing or two from their friends in high school, a couple girls who were open-minded and elated to teach them. they learned about the wonders of makeup, feminine underclothing, periods. the gritty details of being a woman.

though, jordan didn’t switch as much as they wanted because of fear from their father, especially as they reached those late teen years. it was becoming a secret to spend time with their friends as a woman, only jordan knew of the fiery arguments that would happen at home if their father found out.

it wasn’t until godolkin when they found real freedom. feeling comfortable enough to switch as they pleased, even finding comfort in having sex as a woman. it was so new and it was so real.

though, as they refined their powers and learned to quickly switch between, they had to start figuring out how to dressing for comfort… underneath.

they preferred to wear boxers in both forms, but bras were a fucking nightmare. they hated them with a passion because they didn’t quite learn how to find something that fit properly. they gave up on it for awhile, deciding that finding a cheap sports bra could help when they were training — but that was it.

but nothing could fight off their curiosity for how cute underwear looked on them. the way the lace curved over their body, how they didn’t mind the way it looked on both of their forms. it was a secret indulgence of theirs — one that wasn’t practical, but just for them.

//

“uh, jordan,” marie spoke as she looked through their partner’s dresser. she had just been digging around, looking for a shirt that jordan said she could borrow when she lifted out a black, lacy bralette that dangled from her finger.

she wasn't here to shame jordan, they were a college student longer than she was. she did her best to shove that jealousy way, way down and not once did it strike her that it was theirs until she saw the red that formed on their cheeks.

"that's, uh... yeah, that's...." jordan stuttered.

"it’s yours?" marie asked, blinking at them a few times.

silence filled jordan’s room as they stared down at her, having been standing and in the middle of throwing a sweater on.

"yeah."

marie parted her lips to answer, but she was completely taken back. it was like her brain was short-circuiting as she imagined jordan in her mind, wearing the black bralette. beautiful, beautiful jordan.

it made her feel perverted, so she quickly dropped it back into the dresser, her own cheeks warm to the touch.

“i just didn’t realize that you-“

“wear bras?” jordan interrupted, finishing sliding the hoodie over their frame as they walked over to her. they bent down and picked it up, trying so hard to find some semblance of confidence about the situation — what was so weird about jordan wearing bras? they had boobs… most of the time, “does that make you uncomfortable?” they asked quietly, gaze flickering to her.

“oh, no, i love it. i mean, not… love. well, yeah, i probably do love it,” she babbled out as she looked up at them, finding it all the more awkward as she stared at them in their male form, “i’m sure it looks really good on you.” she clarified with an exasperated, airy laugh.

jordan’s lips curved into the shyest smile, “i don’t wear it much. it’s not the most comfortable thing to wear like… this.” he motioned to his current form, “but it looks nice. both ways.”

marie simply stared up at jordan, feeling her heart slamming against her chest. mouth growing dryer with each passing second.

“can you show me?”

[password-door-lock]

Four Seasons by Your Side: Ice skating

Read it on Ao3!

Saeran has never been ice skating before. It obviously wasn’t something he had access to as a child, and when he stayed at the cathedral, Rika deemed the practice too unsafe on account of the other people he might meet. At Mint Eye, it was never very much of a priority, and once Saeran finally got out, there were so many other things for him to experience. He didn’t have time for all of them at once! 

Now, though, he’s excited to try his hand at ice skating. “Look at these ridiculous rental skates,” you comment, dropping to your knees in front of Saeran. “Let me help you with these. It’s supposed to be kind of tight.” 

“Oh.” Saeran understands why you were so careful to get him lower-rise skates with extra padding around the ankle area. You're being careful because the pressure of the skates around his ankles might be triggering for him, after what he went through with his mother and Rika, not to mention that it could upset his physical scars. “Thank you, my love.”

“Let me know how it feels, okay?” You urge softly. “I don’t want to hurt you or ruin your first time on the ice.”

Saeran is wearing thick, fluffy socks, the kind that are most gentle against his skin. For now, he feels okay to proceed. “You won’t hurt me,” he assures you. Since leaving Magenta, Saeran has come to know his own body and its limits. He knows that he’ll be able to handle this, but he appreciates your concern. It’s nice to know that you’re looking out for him and that you’re conscious of his comfort level. You always defer to what Saeran tells you, never trying to shelter him from the world.

“Okay.” You return your attention to the skates, carefully tightening the laces from the bottom up before threading the ends through the metal eyelets on each side of the skates. It takes you a few minutes to fix both of them, but Saeran doesn’t mind— he’d rather have somebody with experience lacing his skates than try to do it himself. In his initial research, he discovered that many people struggle to lace their own skates properly for the first time, and he doesn’t want to take chances. “That should be good. How do you feel? Can you stand up?” 

Saeran rises, making a brief attempt to walk on the blades. This endeavor is cut short when he nearly falls over, steading himself by gripping your outstretched arm. “It feels okay,” he informs you. As of now, he’s not feeling any pain, though the skates will take some getting used to. “Let’s try it out on the ice.” 

“Alright,” you agree. Despite the fact that you are also wearing skates, you’re able to help Saeran down from the stands and over to the ice. You have much more practice with this than he does, and Saeran wants to see how you skate. “They give out these little, like, bar things for people to hold onto when they’re learning to skate. If you want, I can pick one up for you.” 

“Yes, please.” Saeran likes the sound of that. He wants to try skating, and he knows that falling on the ice will be an integral part of his learning process, but he’d still like to avoid it as much as possible. 

“Just a minute, then, love.”

You disappear for a few moments and reappear bearing a metal contraption that resembles a walker. “Thank you,” Saeran graciously accepts the thing and uses it to maintain his balance as he shuffles out onto the ice. He’s not very graceful, but the chill of the skating rink is exhilarating. He's glad he brought his hat, jacket, and mittens.

“Try, um, whooshing more,” you advise. "With your feet." Thankfully, you offer a physical demonstration of this cryptic advice. 

Saeran tries to copy the way you move your feet. The first time, he nearly falls, catching himself with help from the bar. After a few more near misses, he starts to get the hang of it. “This is fun,” he decides. “I can see why you like it. But how… would one stop?” 

“Uh,” you seem to be searching for the words to describe something that’s become intuitive to you after so many years of practice. “Do you see the pokey bit on the tip of the blade? You just dig that into the ice. Like so.” You demonstrate an impressive sort of twist that Saeran greatly admires, coming to a stop in the middle of the ice. The other skaters seem to appreciate this significantly less than your husband does as they swerve to avoid running into you. 

“Wow,” he breathes, attempting to copy you, but ultimately stopping only when his shoulder makes contact with the wall of the rink. “You’re very good at this, my love.” It’s always exciting to learn about another one of your talents. 

“I’m really not,” you assure him, “I only know the basics. I can’t even skate backwards, and you’re a fast learner, anyway— I’m sure you’ll be skating circles around me in no time, baby. Just you wait.”

“But I’d rather skate in circles together,” Saeran informs you, offering his hand. “It’s more fun that way.” 

“You know what? You’re right, and it’ll be easier to support each other if we’re skating together, too.” You take Saeran’s hand, and the pair of you begin another slow lap around the perimeter of the rink.

[bihansthot]

Have some Girl Dad!Bi-Han Headcanons:

- [ ] Bi-Han is the absolute king of imaginary tea parties, he lets his daughter dress him up in a tutu and wears whatever tiara or hat she picks out for him as well as dainty lace gloves. He always sips the imaginary tea and comments about what a wonderful hostess his daughter is and always makes sure Cubcub’s (her stuffed polar bear) cup is topped off. He often makes dumplings for the occasion and keeps mooncakes in stock even when it’s not fall as they’re his daughter’s favorite treat.

- [ ] Bi-Han always lets his little girl do his hair, whether it’s a ponytail, pigtails or messy braids he rocks whatever style she chooses. “The fuck are you looking at,” the Grandmaster barks at his subordinates as he makes his way to the throne room. His hair pulled back into two messy braids with a myriad of pink bows littered in his striking black locks. He was man enough to not care what his underlings thought of him, he ruled the Lin Kuei with a frozen fist, what was it to them if he let his daughter play “beauty parlor” with him. It made her happy and that’s all he cared about.

- [ ] Bi-Han is extremely protective of his daughter, more so than if he had a son. Not because he views women as lesser than men but because his little girl is his entire world. She’s completely melted his icy walls and he let her inside as much as he could. He’s trained his daughter to be a fierce and formidable warrior but he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he pulled his punches while sparring and often let her win just to see the twinkling in her eyes as he feigns death. He’d do anything for her smile.

- [ ] When his daughter was learning how to walk Bi-Han would often use his powers to create fluffy piles of snow at her feet when she would fall down so she wouldn’t get hurt badly. Even when his daughter is able to walk properly he still is always on alert especially if his daughter is clumsy, he does what he can to prevent her from hurting herself.

- [ ] Bi-Han is his daughter’s biggest cheerleader, usually cold and arrogant Bi-Han is different with his little girl. He’s patient and thoughtful and always willing to show his daughter the right way to do things. Bi-Han had the proudest Papa moment when his little girl created her first snowflake and may have even had to hold back tears of joy and pride.

- [ ] Bi-Han is always there for his daughter, despite being the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei he wants his children to lead normal lives. Obviously he will teach them to use their cryomancy and train them to defend themselves but his daughter was never raised to be a killer. So, despite the demands that come with being Grandmaster he is there for every godawful school play, every shitty dance recital and every insufferable field day at school. He ignores the fearful and awkward glances from the fellow parents but Bi-Han can always rely on a fierce and feisty glance from his s/o to shut them up. He’s there to watch his daughter be the best damn flower she can be, maybe they should have brought a coat. He’s always the obnoxious father who is whistling and yelling encouragement at the drop of a hat because fuck if his little girl isn’t the best at everything.

Thank you @brittlecakes92 for inspiring me to write these and sending me the cute tea party video! Hopefully you lovelies enjoy these headcanons as much as I enjoyed writing them!

[showfallfoodcourtemployee]

[Thank you for using Showfalls wonderful Video to text service! We hope this serves as accurately as the video itself. Enjoy!]

[Transcript Received.]

[The video begins with the camera swinging around wildly, while the pounding footsteps going up steps. The footsteps then continue down a carpeted hallway until reaching apartment number 1020. The person recorder starts knocking rapidly, eager to get inside.]

[Person recording identified as Madeline.]

[A voice responds to the knocking from inside, sounding tired, and slightly annoyed.]

?: Give me a second! Jesus!

[Voice identified: Edgar.]

[The knocking begins to get louder, faster, and harder.]

[Edgar reaches the door and flings it open, exasperated.]

E: What?

[He steps out fully from behind the door, revealing a black peasant-style dress with long, puffy cuffed sleeves. The dress ends just above knee height with a lace finish, revealing thigh garters holding up long black socks. He also has black 5 inch platforms on. His face has a small amount of make-up applied, dark lipstick and sharp eyeliner stand out the most to the camera, and less visible, but still making a difference, mascara. He stares at Madeline.]

[Madeline screams in delight after edgar opens the door.]

M: OH. MY GOD. THEY WEREN’T LYING.

[The camera moves around edgar, getting a closer look at some of the outfits parts.]

M: You never told me you were.. uhm Fruity?

E: I’m not, I just find dressing like this fun. Is that a crime?

M: So, You’re a drag queen?

E: No? I mean, I probably could be, but I don’t really want anything to do with performing right now.

M:Okay buddy, keep lying to yourself! ..Also are you wearing platforms.

E: Yep! I told you I’d catch up!

M: Take them off you COWARD..

E: Mmm. That’s a no from me, sorry!

M: You just can’t live with me being taller than you!!

E: Ha! I can, it’s just really funny to wear huge platforms.

M: Yeahh.. Sure!.. Tootally..

E: So… did you come here just to see if the anons were lying, or did you want something?

M: WELL, I wanted to see your outfit, also I wanted to teach your non-cooking ass to cook.

E: Oh– hm. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to learn a thing or two. Considering I literally don’t know how to properly boil water.

M:YOU SET IT ON FIRE.

[Edgar laughs awkwardly.]

E: Haha… Uh, yeah.

M:How did you even DO that?? Did you somehow figure out magic??

E: I guess I’m just… REALLY bad at cooking. The 4 people there don’t even know how I managed to do it.

[Madeline sighs.]

M: I guess uh.. I'll show you how to make like some eggs? I don’t really know what you tried to make back then, and I don’t think you should try again now.

E: Er, I was trying to make soup. From a packet.

M: SOUP?? Oh nah. There is NO hope for you.

[He laughs, then steps back from the door.]

E: If you really meant it about teaching me how to cook, you can come in.

M: I’ll see if you’re even teachable. I guess.

[Madeline walks through the door into the apartment, going straight towards edgar’s pantry.]

M:Why do you have like. Three seasonings.

E: I’m on a budget.

M: I-Okay. I guess this’ll work for now.

[She then gets out salt and pepper, sitting them on the counter. She then goes to the fridge and pulls out two eggs from the carton.]

M: Uh, Ok. So. First you’re going to want to like, oil the pan? Do you have like spray oil or vegetable oil or like..

E: I… I should? I don’t really know where it would be, but I’m pretty sure I have that.

[Madeline sets the camera down onto the counter, leaning it upwards towards the stove. She then leaves to search the kitchen for any sort of oil to coat the pan. She then finds a bottle of spray oil, and walks back over to the kitchen, shaking, and handing over the oil to edgar.]

M: First off, you need to spray a small coat of oil onto the pan.

E: Alright, should be easy enough.

[Edgar tries to spray the oil onto the pan, except instead of the pan, the oil sprays directly into his eye, having held it the wrong way. He yelps, and drops the canister.]

M: ..HOW. Did you mess that up.

[Madeline sighs and picks up the canister, spraying the pan the correct way.]

M: THAT is how you spray it.

E: Thanks, Madeline. I, uh. I really don’t know how I fucked that up.

[Madeline grabs the egg, and hesitates before handing it to edgar.]

M: Now..You crack. The egg. CAREFULLY.

E: Normally I would be a little offended at you explaining this to me like I’m 5, but I feel like this is probably the best course of action, based on my cooking abilities.

M: I don’t understand how you could possibly mess this up bro. If you do there is NO hope for you.

[Edgar cracks the egg into the pan, fortunately not messing up one of the most crucial parts of the process.]

[Madeline sighs in relief, until realizing. The fire wasn’t on the entire time. She quickly turns it onto low-medium heat as the egg starts to crackle while cooking.]

M: Do you own..a spatula?

E: I should, yeah. I’ll go look for it.

[As Edgar turns around, something brown and very furry can be seen clinging to his back. He opens a few drawers before turning back around, holding a spatula up like a quest item.]

E: Found it!

[Madeline mutters under her breath.]

M: Thank god.

M: Now, uhm you’re gonna like check under the egg to see if it’s cooked?

[He nods, then walks back over to the stove and does exactly as Madeline had said.]

M: If it’s cooked pretty much on the bottom, go ahead and flip it.

E: Alright, will do.

[Edgar squints at the pan, and flips the egg over after a few seconds.]

[Madeline sighs in relief, silently celebrating from edgar being able to actually cook a “meal.”]

M: Congratulations!! You cooked your first, and probably last, uh. Meal!..?

E: The hell do you mean ‘last’? Are you going to shoot me or something?

M: NO I'M NOT GOING TO SHOOT YOU. I just mean you suck ass at cooking and you shouldn’t do it ever again!

[His shoulders lower, it was almost like he genuinely thought Madeline was about to pull a gun on him. At that moment, the squirrel from earlier climbs up onto his right shoulder.]

M: OH MY GOD ISTHATASQUIRREL.

[Madeline quickly backs up tripping over multiple things, before hiding behind the counter]

E: Wh– Acorn? You’re afraid of Acorn? The squirrel that Adam adopted? Seriously?

M: SHUT YOUR MOUTH NOW. YES I AM SCARED OF IT.

[He starts to laugh, after a few seconds, he begins leaning on his knees for support.]

M: STOP. YOU'RE BEING SUCH A BULLY TO ME RIGHT NOW.

[Edgar attempts to respond, but he keeps cutting himself off by laughing.]

M: THIS IS WHAT I GET FOR BEING KIND!! WOW..

[After a few minutes, Edgar finally is able to respond.]

E: You’re seriously afraid of squirrels?

M: I AM AFRAID OF ALL. RODENTS. SO YES. I AM AFRAID OF SQUIRRELS.

E: Damn, I’d never have imagined that you of all people would be afraid of these little guys! I mean, you can sit on top of buildings in the rain, but you hide behind my kitchen counter at the sight of a tiny ass rodent?

M: THEY ATTACKED ME ONCE WHEN I WAS YOUNGER, NEVER GETTING NEAR ONE AGAIN.

E: You suuuuure? He’s very friendly!

[He takes Acorn off his shoulder and holds him out towards Madeline.]

[Madeline scrambles from her hiding spot, running away from Edgar until she’s cornered.]

E: He won’t bite you, I promise.

M: CEASE THIS BULLYING IMMEDIATELY!!

E: Hey, remember that one time in the mall when you kept squeaking your shoes near areas I was in, just to piss me off?

M: I don’t know what you’re talking about! Totally!!

E: Mhm, sure. Totally.

[He holds the squirrel out again.]

[Madeline eventually surrenders her struggles against edgar.]

M: FINE. I WILL TOUCH THE FUCKING SQUIRREL.

[Acorn sits very politely in Edgars hands as Madeline quickly taps him on the head . Upon realizing Acorn was not a threat, Madeline starts to pet the tiny squirrel.]

E: See? He’s not going to attack you.

M: Finee. You were right.

M: Well, I should probably get going, after you just tried to MURDER ME!!

E: Alright, sounds good, Madeline. See you later.

M: Bye bye!! I’ll be back only for Acorn probably!

[Madeline shuffles out of the corner she was hiding in, grabbing her phone and ending the recording.]

[Transcript End.]

[dagger-n-ravvi]

Chapter Six: Rise and Shine

Epel wakes up to a surprise in his room.

No warnings, but Rook is a freak.

Previous | Next Chapter | Fic Index

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55557751?view_full_work=true

Epel cracks his eyes open as the first rays of sunlight pour through the window. Getting up early comes natural to him, given the routine his folks kept on the farm. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes with a sigh, and looks around at his room. He hates to admit it, but this bed is pretty nice. Maybe the most comfortable mattress he’s ever had…

He turns to look at the window and sees a familiar, and extremely unexpected face beaming at him.

“AIEEEEEE!!” Epel lets out the biggest scream in his life, and hurls a pillow at the intruder. 

"Bonsieur, Monsieur Pommette!" Rook catches the pillow and sets it gently on the floor.

“What’n tarnation ya doin’ in mah room ?!” Epel gasps, clutching his quilt up close to his chest. His heart is pounding. 

"Vil has asked me to assist you this morning! I will meet you in the hallway~” Still beaming, Rook stands and walks back out of the room. Panting just a little, Epel gets out of the bed and very firmly locks the door. Then he brushes his hair and puts on his school uniform with his favorite red boots. He unpacks a few essentials to toss in the closet and on the bathroom counter, distantly trying to remember if he’d just forgot to lock the door last night or Rook somehow climbed in through the window. He takes a deep breath and loops his tie around his neck…

And then stares down at it in the bathroom mirror with a puzzled frown. How does the knot go again? Aghhhh, his mee-ma did it last time…

He walks out of the room and sees Rook seated on the windowsill across from his room, watching the hallway like a big, blonde hawk. He said that Vil told him to help, right?

“Uhh... Rook? Do you… Do you know how to make a tie?" 

"Certainement, I will show you, but it will do you no good at the current moment." Rook smiles apologetically.  "I should have been more specific. You must wear the dorm uniform to all dorm functions."  

"Dorm Uniform?" Epel asks, unsure what that could be. "Um... I only have the school uniform?" 

“You do not have an outfit in this style? It should have been delivered last night.” Rook stands and holds out his arms to show Epel the flowing, purple and red robes that he’s wearing. Epel stares at the massive, useless sleeves that his arms don’t even properly go into, the high collar that’s gotta make his neck itch, and the stupid tasseled belt that’s gonna get caught in literally everything. He has to wear that?! 

Without waiting for a response, Rook walks back into his room and opens up a closet that he hasn’t even got a chance to peek into yet. "Ah, here!" 

He takes out a clothes hanger with a matching, red and purple outfit on it, and begins laying out all the different parts on his bedspread. "Do you know how to wear this?"  

"Uh..." Epel stares at the outfit, and slowly shakes his head. There’s an over-robe, a button up shirt, a second shirt with a pointy collar, pants, heeled boots, a sash, a tasseled tie thingy, AND some weird little triangles that might be for his hands?! The underlining of the robe is crimson, and the poisoned apples embroidered on it are kinda neat. They’d look better if they weren’t partially hidden behind panels of black gauze that look so flimsy he doesn’t even want to touch ‘em.

"Fear not! I will assist." Rook takes out a pen with a purple gemstone set into the end, and waves it over the uniform. A strange brush of soft, satiny pressure rolls over Epel’s skin, and as it does, his outfit smoothly changes itself from his school uniform to the dorm one. 

"Yee-ah! That’s some fancy magic! Y’all can just do that?" Epel twists around to look down at himself. The outfit is overly snug around his waist, and the starched collar rubs on his neck. The lace trim around the hand-triangles is already making his fingers itch, but if he can learn this nifty trick from Rook, then undoing it all will be easy as pie! "Can you teach me that spell?" 

"Oui, it is simple! But we should hurry. Breakfast is not so formal as dinner, but we should still arrive promptly.” Rook smiles indulgently, then begins to walk down the hall toward the banquet room.

"Oh... okay. Uhh... your nose looks better. I nearly broke it again with my pillow though. Sorry?" Epel says, following along behind him. 

"T’inquète~ You will not find me so easily caught off guard a second time," Rook says slyly. "And I thank you for the reminder to be always vigilant."

He turns back to give him a cheeky smile. As he does, Epel notices a heavy layer of makeup across his nose and underneath both eyes. He can’t see any bruises from the broken nose, but he can faintly see freckles across his cheekbones just barely peeking out from under the paint. Weird. Vil was all up in his business last night about sun damage, and now here’s Rook from the same dorm with freckles he cain’t even hide under pancake makeup?

“Well don’t sneak up on me. There’s a saying back where I’m from that goes ‘don’t spook the horses. You’ll lose your head and the horse’s trust.”

"And are you a horse, so easily spooked?" Rook teases. "Perhaps you should learn the animal’s vigilance to ensure that you are less vulnerable to being startled~"  

“Heck no! If I’m gonna be an animal, then I’ll be something cool. Like a tiger,” Epel retorts. “And I ain’t vulnerable.”

“Oui, you are not~”

The other students are only just filtering into the banquet hall as he and Rook arrive. His fellow freshmen and the older students all look up, and he can hear them murmuring as he passes. 

...so frail...

...couldn't attend dinner last night...

I’m so jealous! To receive personal care from Vil Schroenheit himself!

Their expressions range from pity to envy, and all of them seem far too intimidated to try and catch his eye. Rook leads him right past them all and up to a peacock-feather throne, where Vil is seated at the head of the table. He looks up as they approach, and narrows his eyes in a pinched expression that immediately makes Epel's heart sink. Oh sweet baby apple blossoms, is he gonna have’ta do more manners to eat breakfast?

"You are improperly prepared. Rook, take the morning announcement. We have a magazine interview to prepare for, and everyone must be given their assignment,” Vil instructs. He stands, deftly flicking the sleeves and floor-length hem of his robes behind him before beckoning to Epel.

"Come with me."  

‘ Huh…? But… I… I thought I did ok? ’ Epel looks tentatively between Rook and Vil, praying for leniency. He tries to stand tall, but he already feels sick. 

“Ok…” he all but whispers, then follows Vil back out of the banquet hall. His heart sinks somehow even lower when they start heading back toward Vil’s own room, where he did that weird bath last night.

“So… a magazine? For who?” Epel asks just to break the silence.

"Fierte," Vil says in a tone that suggests that ought to explain everything. "They reached out to my agent, and I agreed to let them run a story on Pomefiore a month from now."

“Oh… neat. A month huh? Wait, your agent…? You gotta agent?” Epel squints at Vil. Is he some kinda famous noble?

"You have an agent." Vil corrects with a sigh.

“You have an agent?” Epel repeats, still faintly surprised that Vil is possibly famous. He usually doesn’t care about famous people,  unless it’s sports, or they’re in awesome movies or shows! Like Leona Kingscholar in Spelldrive~

“Yes, I have an agent.”

Epel frowns as he follows Vil into the room. If he has an agent, then does that means he’s like… extra fancy? Oh gosh, if he asks WHO Vil is, then he might humiliate himself even further, but it might be important… 

“Uh… makes sense. That you’d… have one. You… You like doing things with uh… with Faa-yer-day?”

Vil pauses for just long enough to make Epel nearly skid into him, then turns back around with an incredulous expression.

“Fee-air-tay,” Vil pronounces for him. “Fierte is an international fashion magazine. They were the first magazine who featured me on their cover, and as such, I felt comfortable doing this little favour for them.”

He plucks what looks like a candy bar out of a cardboard box decorated with words in a foreign language, and hands it to Epel. Epel automatically takes it and holds it in both hands. Okay, so this magazine is hot stuff, and Vil is a famous model. That all makes sense, given he’s in the pretty-boy dorm. And why he’s just as confident as a peacock struttin’ through a pen of chickens... 

“Eat quickly. There might not be time to return to breakfast before classes start,” Vil prompts him.

“Eat…?” Epel looks down at the weird candy, and obediently unwraps it. He gives the weird, pink bar inside a raised eyebrow before popping it into his mouth…

And then he immediately wrinkles his nose. It has the chalky, mineral-heavy taste of an energy bar, made only slightly better by the scent, more than the flavour of strawberry. It’s partly because of that smell that he belatedly notices something strange. This might be a fancy, foreign product, but he knows preserved food. Harveston is landlocked, and in the winter, it can be impossible to deliver fresh food for weeks at a time. He's eaten from many a jar and package after all the fresh produce is gone, and the first thing you do is always check the wrapper. 

And this energy bar? Its wrapper has been tampered with.

[listlesssehnsucht]

Summer Wardrobe Worries

I definitely need to get some new outfits for the summer. The cheap T-shirts I have are mostly completely worn out and somewhat translucent despite only having them for like a year (don't buy Style & Co clothes if you value your money), and I can't wear sweaters and/or undershirts all the time to hide that.

So... I need to start coming up with some general ideas of what I want to be comfortable with.

Shorts: I haven't worn shorts since I started shaving my legs long before I came out (probably around 2017). Now that my body hair growth has slowed somewhat thanks to 💕HRT💕 I think I would be okay with going out in them. It's been so long since I've shown that much skin though, I think it'll be hard initially.

Crop Top: I think I have a good body type for crop tops in a conventional sense. I have never worn something quite so revealing as a daily outfit though, so the thought of it makes me a bit lightheaded. I always worry about making a fool of myself or looking weird and drawing undue attention to myself, so this one is a pretty big step for me.

Bra: I've been wearing the same five sports bras since 2020, before I started transitioning. Since that time, they've gotten a little tight for me. I've never been a fan of wired bras or lace, so I've been looking at bralettes recently. One thing that's been holding me back has been actually finding one that fits. I got my current cheap sports bras off Amazon🤮 and kinda guessed at the size. It didn't fit snugly like it should due to my then diminished chest, so I never learned how to properly fit a bra. I know that it's the difference between mid-breast and underbust, but the thought of actually going to a store and trying some out is terrifying to me. I still haven't entirely gotten over the feeling that I'm somewhere I don't belong.

I still want to maintain the cute/cozy aesthetic that I can't seem to put my finger on, so that just adds another layer of complexity. There's so much that I want to do but haven't worked out how to go about. I'm starting to look at more outfit inspo and a lot of it looks good, but isn't really what I'm going for. I'm getting tired of feeling anxious over this stuff, and need to take the plunge to change that.

[firespirited]

Aside from looking and feeling drained, I've had a nice week.

Still enjoying chilling with Stargate Atlantis even listened to a couple of episode commentaries (the writers have early aughts typical broey vibes though so that's off-putting).

Found a pair of shoes to wear this late autumn as my "vintage" vans mannaz fell apart. After I'd talked about the difficulty of finding shoes that fit me and how many I'd tried that didn't work out, Mum dug up a pair of hiking boots she'd forgotten to send back to dad and said he'd always had the same problem: wide feet with height just behind the toe area as the arch starts. Apparently getting work shoes for his teacher job that didn't hurt was quite a quest. They fit great except for the length so I went online, found the same brand "Queshua" and looked at their hiking shoes of the updated but same series/range. Ordered a male and female model in my size. Only the "guy" shoes fit and they don't have any spring in them like sports shoes do but sports shoes often end up too narrow. I can't risk buying them without going to a physical shop or doing a dozen returns. Queshua from decathlon have a free return from your post box and refund policy. Fantastic.

So basically, I'm elated to have been able to toss out the vans and stick the pastel gradient laces into my new all terrain, waterproof trainers. I'm going to look at their winter models for colder weather. It's reassuring to know there is a brand that tends to fit. I'm hoping to try the thrift store on the outskirts of town one day when the carer isn't too busy but that could be a while (why thrift? Because I generally don't fully know a shoe's problems before I've 'road tested' them) .

I also tried crochet again (every few years I try to knit or crochet from tutorials and it hasn't gone great, you all know I can't think in 3D, so like for the keyboard, it has to be muscle memory and mnemonics) This time I had two different youtube tutorials on half speed and could sort of 'get it' but for the life of me could not properly hold the yarn in the left hand. Mum was around so I sheepishly asked what I was doing wrong. Her first answer was "well have you practiced?" 🙄 (she forgets I'm not the 7 year old who gives up as soon as the dopamine runs out or gets distracted by shiny - i mean i am but I've learned to go back to practicing even if I have to make myself angry or use bribes and limits.) I dutifully produced my series of messed up lines and sat down to show her and she went "oh OK! you're doing it wrong, Here's how auntie Grace taught me" and wrapped the yarn around my little finger, using the middle finger as the main yarn holder and index+thumb to pinch the crochet. Then I had to leave because she kept telling me to "relax my shoulders relax your hands RELAX", I love her but I do not control the muscles when trying to practice a new hard (for me) skill for an audience.

That hands on tip was what made it actually 'take' this time even though I might end up using the ring finger instead. I haven't had much time to practice and made quite a mess of my first attempts at rows with a 3 ply yarn.

Today I was able to proudly show off a 5*30 stitch parallelogram (still haven't got the tension down) of thin cord, it took three tries... but not bad. I'm really hoping I'll be able to grok some more stitches and have something to keep the hands busy that's less taxing on my shoulder. I also need to ask her about auntie Grace, she's probably part of the deaf adult community mum grew up in.

Slowly working towards listing more dolls. You get stuck on junk decisions about whether to bundle, whether to dress them or one of the photos is too blurry and the whole thing stops because there's a missing step or piece. Plan derailed.

I've got incoming which helps with motivation: Elle eedee!!! I didn't click with her the first time then really missed her but now I know how I want to do her eyes. Twilight teens grey for Nicole Steel head (aliexpress 11.11 sales $5) and white.

A Catrine and pink haired Howleen. Catrine is a design I just love and was always put off by the yellowing. Now that I know more about straight peroxide bleaching, I really want another try. I also want to see what happens to that lilac turned grey hair and if it fries or just turns lighter grey, she'll be bald. Their cleaning will be top priority in general but not top on the project list as I have Barbie Marnie who needs just a few more lines of hair to be perfect, a 1/6th BJD to string (need to practice rotary tool sanding and buffing on a damaged barbie before I touch her resin) and probably switching out Jewel Richie's eyes, they're beautiful with the green shimmer details but the visible bevel on the 'baddie' eyes makes them hard to photograph and distracts from looking like a cohesive face. Oooh I might try a line of black acrylic paint first to see if that fixes the issue.

Voilà, big blurb. Not many photos they're all on the desktop. The dogs are happy and well, Lily is a bouncy frolicking 15yo, Talia is learning to be less afraid of the big world and other dogs specifically Gargouille and Elliot.

Talia also threw up in almost every room in the house today, with for her grand finale some raw hide bone she swallowed whole to concentrate on hoarding the other two from Lily. Chihuahuas either have Tardis stomachs or they are mostly stomach because the dimensions of all that came up don't make sense.

Highlights were sharing popcorn with sis and mum on Sunday just chitchatting. Long hot bath to warm legs cold from the inside out. Stunning sights as the sun comes out from behind the mountains:

[cardanapologist]

Under the Tables

I WROTE THIS BASED ON THIS POST BY @i-admit-i-am-dumb <3333333

***

Cardan watches Jude uneasily take a cup of wine from a nearby servant, nodding her head in thanks. She glances down at it with the usual frown on her face, swirling the red drink around in the cup. It’ll be her first drink of the night, while Cardan has already had 3. He’s nowhere near as drunk as he usually is at revels, choosing to bear the festivities not sober, but Jude is not a drinker like him. Instead, he watches her take small slips, wincing at the taste before setting the cup aside.

The same servant comes back up the dais and bends his head as he offers her a platter of what Jude describes as finger food, though that makes Cardan wrinkle his nose as he imagines unpleasant things.

She pushes the platter away with a small, “No thank you” and then reaches for her cup again, not so much to drink, but to busy herself so it looks like she doesn’t want meddling servants to keep offering her things just for her to reject them.

Several moments later, she catches his eye, and the scowl on her face deepens just a little bit more. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Cardan says, resting his chin delicately in his palm. He leans towards her. She’s all too far away on this dais, their throne-like chairs set several feet away from each other. He makes a mental note to amend this for next time. He should have learned of the structure of the dais and seating arrangements before this revel. It’s their first one after all. The staff didn’t know how to seat two royals on the dais.

“You clearly have something you wish to say.”

“Do I?” he replies innocently.

He takes her in silently.

She’s picked out a dark dress for tonight, though he can hardly say she had a choice. All the dresses he’s gifted her after their marriage and her return from the mortal world have been similar in darkness, but not in style. While some dresses have extra ruffles or a distinct neckline, they’re all dark shades of several colors. Maroon, navy blue, black, forest green, and his favorite dark purple.

The last one is the one she wears, a dress that comes down to her feet, her shoulders left bare, and a corset that accentuates her waist. The only thing that stands out from the dark colors is the white of her corset laces, which she may have tied a little too tightly, he thinks, judging by the way her chest rises and falls with each trembling breath.

Or, he realizes, she’s nervous.

“These revels,” he says, gesturing lazily at the crowd and orchestra, “are meant for merriment and celebration. This one in particular is intended to celebrate your return. So why then are you unhappy?”

She frowns. “I am not unhappy. I’m having a great time.”

Cardan clicks his tongue. “Liar liar. What an awful trait to have.”

She shoots him a look. “I am not lying. I really do think all this is great. I’m happy I’m not being hunted or killed or held for ransom.”

“But?”

“But what? Nothing. But nothing.”

“What makes you so uncomfortable you cannot eat or drink properly? Much less sit without fidgeting. Is it the amount of people? I assure you that was not my doing. It was all your sister. I believe she still thinks she has to make things up to you. Take it up with her.”

“It’s not that.”

“Is it the food, then? Does the magic still not allow you to enjoy our food?”

“That’s not it either.”

Cardan reaches for his cup and pointedly takes a sip. “I assure you it is not poisoned.”

Her eyes flash. “I wasn’t too concerned about being poisoned tonight. Not that you’d even notice if you were poisoned. You act the same way drunk.”

He’s grinning now. He tilts his head down so his crown falls a bit lower than his brow, which he catches quickly before it can fall to the floor. “Then what is it? And do not tell me it is nothing. Quickly tell me what it is so I can fix it immediately. Is it the music? Shall I ask them to change it? Is it the throne? I’ve already decided I need to have a word with the staff about the seating. Or is it the–”

“Cardan,” she says quickly under breath, her jaw tense, “it is nothing of concern.”

“It is,” he replies. “Tell me what it is.”

Jude’s eyes narrow, but she doesn't speak. Much to his frustration. She looks back at the crowd of dancing people and drums her fingers against her arm rests, refusing to look at him. Nervously, she tucks her hair behind her ear, revealing the gold jewelry embedded in her unusual round ears, matching the delicate gold chains around her faux horns. She’s made them extra tight today it seems. Usually, by the end of the day, her hair is beginning to unravel, but not today. Everything about her is impeccable, unruffled.

She looks every bit like the Queen.

And yet she twists her fingers anxiously and keeps switching from crossing her legs to crossing her ankles, to leaving her feet flat against the floor.

He will not tolerate it. One night off is what she deserves.

Cardan suddenly stands, making several revel goers glance at him cautiously. A few stop dancing, stepping away from the dais to give him room. Jude slants a look at Cardan and narrows her eyes again.

He holds his hand out. “Come. We’ll dance.”

“What?” she hisses. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

“Way to do this in front of everyone. Now I can’t even say no.”

“I do not think you’d want to say no to your husband anyways. Not about a dance at least.” He smiles when she takes his hand, waiting for her to adjust her dress so she’s not tripping over it as she follows him, descending from the dais.

The music continues merrily, many revel goers taking steps back, making a path for the King and Queen. Jude ducks her head to hide her face, nearly walking into Cardan’s back when he abruptly stops in the middle of the floor. He turns back and takes her waist, but not before announcing to the dancers, “Please, do not stop. Keep the festivities alive!”

And with that command from their king, the dancers and citizens resume their dancing, stealing glances at Cardan and Jude whenever possible. 

Jude is unmoving, now staring up at him with her dagger-like eyes. He only smiles back and tightens his fingers on her waist, just below her tight corset. He tugs her closer and gently begins to sway. It takes several long seconds before her legs give way, falling into a small step pattern with him.

“This is very obviously a security hazard,” she says, looking around them now. She can’t look over his shoulder due to his height, so she chooses to look around his torso instead. “Anyone could stab you right now and be done with you.”

“I am more at a risk of my own wife doing so rather than a stranger.”

She scowls. “I’ve never actually stabbed you.”

“How many times have you threatened to?”

“Not enough.”

“As for the security,” Cardan says, sweeping her around suddenly, making her clutch onto his biceps. “You’ve done all that you could about it. There are about 10 guards at every entrance of the Palace. I’ve never felt safer, and you should feel safe too.”

“You can never be too careful,” Jude grumbles, letting his arms go. He pauses their movements and reaches for her wrists, tugging her hands so they clasp behind his neck. The movement makes her stumble closer to him, and then he returns his hands.

“Come on, wife,” he says quietly. “We’ve done this before.”

“I hated that night,” Jude replies instantly, her jaw tight, likely from the mere memory of it. But there’s a scarlet blush over her cheeks. He finds it amusing. “I’ve hated several of these revels in fact. They were always fun for everyone but rarely for Taryn and I.”

As Cardan gently moves them, he thinks back about seeing her at the previous parties. He seems to remember what she’d been doing at nearly all of them, and the realization would have struck his stomach in a nauseous way a year ago. Now, he accepts it. He’d always been watching her. It comes handy during moments like this.

He recalls the first revel he saw her at. There were talks about mortals in Elfhame, and at the first mention of the twins, he scoffed and rolled his eyes and groused about them to his friends. He’d predicted what they’d look like. He recalls telling his friends that he assumed the mortals were dull creatures, too ugly and plain to be considered things of beauty to marvel at. He imagined they had bug eyes and unnatural hair colors. He assumed they had sharp teeth and gangly limbs that made them awkward to look at. “I pity them,” he’d said to his friends who had laughed in response. “To be that ugly and stupid…it must be a nightmare. I would simply end my life.”

The night that he first saw Taryn and Jude did little to change his perception about mortals being stupid, but some cracks formed in his ideas about them all being ugly.

“Those are the twins,” Nicasia had leaned in and told him with a grimace. “They’re so plain looking. Look at their dresses.”

“What are their names?” he’d asked, staring at one of them in particular.

“Jude and Taryn. My parents said so.”

“Which one is which?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell.”

He gave her a peculiar look. “You can’t tell? But they look so different.”

And Nicasia had given him that same look back. “They’re identical. Anyways, I do not care about which one is which. Let’s get a drink.”

They were different, Cardan recalls. Everything from their hair to their face to their dresses. They were polar opposites, and he did not learn who was who until several days later when they’d showed up to lessons, huddled with each other.

Because of Madoc’s status and role, Cardan saw the twins more often than not at the revels. When they first arrived, they looked lost like deer. Their heads whipped anxiously at every noise, trying to hide behind each other. One of them, Taryn, always managed to hide behind Jude. And they always held hands, he remembers, smiling. Their hands were always tightly clasped, making them inseparable.

Jude frowns. “What is so funny?”

“I’m recalling the previous revels.”

“Yes, because the death of your entire family must have been a fun night.”

Cardan ignores the jab. Instead, he turns them around and wraps his arms around her waist, tucking her closer. “I remember,” he says, looking over her head, “the first time you got into trouble at one of the revels. We couldn’t have been more than 12 years of age. You got separated from your sister and couldn’t find her.”

Jude’s eyes darken at the mention of that year. “Mhm.”

“And you’d asked for help to find her,” he says, unblinking, still recalling. “But you asked the wrong people. Some older kids, right? And they’d commanded you to dance instead. It took hours for someone to realize something was wrong and for your father to get you out of the dance circle.”

Jude is quiet for some time, and he blinks, glancing back at her. She has one of those infuriating expressions on, the ones he can’t read. “You knew,” she says finally. “You watched it happen.”

“I did.”

“You were very cruel for not helping.”

“I was.”

They don’t say anything after that, just swaying along with the music. Her skirts brush against his legs, but he always manages to move away before he can step on the expensive fabric of her dress and cause them both to tumble. He continues through his memories.

“For a while,” he starts up again, opting for a different memory than the bombardment of bad memories that arise in his head. Of all the times he watched and did not help. “For a while, I wondered why you and Taryn would hide under the tables.”

He feels Jude stiffen under his touch. She stops moving, frowning up at him. “What?”

“The tables,” he says. “You hid under them. For several hours sometimes. It was intriguing. I wondered why you did that. Why you chose to be away from the festivities and simply talk under the tables. What could be so important?”

He shrugs and gently steers her away from a group of kids dancing so she doesn’t fall against them. She’s staring up at him with her mouth slightly ajar.

“But I know now that with all the people messing with you, it was the only safe place. I just found it interesting. You’d be there one moment and then gone the next. Several times, I thought you managed to find a way out of the party without alarming your father, but it wasn’t until later that I saw you and Taryn crawl out from under a table that I realized it.” He smiles. “Sometimes I grew jealous. I too would have liked to be under the tables with a friend, hidden from everyone’s eyes. Once, I thought about joining you and your sister under. But by then, you weren’t particularly fond of me and I’d already made up my mind about hating you.”

He takes a breath. “You were such a strange child. Now you’re an even stranger woman. Only I’ve become used to it now, I suppose.”

Jude bites down on her lower lip. She swallows. “Is that why you joined me under the table that night?”

“You punched me and made me double over. I did not have a choice. I do not think I could have walked even if I wanted to after that.”

“You know what I mean.”

His eyes refocus. “I think so. I am not sure. I was very drunk. When it all started happening, it became unbearably loud in the hall.  People running, children crying.” He winces and lowers his voice. To avoid other listeners, he pulls her closer and bucks his head, his cheek against her hair and mouth against her beautifully round ear to ensure she’s the only one hearing him speak. She shivers but lets him. “I saw the guards by the entrances. I saw your sister. I saw Madoc and Oak and Oriana, but I did not see you.”

Realization strikes her features. “You knew it would be me under the table when you lifted the cloth.”

Cardan laughs though he doesn't find anything funny about the bitter memory. “It took a few tries to find the correct table, my dear, but yes. If anyone was under those tables, it would be you.”

She looks up at him with that expression again, the one he cannot read. “You said…” she struggles to speak as if trying to recall that night. Her eyes briefly flutter shut and then reopen. “You said that it wasn’t safe for me.”

“It was not.”

“What were you going to do? Once you found me? It wasn’t safe, but what else? What else could you do? Do you recall?”

“No,” he replies truthfully. “I don’t remember much from that night.” There’s a reason why they do not talk about it often. “But I do remember feeling glad that I got to be under that table. Even if it were my last few minutes alive. And even if you physically made me incapable of walking.”

Jude is quiet after that. Her legs move mechanically as he sways them closer to the dais. The dancers have made another path for them and while she’s lost in her thoughts, she’s more pliable. He moves her closer without having to argue with her, and finally when they stop in front of the sais, the music pauses, allowing dancers to take a break before the next dance begins. He drops his hands.

“Revels,” he says quietly, “have not treated you well. I see that. Perhaps as Queen, you will not feel the need to hide under tables or away from your people. They are, after all, here for you.”

She blinks up at him. “It’s been hard,” she says, gathering her dress to make it easier to walk back up the stairs to their seats.

“That is why I urge you to take after me and have some drinks.”

He’s relieved to see the corner of her mouth raise slightly as she nods. He takes her hand and brings it to his mouth, dotting light kisses to her knuckles. In response, she gently holds his crown so it does not fall. Then, he clasps her hand and helps her up the stairs and into her seat.

When they sit down on opposite chairs, he glances over at her. She looks more relaxed, though still in her thoughts. Feeling his eyes on her, she looks back at him. Stares for many seconds and then says almost inaudibly, “We don’t have to hide under tables anymore.”

“No, dearest,” Cardan replies softly. “We do not.”

[hwanchaesong]

hii , hope ur doing well and aren't stressed, i saw this reel on insta and it was an edit of seonghwa singing boyfriend by dove cameron?? and holy fuck i cant get the idea of dilf seonghwa vfhjuhb. could u write a suggestive fic like that and any au is fine! tysm

a/n: hii!! i'm taking that this is a song prompt request soo this will be based on the song boyfriend~ imma just do the whole dilf!hwa bc he's hot like that 😭 newaysss, thank you for requesting and i hope that you're all happy and healthy as well 💚🍀

👤: ATEEZ Park Seonghwa

📼: Boyfriend - Dove Cameron

genre & warnings: suggestive, slight angst, fluff, cursing, mentions of alcohol and clubs, dilf!hwa, cheating

word count: 1.1k

for anyone who wants to, don't be shy and send me asks based on Prompts Request Song Version. Thank you so much!

You watch your boyfriend mingle with different people on the dance floor, having the time of his life while you were there all alone, sitting in a booth and nursing a bottle of beer.

He's always been like this, always at the center of the attention and you hiding behind his shadow.

You're getting tired of all his bullshit, wanting nothing more but to leave and sleep in the comfort of your mattress.

"I wonder why a beauty like you doesn't have a man by her side."

A voice from behind startled you, looking over, you saw a man holding a fancy glass of whiskey, wearing an expensive looking suit.

You scoffed, turning around to look straight ahead, "Because the man is too busy grinding his ass over other people's groins."

He chuckled a bit, amusement lacing over his features, "I think," he maneuvered his body, enough to be able to gaze at you properly, "you deserve a better treatment than that."

"Lemme guess," you returned the gesture, ready to accept a challenge from this handsome stranger, "you think you can give me that."

You said in a matter of fact voice, making him laugh a little bit with your boldness.

"Wanna give it a shot?"

The offer is tempting yet in the back of your mind, you know that doing that would be wrong.

"I'll pass for now."

You stood up but you weren't able to go far away, a large hand tightly gripping your small wrist.

The man did not take the rejection lightly, he's not about to let you go now.

"You're not making the best decision here, darling." he mumbled darkly, peering into your eyes wantonly.

"I-"

"Hush babe," he raised to his full height, looming over you intimidatingly, "come with me and I promise that I'll give you the best night you'll ever have."

All rationality flew out of your brain when he leaned forward, giving you a teasing peck on your nose.

Your brain did a 180° turn and immediately changed your mind, choosing to go with him for a night full of passion.

He dragged you into a fancy hotel.

Pushing you down into the softest bed you have ever laid on and what's more to say?

Oh yeah, he fucked you so well that it had you cumming for so many times.

He kissed you like there's no tomorrow, ate you out like a starved man, licked every nook and cranny of your curves until your eyes rolled at the back of your skull.

He's skillful, fingers curling at the right spot and hips pounding into your walls so good that it had you clenching around him unconsciously.

You learned that his name is Park Seonghwa, a rich businessman who is only out for fun once in a while.

Also, that name was chanted out of your mouth like a mantra, him not stopping the pleasure that is coursing through your veins until you're shouting for everyone in the building to hear.

His promise really was fulfilled, and you think that you won't see him ever again until you crossed paths with him in a mall.

This time, the set-up is different.

You were with your boyfriend, (you hid the fact that you slept with someone) and him that is conveniently there when you needed someone to protect you.

An argument is currently going on between you and the man that you once called your home.

"Minho, will you please just listen to me? For goodness sake y-"

"No, Y/N, you listen to me. I pay for all these, so what's the damn matter if I get what I want?!"

He went and walked past you, accidentally bumping your shoulder that almost made you fall on your ass if not for a sturdy chest and hands on your shoulders that supported you.

"Woah, be careful there."

That voice...

"Are you okay?" Seonghwa asked you, a friendly smile on his face and when you confirmed that you're fine, it changed into a cold one.

"You midget," he called Minho out, "that is not a way to treat a lady."

The other man glared at Seonghwa, clearly not happy with the insult he just received.

"She's mine, and a nobody like you doesn't have anything to do with this relationship."

Seonghwa smirked, "Yeah? Well, I'm sorry to drop this on you but how can you call her yours when you can't even fuck her properly?"

"What?"

"Seonghwa, please stop." you tried to alleviate the growing tension between the two men.

Minho's eyes widened, gazing at you angrily.

"What on earth is this lunatic's saying and you know him, Y/N?"

Seonghwa's hand placed itself on the small of your back, guiding you away from the man that did nothing but give you insecurities.

"She doesn't need to explain anything to an ex, now, if you'll excuse us."

You two left the astounded man in the middle of the area, hearing him say 'This is not over yet.'

It definitely is, he didn't even bother going after you. That itself speaks on how much Minho cared about you.

Seonghwa guided you towards a private resting area in the mall, and there you saw a smaller guy that he introduced as Hongjoong.

"Papa!"

You blinked when a small child hugged Seonghwa's legs, a bright smile forming on the older man's face as he picked the boy up.

He has a child? (and an adorable one at that.)

"Don't worry," Hongjoong said from beside you, probably sensing the doubt that is brewing from within you, "he doesn't have a wife nor a girlfriend. It's complicated but I'm pretty sure that you'll know his story soon."

Seonghwa glanced at you, "Hongjoong, please take Daehyun for a while, I have to talk to Y/N."

"Aye sir," his eyes glint knowingly, taking the child and positioning him on his arms, "let's go Daehyun-ah, there's some gelato in there."

The little boy squealed happily, yelling cutely about sweets.

"I know you're surprised." Seonghwa started, speaking carefully and softly to not further agitate you.

"You bet I am."

He sighed and took two wide strides, stopping right in front of you, "I just want to say that I can't get you out of my mind after the night that we shared."

Your mouth opened to say something but no words came out, you just stood there like a gaping fish.

"And judging by that encounter, I can assure you that I could do better as a boyfriend."

Your breathing hitched, "Isn't it too early for this?"

"Right." he looked down, though he's not willing to give up.

"Let's get to know each other then, after that, we'll go to the exciting part."

[angeldcgs]

so maybe most of his success on the app could be attributed to portia— she still wholeheartedly believed she was merely helping him best represent his true self. she'd never want to turn him into something he wasn't, or have him portray some fictionalized version of himself just to get a date; he didn't need to, anyway. all she did was help him get over his nerves and offer a few suggestions which all stemmed from a place of genuinely wanting to help. having more experience with dating, and the perspective to know what it was women wanted out of a romantic or sexual partner, she had valuable insight to share with him, and it'd be cruel of her to withhold that when he so desperately needed guidance. at times it was difficult to put her feelings for him aside and give her unbiased advice, but she was trying her best not to be selfish. her most self serving act had been encouraging him to put his focus on women who were nothing like her— for some reason, the thought of him falling for a stand-in version of herself was too hard to stomach. the girl he'd ended up connecting with seemed nice, a suitable enough match for him, and portia could only hope that she knew just how lucky she was to have landed a catch like caelum. "why wouldn't you be what she expected? you look like your pictures." his conversational skills might be lacking due to his nerves, but a lot of women found shyness endearing, so it might just work in his favor. leaning forward, she refilled his glass before reaching for her own, taking a thoughtful sip as he began detailing his specific worries regarding the date. none of them were unfounded, of course, but she didn't think they would automatically lead to disaster. maybe she might even find his lack of experience endearing, just as portia did. "you can't forget how to kiss... you just— y'know... you do it," she chuckled, gesturing with her hand to make up for her lack of an explanation. "but you don't have to do anything you don't want to, you're allowed to say no. if she has a problem with that then she's an asshole, and you're better off without her anyway." his concerns were voiced so earnestly, trepidation laced in his tone, and portia's heart ached for him. if he could just wear a little earpiece during the date so she could feed him exactly what to say and do, she'd do so in a heartbeat, but he needed to do this all on his own if he was ever going to learn how to step out of his shell and get to know people. all she could do was try and properly prepare him before he went into the date, the gears in her head turning as she went to set her glass down and give him her undivided attention once again. "if you want, i could— we could... like, practice. since you said it's been a while since you've kissed anyone, i dunno... it might make you less nervous just to give it a go in a safe space." making such a suggestion had her heart beating that much faster, trying to keep her tone nonchalant so he wouldn't read too much into it. just a friend helping her friend practice kissing. nothing out of the ordinary about that. "it wouldn't have to be weird, or anything, i mean, friends kiss all the time. but only if you're comfortable with it, obviously! i won't be offended if you say no, it's totally up to you."

it was difficult to take any of the credit for managing to bag a date when without portia's help, caelum would've been undoubtedly left floundering, unable to word a sentence without coming across as romantically stunted as he truly was. it wasn't an attractive look, he didn't want to go on a date with someone who pitied him and therefore he had been forced to lean on his friend, her expertise in the field made it so he always knew how paint himself in the correct light and had, ultimately, been the reason he had managed to convince the pretty blonde who worked as a barista to have dinner with him. curled up beside portia, caelum shot her an amused glance, one that told her that he knew that his nerves were obvious and didn't need to be clarified. he sighed and reached out for the glass of wine, his second of the night, taking a short sip as he pondered on what it was exactly that he was so anxious about. nerves before a date were common and expected, though considering his lack of experience and frequent failures, it felt as though there was more riding on this next one being successful, if not only for him but for portia too. "i guess i'm... nervous about not being what she expected." his lips rested against the rim of the glass as he spoke, pink and chewed on and slightly pouted. after a moment of deliberation, caelum dipped the glass up and finished what was left of his wine before leaning forward to place his glass back down. he felt bad complaining about the same thing over and over again but there was little he could do to quieten down his own mind, portia had some special quality within her that made everything seem not so bad, simply being in her presence was enough to calm down the brunt of his anxieties though some still remained, chewing him around the edges, waiting to get to the soft core of his insecurities. "i haven't done this in so long and... i don't know... what if i show up and i'm not what she expected? what if she- she wants to do something and i freeze up? hell, i don't know if i even remember how to kiss." he tried to laugh to make himself appear a little less pathetic, though he knew that he couldn't hide the truth from portia. "i don't want her to feel bad because i don't know what i'm doing but i-i don't." he wasn't planning on getting laid on a first date, he still held romantic expectations for his first time, even if it wouldn't be quite how he'd first envisioned it, but there were plenty of things two people could do that weren't penetration focused and they all filled him with an equal amount of dread.

[valentine-writes]

Hiya!!! I wanted to ask if you would do headcanons for Chica and Roxanne going out for a romantic autumn walk with their human partner? Like, their S/O wraps a cute scarf around them and gives them some soft mittens to wear so they won't get "cold" (their hydraulics system might get sluggish if it's too cold out altho it's not dire enough that they'd actually need mittens, but I'm a sap for finding an excuse to hold hands) before taking them for a romantic walk through a nicer area where they can see the leaves changing color and enjoy the crisp autumn air :)

by your side

[ tws + notes: pure fluff, canon??? lol what's that, established romantic relationship, unedited as usual ]

↳ ft. glamrock chica and roxanne wolf

「 gn! reader, romantic relationship <3 」

author's note: THANK YOU THANKYOU THANK YOU!!! more chica and roxy reqz were vv much needed ^_^ o,, how i luv my girlz,,..,. did not find a song for this one but o well :] this is short!!! and sweet!!!! this iz tha closest thing u will get 2 actual fleshed out fanfic from me UWJEHJDHS

the days get a little shorter. the sun rests it's weary head on the horizon a little earlier, the moon stays out a little longer. the leaves turn every shade of red, yellow, and brown– and life becomes a little more still.

it's the perfect time to sit in a cafe and smell the seasonal pumpkin spice flavour wafting through the air (which, you have recently learned, does not actually contain pumpkin). of course, this isn't the only thing to do.

while this season feels like a bridge between the heat of summer and the ice cold grasp of winter, it is far beyond being a season just waiting passively for change.

you could pick apples at an orchard. bake a pie. try to navigate your way out of a corn filled hell. carve a pumpkin. prepare for halloween.

or you could go on a walk with someone you love.

the autumn season beckons your name, asking you to behold its beauty just before it passes. you oblige happily, knowing you won't behold it's wonder alone.

you put on a light jacket, before heading out to meet her.

headcanons below the cut !!

GLAMROCK CHICA:

"you got these for me??" she pulls you into a tight embrace, which, while expected– still took almost all the air from your lungs. chica seems to notice- and affectionately presses a small peck to your cheek before she lets you go to catch your breath. her enthusiasm for something as simple as a pair of mittens brings a smile to your face.

"i know you can't exactly get cold– but! considering your hydraulic system can be affected by extreme temperatures, it might be helpful." you explained. she didn't really need to know the specifics of why you got them. just thought it would be helpful to explain.

what you were NOT going to explain was the fact you went to three different stores trying to find a pair that would one: fit right on her, and two: matched her style well. you had gone through so many options to make sure it was the best pair possible for her. your efforts were not in vain, considering how enthusiastic she was to receive them.

after helping her put them on, she pauses, looking at your own hands. for a second, she's still. she considers your hand in hers– your mitten-less human hand in hers.

"won't... you get cold?" she asks softly, looking up into your eyes with a softness that could melt even the coldest hearts. the tenderness of her voice, the concern laced in it– it almost paralyzes you for a second.

"oh- uh- well-" you stammer, blinking several times before properly responding. "i.. i'll probably be fine. no need to worry." you give her a reassuring smile. she only huffs in response.

"nope! i will not allow this!" she declares, intertwining her fingers with yours. "i'll keep you warm!"

you laugh, knowing her resolve is basically just an excuse for hand holding. "how are we gonna walk if you're holding both my hands?"

"you put it in your pocket, silly!" she giggles. "unless you want me to hold both your hands–"

she shoots a wink at you playfully. something tells you she isn't really kidding though. any excuse to be closer to you is one she'll take.

you laugh, with a shake of your head. "i hate to say it, but i gotta pass this time."

"there'll be a next time?"

"next time, i'll bring my own mittens."

she pouts at your response, unsatisfied.

"...and then, we can hold mitted hands." you finish.

grinning happily, she gives your hand a gentle squeeze, "sounds good to me!"

ROXANNE WOLF:

"ah, before we go–" you slowly pull put a folded scarf from the pocket of your jacket. "wouldn't want you to get cold."

roxanne eyes the scarf in your hands, before slowly leaning forwards, eyes now fixed on you. she opens her mouth to say something, but seems to hesitate.

"you.. want me to help you put it on?" you ask. it was hard to tell what she was thinking. you worried she might not like it, or that she wouldn't want to wear it but–

"...yeah." she says, snapping you out of your thoughts. "i don't exactly own any scarves of my own, you know."

"then i'm happy to gift you your first." you smile, slowly taking the scarf and draping it around her shoulders. you're concentrated, bringing it around once before adjusting the ends at the front. it's snug enough to keep her hydraulics up and working, but loose enough to be comfortable.

you notice, how she lingers as you finish tying her scarf. her eyes are on you, and you notice that, in just the same way that she had gone still, you're still holding the soft fabric in your grasp. how quiet, this moment became. you can hear your own breathing, becoming hyper aware of the soft rise and fall of your chest.

before you can say anything to her, you find her index finger and thumb holding your chin gently. she tilts your face up and meets your eyes.

"thank you.." she says, her voice quiet. you have never seen her like this. she was never soft spoken at all. in fact, she was the bolder one between the two of you. to have a sweet moment like this made your heart flutter.

it takes a moment for you to even respond, your face flooding with heat. "oh- of course..."

before you can say anything else, she plants a small kiss on your forehead. you can barely muster a sound, too flustered to speak or to even process the fact that roxanne had already pulled away, half way out the door.

you blink several times, before fulling registering this. "hey!- you gotta wait up!" you call to her, trying to ignore the ever present loud drumming of your heart.

"maybe you better catch up!" she calls back, snickering. you stumble after her, nearly tripping over your own feet to get by her side.

"ready?" she asks, offering an arm out to you.

you link arms with her, smiling. "ready."