#that is an actual shade of purple that you can buy

[soliloquivm]

location : some hardware store status : closed for @urbnlgnds

‘ — YOU EVER WONDER IF companies are running out of names for paint colors ? look , this one is called snugglepuss , what the hell is that ?  ‘

[yumeboshi]

𝜗𝜚。．．❛ #03. CORPSE BRIDE

𐙚 topic。．when you turn down yandere hsr men’s proposals.

．。𝜗𝜚 cw。general yandere themes, suggestive content, MINORS DNI

．。𝜗𝜚 a/n。aven, sunday, and boothill. sunday and aven are regular additions to my posts lol, wrote boothills less intense bc he’s too silly to imagine

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE ⇢ ‘convinces’ you

。he will actually try to coax you into it. he doesn’t want to just force things onto you, that isn’t really what he wants 。“ill make you the happiest pretty bride, doll, just believe in me, hm?” 。continues to sweet talk you, telling you what he can do- buy you pretty dresses, give you anything you want, and he lists luxury after luxury. 。and he follows through his promises. even if you are being really disobedient, he’d still buy you more luxury than you could ever ask for. you will start questioning if you really don’t want this marriage- which is exactly what he wants you to do, to make you doubt yourself. 。his list goes on and on- a vip ticket to the Reverie, first row tickets to robin’s concerts, only the finest things that only his class of people could ever get their hands on. 。but in that list, he conveniently puts out ‘freedom.’ 。if you disagree, he’d pout, asking you why- and when you tell him you want to be free from him, he’d laugh, calling you a silly girl. 。“i already gave you a choice when we met. it was your choice to pick a card from an unknown pile.” 。he’d have the wedding commence in some really luxurious property of the ipc, and he will, invite your family over- he’s merciful. but is it mercy when you know you won’t see them ever again? 。“it would be a shame if they don’t see the happiest moment of your life.”

STANDING there with the most beautiful dress you could humanly ask for, your expression is nothing but a shell as Aventurine smiles at you through those shades. Your eyes are everywhere but on his eyes, when you stare at them, you feel like you’re losing yourself.

you are glad your gown came with a veil over your head, nobody can see your dead eyes, except him.

As the officiant goes on with the questions, you grip your bouquet a little harder to the point you feel their stems crumple, just like your shriveling heart.

You snap out of it after hearing silence- you see his expecting eyes on you and you nod blankly. “I do.”

And your husband smiles even wider, and he steps closer and slowly, while staring at you with uncomfortable adoration through those tantalizing purple eyes, he kisses you. You are expecting a tender kiss in a ceremony; but his gloved hand sneaks onto the back of your head, pulling you in hastily.

“I love you so fucking much, princess—” he breathes into you, brushing aside the saliva that trickles down your chin after his intrusion. “It took quite a while, but you’re finally all mine.” He pulls up your hand that has your forced vow on it, he chuckles and softly kisses your fingers.

“‘m gonna make you so happy, so ecstatic, that you’re gonna thank me for it, love. you will thank me that I restrained you from everything else.” he whispers, and the people clap, cheering; your family too, who smiles, knowing nothing that it would be your last reunion.

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY ⇢ breaks you

。he just takes it on another level (and does not find your struggles entertaining unlike the former) 。he will be, really heartbroken at first. the head of the oak family asking you to be his lifelong sweetheart is almost like him giving you his life. you are his entire world- and the world has rejected him. 。“…I see. was I not good enough for you, angel?” 。although his emotions will be very hard to control, he’s very used to commencing plans. he’d tell you that he could ‘talk this out’ with you. unfortunately, it’s not a choice, but rather, an order. 。sunday is a ‘the end justifies the means’ kind of person. he will do any means to make you eventually accept your fate. that will include imprisoning you in some faraway place and leaving you abandoned for so long, you will be broken, wishing for any interaction. food is only given to you through a remote device, with no human interaction. 。sunday itches to be with you- he is compassionate for you, his heart will ache to see you sob into an endless cacophony. a part of him will be tempted to go to you and be with you physically, not watching you from a screen. 。he will repeat it- he will visit once a blue moon, comforting you, asking you if you changed your mind. when you ask him when he’d release you, his expression will harden. 。“it seems you haven’t learned anything, sweetheart.” 。if you are still stubborn, he will be a little impatient. he will speed up the process by adding new things in- maybe making you dream of a lovely, free life and when you wake up, you’re just alone. he will not resort to anything violent, he cares too much about you to hurt you. although, ‘hurt’ in his dictionary doesn’t apply to mentally hurting you. 。you will sob and show your most dramatic, fragile sides to a descent of madness, thinking you are truly alone until sunday comes to visit. you are wrong, though- sunday has always been with you, just not physically. 。he has always been watching you cry into the void through a screen. always.

MAYBE you have finally lost your mind, because when Sunday comes to visit you and your dull prison, you collapse to your knees and immediately plead him.

“Please,” you sob, clutching his legs desperately- he doesn’t crouch, but looks down- almost like a god addressing its follower. Sunday is no god for you, but you beg like he is.

“Please what?” He looks at you, fingers brushing over your hands, tilting his head just the slightest. His golden eyes glitter in the dim light. He is waiting for only one answer, there is only one correct answer to his question.

But you do not give him the right one. “Please just let me go,” you break down. Your heart is throbbing from all the crying, vision blurry and your head is light with no energy to talk anymore.

His gentle, serene smile immediately warps into that of a cold one. “Try again?” His fingers grip your hands hard, warning you that his patience is running thin.

When you remain silent except for your sobs, he crouches down to stare at you on eye-level, boring holes into your fearful expression. Unlike his deadly gaze, his words are soft and flow out quickly like a river- albeit with a sigh of exasperation. “Sweetheart, I’m not going to stop this just because you beg.” His hand pushes yours against the floor to knock you down, figure towering over you as he leans in to whisper- “—although, they’re very pleasant to listen to.”

“Honestly, I don’t get why you are struggling right now. It’s so easier to accept your eventual fate. Unless, you do like to seek pain.”

His other hand goes over your stomach, then slides tantalizingly slow up your body- you shiver and tremble at each touch that is too foreign to you. Cold fingers cage your neck and you choke on your breath.

“I’m not planning on hurting you, angel.” His voice is still gentle, but his eyes are telling another story, they seem keen to hurt you again and again. “But I did say I’ll resort to other… methods. Since none of them seem to work, I suppose the only solution would be caging you with a baby.” When your eyes widen, he laughs dryly. “The look on your face tells me that you didn’t expect it. But you will be my loving wife, dear. You will not be able to run or reject me, not when your own child is at stake. It makes only more sense to… make you bear children. My children.”

As he watches you struggle under him, trying to breathe, he feels like he has entered ascension. Soon, one of your pretty fingers will have his ring, and very very soon, he will have his first child- the very thought of him makes him lose his mind. He so wishes to make you his, claim you inside, watch your pretty pussy gush out his cum while he’s pressing deep into your womb- but he also wishes to see a mini version of him, or you. He finds it too adorable to withstand. He will vow that his children will grow up pure and innocent.

“We will be the happiest family in the world,” he purrs. “And I’ll make sure of it.”

#BྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིOOTHILL ⇢ will try to prove himself

。maybe a little similar to aven. but while the latter will materialistically give you things and spoil you around to convince you, boothill will more likely show himself off instead. 。“i can fudgin’ shoot an ipc lackey in the head from miles away, sugar- ya can’t see that ‘n any other guy.” 。he’ll try to show you his capability to protect you- which will likely end up in multiple people dying but as a galaxy ranger, he has morals, so he will probably use the ipc as his shooting dummies 。overall he’s sweet even if you reject his proposal- he will likely be furious, just not at you. 。oh lord but during the day you rejected him, be prepared for multiple news flashes of dead people across the street. the amount of emotion will be too much for his consciousness to restrain 。when you confront him, he’d apologize, albeit a little too nonchalant. 。“‘m sorry sweetie, got a lil outta hand last night.” 。per your wish, he won’t kill anyone who’s unrelated and innocent- but he’d still go on a killing spree in the ipc headquarters to the point you are blacklisted on their list because he would shout your name and rant why you didn’t accept him while he shoots his gun all around the place.

“BOOTHILL, what the hell are you doing?” You frown when he returns- even after rejecting his proposal, he drifts around you like a lost stray dog. And he is always covered in blood, looking furious- but when you talk, his expression simply melts away like butter to a grin that shows his sharp teeth.

“What do ya mean what I’m doin’? Makin’ sure nobody hurts you.” He snickers. He smells like metal, like he always does, but this time it’s overpowering, which lets you know what he’s been doing.

“I don’t need protection, Boothill. You can just leave me alone.”

You’re beyond annoyed at his clinginess. No matter how many times you reject him, he’d always come back, showing something new off to you, and half the time it wasn’t anything pleasant, but rather his list of crimes.

“Aww, don’t be so uptight, sugar.” He chuckles and flashes a grin and his other metal hand spontaneously pulls you into his embrace— you jump. When did his hand get there? “All I wanna do is to make sure my future wife is safe and sound. Nothin’ wrong with that, hm?”

“I told you, I’m not going to accept-“

“Ah ah! Wait and see, you will be, I promise. But don’t drag the chase a lil too long. Even I get impatient.” Something cold pressed against your forehead and you realize it’s his gun. When your expression turns aghast with fear, he barks an amused laugh.

“You scared of this? Nah, I’d never hurt ya. Won’t wanna turn your body into metal like mine.” Although he says this with a dark smirk, he doesn’t remove the gun. “The sooner you agree to it, the merciful I become. Ya don’t wanna see innocent guys die because of your stupidity, hm?”

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

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AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[innerfare]

Law Fluff // Angst Compilation 

Summary: A compilation of Law angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Brushing Your Teeth Together, Flowers, Type of Date, You See His Cabin, Fighting and Making Up, Paradise, Nightmares, I Love You, You're Jealous).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded: 

Sees to your wound without a word, making sure it’s disinfected and bandaged and receives proper care until its healed. Places a soft, quiet kiss atop your head, doesn’t say a word. Makes a mental plan to avoid similar situations in the future. 

Brushing Your Teeth Together: 

Refuses to share his toothpaste with you and gets annoyed if you leave the cap off of yours. After you both brush and rinse, will wrap his arm around your waist and pull you in for a fresh, minty kiss. 

Flowers: 

Gravitates toward orchids, especially in darker shades of pink, purple, and blue; they feel a little moodier and less kitschy than the red roses Bepo tells him he’s supposed to buy to woo you (side note: imagine Law getting relationship advice from Bepo). One night folded an origami flower for you, and you liked it so much that he spent the rest of the night folding an entire bouquet, though he pretends it only took him five minutes. He doesn’t actually give the origami bouquet to you so much as he just sets it on your nightstand one day and mutters something about how the flowers won’t need water. He gets kind of annoyed if you make a big deal out of it. 

Type of Date: 

Museum date, full stop. Probably a science museum, but would happily do a fine art museum. If museums were open at night, it would definitely be a nighttime museum date, but he’ll settle for a weekday when nobody’s there. The two of you will lose track of time going from exhibit to exhibit discussing what’s on display. And Law is definitely the sort of guy to read up on the exhibits beforehand to impress you. Would also take you to a bookstore and buy you anything you want if you agree to sit with a coffee afterward.  

You See His Cabin For The First Time: 

You don’t know what you were expecting- would it be sterile like an operating room? You’re surprised to see comic books and a few action figures. He has some records, too- a bit of rock, some low-key emo music- and to your complete and utter surprise, a candy wrapper on his nightstand. And then there’s the coin collection on his desk, tiny pieces of metal he picked up on his many travels. You’re careful not to have a big reaction to his personality showing through for once. 

“I like your action figures.” 

“They’re kind of childish, but-” 

You cut him off before he can dismiss his own interests as dumb. “No, they’re not. They’re cool.” 

Fighting and Making Up: 

His emotional unavailability combined with his protective streak is a source of contention between the two of you. He wants you to be free, but sometimes, he finds himself in a dark place where he just wants to lock you in a tower. But what makes it so vexing is that he won’t even talk to you about it, just shuts you out of plans and operations because he can’t bear the thought of losing you or you getting hurt. Also has times when he won’t let you out of his sight but won’t admit that’s what he’s doing, which makes it so much more annoying. He’ll get mad at you if you do something without telling him, especially if it could be dangerous, which often leads you to argue that he's not exactly known for his communication skills. The two of you usually make up after you’ve been giving him the silent treatment for a few days and he crawls into bed beside you. The darkness makes him feel safe enough to press some warm kisses into your hand and then mutter an apology into your neck. Other times, he’ll write a short note and slip it into one of your books because he’s much better at writing than talking. And if it’s on you to do the making up, cooking for him is a good place to start. 

Paradise 1: 

Climbing out of bed before dawn because neither of you can sleep, having a cup of coffee, and walking hand in hand down the beach, stopping to bend down and pick up rare seashells to add to the collection on the bookshelf in your bedroom, not talking much at all but simply admiring your shared bounty in the pale dawn light as the sun creeps over the horizon.   

Paradise 2: 

Waking up to fresh powder blanketing the ground and jumping out of bed, barely getting your boots and one of his coats on before you’re outside, romping through the snow. Falling into a snow bank with your arms out, giggling as you make a snow angel, grinning even wider when he surprises you by laying down beside you and doing the same, letting his inner child show through for a brief moment. 

Nightmares: 

Bang! He never sees the nightmare, but he always hears the gunshot. He wakes up in a cold sweat, shivering beneath his covers, the taste of metal lingering in his mouth and the gunshot still echoing in his ears. He’s awake, but he’s back in that treasure chest, and this time, you’re the one laying dead in the snow. Alternatively, you’re in a hospital bed, writing in pain, screaming in agony, calling out his name, pleading with him to save you, and he’s in sea prism stone handcuffs, forced to watch you succumb to an illness only he can save you from. Again, he wakes up in a cold sweat, the sheets tangled around his legs, trapping him and making him feel like he’s still in that nightmare, completely and utterly useless. He has to climb out of bed and walk it off, might even train a bit with his sword to regain a sense of control. 

Wearing His Hat: He works so hard- it’s one of the things you love about him. You typically try not to disturb him while he’s in the middle of a book, but every once in a while, you can see that he’s not lost in the book so much as he is holding it in his hands to keep the people around him at a distance, allowing him to think a little too much about what’s stressing him out. 

You can tell by the tension in his neck and shoulders, the way his eyes don’t really focus on the pages but rather look right through them. 

“Put the book down. It’s time for dinner.” Coming up behind him, you give his shoulders a squeeze before sitting on his desk, kicking your feet a little bit. 

“Not hungry.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

He cast you an annoyed look but said nothing else. 

Knowing he wouldn’t budge unless you jumpstarted him, you snatched his hat off his head and placed it atop yours. 

“Y/n-ah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Give me my hat back.” 

“If you want it so bad,” you told him with a small smile. “Put the book down and come and get it from me.” With that, you hopped off his desk and slipped out of the office. 

Law glanced down at his book. He didn’t give it another thought, just tossed it aside and climbed out of his chair to get that hat off your head, and possibly another garment or two. 

I Love You: 

Law is pretty bad with words, and, for lack of a better term, he sort of lacks a bedside manner. Needless to say, this carries over into other aspects of his life, including his love life (or lack thereof; Law has little to no experience in this arena). One afternoon, though, the two of you are fighting because you want to accompany Law somewhere and he insists it’s too dangerous despite all of your qualifications and skills as a fighter. You keep pressing and pressing, demanding to know why he won’t let you go when you are perfectly capable, until finally he blurts it out. “I love you! Alright? And I won’t lose you.” You aren’t even in any sort of relationship at that point, the two of you just sort of stewing in unresolved tension. His irate confession is the tipping point, and you become an item after that. When you hear it from him after that, it’s always in private, usually in the late hours of the night when he slips into bed and buries his face in your neck. Other times, it’s when you two pass each other in the hallway aboard the Polar Tang and he catches your hand in his, placing a warm kiss on your knuckles, muttering the words, and moving along quickly for fear someone might see despite the entire crew knowing about your relationship. 

You’re Jealous: 

Dr. Law and Dr. Robin sure do get along well- so well, in fact, you can’t help but wonder if they are better suited to each other than you and him. Even if they didn’t have such good chemistry, it would be impossible not to feel a touch of jealousy toward the archeologist. She’s intelligent, beautiful, fiercely loyal, a member of the Straw Hats, and has an impressive bounty that she earned even before she became a pirate. Needless to say, you find yourself brooding when the Robin brings him a beer and sits down beside him to discuss the immune systems of fishmen, a topic both are rather interested in. Of course, you’re interested in that, too, thus the reason Law realizes something is wrong when you don’t participate in the conversation. He ends up excusing the two of you and taking you to bed, worrying you had too much to drink, the thought you may be jealous never once occurring to him. You end up not saying anything (many thing in your relationship with Law being unspoken) and just sleeping it off, the fact that he excused the two of you proof enough of his loyalty.

��——

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[dasketcherz]

thought i'd share my thought process for this fun lil piece / outfit in full display that i whipped out for beckory on valentines cuz i really had a lotta fun making it <3

OKAY first off, big thanks to @leaky-heart for helpin me gather some really cool outfit refs and for lending me resources where I can find a ref for bonnie's guitar in a 3d space. Thank you bestie, yar a life saver <3

Second, @/littleleaflings' jacket—goated af, will never stop gushin bout it aaaaAAA <3

Okay so looking at freddy & bonnie's designs—i am in love with how their dominant and accent colors are opposite of each other like a yin and yang situation. So i absolutely tried to incorporate that when rearranging the palette unto beckory's outfit

Fronnie's colors arent the only contrasting elements about them. Aside from their earrings, even their symbols are a pair—i love how freddy's is a lighting bolt but he is also associated with stars on the side cuz of his branding. While bonnie's is a star but he also has lightning bolts on the side (the purple accent in his fit) to match freddy

And to sprinkle a bit of beckory flair, i put stripe lines across their pants (if you look back on my ref sheet for the squad, the three amigos all have stripes somewhere in their fits, i purposely designed that to be their thing) just to also unify the patterns from their top

i gave tony a scarf to match greg's bow tie accessory. Its a combo homage to bonnie's headband and bunny ears in a way (cuz the ribbons on its ends look like droopy rabbit ears) i gave them gloves to compensate being unable to add punk bracelets on em cuz it would be too much for the overall look (same logic applies to the star shades, its to match with the top hat)

Also this was such a pure coincidence but i also realized beckory wears their fazwatches in the same placement as fronnie wears their earrings on. That actually makes me very happy, i think its a really cool coincidence

And as yall can see, Greg's jacket initially had stars on his sleeves (like it does in the ref), but i decided against putting it in the final cuz im startin to think it might look cluttered and hard to read from afar and tbh, I really liked how the translucent sleeves turned out... I didnt want the star pattern to cover it up lol

And thats pretty much it, thank you coming to my ted talk!! <3

if youre interested to see more of my art process compilation like this you can check over on my ko-fi page, you can support me by buying me a latte cuz I am planning to post more exclusive stuff like this over there in the future so I hope yall look forward to that! I deeply appreciate yall and thank you so much in advance!!

[lau219]

For My Eyes Only

•• Tommy Shelby x Reader ••

Lingerie mood boards and headcanon requested by the lovely @runnning-outof-time

…………………………………………………………………………….

• Although Tommy’s wardrobe (and everything else he owns) consists of nothing but black, grays, and the rare navy blue, you’re quite different. While his look is always somber, your look is always inviting, a mirroring of your personality, which is a lovely contrast to the vibe he gives off.

• It’s not extremely bright, flashy colors you choose, however, but deep, rich hues that portray elegance and sophistication. You always look nearly regal, down to the complimentary shade of your lipstick and nail polish.

• While one would assume Tommy’s preference on you would be black, he actually has a fondness for color whenever it’s on you. This extends to your everyday undergarments and lingerie, as well.

• Of course, Tommy absolutely loves seeing you in lingerie, and although you buy a bit on your own, he buys you something himself about once a month. It’s a decent mix of singular pieces (teddies, slips) and multi-piece sets (bra and panties, bra and panties with garter belt). At this point, you have quite the extensive collection of sensual garments, which of course, are only for Tommy to see you in.

• His absolute favorite colors on you are deep, emerald greens, rich, plum purples, and saturated, seductive reds. Tommy finds the richness of these colors and the vibrant contrast of the deep, jewel tones against your soft, fair skin an incredibly beautiful, tempting vision. It’s like paint against porcelain, and it’s his favorite sight.

• An addition of a touch of black is always a killer look, however, be it with a black lace edging or frills on the lingerie itself, or the accessory of some semi-sheer black thigh-high stockings with a lacy top hem. Add a pair of black heels, and you may as well start digging Tommy’s grave.

• Upon seeing you in lingerie, he will always behave in one of two ways, however, and you know what that will be, based on who chose your pieces. If you put on something he bought for you, Tommy will have no problem telling you exactly what he’s thinking. He’ll say you look absolutely stunning (which you do), and that he chose it because he knew instantly how incredible you would look in it. He’ll then tell you that you’re gorgeously sexy and downright irresistible, and will want to take his time enjoying the visual of you in the piece(s) before then equally enjoying removing it from you with a similar look of hungry desire. He unwraps you like a gift. He looks at you with such adoration and want, and he loves having you straddle him as he lays back in bed, looking up at you like a work of art.

• If you bought the piece(s), however, and surprise him, Tommy initially acts as if he’s disinterested and unaffected at the sight of you. It’s a harmless control thing, where his thought process is, “How dare you catch me off guard and rile me up when I wasn’t expecting it?” Of course, he secretly loves it, but it’s just that he always expects to be in control. You’ll saunter into the bedroom in what you’ve chosen or reveal yourself from beneath your robe in his home office, and he’ll keep a straight face and act unaffected when he looks up when you ask him what he thinks of your new purchase.

• While he acts unaffected and pretends to barely notice, it’s actually the complete opposite, though. Any time you surprise him with your own purchase, he’s even more aroused than usual, because he knows you’re asking for it.

• He’ll make you work for his reactions, though. You have to pretty shamelessly present yourself for him, and there have been plenty of times where you’ve had to climb into his lap in bed while he’s still pretending to read the paper, or straddling him in his desk chair and he’ll still make a phone call. Your breasts can be pressed into his chest and your lips devouring his neck and he still carries on as if he hardly notices you.

• You, of course, know this little game, and you always play along, and it isn’t until you start removing his clothes and have your hands on his cock that he finally starts showing signs of noticing you. He gradually becomes more interested in what you’re doing as he watches your every move, still saying nothing.

• It’s when your hand is grasping him and your mouth is hovering over his cock that he finally comments on your lingerie. “If you’re going to dress like a little slut, then you better act like one and put that cock in your mouth.” Of course, he knows you’re only his little slut, and he truthfully respects and worships you, but when you dare to get smart like this, you both know things are going to get dirty.

• When your mouth is around his cock, Tommy finally fully gives in, and the dirty talk continues as he watches you eagerly suck him. His hands alternate between threading aggressively through your hair and tugging at the hems and straps of your lingerie, while telling you what a naughty girl you are for buying it without his permission or input.

• When it’s something Tommy bought you, he typically will spend plenty of time adoring you and warming you up with foreplay while you still have the lingerie on. But then, as said before, he will undress you from it, unwrapping you like a gift before the main event. During these times, he’ll have you fully naked for sex.

• When it’s something you bought and surprised him with, however, the foreplay is limited to the blowjob you give Tommy, and there’s no warmup for you. After you’ve gotten him nearly ready to come, he’ll shove you off of him and then take control, holding you down as he quickly finds the best way to move your lingerie out of the way for him to fuck you. When you surprise him, the lingerie stays on during sex, with Tommy tearing it aside to access your pussy and pulling it away to reveal your breasts, but still keeping it on your body. After all, a little slut like you isn’t worth wasting time on before he helps himself to you.

• When it’s lingerie you surprise him with, you can expect rough, dirty sex from Tommy. He’s gonna punish you for taking him by surprise and remind you why that’s such a bad (good) idea.

• When it’s something he bought for you, you can expect to be admired and worshipped before he makes love to you with so much tenderness and affection, making sure you know how much he adores you.

• Both scenarios lead to downright amazing sex, just in very different ways. He’s always got you near tears by the end. If you surprised him, he’ll edge you repeatedly before finally letting you come. If he bought it for you, he’ll take his time working you up to the edge, and then he’ll push you right over.

• In both scenarios, Tommy is very affectionate with aftercare. Once it’s all said and done, you’re still his angel, and regardless of whether the sex was rough or sweet, he’s gonna take care of you afterwards. Lots of spooning, loving words of what a good girl you are whispered in your ear, telling you how well you took it all and how beautiful you are.

• Either way, it always ends with an, “I love you,” from him and a kiss on the top of your head. You say it back to him as you lay on top of his chest and you both relish in the afterglow.

• Needless to say, your lingerie is something that you both thoroughly enjoy.

• Thoroughly. 😉🔥

@nyxxie-pooh @xsweetcatastrophe @allie131313 @febris-amatoria

@empatheticlove @hannibellector @fairytale07 @meister95 @alltoowellbeneaththemangotree

@beastofburdenxo @aphroditeslover11 @galactict3a @lyarr24 @wild-rose-35

@judig92 @cillmurphyslover @ladyvenera @karah-bear @k1ng-l3on

@ceirinen @peskybinders @fuseburner @shaddixlife @neonpurplestars89-blog

@garrison-girl-08 @devotedlyshadowytheorist @emotionalcadaver @muhahaha303 @mostly-marvel-musings

@an-eclectic-of-mass-destruction @vervainandspritz @novashelby @wonderlanddreamer @teawonderfultea-blog1

@honeymoon8 @cardan-official @pkmonka @meadows5 @mamawiggers1980

@fmo166 @vastcapacity @mspookington-blog @fkmarrycill @sl-newsie

@mrs-bond @breakthestereo @shopgirl6us @myers-meadow @cillianbabe

[everythingpeaches]

In Which Sirius is obsessed with Remus' mouth.

Sirius, it has become apparent, has a bit of an oral fixation.

Remus, in turn, has an unfortunate habit of putting things in his mouth.

It is becoming a problem for Sirius.

One day in transfiguration, he accidentally misfires the spell he was aiming at his white rabbit and turns James' textbook into a very fine hat.

'Oi!' The quidditch captain yells, making Sirius jump and turn away from where he was watching Remus chewing absently on the end of his pencil.

That same evening, he is caught again by Lily who is lecturing him on his attempt to bribe the fat lady to change the password to the Gryffindor tower to 'James Potter has crabs'. It's a fair retaliation to James' own retaliation from his earlier mishap with the hat, in which James had charmed Sirius' hair purple.

'Sirius, are you listening to me?' Lily asks, who is not unused to Sirius' ignorance but is particularly intrigued by the vacant look on the Black heir's usually haughty features. She follows his gaze to see Remus, sitting with Mary and Marlene, scribbling away at his Care of Magical Creatures essay and sucking enthusiastically on a sherbet lemon.

Ah. That explained that then.

The next morning at breakfast, when Remus is licking jam from his knife, Sirius misses his mouth entirely and dribbles tea down his chin in a rare display of clumsiness.

He misses a bludger and nearly falls of his broom in quidditch practice when Remus, who is watching from the stands, lights a cigarette and plucks a stray piece of tobacco from the corner of his mouth.

His friends have started to notice, even James and Peter, who are usually painfully unobservant when it comes to their fellow marauders' love lives.

Mary buys Remus a whole packet of sugar quills on their next trip to Honeydukes.

Marlene keeps asking the werewolf to roll her cigarettes for her, stating that her tongue is 'just too dry' to do it herself.

Sirius smells a conspiracy.

'You know,' James says to him one evening around Easter while Remus is sucking on a piece of Peter's chocolate egg, 'there's a way to get over this obsession you've got.'

'What? I don't know what you're talking about,' Sirius says in a very unconvincing attempt at nonchalance.

Remus licks melted chocolate from his fingers and Sirius, in turn, knocks his ink well over, covering his muggle studies homework in sticky black liquid.

James laughs, clearing up the spill with a flick of his wand.

'Just snog him already, will you?'

Sirius pretends not to hear him, his pale face turning a very Gryffindor shade of red.

The next day he and Moony are sitting in a quiet corner of the library. Remus actually has work to do, and so does Sirius but he is only pretending to study, and keeps shooting Remus looks out the corner of his eye.

'Pads,' Remus starts, making Sirius jump, 'your book is upside down.'

Shit. Remus is smirking at him, his eyes glinting with that ever-present slyness that makes Sirius’ palms go sweaty.

'Yes, well, I'm a very talented reader,' Sirius replies quickly.

'Hm,' Remus hums, flicking the page over in his own book. He glances at the text in front of Sirius, and a smirk tugs again at the corner of his mouth. 'I never knew you were so interested in flower arrangement charms.'

Sirius looks down at the book, flipping it right way round and reading the chapter title. Well bollocks. He looks back up at Remus, who is leaning forward with his chin on his palm, his expression almost daring. It gives Sirius a sudden burst of confidence, something he only ever seems to lack in the presence of the boy before him.

'There's a lot you don't know about me, Lupin.'

He's flirting.

'Is that so, Black?'

Remus is flirting back.

'Yes, lots of things. I have many interests.'

They are both leaning closer to each other, so close now that Sirius can count the freckles on the other boy's nose. His heart is beating in his ears, and he involuntary wets his bottom lip with his tongue.

'Such as?' Remus asks, his eyes darting down to Sirius' mouth and then back up to meet his gaze with an almost indiscernible arch of his brow.

'Well... you,' and with that, and a rush of giddy adrenaline, he closes the gap and kisses Remus. It's electric. He thinks he might fall off his chair.

Moony is just starting to lace his fingers through Sirius silky black hair, which feels better than Sirius could have been prepared for, when there is an almighty crash from the shelf behind them.

'Yes!' Someone who sounds suspiciously like James Potter hisses, then 'ah fuck!' And a very Lily Evan's sounding 'Shhhh!'

The two boys spring apart and turn to see James, Lily, Mary and Marlene spilling out from behind the toppled bookshelf.

'Fucking hell, Prongs!' Sirius shouts, forgetting they are in a library.

'It was Mary's idea!' James protests, receiving a smack up the back of his head from the girl herself.

'Was not,' She hisses, 'it was a collective effort!'

Remus rolls his eyes, 'You're a bunch of voyeurs.'

'Out!' Comes Miss Prince's angered shriek, hurrying towards them in a fury. '-making such a racket, get out this instant!'

The group scrambles to their feet, hurrying through the shelves to the exit. Remus and Sirius lingering only to gather their books, but before they could hurry after the others, Remus quickly grabs the shorter boys arm and pulls him close, dropping one quick kiss onto his lips.

'Took you long enough,' he mutters, and then follows the rest of the group out of the library leaving Sirius to follow behind, looking very much like he's just been struck around the head with a beaters' bat.

[tarottsi]

having depraved thoughts about ghost getting into a niche youtuber turned streamer. there’s just something so nice about having someone whose content is available for him to watch after deployment.

the videos are engaging. it’s homey and if he closed his eyes and succumbed to his touch-starved state, he can imagine your ��prepare breakfast with me” videos are actually for him. and you’re at his kitchen, something good and not this ratty old leaking sink and cracked counter.

have you started asmr? you should do asmr. maybe get him into the mood to live and eat right instead of feeding from cans of beer and cup noodles. imagine. early mornings, listening to the crack of crispy bacon. then he’d buy the same tea you drink during streams.

it gets lonely when he’s on leave during his birthday. the loser man had used your birthday videos to celebrate his. isn’t that sad? he paid a good amount for a special birthday message too.

you say simon. it’s always simon. your hands shape into a heart when he donates a good amount per stream. he feels important when you ignore the comments from others, but when he hits send, you always reply to his. always address it to him.

♡ “i had a good day, simon,” ♡

♡ “thank you for the token, simon!” ♡

he’s delusional but it gets him through the day. and you get through your day when you receive gifts from fans—from him.

the purple earrings were from some far off country he was sent in last month. he saw the glimmer from a market stall, and he knows it goes well with the shade of your skin. you wore it on the following stream. the same stream he gave his largest donation yet.

and as always: “thank you simon♡!” makes his days all the brighter.

[whatsaninterestingplacethisis]

Fallingforyou

Imagine

Luke Hughes x Latina!reader

synop: a few moments where y/n mistakes Luke's kindness for being best friends, but they mean something more, it always does.

a/n: besties to lovies, the notebook is mentioned ofc, my work feels rusty but hopefully u enjoy ;)

cw: reader gets black eye in non-violent type of way, one cuss word I think, joke about being mugged, drinking, sweetie pie & Lu pet names hehe

You were one of the very few to see Luke Hughes. The turtle under the shell. It took time to see the real him but quickly over time he peaked out every now and then. He didn’t know why but he felt a different kind of my comfort around you. A comfort where you knew wouldn’t judge him. Maybe as a joke you would tease him but both of you knew you didn’t mean any harm. So he let walls come down to a complete stranger. A stranger he had just met, a stranger that he would fall in love with over and over again.

“You need to be more careful."

It was any other game day that you could attend. Wearing his number after you persuaded for him to buy for you. “Who else am I going to represent? Certainly not Jack…no offense.” you joked years earlier when you first started to cheer for him in person. He was surprised to hear you to bring up the idea but quickly got you your jersey the next day.

It was any other game day besides the slowly bruising black eye your friend gave you hours earlier. It was childish really, you two were messing around and dared each other to wrestle on the living room floor, and one maneuver led to your left eye hitting the couch’s arm rest. It hurt like a bitch on impact and the stinging after but the ice your friend placed on your face helped.

You knew Luke would say something so you showed up to the arena with sunglasses, taking them off to see the game clearly but putting them back on to see him after.

“Nice assist Lu,” you hugged him after he changed

“Thanks, what’s up with the shades?” he laughs poking at your glasses

“I thought they looked good with my outfit, what do you think?” You knew you weren’t fooling Luke, you were wearing jeans and his jersey, the basic outfit didn’t really need the sunglasses.

“How could have you seen my assist if you were wearing sunglasses?” His brows raise waiting for your response

You were about to come up with another excuse before Jack runs by snatching said glasses off your eyes, “Nice shades!” He yells as he jogs away, revealing your reddish purple turning bruise right under your eye.

“What the hell happened!?” Luke asks as he steps forward to get a better look, gently turning your head into better light.

“Nothing really, I was messing around and hit my eye on my couch. Don’t touch it.”

“Did you put ice on it?” He asks

“Of course I did Luke. Looks crazy though right?” You were kind of proud to have such an injury, it would heal eventually so why not be proud of it.

But Luke was not on the same wavelength, “Here. We gotta put ice on it." he grabbed your hand, dragging you towards the team's med room

"Luke I have ice at home."

"Just come."

The doc checked your shiner out by Luke's request and to no ones surprise, you were fine. He gave you an ice pack and Luke interrogated you on the way out,

"So what actually happened? You didn't just fall into your soft couch and get a black eye... No one hit you right?" you saw how his eyes slightly squinted

"I got mugged for my phone." you deadpanned. His eyes widened and his fists clenched, "But they clearly didn't win." you waved your phone in front of you with a big grin on your face.

"Thats not funny y/n." his features finally softened

You sucked in your smile into a flat one, "Sorry, me and y/f/n were wrestling and it ended with my face into the couch's hard arm rest and boom." you clapped for dramatics.

"You and y/f/n need to be more careful." he whispered in a stern voice making you smile of how many times Luke has said to be careful. Too many times than he would like that's for sure.

“Yes I can imagine.”

One of the many things Luke had to put up with to be your friend were the late night calls. You always watched your shows and movies at night. Sometimes with him but other nights when he was at his own place, you would call him to rant and give your movie review. This night you couldn't decide on a new movie to watch so you rewatched The Notebook for the nth time and it left you hollow like always.

You dialed Luke’s number mid sob after you finished the movie,

"Y/n what's wrong?" his voice was filled with concern as he heard your cries.

"Luke, you have to watch the notebook." you choke out, mindlessly staring at the rolling credits.

He paused in silence, "I already have y/n, I saw it with you, twice." he emphasized the word twice.

"Then you have to see it a third because it's just too good," you hiccup a sob before you started, "I mean- can you just imagine the love of your life writing you a letter everyday for a whole year and not knowing they existed!? god! it's heart wrenching. Noah Calhoun is the standard." Luke heard the same statement you have made many times before and with the same strong conviction. The change in tone in seriousness had him smiling on the other line holding in a laugh.

"Are you imagining?" you demanded after some silence,

"Yes I can imagine." he said in that sweet voice of his. He did imagine a love like Noah and Allie had. He would write a letter everyday to the love of his life if he knew for sure it wouldn't scare her away. He continued to hear your rambles he had heard before because it's the closest thing he can have insight on your views on love.

“I wish we met when we were kids.”

You were having a very small party for your birthday. You had the night off and wanted a quick but memorable celebration so you and close friends had dinner and a birthday cake in your cozy dinning room. You had help from your friends and Luke to decorate the place and it turned out better than imagined.

After dessert, and recreational drinking, gifts were handed out and it was Luke's turn. The one person you were excited the most to receive. He had gifted you a vinyl record of your favorite album,

"Thanks Lu but I don't have a record player" you laughed nervously

"That's why he bought you one too." Jack who had also been invited, carried a medium sized wrapped box that sounded heavy as he placed it in front of you.

"Dude she was supposed to unwrap it." Luke nagged at his brother spoiling his gift

"Oops, I thought it was obvious he would buy you both." he just shrugged his shoulders.

"I love it. Luke, you sweetie pie, thanks." Luke blushed as you called him his favorite nickname you gave him years ago. You hugged him before unwrapping the second gift. Behind your back Jack gave his little brother a wink.

The rest of the night consisted with setting up the record player and playing the album, playing board games, and more drinking than you should have if you wanted to remember the night. It was a bit too late when Luke had cut you off but the night was ending when people were leaving.

He was half-carrying you to bed when you drunkenly admitted, "You’re a good friend Luke, any girl would be lucky to have you that’s for sure.”

“Thanks,” he whispered as he helped you tuck into bed

“Can you stay with me? At least until I fall I asleep? I always feel lonely when I sleep alone, especially on my birthday.” you asked without any embarrassment.

“Of course.” He kicked off his shoes and got comfortable next to you. It wasn’t uncommon to be so close to one another but Luke always felt his heart race.

You were already under your covers, “Shouldn’t I change into my pjs?”

“You already did y/n.” Luke noted that you were very intoxicated and you wouldn’t remember the next moments.

“Oh crap, when did that happen!” Alcohol also made you delirious.

“An hour before people started to leave, you said you wanted to be comfortable, so now you're wearing your grinch pj pants."

You caressed the soft material, "I love my fuzzy grinch pants." "Hey don't you have a pair too?" you asked Luke from a lingering memory

"Yeah, we have a matching pair," he confirmed

"Because of last christmas... gosh that was a fun break, remember the snowball fight we had! we stayed out so long that your mom forced us to stay inside for the rest of the weekend."

“I remember. That was my favorite christmas.” He admitted,

“That was my first Christmas with all of you guys.” you realized out loud with some clarity.

Luke cleared his throat as he pulled out a small box from his pocket, “I have one more gift for you.”

“Wow. Three gifts. I must be important or something.” you joked as you took the box from his hands,

“You have no idea.” He whispered to himself but you were too preoccupied with untying the box to hear.

You opened the box to find a dainty gold swan necklace. Intoxicated or not you knew what the swan symbolized.

“Is this- what is this?” you asked in disbelief

“You know.” he stated softly

“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.” You recited the line that always brought you to tears as you traced the minuscule details.

He watched how your tired eyes blinked slowly, “You can wear it in the morning.” He took the box and reached over to put it on your nightstand.

“Thanks Lu. You are way too kind. Scares me sometimes.” you snuggled into his side as a hug

"I wish we met when we were kids," you said.

“Why?” his arms found themselves around you caressing your arms.

“Because I would have spent more time with you. Having the title of growing up with Luke Hughes.”

“You wouldn’t have liked me then.” he said flatly

“I don’t believe that. Some friends of mine weren’t that great but you,” you point into his chest, “you are a true friend everyone should have at least once.”

“I was annoying as a kid.” he tried to deflect your words but it didn’t help.

“All kids are annoying. But you were probably the same sweet shy kid and I would have loved you for it like I do now.”

Luke had wondered the same, if, you two grew up together. Would things be different? Seeing and knowing you for longer than a few years. Luke didn't have to think too much before realizing he would have fallen for you inevitably.

You had cuddled closer to his torso if possible and started to close to your sleepy eyes.

“You should sleep,” he says

“Goodnight Lu”

“Night” he whispered softly

Once you fell asleep, he stayed in your bed a little bit longer. He thought of the nice words you said about him and thought of the possibility of you liking him back. He imagined at least 1% could have been possible. All he knew for sure, all that was admitted and shared that night would be forgotten on your part. He eventually left your place after leaving pills and water next to the gold necklace.

“I fell for you, hard.”

You woke up the next morning, almost afternoon, gulping the pills and water immediately. You noticed the dainty necklace and smile. You don’t remember exactly how you got it but you knew who gave it to you. You wore the necklace for the rest of days ahead.

A few days after your birthday you and Luke had plans to take a night ferry ride to see the city from the water. Another, belated, gift from Luke since you mentioned the idea a long time ago that you don’t remember bringing up.

You two ate dinner at your favorite spot and then headed out to the port.

“And I thought this was my last gift,” you fidgeted with the jewelry over your sweater.

He smiles at your recognition, “You never know, I might have another one after this one.”

“No more gifts please. I can’t compete when it’s your birthday.” you two shared a laugh as the ferry cruised by the city lights.

“As embarrassing it is, I don’t remember you gifting me this.” You motioned to your neck,

“I knew you wouldn’t remember. You were pretty gone by the end of the night.”

“Yeah I’m starting to regret that.” You leaned against the railing staring at the city

“How did you it was me who gifted you it?” He asked following your movements but not staring at the city view.

“Who else knows about my notebook obsession better than you?” You turned to face him, looking up at him even though he leaned down for you.

“Y/n.” his face drops into a serious one

“Luke.” you mimic his tone but with a smile

He breaks into a smile and laughs towards the water.

“You make me go crazy.” he says through a smile still looking ahead

“I didn’t do anything.” you laugh along at his demeanor

“Exactly.” his voice drops again

“I don’t get it.” you chuckle again but with uneasiness

“The night of your birthday. You said you would have loved younger me like you do now if we met then. What did you mean by that?” he turned to you this time.

“I said that?”

“Yes you did.”

“I guess I mean I would love you then like I love you now. You just said it yourself.” you scrunched your eyebrows in confusion leaving Luke frustrated.

“But what does that mean? When you say you love me now.”

“You don’t know what love means Lu? C’mon now.” you were deflecting in humor

“I know what love means. I want to know if we’re talking about the same type of love.”

“What type of love are you talking about then?” you asked in the same tone he had been using.

“The one where I gift you a necklace from your favorite movie. The one where I take the girl I’ve been in love with for years to see the city lights. The one where I would write you a letter everyday for a year.” he talked so fast it surprised you.

“You would write me a letter everyday?” is all you could get out.

“In a heartbeat. But I wouldn’t want it to come down to that because in the movie they breakup and that’s when Noah starts writing—“

He rambled off his reason but he was cut off when you pulled him in for a slow and soft kiss that quickly turned passionate. A loud a boat horn interrupts the moment and pulls you both away.

“Why didn’t I see this coming at all?” you asked yourself in his presence

“I don’t know. I thought I made it pretty obvious.” His comment would have made you laugh but you were still digesting that you kissed your best friend.

“I always thought that was you being you. The sweet Lu you always are.”

“I think you’re the only person who has ever seen that ‘sweet Lu’. You’re the only one who calls me sweetie pie.” he laughs as he rubs his neck.

“I mean that why I fell for you. How couldn’t I?”

“Right after we first met, I knew I was falling for you and falling hard.”

“I wish this happened sooner.” you said with teary smile.

He pulled you in and cradled your face, “I’m glad it happened at all.”

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

That's Dick Magic, Baby!: Chaggie feat. Lucifer

Niffty: Charlie, I have a question.

Vaggie: No, you can not buy the Roach Blaster 5,000 to commit mass bug genocide.

Charlie: Vaggie, please. (To Niffty) What is it, Niffty?

Niffty: You're a Hellborn, right?

Charlie: Uh... yes?

Niffty: (to Vaggie) And you're an ex-Exorcist angel that was more or less Heaven born?

Vaggie: I- (pauses as she pinches her chin in thought) Huh... I'm actually not sure. I guess so?

Niffty: So, if Heaven born can have babies with humans and other Heaven born, and Hellborn can have babies with other Hellborn, does that mean that you two can have babies?

Angel: (in the distance) Ha! Hahahahahaha!

Charlie: (blushing profusely and plastering her hands to her face) N-Niffty, there's... um... more to making a baby than just being a compatible species.

Niffty: Like what?

Charlie: L-Like.... Um.... Vaggie, help me out here!

Vaggie: (several shades of purple darker from blushing and mumbling in Spanish)

Angel: (shouting from the other room) One of 'em needs a dick, Niffty!

Niffty: Oh, I knew that, but I figured that we're in Hell and Lucifer is literally Charlie's dad. I thought it was common knowledge that dick magic was a thing he could do.

Charlie: Say what now???

Lucifer 🍎: (bursts through the wall like the Kool-Aid Man) Diiiiiiiid somebody say dick magic?!

Charlie: Dad?! That's an actual thing?!

Lucifer 🍎: Of COURSE it's a thing!!! Watch!!! (Snaps his fingers)

Vaggie: Askfbdjsk!!! *POOF!!!* (Crumples to the floor as her wings spring out)

Charlie: Vaggie! (Drops to her knees) Babe! Are you okay?!

Vaggie: (blushing and slightly mortified) I think my insides just became my outsides...

Charlie: You're what? (Notices a bulge in Vaggies' skirt and her horns and tail poof into existence as her eyes turn the same blood red shade of her face) Oh~

Lucifer 🍎: (proudly) See? Dick magic. Now. What exactly were we talking about?

Niffty: I was wondering if Charlie and Vaggie could have a baby.

Lucifer 🍎: (plasters hand to hat) Ho! Um! Huh. T-Thats a good question! I'd assume so since Angel's don't have the same restrictions as sinners. Charlie, dear- (Looks around) Where did she go?

Niffty: She ran up the stairs with her tail dragging Vaggie along like a dog in a leash.

Lucifer 🍎: (silently screams and rushes to the stairs while magically pulling boxes of condoms out of his pockets) Chaaaaarlie!!!! Charlie Bear!!! Charliezard!!! Little Duckie!!! Wait!!! I don't care how adorable your babies would be!!! You need protection!!!!

Angel: (slowly dying from asphyxiation as he laughs)

[honestlywtf04]

𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭

warning: vin being horny, a bit of sex talk, a little cheesy, very cute.

summary: he's a desperate and adorable man when you're pregnant, while his cat just wants to be near your belly 24/7.

"hera, leave your mother alone," your boyfriend jokingly scolds his cat since she continues to rub her head on your belly. she ignores him and continues her actions. he goes to grab her but she hisses when she senses his hands get near her.

"damn okay chill," he pouts looking at me asking for help. i sigh and pick her up to put her on the floor. i go to lay down but i feel my feet get lifted off the floor and gently put on the bed. vinnie lays his head on my neck and rubs my belly. he sighs happily and places a few soft kisses on my neck.

"you're so cute," i tell him. he doesn't respond but continues to rub my stomach.

"i'm just showing my fiancée and my daughter some attention," he mumbles against my neck making me roll my eyes while smiling.

"i can't wait for you to give birth," he whispers which causes my body to go crazy with butterflies. "i know, i can't believe that you and i made this together." i feel him smile and start chuckling making me roll my eyes and playfully smack his head.

"you're so annoying," i laugh. he lifts his head and gives me a kiss. when he pulls away he says, "just go to sleep while i keep thinking about the memory of me fucking you."

my mouth falls open. he smirks and bites his lip, "no no no, we are not having sex. your child is growing inside me," he frowns and whines. "it's been six months y/n.. i miss you and the way you feel and the way you were so good at ridi-" he cuts himself off when i start chuckling.

"oh my god! you're so annoying," i laugh.

"we can have sex, it's safe," he tries to persuade me but i just shake my head. "i'm tired, and not horny. if you want then i'll give you something else tomorrow," i smirk when he smiles widely and lays his head on the pillow so he can fall asleep.

i look at him 'sleeping' with a cute little smile.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"i can buy a pool so i can teach you how to swim, then me and mommy can play in the water with you." i feel someone's hand caressing my belly. "i can also get you a bouncy castle because i know little kids love those. oh! maybe a purple castle one so you can be a princess." i pretend to be asleep as i'm listening to what vinnie is saying.

"are you gonna be a girl version of me? or are you gonna be just like your mother? either way, you are gonna be the most beautiful little girl in the world. well you'll look even more beautiful if you look like me." i mentally roll my eyes and i just know that he was smirking when he said that.

"you better not grow up too fast- hera get off the bed," he whispers. i feel some very soft fur and some weight on my belly.

"oh my god, hera she's sleeping for fucks sake. don't wake her up," he quietly yells thinking i'm still asleep.

"i've actually been awake the whole time," i hear him gasp and i open my eyes, my heart warms when i see hera laying peacefully on my belly. "the entire time?! did you hear what i was saying?" he asks, looking at me with embarrassment written all over his face.

"yes i did, and we're not gonna buy a newborn a bouncy castle or a pool," his cheeks turn a light shade of pink since he's been caught. i look at the clock that's on the wall to check the time.

"it's 3:30 in the morning vinnie!" i whisper-yell.

"i'm sorry! but i really wanted to talk to her. i was awake, you were asleep so..." he shrugs and grabs hera to set her down on the ground. i watch her little legs move, walking towards her own little bed.

"cuddle me," i raise my arms as he hums before getting on the bed. he turns me around so my back is facing him. he rests his face on my neck as his hand goes to my stomach, lifting my shirt and rubbing the bare skin.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

heyyy. Just had a thought about what would tan would be like on reader's birthday but they aren't together. So readeranf the twins are friends so what kind of stuff would they get her. Feel like tan would get something really meaningful and sweet that is something that he must really listen to what reader says in general to know. And when he gives her it he's reaally awkward and a blushing mess cyz he's worried she won't like it and he's saying stuff like'you can return it if u don't like it' 'its a stupid gift so u probably won't like it'. Love ur stuff recently :))

my baby hi!! sorry this has taken me longer to reply to than I usually would. been a little busy last couple days!! I got a little carried away and I couldn’t stop coming up with things😭💌

TAN GIVING READER BIRTHDAY GIFTS.

but

this guy is so thoughtful that no one can tell me otherwise!! he's a good listener, especially when you think he's not paying attention AND he's got cash to flunk which helps aid his gift-giving abilities so so so...

he's a bit of a snooper, so if he sees a tab open on your laptop or computer and it's a shopping website, he'd quickly click on it and take a picture so that he can remember what it is. maybe he deletes the items from your cart so you can't buy them for yourself

if you and the twins are shopping, and tan sees you eye up something, he'd make a note to pick it up (he's come back in a few hours or next day)

it depends on what things you like - ie flashy designer gifts or gifts for things you need/ can't buy. but he doesn't want to disappoint you so he'd get you something within that category (in that safe sweet spot)

maybe he mistakes things, so if he thinks you like a certain candle scent, he'd get it for you in air freshener form, not knowing that you know there's a difference in the smells (hence why you've never bought it for yourself) so he thinks he's being sweet (he is) but you don't really like the smell, but he's so thoughtful that you say you love the scent name (that makes sense right?)

he goes overboard and definitely puts lem's gifts to shame (even though he got you perfect gifts (I feel like lem just knows what you want and like, and the presents have funny inside jokes))

he tries hard to find the balance between a friendly and romantic gift - not wanting to overstep that line 

maybe your washing machine broke? so he buys you a new one, but a model better than your one before. maybe you mention how your floor seems empty? so he buys you a rug to match your space (would probs ask lem for advice) maybe you mention how you're running low on a lip gloss you like? but he doesn't know the shade name, so he gets you all the shades in that brand/ line so you can pick and choose when you want (it's your go-to one and you have it out often, hence why he knows the brand - he can read the logo) clear, pinks, purples, reds, browns, oranges - he'd get them all 

maybe you mention how you want to liven up your bedroom to match the season? so he buys you new bedding with colours to match your room (again, he asks lem to help) maybe you had your eye on a pair of shoes or boots but they're way out of your price range? guess what? he's had them boxed up and in his wardrobe the whole time (ready to give you on your bday) maybe there's a foreign snack you like but it's near impossible to find? so you bet when he's away for work he hunts around the shops to see if he can find any. ALSO!!!!! if he can, he'd buy loads, like I mean loads and pay to mail them back home so he can give it to you for your bday (dying)

and when it comes to actually giving them to you, he's all nervy and anxious bc he doesn't want you to hate them, so he puts it out there that he's uncertain about what he got you (even though he knows he did a good job) ALSO he really really values your opinion!!! so he says things like "I got the receipt at home if you don't like it" "that one's stupid. I thought it was alright in the shop, but I dunno" "you're hard to buy for (lie) I'll get you better stuff at christmas (or whatever it is you do or don't celebrate)" “I won’t be offended if you swap it” (or return/ refund)

and the reason you have a slight scowl is not bc of the gifts, but bc of what he's saying. like they're PERFECT gifts and he's saying that they're not 

so you're like "how did you even know I wanted that?" and he says how he has his sources yadayada

he's such a cutie pie <3

[parvulous-writings]

no idea if nail polish exists in the 5e world, but it does now. how about a chill day for the companions where everyone does their nails? or is tav/durge doing the painting for everyone?

Summary: Camp has a nail day!

Warnings: Minor spoilers for Shadowheart's various arcs, same for Karlach. One swear word.

Notes:  if it doesn't exist, it sure as hell does now! Also apologies that this took so long - New year is a busy time at work, and I've got a minor injury with my hand, so I'm working as fast as I can, but it's a little slower than normal!

I've included all the recruitable companions, besides Minthara, who is not included purely because I cannot accurately write for her just yet!

My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too!

Not my image

Time on the road where everyone is able to relax is very scarce commodity, so when it does crop up, you're always the first to suggest grabbing it by the horns and making the most out of the day - not by training, or planning your next moves, but typically with something more laid back.

You're camping close to Rivington when you get the first day-long break in weeks, so that morning you venture into town to have a quick browse of the stalls; perhaps you can find some food that will remind the various Baldurians in camp of their home? As you're starting to make your way back to camp, something catches you eye - a nail polish kit, going for quite cheap. You can hardly restrain yourself from buying it- you already know that it will bring a lot of much needed joy into camp.

Astarion is quite intrigued when you announce the spoils you've returned with. For too long he's craved petty vanity again; and even if he can only get it from painting his nails, he's willing to grasp at that chance. "What's this?" He hums, peering over your shoulder, trying to get a good look at all the colours that the kit contains, as well as the equipment. The first thing he does, given the chance, is start tending to his nails - cleaning under them, pushing back the cuticles, trimming and filing them into shape, the works. He spares no time making sure that everything is as he envisions. Sure, the colours he eventually settles on may not match the rest of his armour, but his new manicure matches his more comfortable clothes, so that's good enough for him.

Gale is... Unsure if this is the right kind of thing for your journey. "We have many more pressing matters to worry about, besides our appearances." He practically grumbles to you. "Might I suggest actually focusing on planning our next move?" It doesn't actually take a lot to convince him to sit down and let him do one hand of nails on him. You paint his nails a lovely shade of dark navy blue, which looks black in the shade, but blue when hit by light. You start speckling dots of white here and there to make them mirror the night sky, when Gale tells you he'd like to do his other hand himself. Of course, you let him, and about twenty minutes later, he's back to proudly show you his work. It's a lot shakier than the side you had done, but he looks so proud of himself for being able to emulate your skill even a little bit, you don't even nitpick in a teasing way. When it inevitably starts to chip away, he's absolutely devastated, but doesn't say anything until you all get an opportunity to rest properly again.

Justiciar!Shadowheart instantly dives for the black varnish. Nothing more, and nothing else. She doesn't dwell on it, but in some vain way, she feels like she's carrying a part of her goddess' revered darkness with her, even if it will chip away eventually. That just reminds her that everything on this plane is fleeting, and finite, always eventually consumed by loss. Selunite!Shadowheart adds a little more colour to her nails - dots of white, or purple are incorporated, intricate little designs that pay homeage to both her life as a Sharran, and her family heritage as Selunites. She takes great pride in the designs she makes, and often spends a very long time making sure that they are just like how she imagines in her head.

Lae'zel doesn't particularly like painting her nails - she feels it takes away from her aura of formidable warrior. She will, however, sharpen her nails on a regular basis - just as a back-up plan if she loses her weapon, or perhaps gets caught by surprise and needs to scratch out some eyeballs.

Karlach pre-upgrade loves to watch you do your nails. As in, she will actively sulk if you don't let her watch, or have some tiny level of input. She'll huff and pout, but eventually goes to sit elsewhere with a quiet "fine, whatever.." Post-upgrade Karlach is so eager to have her nails done, she's bouncing back and forth on her feet. She can't decide on a single colours - especially not by herself. "They all look so pretty!" She exclaims, waving her hands about in glee. So, unable to make a decision, she takes her favourite colours, and has all of them on her fingers - repeating a similar process on her toes with her second favourite colours. "This is the best thing we have ever done! ... Besides beating the shit out of Thorm... so, the second best thing!"

Wyll tidies his nails - similar to Astarion. He wants them to be a much nicer shape than they have been up to this point - makeshift files had not been too kind on his nails, and he was tired of catching them on things. He takes great care in shaping them and removing any chips or quicks - it's an activity he takes great pride in, and he'll happily do the same for you if you ask him to! As for colour, Wyll likes to go for a clear coat, purely for protecting his nails; though he has been known to paint his nails black, for dramatic effect. He loves his nails - not to the point that he preens them at any given moment, but enough to give them the time and care they need to keep healthy.

Halsin doesn't particularly like the idea of polish. Sure, it looks pretty, but he'd rather not wear it himself - there are other ways, he's found, that you can change the colour of your nails. (When you ask him what he means, or even to just elaborate a little bit more on how he knows this, he simply replies with "I once had a... Somewhat rebellious streak in my youth.") So it's likely that the only thing that he uses in this particular kit is the file and buffer - which looks absolutely tiny in his hands, it's quite funny.

Minsc doesn't do his own nails - at all. He won't even file them, he just either bites them or they snap off (usually it's the former). Instead, he takes care of Boo's claws. "Now, now, my friend. Do not call me strange - if I do not care for Boo's mighty claws, then who will? The paws of justice must be well cared for!" Insists that every few days he must re-file and re-buff Boo's nails, and will not take no for an answer. He also tries to convince you that Boo is trying to tell you the same, but by the way the little rodent's head shakes when he sits on Minsc's shoulder tells you otherwise.

Jaheira almost laughs when you suggest doing her nails. She wants to them herself, but, eventually she does ask you to help her. "It seems I'm a little out of practice.." She chuckles. "Perhaps some company wouldn't be so bad... If your offer still stands, of course." She LOVES having green nails. Sage green is her favourite, but she likes all of them really. Sometimes, if she's feeling particularly happy, she'll let you paint little golden leaves on her thumb - but that can be a rare occasion, because she doesn't want such skill to always go to waste.

[may-russell]

Just the two of us… 🎶☕️

You work at a coffee shop and once Hamzah notices you, he becomes a regular.

Word count: 2875 (sorry if it's too long)

!hamzah x fem reader.

!slowburn?

Part 2/3:

As Hamzah was walking towards his car, he kept reliving that last moment between you two, the ambiance in the coffee shop, how you looked, your smile, how you waved at him goodbye, maybe it wasn’t that deep and he was just romanticizing that last interaction. Either way, the chances of something like that happening again were low, he might as well forget about it.

He got into his car, and as he turned it on the radio went off, "Good evening, Toronto! I'm Stevie, your host for tonight, and you're tuned in to Jazz.fm. Get ready to unwind with a timeless favorite, 'Just The Two Of Us' by the one and only Grover Washington Jr. Sit back, relax, and let the music take you on a journey through the night." And just like that he was thinking of excuses to go back and talk to you. –I could pretend I forgot something…  but maybe she’s already gone… I could go back tomorrow and be like ‘Oh I just LOVEEE the coffee here’… hundreds of people go there everyday she won’t even remember me… Why am I even thinking this much about her? She’s just a barista. I don’t even know her. Fuck. I want to know her. This seems like something I should journal about- The drive back home was short, it’s surprising how time works when you’re hyperfocused on something, he was in that coffee shop all afternoon, and even after it closed, but it still wasn’t enough.

Once he was finally home he started to unpack his backpack… “Shit, I did actually forget something. Guess I’m going back tomorrow”.

Next morning

MONDAY

It’s 8:45 am, Hamzah is getting out of the shower and is starting to get ready for the day. He checks his phone and, according to google, the café is about to open, he’s already changed his outfit twice, and ended up settling on a purple hoodie, jeans and a gray hat, something casual whilst still trying to look nice, he even put on cologne. His plan is to run some errands, swing by the coffee shop to retrieve his notebook, and who knows, maybe run into the cute girl he hasn’t stopped thinking about. Oh, and, since he’s already in the area, he’s also meeting Martin for lunch downtown after that.

Once he finishes having breakfast, Hamzah checks his appearance one last time in the mirror, adjusting the tilt of his hat and smoothing down the sleeves of his hoodie. He feels a nervous excitement bubbling inside him as he heads out the door.

As he runs his errands  throughout the morning, his mind keeps drifting back to the coffee shop and the barista. He finds himself taking longer than usual at each stop, mentally rehearsing what he might say if he sees her again. At the hardware store, he absentmindedly compares different shades of paint for his new apartment, thinking about whether she would prefer a cozy warm tone or something brighter.

While picking up groceries, he debates whether to buy something special from the bakery section of the supermarket, just in case he gets the chance to share it with her. Each item he picks up reminds him of their brief encounter—the smell of fresh-baked bread brings back memories of the coffee shop, and he can almost taste the cappuccino and chocolate donut he had the day before.

By the time he finishes his errands, he realizes it's almost time to swing by the coffee shop. He checks his phone nervously, wondering if she'll be there today. His heart races with anticipation as he imagines walking in and seeing her smile again.

He gets on his car and drives, as he reaches the familiar corner where the coffee shop stands, he notices a few early risers already seated outside, sipping their morning brew. Hamzah's heart skips a beat as he pushes open the door, the soft jingle announcing his arrival.

Inside, the familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee envelops him, mingling with the soft chatter of other customers. Hamzah spots the counter where he had talked to the barista yesterday, but to his disappointment, she's not there. He tries to hide his frown, reminding himself that she might be in the back or arriving later.

Approaching the counter, He asks the barista on duty about his lost notebook. The young woman, not the one he hoped to see, smiles politely and checks behind the counter. After a brief search, she returns empty-handed, apologizing that she doesn't see any notebooks left behind. Just as Hamzah was turning around to leave, relief washed over him as Ethan, the familiar barista from the previous evening, entered the frame holding his black hardcover notebook. "Wait. Is this your notebook?" Ethan asked, handing it over. "The barista working last night told me you might come back for it."

Hamzah's face lit up again. "Thanks! Is she around? I'd like to thank her."

Ethan's expression shifted slightly. "No, she's not here today, but I'll pass on the message that you got it back."

Hamzah pressed further, his eagerness evident. "Do you know when she'll be here? Maybe tomorrow?"

Ethan hesitated, sensing Hamzah's persistence. "She's not coming tomorrow either."

"Well, when is she working next?" Hamzah asked, oblivious to Ethan's growing discomfort.

"Look man," Ethan began, trying to keep his tone friendly yet firm, "I can't give out that information. I'm sure you mean well, but I can't help you."

Hamzah finally caught on, feeling embarrassed. "Sorry, I just... I had a nice chat with her last night, and I forgot to ask for her name. I didn't mean to be weird or anything."

Ethan nodded understandingly. "I get it, but you'll have to swing by some other time if you want to see her again."

"Thanks, and sorry again," Hamzah said, realizing he had crossed a boundary. With a nod of farewell, he left the coffee shop, feeling disappointed yet understanding of Ethan's position.

After leaving the coffee shop, Hamzah made his way downtown to meet Martin for lunch. As he walked through the bustling streets of Toronto, his mind wandered back to his brief visit to the coffee shop and the disappointment of not seeing the barista again. He replayed the conversation with Ethan in his head, wondering when he might have another opportunity to return.

Arriving at their favorite lunch spot, Hamzah spotted Martin already seated at a corner table, waving enthusiastically as he approached. The restaurant buzzed with the hum of conversations and clinking of cutlery, creating a lively atmosphere that contrasted with the quiet of the coffee shop.

"Hey man, you made it!" Martin greeted him with a grin, gesturing for Hamzah to take a seat. "What's up? You seem a bit distracted."

Hamzah slid into the chair opposite Martin, trying to shake off his thoughts about the barista. "Yeah, just had a morning errand to run," he replied vaguely, not wanting to burden Martin with his romantic musings just yet.

Martin raised an eyebrow teasingly. "Morning errand, huh? Anything exciting happen?"

Hamzah chuckled nervously, deciding to share a toned-down version of his coffee shop visit. "Not really, just went to pick up something I left behind yesterday."

Martin leaned in curiously. "Oh? What did you forget?"

"My notebook," Hamzah explained briefly. "I left it at this new coffee shop I checked out yesterday. The barista there... she was really nice."

Martin's eyes lit up with interest. "Ah, I see where this is going. Did you get her number?"

Hamzah sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Nah, I didn't even get her name. And when I went back today, she wasn't there."

Martin frowned sympathetically. "Bummer, man. But hey, maybe it's fate. You'll probably run into her again."

"Yeah, maybe," Hamzah agreed half-heartedly. "Anyway, how's your day been so far?"

The conversation drifted to lighter topics as they ordered their lunch and caught up on each other's lives. Martin shared updates about his work projects, and Hamzah talked about his plans for the podcast and the ongoing move. Despite his disappointment from earlier, being with Martin helped to lighten his mood.

As they finished their meal and paid the bill, Hamzah felt a renewed sense of determination. He knew he would visit the coffee shop again, notebook or no notebook, in the hope of seeing the barista once more. Maybe next time, he thought to himself, he would remember to ask for her name.

Your Pov:

MONDAY

It’s 6:00 in the morning, you’ve just woken up, you’re mustering up the strenght to get out of bed and start getting ready for work. You play your favorite playlist and get dressed, still tired from getting home later than usual last night, but hanging around that cute guy made it a bit worth it. As you make breakfast, you hear a familiar tune

-I see the crystal raindrops fall And the beauty of it all Is when the sun comes shining through To make those rainbows in my mind When I think of you sometime And I wanna spend some time with you-

Suddendly you’re dancing around your kitchen, having one of those “Ah, this is the life” moments, realizing it would be much more exciting if there was someone dancing and singing next to you, but you can’t let those thoughts haunt you for long, the day has just begun. You check yourself in the mirror before heading out the door, you get in your car and it makes that same weird sound it’s been making for the past week, “Mhm, I’m sure it’s nothing” you say, brushing it off, and off you go.

At around 11 am you get a text from Ethan, “Hey, the guy from last night came by to pick up his notebook. He kept asking about you”. “What did he say?” You texted back.

“Not much, he wanted to know your name, and was pretty insistent on when he could see you again to “thank you”  👀 a bit weird”.

“Ohhh u should’ve told him, he was cute lol”

“haha I’m sure he’ll come back”.

You put your phone down and continued doing your work, you thought thinking about him throughout the day was too much, but it seemed like his interest was more than a simple “thank you”. Like there was some unfinished busssiness between the both of you.  As you went about your tasks, the memory of his earnest inquiries lingered in the back of your mind. You couldn't help but wonder what he was like beyond that brief interaction—what his name was, what he did when he wasn't at the coffee shop, and why he seemed so eager to see you again.

Despite trying to push the thoughts aside, you found yourself checking your phone a little too often, half-expecting another message from Ethan with an update. Each time, you told yourself to focus on your work, but the anticipation was undeniable.

As the day progressed, you couldn't shake the feeling that his visit had left a mark. It wasn't just about retrieving a forgotten notebook anymore; there seemed to be an unspoken connection, a curiosity that went beyond politeness. Maybe he would come back, you mused, imagining the possibility of seeing him again. You’ve never been more excited to clock in at work on a weekend.

WEDNESDAY

It’s been three days since your last (and only) encounter. Hamzah is out for a run, “Bags” by Clairo’s playing on his AirPods—‘Can you see me? I’m waiting for the right time. I can’t read you but if you want the pleasure is all mine’—he hums along, remembering a clip of a genius interview where Clairo explained the meaning behind the song, how when you have a crush on someone, every minute you’re not spending with them feels like a waste of time, and, inevitably, he was thinking about you again.

This whole infatuation feels a bit ridiculous to Hamzah, but no one had taken his interest like that before, plus he had already embarrassed himself to you coworker, he was already in too deep to not see where going down this road would lead him. He felt an unexplainable attraction towards a complete stranger, like there was a rope in his chest pulling him to you, to that coffee shop, and before he realized it, he was there again, it was like he was running on autopilot and his subconcsious had taken him there, I mean, he was planning on paying a visit today, but not now; he hadn’t thought about what he would say if you we’re there, but he couldn’t stop himself from walking in.

He approached the counter, skimming through the menu, his order was still as basic as before, but this time he got an oatmeal and green apple cookie instead of a chocolate donut. “Is this to go? Or to eat here?” The cashier asked as he turned his head to face him “Hey! It’s you again”.

“Heeeyyy, I’m back” Hamzah  shyly replied, “Umm, to go, please”.  

“Yeah, I figured. She’s not here btw, but she said you were good, come back on Saturday”.

Hamzah’s eyes widen, a smile creeping into his lips, he tries to play it cool but the excitement in his voice was evident. “She said that? She’ll be here?”.

“Yeah haha, here you go” Ethan replied with a smile.

“Thanks! Guess I’ll see you in a few days, um… Ethan,” He said pointing to the nametag hanging on the cashier’s black apron, “I’m Hamzah” He continued, reaching out for  handshake.

“Yeah, see you.” Ethan says, shaking his hand back.

Hamzah left the coffee shop with a newfound sense of anticipation for Saturday. The thought of seeing you again lingered in his mind as he drove home. He couldn’t help but replay the brief interactions and your smile, which seemed to brighten the entire coffee shop.

As the week progressed, Hamzah found himself constantly thinking about Saturday. He went about his usual routines, working on his podcast episodes, filming with Martin and settling into his new apartment, but your image kept creeping into his thoughts. He wondered what Saturday would bring—would you remember him? Would you be as friendly and approachable as before?

Saturday finally arrived...

and Hamzah found himself standing outside the coffee shop, trying to calm his nerves. He wore a casual outfit, hoping to strike the right balance between laid-back and presentable. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The familiar aroma of coffee greeted him, mingling with the soft hum of conversations. Ethan was behind the counter again, and as soon as he spotted Hamzah, he grinned knowingly. Hamzah approached with a hesitant smile.

"Hey, Ethan! Is she here today?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Ethan chuckled. "Yeah, she's around. Just a sec."

Hamzah's heart raced as Ethan disappeared into the back. He glanced around the coffee shop, spotting you arranging cups on a nearby shelf. You looked up, and for a moment, your eyes met. A smile tugged at your lips as recognition sparked between you.

Hamzah felt a rush of relief and excitement. When Ethan returned, he gestured towards you. "Hey, she'll be with you in a moment."

Sure enough, you approached the counter with a warm smile. "Hey! You’re back. Heard you’ve been asking about me," you greeted him.

"Yeah, couldn't resist coming back," Hamzah replied with a sheepish grin. "I wanted to thank you properly for last time."

You chuckled softly. "No problem at all. What were you working on that day? You seemed pretty focused."

"Oh, just some podcast stuff and a bit of writing," Hamzah explained, feeling more at ease now that he was talking to you again.

"That's cool," you said, nodding. "Well, I'm glad you came back. Can I get you anything today?"

Hamzah glanced at the menu, though he had already decided on something basic. "Just a cappuccino and... another chocolate donut, please."

You nodded, punching in his order. As you prepared it, the conversation flowed easily between you. Hamzah learned a bit more about you—your interests, your love for books and jazz music, and your favorite places in Toronto. He shared some details about his work and recent move, finding common ground in unexpected places.

When you handed him his order, Hamzah hesitated for a moment. "Hey, I know this might be forward, but would you like to grab coffee or something sometime? Outside of this coffee shop, I mean," he asked, hoping he wasn't coming on too strong.

Your smile widened, and you glanced at Ethan who was discreetly giving you an encouraging nod. "I'd like that," you replied. "Here, let me give you my number."

Hamzah's heart leaped with joy as he took your phone and entered his number. "Great, I'll text you so you have mine too," he said, handing your phone back to you.

As Hamzah left the coffee shop that day, he couldn't stop smiling. He had come back hoping to see you again, and now he had plans to meet up outside of work. It felt like the beginning of something exciting, and he couldn't wait to see where it would lead.

hope u like it! Part 3

@1800-love-me

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Pregnant Cod Men

Requested: Kinda? I did a poll if I should do this or not and the answer was yeah. I’m counting it as half a request.

Warnings: Pregnancy (duh), Pre-eclampsia (Price’s), pregnancy anxiety (König’s)

Price

Good. Fucking. Luck. Price is someone who has a very tough time with the whole pregnancy thing and unlike Simon, there is no point in his pregnancy that you won’t be fighting with him to sit down and just watch the telly for a bit. It’s also made worse by the fact that he has pre-eclampsia and is told that, in no uncertain terms, is he to be exterting or stressing himself under any circumstances. And he looks at that like a challenge, constantly waddling to his office to try and get some work done. It gets to the point that you have to lock his paperwork away only to come home with his favorite biscuits just to see him digging the papers out from where you hid them, brown furrowed said he grumbles to himself about muppets. At this point you might just have to chain him to the bed, for his own sake.

Gaz

HNGGGGG!!! I’m telling you right now that Gaz is the fucking cutest when he’s pregnant. He’s constantly carrying around the weirdest little supplies like one of those belly bands that plays music. Says he needs to teach the kid what proper music is before they come out. And he spends weeks agonizing over what color to paint the nursery, torn between two very similar shades of light purple that leave you confused on what the difference even is. Insists on driving around to TEN different toy stores to find the perfect plushie that is equal parts soft and durable. Will start tearing up when he finds what he thinks is the best one, holding it close to his chest as he looks at you and asks if he can buy 5 of them because he’s afraid that just one will get lonely until the baby gets here. You don’t have the heart to tell him no when he’s looking at you like that so you do, indeed, walk out of the store with 5 of the exact same plushie and a very happy crying Gaz.

Ghost

For the first two trimesters Ghost insists that he can still do everything he normally does. Go to the gym, go on missions, stay up for days on end, brew coffee and tea in the same pot then chug the mixture. It’s a fight to get him to actually settle down and sit for any length of time. In fact it’s almost worse then when he wasn’t pregnant, like he feels that he needs to prove he can still do everything that he’s used to doing. But as SOON as that third trimester hits he is lounging around the house in nothing but a loose Diamond Head T-Shirt and his headphones, eating strawberries out of the carton, his feet propped up on the sofa arm and his head nodding along to the beat of whatever he’s listening to. Always palming his belly, never telling you when the baby moves but you can tell by the way his eyes soften just the slightest bit.

Soap

R.I.P. to your sleep because Johnny is one of those pregnant people that gets the most random cravings in the middle of the night and cannot go back to sleep until he’s eaten whatever it is he wants. Will give you the biggest saddest puppy eyes while rubbing his belly. Tells you he can go get it himself but he doesn’t want to go alone. It’s an entirely frustrating experience to lose so much sleep but it’s worth it to hear his excited giggling and watch his proud penguin waddle as he makes his way back to the car with his food. Will try and make you have a bite of whatever concoction he’s come up with. His most frequently returned to craving is marmite spread on biscuits then dipped in coffee, which he insists is the best thing he’s ever had in his life and swears that he’ll keep eating even after the baby is out.

König

König has a rather…nonchalant pregnancy? For the most part. Half the times it seems to you like he’s forgotten that he’s even pregnant. Which is partially true, and it’s so incredibly easy for him to do so because he doesn’t experience any of the usual pregnancy symptoms at all. If anything, he seems to just be more energized and ready to take on the world. He doesn’t even start showing until month 6 and reality doesn’t slap him in the face until month 7 when you both go in for an ultrasound and see that it’s triplets, in which he’s silent for a good minute before asking if it’s possible for you both to trade places. The Doctor has to leave the room due to laughing and you have half a mind to follow her. Probably would have if not the truly panicked look on König’s face as he stares at the ultrasound pictures, calling his mom to ask how big his head was when he was born, looking like he’s gonna cry when he gets his answer. Pregnancy is a mess of anxiety for him for the following months, please be sure to comfort him with many blankets and his favorite comedy movies.

[beom1e]

come home tonight

this, of all things, was supposed to work. that’s what you told yourself, repeated in your mind every night as you sat alone in the half-empty bedroom, every possession of beomgyu’s now missing. it was always going to be him for you. why didn’t he feel the same way?

pairing choi beomgyu x fem! reader

genre long-term relationship, lovers to exes, angst, slight fluff

warnings breakup, cursing, signs of depression

at the start of adulthood, you grew to love the year’s end.

the cold air would bite at the tip of your nose and your cheeks, and as much as you could hate it, the reddened skin was a sweet reminder of the season. it was cold enough to have a few extra blankets on your bed and maybe a hot water bottle too, and then to wake up and slip on some fluffy socks and a cosy hoodie. there was imagery of orange leaves and shades of brown coming into fashion, hot drinks rising to the top of the menu and a warm meal in a cosy cafe replacing the ice cream in the park cliché of a passing summer.

people came together for so many celebrations, families being reunited and the larger population becoming more generous in favour of the seasonal charities. a wave of students would move away from their childhood homes, only to return shortly after for a loving dinner around the table and matching pyjamas and movie marathons.

you especially loved october. halloween, pumpkin, scary movies, autumn fashion, pie, soup, knitted jumpers. and you had met the love of your life then, a random october evening on what had seemed like just another ordinary day.

every year, you had to buy decorations for your dorm, both arms holding heavy bags but you were totally unbothered due to your childlike excitement. and that was when one of the bags had broke open, everything falling to the ground at your feet in a mess of orange, purple and brown decor.

the kind stranger had rushed over to help you, collecting decorations in his arms before they could roll off onto the road. that was the day you had fallen for beomgyu’s smile and stubbornness to help you carry everything home. he teased you about your love for the annual holiday, admitting he had no plans to decorate his own dorm. so of course you offered to help him do it, and the innocent trip to a decoration store with him quickly became your first date of many.

he reminded you so much of the colder months. when you could see your breath in the air, the way the wind blew your hair forward into your eyes, wool hats and thick boots, grabbing a bite to eat from the nearest hot food truck. despite his bright personality, he had always been the calm autumn after the hectic summer in your eyes.

and, inevitably, he was how you grew to hate the year’s end.

october 11th,

‘soobin’s halloween party is coming up,’ beomgyu called from the kitchen, over the sound of water running and filling up the glass in his hand. ‘do you want to come with me?’

‘sure,’ the tap was turned off in time for your reply. ‘do you want to come with me to pick up some decorations?’

‘what’s the point?’ he turned into the living room, sipping from his water. you turned back to look at him, a costume magazine in your hands. ‘i mean, if we’re not throwing a party and won’t actually be home for halloween, why do we need to decorate?’

‘it brings me comfort,’ shrugging, you turned back to your magazine and folded the corner of a page that interested you. beomgyu leaned over the back of the sofa to see what you were looking at, a scoff escaping his lips. ‘what’s wrong?’

‘don’t you think we’re a little too old to be dressing up for halloween?’ his tone was mocking, one that you really didn’t care for. in all the time that you had known your boyfriend, he had never been against letting you celebrate halloween in the way that you loved. the shift in his attitude was a telltale sign that something was up.

‘we’re not going to cut eye holes into bedsheets, beomgyu,’ you shot back. ‘we can be a couple from a famous horror series or something. like sabrina and harvey, for example.’

‘why don’t you just get some cat ears and wear all black?’ he rolled his eyes, moving around the couch to sit beside you.

‘is there a problem?’ snapping the magazine closed, you leaned and tossed it onto the coffee table. ‘we’ve done this for the past three years. why do you have an issue with it now?’

‘i just think it’s a childish idea,’ he explained. ‘most girls dress like a playboy bunny, or just find any excuse to wear leather.’

‘so my sabrina and harvey suggestion wasn’t slutty enough for you?’ the look of utter annoyance painted your features. ‘let’s come back to this when you’re done being an asshole.’

october 14th,

the call went to voicemail again. you huffed, placing your phone face down onto the kitchen table that you were sitting at. beomgyu hadn’t picked the phone up in hours, nor was he answering your texts or showing any sign that he was coming home soon. after the small fight the two of you had a few days ago, he began avoiding you as if it had been all your fault.

you thought that things would change for this particular night.

around thirty minutes after the last attempt to call him, the door into your apartment clicked open. in came the topic of your thoughts, phone in hand and screen brightened due to movement. clearly he was just ignoring you, and had no genuine reason to avoid your calls.

‘oh,’ he looked up, taking in the sight. you’d set the table with candles and wine glasses, cold food untouched on your best plates. guilt consumed him when he remembered that it was your third year anniversary, and he had been a jerk to you all day. ‘i’m sorry, y/n, i was just busy and forgot what today was.’

‘ok,’ you replied simply, arms still crossed against your chest. it was your mission to avoid his eyes, because you knew you would forgive him if you were to take in his gentle features. and that was the last thing you wanted. ‘i’m going to bed. clean this up for me, yeah?’

beomgyu watched you exit the kitchen and go into the bathroom. you were wearing a dress he had bought you for one of your birthdays, one that he told you was his favourite. your hair and makeup had been done to perfection, and yet there stood beomgyu in jeans and a t-shirt and nothing prepared for you. no gifts, no surprises, not even a ‘happy anniversary’ wish or a bouquet of ‘i’m sorry’ flowers.

‘y/n, wait,’ he followed quickly behind you, pulling the bathroom door closed before you could open it all the way. ‘i messed up badly, i know, but i want to make it up to you.’

‘are you going to build a time machine so that you can go back in time and actually remember our anniversary?’ you laughed bitterly, shooting him a glare. ‘can you just get out of my way?’

he removed his grip on the handle, stepping aside. once inside the locked bathroom, you slid down to the floor so that you were sat with your back to the door and your head in your hands. did he not love you anymore?

‘i know you don’t want to talk to me right now,’ he continued on from the other side of the door. ‘i was an asshole. i started the fight and let you take the blame for it, and i didn’t even remember our anniversary, but you did all of this for me even though you were still angry at me. i’m so sorry, y/n, and i don’t expect you to forgive me.’

‘good, because i don’t forgive you,’ you whispered, tears threatening to fall. ‘i think i’m going to stay with a friend for a while… just until i can face you again.’

‘y/n, please don’t do this,’ beomgyu rested his head against the door, eyes closing in defeat. ‘please don’t leave. i’ll go… i’ll go stay with yeonjun for a week… to give us both some time to cool down and think.’

‘if that’s what you want,’ sighing, you wiped away at your tears. ‘and i won’t be going to soobin’s party.’

‘i wasn’t expecting you to,’ he frowned, lifting his head from the door and pushing away from it. ‘i’m sorry, y/n. seriously, this was all my fault.’ the floorboards creaked beneath his shoes as he walked away. that was your cue to get ready for bed, while he silently cleaned up the kitchen.

after you showered and changed into some warm pyjamas, you headed straight for bed without a worry about what beomgyu was doing. it was clear to you now that he had finally fallen out of love with you. 

the hours you had spent making him his favourite meal, the expensive gift you left waiting for him on his bedside table, the dessert still sitting in the centre of the oven, the smile on your face as you found a ribbon perfectly matching the colour of his favourite dress of yours. that was the evidence. he didn’t even care, clearing everything away and spending the final hour of daylight in the living room alone. it was over.

october 15th,

it felt wrong. it felt empty. you’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, something in your muscles and joints and bones aching and preventing you from peacefully drifting off. when you woke up, beomgyu was already watching you with hurt in his gaze. if not for the painful connotations, it would have been sweet. two lovers waking up side-by-side in their shared bed, his eyes scanning over her features. except he was wondering where it all went wrong, and not how he got so lucky. he wanted to speak, but he had nothing left to say.

you rolled over to face away before making the move to get out of bed. the bedroom door closed loudly behind you after you disappeared. he sat up after, looking around the room filled with so many memories of the two of you. he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t ready to lose you just yet.

so he hurried after you, meeting you in the kitchen as you made yourself a morning coffee. you had this unmoving expression on your face, but your eyes were sad.

‘i don’t want to run away to yeonjun’s,’

‘i think we should break up,’

‘y/n, no,’ beomgyu was stubborn, that was one thing you had learned about him during your relationship. whether it was getting the last word in or completing a difficult level on the game he was playing, he wouldn’t give up until he got it. ‘we don’t have to break up to fix this, i want to be with you.’

‘no, you don’t,’ you mumbled, sniffling. he hurried to pull you into his arms, not wanting to see you cry if he was the reason behind it. ‘you don’t love me anymore.’

he didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t even sure if what you had said was true or false. he just let you cry in his arms, tears stinging at the corners of his own eyes as his t-shirt began to soak through. falling out of love was nobody’s fault, it certainly wasn’t his decision. he would never choose to lose you.

it felt like hours before he let you go. the grip you’d had on the material of his shirt left behind creases in two places, some of your hair stuck to your neck from where his head had been buried, tears of his own having inevitably fell.

but after the moment you shared, beomgyu was packing a week’s worth of things into the suitcase you’d taken to jeju last year and you were sitting in the middle of your bed with your knees to your chest. you had promised each other forever and you were willing to give him forever. how could he lose interest in you in just three years? how could he fall out of love with you when you were still so enamoured with him?

the very place you were coexisting in was the home you had built from the ground up. it was just a rented apartment — one that had seen many couples alike come and go — but you had made enough memories in it to make it feel special. the night you moved in, your first anniversary, all of the movie nights under rainfall, the talks you had about growing old together forever. memories that had been locked into the walls and the windows and the couch and the bedsheets. and as you stared at the person who you had created all of the memories with, you felt them all slipping away from you.

all you could feel was anger, embarrassment and heartache.

‘call me if you ever want to talk,’ beomgyu was standing in the doorway then, inches away from leaving your shared home. ‘i promise i’ll pick up every time you call.’

you only nodded weakly, your hand holding the door open being the only thing keeping him inside. neither of you knew what to say. how do you say goodbye to the love of your life?

once the door was closed, he was gone. you didn’t know what the future held for you both, whether he was ever going to come back and beg for you to let him stay. or would you slowly fall out of love with him in the same way that he had fallen out of love with you? maybe this was all a mistake and you were going to laugh about your time apart with friends in the future as they sat around your table in the kitchen with you. but only a fool would believe that.

october 24th,

the first week without beomgyu, you didn’t call. he wasn’t active on social media and he didn’t try to contact you either. it was a week to yourself, time for you to work on personal affairs and find happiness outside of your relationship. at the end of the week, he came back to pick up some more things. he didn’t drop to his knees and beg for another chance, he didn’t even ask if you wanted him to come back. you were walls apart as he washed some clothes and made a snack before packing up most of his stuff and walking out.

all you could do was cry into the pillow that still carried his scent that was slowly fading. the motivation to take care of yourself faded with his presence. you called in sick to work, cancelled on all of your friends, you barely even left the bedroom. if he was to show up again like that, out of the blue, you wouldn’t be able to face him.

november 17th,

weeks turned into a month and soon it was an apartment that was half yours and half nobody else’s. all of the bills had been switched to your name, not even the netflix subscription under his name anymore. the bedsheets and pillows had been washed of his scent completely. all he was to you was an untouched contact in your phone, the last few texts displaying arrangements for him to come pick the rest of his things up the night before halloween.

nobody broke up with anybody, you assumed he called it quits the first night he spent at his friend’s house. you told everyone it was a mutual agreement to break up, they hardly pitied you that way. some would apologise for bringing it up and give you that sympathetic frown, others would claim you weren’t right for each other, but they were wrong. he was the one for you, you’d been sure of that ever since the day you met him.

he was always kind, nobody expected it. he loved to joke around with his friends and play video games as if it was a paying job, but he was mature. he always had a logical solution when you turned to him for one. it was only when he knew you needed to laugh again that he would tease you or make an immature joke that received an eye-roll.

he knew you more than anyone else ever had. your favourite drink that he would always arrive with at the university library when you studied together. your forever loves, the movies you never got tired of and snacks you could eat until the end of time. the way you liked to be held in his arms before bed, the exact technique that would make you fall asleep when he played with your hair. how long you liked to shower, your favourite scent in perfumes and shampoos and detergent. your go-to flavour of ice cream, foods you would never eat even if you were offered a large sum of money.

god, you missed him like crazy. he seemed fine.

your relationship slowly disappeared from social media as if it hadn’t even happened. he was the first to delete the photos and posts about you, even the photos you had taken of him. you simply followed suit, not wanting to seem pathetic. although you archived every one rather than permanently deleting them, and a small part of you hoped he did the same.

everybody adjusted to the break-up, cutting themselves off whenever they mentioned his name around you. they tiptoed around you as if they knew that you would fall apart just thinking about him and what you’d once had. but you didn’t want it to be over. the lack of his presence in your life only caused you more pain, you just wanted him back.

the closest you had gotten to beomgyu since halloween was yeonjun showing up at your door. ‘he wanted me to return this,’ he’d said, holding a key out towards you. it was missing its keyrings, just a key attached to a metal loop. ‘and if you want it, i have his new address.’

of course you declined. he heartlessly sent a friend to return his key to you, but offered you an entrance into his new life without you. you wanted no part in his game, but avoiding beomgyu was impossible. you lived in the same area, shopped at the same stores, had the same friends. eventually you would have to talk, and you would have to find out what exactly happened between the two of you.

visiting the convenience store late at night was a common thing for you to do. you were wearing some old, checkered pyjama pants and a hoodie too big for your frame. it was going to just be a quick run in and out for some snacks and painkillers for your stubborn headache when you saw him standing there in front of an illuminated fridge.

he was staring between two drinks, one in each hand as if he was making a decision. his attire was much more put together than your almost-pyjama situation. he was dressed as if he had been out all day, like he had been out with somebody else, probably on a date considering he was dressed the same as he would when you he took you out on dates.

it was unknown to you, but beomgyu dressed up and came to the store in search for you. then it could be an accident that you bumped into each other, if this time was successful. he was always trying to accidentally bump into you on purpose.

you took off down an aisle as far away from him as you could, eyes searching for the painkillers that you typically bought. once you grabbed them and moved to another aisle, you heard beomgyu heading towards the cashier. thinking you were in the clear, you walked down the aisle he was previously occupying in search of the snacks you craved. as you approached the end of the aisle, the boy you were avoiding turned the corner and stopped in his tracks at the sight of you.

your feet brought you to a stop, just inches away from crashing into him. a sigh of relief left your lips.

‘hey,’ he spoke first, meeting your eyes.

‘hey,’ you whispered, gaze falling to the ground.

‘how are you?’ it was a stupid question to ask, he didn’t know where to start. all he wanted was to be close to you again.

‘well it’s a friday night and i’m about to eat a whole tub of ice cream and watch a movie,’ you laughed shortly, gesturing towards the ice cream box behind beomgyu. ‘what about you, is your date waiting for you in the car?’

‘i don’t have a date,’ the reply was simple and lacking emotion in his words, but you felt a wave of relief. it was reassuring that he wasn’t seeing anyone. it made you feel hopeful. ‘things are just a mess right now with the move and everything.’

��yeah,’ you breathed out, then awkwardly chewing the inside of your cheek. ‘i better go, the couch is waiting for me.’

‘you forgot your ice cream,’ he twisted his head back towards the ice cream box. you came back down to earth in that moment and remembered where you were.

‘right, yeah,’ another laugh followed as you took a step towards him. he slid open the freezer from the top and you reached in for your favourite flavour. the door closing again cut through the silence. ‘goodbye, beomgyu.’

he didn’t say anything back. he couldn’t. goodbye, like you were trying to get away from him for the rest of time, like you hoped never to see him again. not a ‘see you around,’ or a simple ‘bye,’ but a goodbye. you were walking away by then as he stood frozen, so he followed you to the cashier.

as the cashier read out your total, beomgyu grabbed his card and placed it over the reader on the machine. you were left speechless, stumbling over your words as your receipt was being printed. you thanked the cashier with a smile but felt your shoulders drop with defeat.

annoyed, you shot him a glare and walked out of the store with your things. he followed behind you without grabbing his own things, the door sliding closed behind him. it was just the two of you staring each other down under the stars and the rain, neither of you knowing how to put this to an end.

‘i’m sorry,’ he spoke. ‘for everything. and i love you, y/n.’

he turned away, heading towards his parking space.

‘come home tonight,’ you called out into the dark, not even sure if he could hear you.

‘where do you think i’m going?’ he turned back around to face you. ‘i am going home.’

‘that’s not your home,’ you defended. ‘you know what i mean.’

‘i can’t do that,’ he sighed. ‘we broke up, i’ve moved out, we don’t even live together anymore.’

‘even if it’s just for one night?’ you frowned, your eyes stinging with oncoming tears.

beomgyu didn’t want just one night, he wanted to erase the past month and go back to how it used to be. it was comfortable and familiar and he loved you too much to let you go, but things had changed. the apartment would look different, you wouldn’t show the same side of you that he’d grown to love. you weren’t the same people anymore, you would never trust him the same way that you used to, and he’d fallen out of love with you. loving you could never compare to the way that he had seen you when he was deeply in love with you, like you were the sun, the moon, and the stars all in one.

‘and then what?’ he sighed. ‘this isn’t going to work.’

‘but why wouldn’t it?’ you felt a tear roll down your cheek.

november 27th,

if anybody was to ask what happened when you and beomgyu broke up, you wouldn’t know what to tell them. you were never sure if he was going to come back to you, but you still never gave up hope. that’s what people in love do, hope.

autumn was your favourite time of the year, or had been. you’d already skipped over halloween, and the novelty of orange leaves and brown clothing was starting to rub off. you wondered if beomgyu had been the thing you loved so much about autumn, because it was the time you fell in love. maybe you weren’t anticipating the season of pumpkins and coffee, maybe you were just looking to feel the same way you had when you first met him.

now that he was gone, everyday felt regular. it wasn’t exciting, there was nothing in the air. you didn’t walk around with a wide smile on your lips, kindly greeting strangers. you rolled your eyes at children jumping in leaf piles, scoffed when somebody ordered a pumpkin spice latte and pushed every cosy jumper to the back of your closet.

all that you had left was yourself. at least, that’s what you told yourself, because in reality you had everyone but him, and in reality, that was much worse.

there were so many missed calls and texts left unread on your phone, the device constantly buzzing on your coffee table. you would simply stare at the tv and switch between a million and one sitting positions in order to find a comfortable one. it always ended with your head hanging down from the couch and your legs thrown over the back of it. no plans, no purpose, no motivation, and time passing you by.

beomgyu was right, everything had changed, including you.