#the picture all the pieces of What We Know About Him So Far paint

[bizarrelovetriangel]

no time.

mdni. 18+ only. not for the kids, please look away. car sex. public sex. kinda rough sex. fingering. overstimulation. creampie because zayne loves them. jealous zayne.

You, along with Captain Jenna and several other hunters, have been invited to attend a formal party hosted by one of the association's long time business partners.

You were allowed to bring a plus-one, so naturally, you brought your lover; however...

Zayne finds himself eager to leave the event as he struggles to restrain himself.

You were encouraged to attend the party. Firstly, you're in good terms with the host, and it'd be a nice gesture to accept their invitation. Secondly, most of your colleagues will be attending. Lastly, the setting is lovely: a mansion by a cliffside.

It is a little far from the city, but you figured a little road trip with Zayne wouldn't be too bad. You two have not gone on a date in a while due to your busy schedules, so this can be considered as one.

Zayne asked you what you will be wearing for the party so he can match your colors, so you sent him a picture of your dress: a navy blue, floor-length chiffon dress, off-shoulder with a left high-slit.

That's why, when he showed up at your apartment two hours before the party, you were not expecting him to freeze and look at you starstruck as he stood by the doorframe of your bedroom.

"What's wrong? Zayne?"

You waved a hand in front of his face, and he snaps out of the trance before intertwining your fingers together and planting a soft kiss on your knuckles.

"You look beautiful."

He says that to you so often. When you're wearing a pretty dress, when you're wearing your work uniform, when you're wearing pajamas, and when you're wearing nothing at all. Even so, it never fails to make you feel flustered.

And no matter how many times says it, Zayne's ears are always turning red. His eyes would shift away from your face for a brief second, because he, too, still gets shy.

"Thank you." You smiled and run a hand over his chest, particularly to feel the navy blue cross-over tie he wore with his three-piece steel blue and white suit . "You look great too, Doctor Zayne~"

He gives you a look: that playful frown with furrowed brows that he likes to give you whenever you add his title before his name. He says you don't have to add 'doctor' when you're in private, but you can't help but do it sometimes simply to get that adorable reaction on his face.

"Anyways, just give me five minutes then we can go. I just need to pin this stupid strand of hair that doesn't wanna stay down!"

While you returned to stand in front of the mirror, furiously mumbling under your breath while fixing your hair, Zayne crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame to observe your dress again. This time he lets his eyes slowly take everything in.

From the silver necklace you wore on your neck, to your soft shoulders, your chest with that slightly teases the valley of your breasts, your smooth thigh exposed by the slit of the skirt, and your feet on your black high-heels.

"Ugh! Still won't stay in place! What if I just cut them off - Zayne?!"

Your hair tantrum was interrupted as Zayne suddenly came up behind you and wrapped arm around your waist, embracing you against his chest.

His lips trailed down, starting from your neck, down to your collar bones, and then to your cleavage.

"Zayne - "

He got your lips too.

And now, his mouth is smeared with red lipstick that painted your own.

You pulled away to point that out but he immediately went after your lips, going in deeply so his tongue grazes yours. You closed your eyes and gave in, sinking into the blissful feeling he's giving you.

Just then, your phone makes a ping, notifying you of a message and bringing you back to reality.

You caught a glimpse of your lockscreen and saw that the text was from Simone, letting the group chat know that she will be arriving at the party in about thirty minutes.

"Oh no!" You jumped away from Zayne as you frantically picked up your purse. "We have to get go! We're gonna be late!"

"Right."

For someone who likes to be punctual, Zayne didn't look like he's in a rush to leave, but you didn't have the time to worry about that now.

///////

There was quite a number of guests in the party. Not only are there hunters invited, other business partners are also parading all around the mansion, drinking cocktails as they socialize.

Not too long after you got there, you greeted your fellow hunters and took a few group pictures. The event's host had quickly chatted with all of you before her attention was stolen away by other important visitors, leaving you to enjoy the delicious food prepared for the night.

All the meals are out on three tables so that the guests can get anything they want. After filling your stomachs with savory food, you returned for another trip to get dessert.

Zayne got stuck in a long conversation after meeting another doctor around his sixties, so you decided to get some sweet treats for him too.

While at the desserts table, you ran into a familiar face: a high-ranking police officer that you've worked with several times around Linkon Wanderer-incidents.

"No way! It's been a while since I saw you!" He beams, rushing over to you and almost spilling his red wine on his white suit. "You look great! Been working out, huh? Your biceps are getting bigger than mine."

He reached out a hand to press your right arm playfully.

"Heh. I have been working out, actually." Ever since you started working out with Zayne, you've been more motivated and saw good results in no time.

"You still got ways to catch up to me though." The police man says teasingly while flexing his arms, making you chuckle.

As he was giving you a pose to show off his muscles, a much bigger and taller man comes up behind him, clearing his throat.

"Here you are, darling. I thought you'd gotten lost."

Zayne walked in front of you, completely blocking off your view of the police man.

"Ah, sorry! I was just getting you dessert." You held up the plate to show him what you got. "I had to get the most perfect macaron for you."

The corner of Zayne's lips twitched upwards as you took one blue macaron with one hand. He leaned down to give it a small bite. "It's good." He then put a hand on your waist. "Maybe we should take extras to bring home and eat later before bed."

"Pfft. You'd eat them all in the car on the way back."

He eyes you with disbelief. "I have better self control than you think."

"That's what you said last time before eating my Taiyaki."

Zayne had no good excuses so he opted out on responding to you. Instead, his gaze landed on your friend, who almost shivered at the sudden cold breeze he felt.

"I better get back to my table! It was good to see you again! Let's catch up some time, okay?"

"Sure! See you!"

////////

You paused from taking a sip of your non-alcoholic drink.

"What are you doing?"

"Enjoying dessert."

You narrowed your eyes at him.

"You....."

From under the table, hidden by the white cloth, Zayne had a hand on your left thigh, the leg exposed from the dress' slit. At first, you didn't mind it, as he likes to do that sometimes. Though, once he started moving up, dangerously close to your underwear, you gripped your glassware tightly.

The lights are dimmed. The host is giving a speech about why they held the party, which is to celebrate a milestone regarding their business. You're trying your best to pay attention but someone is distracting you.

Your chair was pulled to the left, leaving no space between you and Zayne. His hand continued to crawl up until you felt his fingers between your thighs.

"Zayne..."

He leaned close to you and whispered, "Shall we head home?"

"...Not yet. They're still giving a speech."

He hums in response.

Then, over your panty, his fingers started sliding up and down, ever so slightly putting a gentle pressure into your core.

You forced yourself to drink to stop yourself from making any noise that'll attract attention on you. Luckily, your table is at the back, and there's a safe distance between you and the others around you.

"Are you sure you don't wanna go home? You don't look well." Zayne uses his free hand to caress your face. "You're getting hot. Maybe you should see a doctor."

"...."

He's certainly in a mood.

You should've known something stirred inside him when you caught his eyes darkening after you spoke with your policeman friend.

"Just....a few more minutes...."

///////

Zayne grips the steering wheel of his car as he focuses on the dark road ahead. He lets out a slow, ragged breath, wanting to accelerate faster but refusing to break the safest speed limit, especially since they're on the mountainside road and so high up. He has to drive carefully.

But it was difficult to focus on anything when he has a beautiful lover next to him and a straining cock trapped in his pants.

He did that to himself. He was the one that started it, and yet, he can't even keep himself in control long enough to get home.

He wanted you.

But he was also feeling irked. Not at you, but at the memory of that guy touching your arm. Maybe you didn't catch it, but Zayne did. The way your friend's eyes scanned you up and down before approaching you.

What was that saying? You can look, but you can't touch?

Your friend failed the second part. Sure, it was just your arm, but still...

"Ugh."

Zayne exits at a resting area and stops the car at a designated parking spot. At this time, it's almost pitch black and there are no other cars and people around. It's just you two and the stars and the moon above you.

"What's wrong?" you asked worriedly. "Is something wrong with the car or - "

Zayne removes his seatbelt then turns to you. "Nothing's wrong."

"Huh? So then why did we stop - "

He leans over towards you and presses his lips against yours. His right hand clicked on the button to unfasten your seatbelt before holding your hips.

His tongue makes its way in your mouth to greet yours as he pulls you close with desperation. You encouraged his forwardness by gripping his collars and running one hand down his chest.

Zayne hums against your lips as he exerts more force into the kiss, sliding one hand down to your exposed thigh.

He needed you closer.

He swiftly adjusted his seat, scooting it all the way back. He then put one arm under both of your legs and the other arm on your back.

You let out a surprise gasp as Zayne picked you up from your seat and put you on his lap. It didn't take a second for you to notice his arousal poking hard against your ass.

You were so busy in trying to keep yourself calm, to stop yourself from soaking your panties even more, so you didn't notice that Zayne was feeling just as turned on as you.

You had only been in the road for about fifteen minutes before he pulled over. You still had about a fourty to fifty minutes more to go to reach your apartment, a little more if the destination was his house.

Zayne couldn't wait anymore and neither could you.

You fixed your position so that you're facing him, legs wrapped around his hips, sitting on his clothed cock.

Before you could kiss him, Zayne buried his face against your neck and sucks your skin while his hands urges your hips to move back and forth.

You threw your head back to give him more space, doing as he wished and started to grind on him slowly.

You hurriedly removed his jacket and vest and unbuttoned his white buttoned up shirt just enough for you to feel his bare chest that's all warmed up with desire.

Once he left his mark on your neck, Zayne moved down to leave an identical one on your collar bones, then he presses his nose against the valley of your breast before dropping soft, feather kisses on them.

"Darling, I can't.... I need..." He takes a moment to catch his breath and speak fully. "I need you now. Here."

You rested your forehead against his. "Me too."

Zayne looked at you carefully, making sure you're certain with your response, before fully dropping all of his restraints.

He took off his glasses and put them in a safe spot before diving back to your lips with aggressive yet passionate kisses.

The sounds of your lips colliding against each other, along with your heavy breaths and fidgeting lower bodies were the only noise that can be heard in the dark, resting area.

With one hand supporting the small of your back, Zayne pulls your dress down and his mouth captures your right breast. His other hand found its way to your underwear, fingers toying with your core just like what he was doing earlier.

He lets out a content hiss at the feeling of your wet panty.

You're wet just for him and only for him.

"Zayne," you cried out his name as his fingers moved aside your underwear before entering you deeply, then out and in again at an uncontrollable pace.

He groans against your ear, taking one of your hands and bringing it to his crotch. You stroke him over his pants for a moment before undoing his buttons and zipper. You freed him from his boxers, and his stiff cock stained your palms with pre-cum.

Zayne felt you tightening up against his fingers, causing him to growl impatiently. He waited long enough. He wanted you the moment he stepped into your room and saw you wearing the dress with hair partly a mess. He can't wait another second.

He needs to be inside you.

"I'm sorry for this, love."

Before you could ask what he meant, your eyes widened as you felt your panty get torn off you. He lifted you up and thrusted into you, carefully but sharply with desperation.

He went in deeply and held you in place for a minute, taking in the warmth you'd sent all over his body. You felt him twitch as his eyes lingered on your face lit by the moonlight.

You eyes are half-lidded, your lips are parted apart, and quiet moans are coming from them, all because of him.

No one else gets to see you like this, and it will stay that way forever.

Closing his eyes, Zayne captured your lips once more before thrusting up to reach the deepest part of you. Your hands rested on his shoulders, echoing his ragged, loud gasps as you become one.

He grips your ass tightly as you rode him. Your hair that you worked so hard on maintaining had fallen out of place, but you still look beautiful. He'll always ravish the sight of you becoming undone because of him.

The windows have fogged up, and flakes of snow filled the steamy air inside the car. As Zayne feels himself losing control of his own body, his evol acts up and the sweat from your bodies have been turned to ice. His body was burning up with desire and yet, snowflakes danced around you.

His hips thusted eratically as he feels himself coming close. His fingers tightened their grip on your skin, and his mouth latches onto yours, muting the ecstatic cries that you let out.

Feeling your own climax nearing, you pressed your weight down on him harder, making sure that you feel all of him, and he feels every part of you.

The car was shaking from your movements, and your ears were filled with the sound of your flesh crashing against each other.

Zayne threw his head back with his eyes closed as his hips stuttered right before finishing right inside you. And yet still, he never stopped fucking you.

Even when you came not a minute after, he continued to go in and out of you. Even when you're both overstimulated, he wanted to prolong the moment.

He wanted to stay inside you, just for a little longer, until his body no longer had the energy to move.

"Zayne...!"

His cock slipped out of you, only for him to enter your ass.

"J-just once more, okay?" He kissed your forehead as he increased his pace again. You shut your eyes at the overwhelming sensation, feeling like you were going to explode.

He felt so, so good, all you could do was hold onto his shoulders and whimper.

You were so sure his fingers were going to leave marks on your skin with the way he was hanging onto you, but you didn't care. Not now, not when he looks so pretty, with his cheeks red, swollen, red-stained lips apart as he gasps for air. Not when he's fucking you without a care in the world except for his own high.

Zayne came for the second time, spilling all over your dress that were bunched up above your hips. You two took a moment to catch your breaths, with his cock pressed against your pussy, still twitching from his release.

He took a deep breath before pressing his lips on your cheek. "I'm sorry for going a little rough. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Your heart swelled at the softness in his voice. "I'm not hurt. I don't mind, Zayne. I don't mind when you lose control. Although...." you smiled and cupped his face with two hands. "You don't need to be jealous."

He pressed his forehead against yours. "So you caught on..."

"Of course I did." you grinned. "But you don't need to worry. There's no competition. There's only you."

He said nothing else. He planted a soft kiss on your hand and his eyes brightened as he gazed at you. He didn't need to say it out loud, but his eyes were full of love. That's all you needed to see.

"It's late." Zayne sighs, glancing at the time displayed on the car. "We still got a long way home."

"I don't mind."

"Neither do I."

[hiraethwrote]

contents : f!reader, containts spoilers, character death, mom!reader (has a son), dealing with loss, angst/slight comfort?, bittersweet, no use of y/n wc 1k an : idk what this is, but i just really love satoru and feel sentimental about him... i am not very happy with it but it's something

“mama, i don’t remember this!”

when you turn to look up, you’re staring directly at a photo you have not seen in a long time. once it sinks in just what picture it is you’re looking at, a soft smile grows on your face before meeting your son’s gaze.

no wonder he was confused, because the slightly crinkled picture he had managed to find wasn’t of him, despite the kid being nearly identical to himself. had it not been for the fact that you knew it wasn’t your son who was staring back at you on the piece of paper, it would have fooled you too.

“‘s because it’s not you, sweetheart,” you smile. “come here,” he doesn’t hesitate to scatter over with tiny steps, before you gently lift him into your lap, resting your head on his shoulder as you look at the picture together.

you had nearly forgotten the picture even existed, hid away with other tokens of your late love.

it was a rather simple picture, one from when satoru was just a child, long before you had the privilege of loving him. standing straight and proud, a young satoru was smiling at you, a toothless grin stretching so far across his face that his eyes were squeezed shut.

“it’s your daddy,” you sigh as your son leans back against you. “i think he’s a little older here than you are know.”

“he looks just like me!” excitement carrying his words.

and he did. same tufts of white hair that were always sticking in every direction. same warm smile that greeted everyone he encountered. same kind eyes that never lied.

“do you miss him?”

you turn to look at him, meeting familiar blue eyes you used to get lost in for hours on end. “every day,” you say simply, a sad smile painting your lips.

never letting your eyes leave your son’s face, you notice how his eyebrows narrow slightly and he turns his attention back to the photo. “i wish i met him.”

“me too, baby.” it came out quiet as a whisper, leaning forward to press a soft peck at his temple. “but he’s not gone gone.”

“what do you mean not gone gone?”

“well,” taking a deep breath, sensing how your eyes slowly started to turn glossy with tears. “he lives on in me, in my memory,” you say softly. “and in you,” grabbing his soft cheeks and rubbing your nose against his, causing a delightful little giggle to fill the space. “and all around.”

“all around?” he asks, the confused line between his brows deepening.

“i like to think so. for example, on sunny days i am sure he’s in the sunlight that kisses your skin, keeping you warm and safe. and you know when the wind is blowing so loud we hear it in the walls?”

“mhm,” he nods enthusiastically.

“i’m sure that’s your dad talking,” you laugh a little to yourself. “my god, how he used to talk. all the time.”

you keep looking for at the picture, reminding you of a time where you were able to enjoy the privilege of his strong arms around you, protecting you from any potential harm. it always amazed you, that despite everything he was put through, he was still soft and kind — truly one of his many brilliant qualities that he hadn’t let the world that was so cruel to him, tarnish him completely.

“he’s also in the rain,” you say, your voice falling back to a whisper when he turns to look at you again. you capture his eyes, trying to force a smile as his big eyes stare back at you with such curiosity. “you know how you’ve sometimes seen mommy just stand outside when it’s raining?” he nods. “i miss your dad more than anything, and it makes me sad sometimes. so when it rains, i like to go outside and feel the little droplets hit my face. i thinks it’s how he shows me he is still here, comforting me. sharing my pain so i don’t feel it on my own.”

you don’t even notice the shy tear that has rolled down your cheek until he reaches his small hand to gently wipe it away. “i don’t want you to be sad,” his voice is so full of compassion, wondering how such a small person could have such a big heart — he got that from satoru too.

“it’s okay to be sad sometimes,” you assure him. “it just proves that all i felt for your dad was real.”

he doesn’t seem to understand it fully, but you can’t blame him. he’s still just a kid after all. but as time pass, he'll grow up, it will all eventually make sense to him.

“mama?”

“yes, baby?”

“you’ve said before you talk to him.”

“yeah, all the time.”

“you think i can talk to him too?” your lips instantly start to tremble in an unsteady smile.

you nod slowly before pulling him closer, pressing your cheek against his. “of course! i think he would be happy to hear you talking to him.”

“where do you think he is now?” the loaded question comes out so innocently, unable to stop how you huff a breath, trying to find the right words that would give an answer a child could comprehend.

“i don’t know,” you said honestly, “but wherever he is, i hope he’s resting. that’s the least he deserves.”

with his eyes on the picture again, he gently wiggles out of your arms. his kindness steers his hand to dry more of your tears, again causing your lips to curve into a small smile.

“if it’s okay, i think i’m going to go talk to dad.”

“say hi to him from me, okay?” he nods, flashing you a grin similar to the one satoru bore in the picture in your hands. and he runs off into the garden, standing in the exact spot you so often find yourself in.

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[confused-squishy]

DP x DC Time!

(I'm gonna give Adopted Dad John Constantine another try. Please thank @dcxdpdabbles for their amazing encouragement and for helping me come up with this. They have become my new fandom buddy and we now trade story/fic's)

John adopts a Wayne??

Clockwork should have paid more attention to that, as team Phantom calls him, Damn Fruit loop! He looked around at the frozen timeline and felt his core whimper. His core-bonded grandchildren are gathered around his King as the Fentons are mid-fight against Plasmius.

Danny is bleeding a worrying amount of ectoplasm. Jazz is trying to keep pressure on the worst of his injuries. While Dan and Ellie are both in their Phantom forms guarding them both. He looked around and saw two figures mid run towards the group. A Fenton first-aid kit in their hands.

Ah yes. Young Sam and Tucker. His Kings left and right hands. They looked to be injured as well but nothing as life threatening as Danny. Which paints a picture Clockwork didn't want to be true. He should've kept a closer eye on this dimension. He had gotten too comfortable leaving it to his King that he forgot things could happen to his King as well.

He didn't have a lot of time to do this and he needed to make sure this won't rip the timeline apart. There was only one thing that he could think to do at an emergency time like this.

Clockwork made his way over to the adopted siblings and crouched down. He unfroze Jazz first knowing she'd be the calmest. She gasped loudly and started looking around before meeting Clockworks eyes. They were full of sadness and regret.

"I deeply apologize for being neglectful of this timeline. I had put too much on your shoulders and I'm sorry that I let it get this far."

Jazz didn't say anything. Just stared at Clockwork before slowly looking down at her Ectoplasm covered hands before looking at Danny's frozen pain filled face. She looked ahead seeing her other adopted siblings guarding them in case Vlad got past their parents. She looked back to where Sam and Tucker were racing over with tears staining their faces.

She then turned to Clockwork. Squeezing her hands into tight fists. She should be angry at him. Furious. She should yell at him and tell him exactly what he can do with his apology. But Clockwork is the only person who can help Danny at this moment.

"His obsession.... It used to be about-about killing Dad and being with Mom. Raising Danny to be his heir. But he's changed over the past few weeks. We didn't notice at first. He slowly stopped trying to remove Dad from the picture. Stopped hitting on Mom. But focused more on Danny. I tried talking to them about it. But they thought Vlad was just wanting to spend more time with his godson."

Clockwork grimaces. He can tell where this story is going. From the look of rage of the Fenton parents. Then glee on Plasmius face. The fury and horror on Dan and Ellie. The pleading look on Sam and Tucker. If he hadn't frozen the timeline when he did there's no telling how this might've gone.

"So Vlad Plasmius obsession is now fully on Danny. That's not good. Not good at all."

Clockwork sighed and thought deeply. He had to get Danny out of this timeline and fast before the Universe falls apart. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief for Jazz when he pulled out a piece of paperwork. He'd been going over the Kingly paperwork when he realized what was happening. Across the top of the paper was a name that made everything click into place.

John Constantine

[mixedandfurious]

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Pure Smut, 18+ Minors DNI!

A/N: My first piece of writing on here so I’m gonna keep it basic🤭 Ofc I had to go with everyone’s obsession…WOLVIEEEEE! Lemme know what you guys think! Enjoy my lovelies😏

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Mr. Howlett here is a green flag in that he accommodates to his partner’s needs. If you prefer to cuddle after sex, be prepared to stay in Logan’s arms for hours on end. Hungry? Well your man’s already up and grabbing you your favourite snacks and comfort foods.

Let’s not forget the bare minimum where he makes sure to clean you up and remind you how well you did. He reassures you and focuses his entire attention on you because he’s so grateful that he gets to have you to himself (Words of affirmation GALORE!) He may be a hardcore, grouchy man to the world but he’s a total sweetheart for his favourite person🥰

B - Body Part (Fav body part of themselves and their partner)

As much as he struggles with his claws he actually really loves his hands (at least with you). In the beginning of your relationship Logan expressed his hardships with his claws and how he lacks control over them when he gets riled up. This caused him to limit how much he touched you during sex (preferred to eat you out rather than finger you, or grab the headboard when he was about to cum instead of holding onto your hips). But overtime your reassuring words and your trust in him won (plus he couldn’t say no to you begging him to fill you up with his fingers).

Logan is in love with the entirety of your being but if he HAAAAD to choose he’d say that your lips and neck are a heavenly gift. This man is OBSESSED with your lips to a point where he can suck and bite on them for hours on end. He loves making out with you and more importantly, he loves to see those lips wrapped around his cock as you take him in as far as you can. Your neck is a whole other ball game though🫣 You already know this man is like an animal so you can imagine how much he enjoys leaving his scent on you. He makes sure to leave marks on your neck before you leave the house (after all everyone must know you’re taken). He loves to hear the sound of your pulse and how much it speeds up when he scents you. And when he’s reaching the finish line you better believe he’ll bury his face in your neck and growl deeply as he prepares to fill you up with his load.

C - Cum

Simply put, your man cums a lot. And where does he enjoy releasing it? Inside of you of course. Sure he may occasionally release on your chest or in your mouth (maybe even on ur ass cheeks if he’s taking you from behind 👀) but ultimately, he goes feral watching his cum pool out of your pussy.

D - Dirty Secret (Any dirty secret of theirs)

We all know that massages can lead to some filthy moments right? This obviously applies to Logan too. The catch, however, is that sometimes instead of using lotion or oil to massage out the knots in ur back he’ll use his cum instead🫣 Let me paint a picture for you real quick:

You’re lying on your stomach fully naked with Logan straddling you from behind. He begins gliding his calloused hands up and down your back and after 20 minutes or so he finally snaps and begins to massage your ass. At this point he’s hard as a rock and is leaking with precum. Eventually he takes his leaking juices and spreads it on your back to help his hands glide easily. The idea of his cum absorbing into your skin and his scent mixing with yours has him feeling extremely possessive and proud. He usually ends up lifting your hips and having his way with you.

E - Experience (How experienced are they?)

The man’s old af okay🤣 He has EXPERIENCE! Though it is to be noted that he’s very particular about who he sleeps with. He obviously has trust issues and this applies to who he’s willing to share his body with. Yes, he’s animalistic and enjoys having sex often. But he would rather have a lot of sex with a trusting partner than have meaningless sex with a handful of random people that he happens to come across.

Don’t worry love, he knows how to show you a good time and he’s YOUR personal whore🤭

F - Favourite Position

He loves to take you while you’re on all fours but his favourite position is missionary. He loves to watch your reactions as he plays with your body in different ways. Remember how I mentioned that he loves your lips? Well missionary is the best way for him to abuse your lips with his mouth and watch you suck on his fingers while he rocks into you.

You can also find yourself getting fucked against the wall on occasion because he just loves how his body and the wall traps you, leaving you at his mercy.

G - Goofy (How serious are they during sex?)

Logan can get serious at times especially when he fucks you after one of his nightmares or when he’s had a rough day. But for the most part he’s a mix of passionate and a tease. Typically the silliness comes from you when you crack a lighthearted joke which has Logan shaking his head and chuckling before he goes back to devouring you.

Eg.

Logan: Whose pussy is this?

You: Mine…

Logan: …You’re gonna be the death of me bub. Let’s try that again. Whose pussy is this?

H - Hair (How well groomed are they?)

Oh he’s hairy everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE! He definitely tries to trim his pubes a little bit to make it easier for you when you suck him off. But other than that you gotta take him as he is.

As a side note, Logan doesn’t really care if you shave or not. So don’t even stress about anything with him. The man is obsessed with you regardless.

I - Intimacy (Romantically how are they during sex?)

He is so passionate about you and never takes you for granted. He counts his lucky stars that he gets the privilege to worship your body whenever he wants and his actions during sex are evident of that. Even if he’s having rough, jealous sex with you he makes sure to praise you and give you loving kisses along the way. His life has never been easy and he always struggled with finding trustworthy people in his life. So just know that the fact that you made your way into his heart, he’s going to spend an eternity showing you how special you are to him.

(Just make sure you reassure him as well from time to time)

J - Jerk Off (How often do they masturbate?)

Despite his animalistic urges, he actually has a lot of self control. As much as he loves sex he prefers to cum when you’re with him. So when you’re away for a while he’ll just busy himself with other things until you get back and help him out.

That being said, he’s not opposed to sexting or phone sex so do with that information as you will🤭

K - Kink (What are their kinks?)

This man is obsessed with your breasts. It doesn’t matter how big or small they are, he just wants to have his way with them. He’ll lose his shit if you let him fuck your tits and will cum harder than ever.

Choking is another one of his favourites. He loves to watch you lose yourself to the combination of his dick pounding into you and his hand restricting your air flow. He swears you cum harder this way.

L - Location (Favourite places to have sex)

He’s pretty old school so he prefers to fuck you in your bedroom. But he also enjoys some passionate shower sex (don’t worry about slipping because this man is strong af).

He occasionally loves to fuck you outside when no one is around (he’s the only one who gets to see you like this so don’t worry about anyone catching you).

One time he fucked you on his bike at nighttime while you guys were overlooking the city.

M - Motivation (What turns them on?)

Logan has a high sex drive so many things about you turn him on. But what really does it for him is when you take care of him. You got up early to make him breakfast? He’s going to bend you over the counter and have you shaking while he bites your ear and whispers what a good girl you are for feeding your man. You give him a massage after he comes home from a long, gruelling day? Be prepared to sit on his cock and lose your mind as he fucks into you from below.

N - No (Turns offs/What they wouldn’t do)

He will not allow for any threesomes or for anyone to watch you two have sex. He’s too possessive and believes that sex is an intimate act between the two of you. You’re his and he’s yours, no question about it.

He won’t do anything to severely hurt you. He already inflicts a lot of pain on others when he goes on missions so the last thing he wants to do is hurt the love of his life. The most he’ll do is spank your ass, choke you or pull on your hair. But that’s about it.

O - Oral (Preference in giving/receiving, skill, etc)

Homeboy loves to eat your pussy like it’s his last meal. He can keep his face between your legs for hours if he could! Nothing gets him going more than the scent of your heat and the taste of your sweet juices. Please do him the honour of using his face as a seat. The man will gladly die from lack of oxygen if it means stuffing his face in your warm cunt😌

He also goes crazy for your mouth around his hard cock. He always reiterates how much he loves you and your filthy mouth every time you suck his dick because it’s an honour to have you on his knees for him. You’re giving up breathing for his pleasure? You beautiful human! He’s going to reward you big time when you’re done bringing him down from his high.

P - Pace (fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

With Logan the pace really depends on the situation. If he’s frustrated and you offer to let him fuck away his worries, he’ll fuck you fast and rough. If he’s jealous and wants to remind you who you belong to, he’ll pound into you until you can’t walk the next day. If he’s feeling overwhelmed with his love for you or is feeling emotional he’ll fuck you deep and slow while he makes eye contact with you. If it’s a slow and quiet morning he’ll rock into you gently while he spoons you from behind.

Q - Quickie (Are they game for quickies? If so, how often?)

As much as he prefers to take his time with you and show you how much he appreciates you, you guys can have moments when you get too busy. Therefore, quickies are a great way for the two of you to have a few moments of closeness during a chaotic day. Don’t worry though because given the right opportunity Logan will make up for lost time and give you the time of your life.

R - Risk (Are they willing to experiment?)

Logan is always open to hearing your fantasies and is willing to try new things with you. But once again he draws the line at sharing you with someone or hurting you badly. At the end of the day he’s still a bit old schooled so he’ll definitely have his boundaries.

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

This man can last a LONG time! We already know he has regenerative abilities so he’s up and ready to go pretty much immediately after he finishes. That being said, he knows your body very well and will stop once he knows you need to rest. But yeah he can pretty much keep it going for hours.

T - Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them on themselves or their partner?)

The only toy he owns is a cock ring which you insisted he try. He was pleasantly surprised when he realized how hard he could come once he used it. As for you, he occasionally uses handcuffs and vibrators to switch things up a little. He may or may not invest in some vibrating panties for you to try when you go out for dinner or hit up a bar👀

U - Unfair (Do they like to tease?)

It’s like a game for him. He gets off on hearing your frustrated groans and whimpers from overstimulating you for so long. More than anything he loves teasing you throughout the day whether it’s grabbing your hips while he reaches to grab a cup from the cupboard and then walking away, or rubbing your thigh under the table during dinner. You’re his favourite form of entertainment.

Now if YOU tease him just know that he’ll lose his shit and have you seeing stars before you can even think of teasing him any further. Life isn’t fair darlin’🤷🏻‍♀️

V - Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

Oh my days this man is L O U D! He doesn’t give a fuck who hears him because he’ll be damned if anything or anyone stops him from enjoying the moment with you. He’s in love with the entirety of your being and he’s gonna make sure you know it, especially when he’s taking you like you’re his last meal. He’ll grunt and groan as your tight, warm walls hug his dick as he reaches deeper inside with every thrust. He growls loudly as you whimper and moan his name while you pull him closer to you with your legs wrapped around his waist.

W - Wild Card (Random headcannon)

Let me bring you in on a little secret. If you happen to have any tattoos or piercings in some scandalous areas, just know that you’re going to be devoured on a whole other level. Nipple piercings? This man will be panting and groaning like a bitch in heat and will make sure you cum just from him playing with them. A tattoo on your hip or sporting a tramp stamp? The back shots and bites on your hips are gonna go crazy. A tattoo leading into your panties? Well, you get the picture 🥵

X - Xray (How do they look underneath their clothes?)

He’s definitely a grower but even flaccid he’s packing😩 I’ll let you decide on the inches but just know that this man is girthy. Do with that information as you will.

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Mr. Howlett ACHES for you all day, everyday. Now he obviously doesn’t fuck you every second of the day (unless that’s what you want🫣) but he loves your mind and your body so much. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: He doesn’t fuck just anyone. So know that he’s comfortable with you and LOVES you, so he’s going to make up for lost time and ruin anyone else for you (not that you’re ever gonna get with anyone else cuz he’s not letting you go😌). That said, if you’re not in the mood to have sex (regardless of how long), he’s perfectly okay with that. He just wants you to be comfortable and will make sure you only have sex with him when you truly want it. Never feel the need to force anything around him because he only gets off on your pleasure. Green flag energy onlyyyyyyy!

Z - Zzz (how fast they sleep afterwards)

Logan won’t get sleepy right away because he always has a lot of energy during and after sex. He’ll make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of before he settles in and dozes off with you. He’ll typically nuzzle into your chest or your neck and tangle his legs between yours before he drifts off into a comfortable sleep as he listens to your even breaths.

[allofnypeaches]

I love a lot of things about the hunger games trilogy, but by far my favorite part of reading the books is how suzanne collins manages to use katniss' unreliability as a narrator as an advantage that improves the reading experience instead of limiting the readers' interpretation of the facts. I think about how when reading other first-person narrated books I am always conditioned to perceiving things the way they are presented to me by the narrator, without me even realizing it, and how that - obviously - reflects how every story has multiple sides to it and whatnot. but the hunger games, despite having a very biased narrator, manages to paint us a picture that is wider than katniss' view somehow. I haven't fully figured this out yet, but I think it's a combination of the following things that make this possible;

#1: Katniss, although very young and at times naive and blinded by fear, survival instincts, propaganda and most of the time just sheer confusion because of all the information that is kept from her, is very skeptical of everything. she rarely ever takes things at face value (even when she should, like when peeta shows his feelings for her), and is always questioning, pondering the different motives behind things, the possibilities and outcomes of what could happen if x thing meant y instead of z. and yes, her hypothesizing is often inconclusive - which is very understandable for someone in her situation - but it invites us to question things and hypothesize about them on our own, and through context clues that she may sometimes miss or misinterpret, we are sometimes able to piece together entire puzzles of the narrative before she does, and that is simply delightful to experience, while simultaneously not spoiling anything either, because it makes us anxious to see how and when she will realize what we already know.

a few examples include, but are not limited to :

- realizing that Peeta is madly in love with her before she even considers that possibility

- realizing that Madge genuinely likes her, as well as her entire family, and that they're actually friends before she admits this

- seeing through Gale's words and knowing he has romantic feelings for her before that ever crosses her mind

- thinking that the people in 12 are definitely looking out for her and Prim in any way they can (with their extremely limited resources and freedom) before she gets suspicious of that fact

- realizing how much of a symbol of hope and rebellion she is to Panem before she is told so (that's the most obvious one though)

- comprehending her mother's reaction (or lack thereof) to her father's death before she can see past the resentment in catching fire

- seeing that Gale brings out the worst in her at times, and seeing that he's constantly pressuring her when she's already holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and how that makes him a bad friend, who, by the way, doesn't see her as a friend at all especially after the first games

- piecing together how terrible Coin is and how she needs to be eliminated just as much as Snow for the war to end before Katniss fully accepts that reality (she is the least oblivious to this one)

- realizing that Squad 451 don't actually believe that Coin gave her a mission in Mockingjay, but they're following her anyway because they want to, long before they tell her that

- watching her fall in love with Peeta, develop deep feelings of love and desire for him, while she is always either excusing it as something else, or too confused/oblivious/naive to see it

#2: the characters around Katniss never seem one-dimensional because of how empathetic she naturally is. because of how much she treats everyone like multi-faceted human beings as complex as she is, we are invited to wonder about those characters' feelings very deeply, and to interpret their actions accordingly, which greatly diminishes the potential for mischaracterization if the person reading actually exercises at least 1% of their critical thinking. this also goes for the system that she lives in, the culture she grows up in and the overall symbolism of things throughout the books. because of how well everything is presented, we don't need Katniss to tell us straight up how manipulative, coniving, dirty, cruel and tyrannic the government is, we can see this time and time again, in small and big things, from her odd description of things she's never seen/tried before showing us how isolated the districts are from eachother and how precarious their living situations are, to her talking about how traumatic her father's death was for her making us wonder if it was actually an accident. she doesn't have to connect the dots for us to wonder about the limited genetic pool of district 12, or about her father's extensive knowledge, where it came from and why he passed it all down to her, why he documented it in a book. it's like there is always a door open into the lives of others, into the things they believe in, into what the past of what that world was like, and if you're just willing to go through that door, the universe within the books greatly expands.

and that is all extremely intentional, too. Suzanne is trying to tell us that it is always worth it to look past our own lenses, to question things, to not be susceptible to manipulation and propaganda, to look beyond what we are shown and see the world, and the people in it, for what they truly are instead of always being limited by our own perspective of things. it's just so beautifully and masterfully written, and it will never stop being relevant. that's why these are my favorite books ever.

[theeoriginals]

Something with Klaus based on this quote from The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

“… You listened.”

“To you? Always.”

I NEED the tension PLS

what a feeling | klaus mikaelson

klaus mikaelson x psychic!female!reader (no y/n)

author's note; this + the oneshot I did with the ozark quote are so fun to do, if y'all have any more tv/movie quotes you want me to do fics with send them in <333

warnings; umm vague mentions of violence but ultimately nothing besides fluff, reader is kind of an anxious mess but it's short and sweet

Her powers had always been somewhat of a burden. They were unreliable at best, dangerous and deadly at worst. She'd been on both ends of the spectrum, and even though the power that ran through her bloodline hadn't skipped her, it might as well have compared to everyone else in her family.

It'd made her somewhat of a black sheep amongst wolves. Her dreams, visions, couldn't be trusted. She couldn't be trusted.

Her family never really let her forget that, so the first time two Originals walked into her family's innocuous shop, she figured they wanted her mom or dad, or someone else– anyone but her.

But Klaus had set his eyes on her and said her name like it meant something. Like it wasn't basically a curse in and of itself.

The Mikaelsons were kind to her, despite all of the trouble she came with. Rebekah was sweet and mostly understanding, though she could sometimes be a bit hurtful without realizing it. Elijah was ultimately the same, and his interest in witchcraft always made her remember how much she really did love it, even if she was considered cursed by most witches in New Orleans.

Elijah had told her all about how their mother was the Original witch, and that if they hadn't been turned into vampires, they'd all have a bit of magic in them still. Their sister Freya, and Kol, were both lucky to have that part of their heritage still, apparently.

In the months of working with the Originals, helping them to the best of her ability, though, it was Klaus that she'd come to enjoy most.

She'd heard stories of the infamous hybrid her entire life, stories of bloodshed and needless violence, painting a picture of an unforgiving, ruthless man. Admittedly, when he'd first sought her out, she thought he'd come to kill her. For what reason, she didn't know, but there was no other reason he'd want to speak to her unless she'd unknowingly passed on a piece of her cursed magic to him.

But that hadn't been the case, and he'd just been in need of her specific powers, needed her help to keep an eye out for certain people and any future threats that would bring harm to him and his family. She'd quickly learned that above everything, Klaus just wanted to keep his family safe, and she was more than happy to help in any way she could.

Even though most of her visions were unreliable, he still urged her to share them just in case. Even though not a single one of her visions about the Mikaelsons had come true so far, he still made her tell him and his siblings. He never let her doubt herself.

She supposes that's why she's trying not to be upset right now, listening to them talk over her like she's not sitting right in front of them.

"We can't just sit back and let this happen, Niklaus," Rebekah says, her face twisted frustratedly. "Her visions aren't fact, they're mere possibilities. And very low possibilities at that."

She flinched, ducking her head down to hide the hurt Rebekah's words inflict on her, because she can't really be upset when the blonde is right. Sometimes it's just a feeling, not even a vision. She can't blame them for not trusting a vision of a future that is constantly changing.

Elijah, ever the mediator, gives his sister a slightly scolding look before looking at his brother with something apologetic in his eyes. "Rebekah's being... harsh, but brother, she's not wrong. There's no way to prove that it will come true, and because of that, we have no real reason to not fight back. We have to do something, otherwise every vampire in the Quarter will be in danger."

Klaus pinches the bridge of his nose, his face twitching in a glare. His eyes drift to the quiet witch sitting down, twisting her fingers together anxiously in her lap. He catches her gaze and softens at the sadness in her eyes, feeling it pang in his chest.

"I know," He says finally, an apology swimming in his glacial eyes as he looks at the witch. Her sadness deepens with hurt at his words and he tears his eyes away from her, looking to his siblings. "We have to go."

She stands up abruptly, looking at him in disbelief. "But Klaus, they have white oak stakes, and they're going to use them on all of you. They kill you all, and they don't stop until you're all gone, even Freya! I saw it happen, I swear! You have to believe me, please,"

Elijah says her name with pity in every syllable and she swipes a hand out, turning to look at him with pleading eyes.

"You have to believe me, you're going to be killed if you go. They have laid a trap perfectly made to capture you, and you're walking directly into it!"

"We have to," Klaus shakes his head, already walking towards the doors, Rebekah and Elijah following. He looks over his shoulder, giving her a firm look. "Stay here until we return. It's not safe for you anywhere else."

He walks out before she can say anything else, pretending that he can't feel the heartbroken look on her face burning into his back as he leaves.

She hasn't moved from her seat on the couch in the entirety of their absence. With every minute that shows no sign of their return, her heart beats faster, guilt beginning to seep into her pores.

Stuck in this spiral of horrible, self-deprecating thoughts, she's startled when the doors slam open and the three Originals come marching into the compound.

She stands up, eyes wide as she takes in the drying blood staining their skin and their clothes, but can't stop the wave of relief that washes over her at the sight of them all alive.

Rebekah has a slight limp to her step and Elijah seems to be favoring his left side more than usual, and there's blood on Klaus's face that she knows is his, but they're alive.

She lets out a shaky breath as Klaus walks towards her, Elijah and Rebekah heading for the stairs to likely clean themselves up and find a blood source to suck dry and finish healing.

"I was wrong," She sighs, eyes closing in abatement. "I'm so glad I was–"

She's cut off by Klaus's palms cupping her cheeks, and her eyes snap open when she feels the press of his plush lips against hers. She makes a noise of utter surprise that quickly dissipates into a noise of pleasure, and her eyes flutter shut as she lets him deepen the kiss, stealing the breath right out of her lungs.

She chases him as he pulls away, but he stops her, dragging his thumbs gently along her cheekbones as he looks at her with a look she'd dare call adoring.

It takes her breath all over again and she squirms beneath it, feeling like she's teetering on the edge of something big.

"What," She breathes out, licking her lips like she can still feel the weight of his on them. "What was that for?"

"You were right," He says, his voice rough. "You were right. They had white oak stakes and they tried to kill us. The only reason we survived is because of what you told us,"

Her eyes widen and she looks up at him in disbelief. "But... I'm never right. I'm cursed,"

He shakes his head, lips pulling up into a smile, creasing the dried blood on his cheek. "No, you're not, darling. You saved my life. You saved my family,"

Her throat tightens, thick with emotion, and she isn't entirely proud of the way her voice shakes when she speaks. "You listened?"

Klaus's gaze warms with fondness and he gives her a smile that makes her heart race for entirely new reasons. "To you? Always."

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

As I was rereading Thousand Autumns, I collected all of Shen Qiao's sarcastic thoughts he keeps to himself:

"Did Sect Leader Yan rent a courtyard with only one bedroom?" Shen Qiao asked. Yan Wushi was completely unruffled. "Of course not. But I rented the courtyard, so I can sit wherever I please. You've been unconscious for days, and I've taken care of you for the entire journey. But instead of thanking me, you've been acting all evasive. Was the sect leader of Xuandu Mountain brought up with such rude manners?" Shen Qiao thought to himself, My manner is evasive because yours is abnormal.

Ruyan Kehui smiled minutely... "The northern kingdoms are vast and abundant, but the southern kingdom is no less so. Once he's tasted Linchuan Academy's tea, perhaps this honored guest will find it unbearable to leave, even without his host imploring him to stay?" With a claim like that, did the Linchuan Academy drug all their visitors, and that's why they couldn't bear to leave? Shen Qiao couldn't help it and burst out with a chuckle.

Yan Wushi was all smiles. "My A-Qiao is so clever!" Shen Qiao's face grew dark. Who's your A-Qiao?

"... I suffered some serious injuries, and it took everything I had to escape. Ever since then, I've been too frightened to rashly provoke that guy anymore. A great and honorable grandmaster like him, splitting hairs with a weak woman like me? How petty and unbecoming of him." You're not a weak woman, thought Shen Qiao. Furthermore, you were the one who snuck into someone else's territory. If they let you come and go as you wish, what's the point of Linchuan Academy's gates? Might as well let people barge in every day.

Shen Qiao placed the lamb soup and flatbread in front of Yan Wushi. "Are you hungry? Eat." Yan Wushi glanced at Shen Qiao, then quickly dropped his head and mumbled, "Feed me." Shen Qiao fell silent. After a long time with no reply, Yan Wushi raised his head to look at Shen Qiao, then said hesitantly, "Like last time... Kis..." If I knock him unconscious right now, will he wake up with a more normal personality? Shen Qiao contemplated this with all seriousness.

"A-Qiao, why are you ignoring me?" Because right now I'm contemplating whether to knock you out before we keep going, Shen Qiao thought.

"She's my younger sister," said Shen Qiao. "Wife," said Yan Wushi. Shen Qiao and Yan Wushi's eyes met. Shen Qiao guessed that Yan Wushi had done it on purpose due to his dissatisfaction at being made to dress up like a woman, but he couldn't say too much in front of an outsider. He could only give a light cough and throw in a belated explanation: "This is my cousin. She's a bit immature, so please don't take offense." It would have been better if he hadn't explained. The moment he did, the peddler instantly imagined a story about a pair of cousins in forbidden love eloping to a faraway land. He quickly nodded repeatedly. "I understand! I understand!" Shen Qiao was completely baffled. What do you understand? Even I don't understand.

"If you're going to use a disguise, make it a good one. Most women have long fingernails, and even if they don't, they'll paint them. Otherwise, the moment an observant person sees how prominent my knuckles are, they'll immediately know that I'm a man disguised as a woman." The corner of Shen Qiao's mouth twitched as he thought, How am I supposed to know something like that? I've never disguised myself as one before.

Yan Wushi sputtered a laugh. "All right, all right. Don't be so mad!... Like you said, my martial arts have yet to recover, and my reappearance would be far too ostentatious ... You won't be able to protect me with your current abilities." And whose fault is that? thought Shen Qiao. You have enemies everywhere, and that's not something everyone can pull off. If not for my concern over the big picture, which prevents me from picking a bone with you, I, too, would have joined the ranks of people trying to kill you.

Yan Wushi peeled off a piece of bark from somewhere, then placed the roasted sparrows on top. As Shen Qiao looked at them, he immediately found it difficult to keep his mouth from twitching. Upon that piece of bark, six sparrows were neatly laid out, with one in the center and five arranged evenly around it. "This dish is called 'Plum Blossom Sparrows.'" Shen Qiao bit his tongue. You came up with the name yourself, didn't you?

Yan Wushi sighed. "A-Qiao, you're not stupid But your tender heart holds you back. You're always so optimistic when it comes to interpersonal matters, and you never suspect a dark side to them. What would you do if I weren't here?" If you weren't here, my days would definitely go a hundred times more smoothly! Shen Qiao almost blurted out.

"A-Qiao, you're shivering," Yan Wushi said, mouth against his ear. "Are you wearing too little?" Laughter laced his tone, and he had almost trapped Shen Qiao within his arms. I'll stop shivering if you let go! Shen Qiao raged internally.

"First, my venerable self doesn't want Guang Lingsan to know that we're close," Yan Wushi replied leisurely. "This is to keep you safe, so you should thank me." How are you and I close? Shen Qiao thought to himself, but he played along. "I'm grateful for Sect Leader Yan's care."

Yan Wushi's gaze swept over Shen Qiao and Yuwen Song, whose expressions were equally speechless. He casually threw in another line: "I heard that there's a peerless beauty at Bixia Sect, whose name is Yue Kunchi." Shen Qiao was stunned. "That's the sect leader's shixiong, and...and he's a man. You actually...?" "That sect leader should be a woman?" "That's right..." "Then let me try again," said Yan Wushi. "I heard that the Bixia Sect Leader is a peerless beauty, whose appearance surpasses even Yuan Xiuxiu's. My venerable self has admired her for a long time, so I wish to meet her." Shen Qiao stared at him. You don't sound like you've admired her for very long at all.

"A-Qiao, you're words are far too distant considering our current relationship." What current relationship? Shen Qiao's mouth twitched as he forced himself once again to endure an irrelevant remark from Yan Wushi.

Shen Qiao didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I never wanted to be the alliance leader!" Yu Shengyan was confused. "Shizun ordered me to come and help you. If you don't want to be alliance leader, why did he instruct me to do so?" Shen Qiao thought to himself, Your shizun just does as he pleases, and his actions and words couldn't be further from a normal person's. How am I supposed to know what he's thinking?

Yan Wushi even consoled him. "It's not your fault. I already told you that Hehuan Sect is full of bad people, and that's why you shouldn't mingle with that trash. Like those demonesses, Yuan Xiuxiu and Bai Rong; just stay away when you see them in the future. My A-Qiao is a pure and spirited beauty. How can I let them tarnish you?" Not like the reputation of your Huanyue Sect is any better than that of Hehuan Sect. Also, what do you mean, "my A-Qiao"? Who's your A-Qiao?!

The innkeeper couldn’t help but smile and say, “The two gentlemen here are brothers, correct? You’re very close.” “We’re not brothers,” said Yan Wushi. “Ah,” said the innkeeper as he hesitated a little. “Then…father and son?” Yan Wushi didn’t say anything, only smiled suggestively at him. Then he glanced at Shen Qiao, before smiling again at the innkeeper. The shopkeeper had seen all types of people before, and dawning realization soon surfaced on his face. “It can’t be helped,” Yan Wushi said. “He’s been difficult the past few days, and we haven’t been getting along.” The innkeeper was incredibly adaptable. “They all say, with ten years of virtue, you’ll share the same ship of destiny, with a hundred years of virtue you’ll…you know.12 As the two of you are dragons and phoenixes among men, your friendship is likely extraordinary as well. Since you already have this shared destiny, you should make some concessions to each other. You know what they say: amiability is the key to prosperity!” Shen Qiao was silent. What do you mean, “you know?” Say it clearly!

The words he wanted to say turned in his stomach a few times, and just as he was about to say them, he heard a slight sound coming from Yan Wushi’s table. He couldn’t help but raise his head, just in time to see Yan Wushi’s head drop low as he coughed up blood. Shen Qiao’s face contorted in horror. All else flew from his mind as he hurriedly leapt up to support him. “What’s wrong? Was the wine poisoned?!” As Shen Qiao hadn’t touched the jug of wine, he immediately thought that the wine was the issue. And because this reminded him of his own experience with Joyful Reunion, his complexion looked even worse than Yan Wushi’s. But then, Yan Wushi suddenly smiled and pulled him into his arms. “Your panic reveals your concern. A-Qiao, your words truly don’t match your heart!” Shen Qiao stared at him. “You…you weren’t poisoned?” Yan Wushi wiped the bloodstain from the corner of his lips and said, “I accidentally bit my lip while chewing. I might have been too agitated.” Agitated to the point of vomiting blood? To hell with your lies!

Yan Wushi added, “Yuwen Xian was weak, but he was skilled with military administration, as well as an excellent commander. Even if he couldn’t have inherited Yuwen Yong’s legacy, he wouldn’t have squandered the family’s wealth entirely. Unfortunately, Yuwen Yong couldn’t break free from the shackles of tradition and insisted on his son inheriting the throne. His vision was far too narrow and shallow. He labored his entire life and ended up being killed by his son, and all his hard work has come to nothing. Such misfortune he brought upon himself!” He showed little respect for the previous emperor, his criticisms flowing forth the moment he opened his mouth. Anyone else hearing this would have been terrified out of their wits, but Shen Qiao couldn’t help but internally roll his eyes. He thought, Didn’t you get ambushed by those martial experts in the capital of Tuyuhun? You even ended up with a crack in your skull and almost lost your life. You call Yuwen Yong shallow, but where was your foresight then? Yan Wushi didn’t even turn back as he joked, “A-Qiao, I didn’t expect you, an upright gentleman, to develop the bad habit of silently cursing someone behind his back. That’s not good!”

Yan Wushi smiled and said, "If you dislike them, I naturally dislike them as well. Considering our relationship, if we don't present a united front, people will misunderstand, won't they?" What relationship? And people won't misunderstand if you say it like this? Shen Qiao was stunned by Yan Wushi's ability to argue black into white. "Sect Leader Yan worries too much," he said. "This humble Daoist isn't a member of Huanyue Sect. Even if Sect Leader Yan and I don't have a united front, no one will misunderstand."

“That’s fine,” said Yan Wushi. “It’s about time, anyway. With your current martial prowess, you might not be able to chop Yu Ai into eight pieces, but stabbing a sword through his heart should be doable.” Shen Qiao was left almost speechless. “Just because I’m going doesn’t mean I have to kill someone!” Can you not spout such bloodthirsty words all the time?

Yan Wushi's smile widened. "A-Qiao, are you worried about me?" "No," said Shen Qiao. "You're lying," said Yan Wushi. Shen Qiao said nothing. Then why did you even ask?

“That’s why you’re special,” said Yan Wushi. “These things are truly worldly possessions that you see as external to you. I’ve thought about it for a long time, but I couldn’t think of anything that I can repay you with, so I can only repay you with myself. What do you say?” Of course not! Shen Qiao was dumbfounded. When he saw Yan Wushi about to lower his head, he slammed a palm into his chest without hesitation.

Shen Qiao glanced over at Yan Wushi. His eyes were still closed; it looked like he’d fallen asleep. With Shen Qiao’s character, he’d never do a thing like shaking someone awake, but hurt suddenly burst inside his heart: You were the one who kept provoking me, but now you’re going to ignore me instead? Of course, Shen Qiao’s thoughts weren’t this straightforward, but this was the general idea.

Yan Wushi didn’t put up any resistance and let Shen Qiao drag him there. However, his face grew a little bit colder. “I helped extricate you from a predicament in the palace,” he said. “This is how Daoist Master Shen repays me?” What do you mean, extricate?! It’s obvious that you wanted to enter the palace to watch the show yourself!

“Do you know what I currently regret the most?” Yan Wushi suddenly asked. Shen Qiao looked back at him in confusion. His thoughts seemed to have been churned into paste by an invisible hand; even his gaze overflowed with bewilderment, and his hair was mussed from all the fondling. He was the perfect picture of an innocent, guileless little creature, just waiting for some evil-intentioned person to ravage him. “If I’d known this would happen,” Yan Wushi said, “I’d have bought all the residences within this alley.” What does buying residences have to do with regret? Shen Qiao wondered in a daze.

Yan Wushi’s tongue took the opportunity to invade even more deeply. Even the skin around his collarbone was stained with a dark blush. His breaths came in heaves, beyond his control. Yan Wushi didn’t forget to tease him. “If it’d been someone else who was full of malice, they’d never let you off so easily.” The person with the most malice is you!

Yan Wushi placed the pears back into the basket. “What should we bet this time? And Sect Leader Shen shouldn’t be too stingy.” Shen Qiao shook his head. “I’m not betting this time.” “Afraid now?” Shen Qiao thought, I’m afraid that you’ll come up with some new method to retaliate against me even harder if you lose. With how vengeful you are, Sect Leader Yan, you’re always able to concoct twisted ideas that no one else can, so there’s no way to guard against you. But ultimately, these words were too difficult for him to say because if he enraged or embarrassed Yan Wushi, the unfortunate one would always end up being Shen Qiao.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Chemical Override (bonus chapter three) - In the Modern World

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: I knew I wanted to do a fun bonus chapter after part seven, but I wasn't sure what about. Then came this music video, with this feral slimey cat, and the rest is history. Not to mention this brilliant anon further fueled the idea for the plot!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Seems so hard just to be If it matters You complete me 🦎

This is set between part two and part three of the story. Right after the rumours of the reader with Jacob surface and she clarifies to Ewan that it's all just PR, and before he gets boozy and sends the voicemail.

Ewan

Martin’s room is typical of any unemployed and aimless outcast in their late 20s. Particularly, one with a penchant for conspiracy theories, reptilian critters, diorama building, and surface-level anarchy. 

“So he’s just like a regular guy,” Ewan jokes, making the director Luna laugh. 

“Sure, I bet this is how your own room is like back in… Derby, was it?”

“Yeah,” Ewan nods. “I actually have a place here in London now, too. The room is the same. But I’ve got more than one lizard.”

“Good one, mate,” she claps him on the back, before walking further into the room. She stops in front of the craggly stands that Martin passes off a workstation. “Here is where he keeps his pets. As you know, he’s got spiders, iguanas, and the rogue chinchilla.”

“Look at that little guy,” Ewan stoops down to inspect the grey rodent. “You lost there, buddy?”

“That one is our cameraman Eddie’s,” she remarks. “The bugs - we borrowed from the local habitat. All under code, of course.”

“Mmm,” he looks around the room. Maroon sheets, used up art supplies like glue and various unclean brushes, pieces of silver wire, old cables, duct tape, painted figurines, a scattering of old tickets for an underground fighting ring. Propped up on the headboard of his bed is a stolen street sign. On the wall is an assortment of posters - some of bands, some of comic strips, but mainly just scraps of art Martin finds from the internet. A rabid dog with its teeth bared. Grotesque humanoid figures. 

Standard, regular pictures. 

“You like the posters?” Luna notices him perusing the wall. “You know, I had the idea of incorporating something you like here. Maybe a band or… you like Metallica, I heard?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I love them. So I get to choose a poster that would fit Martin?”

“Sure,” she shrugs. “Something that represents both yourself and Martin, why not? Make up a backstory for it. It can be anything you set your mind to, really. Let’s start with - what would you have on your wall?”

He considers just taking her up on her suggestion of Metallica, maybe a live image of the band in their 2009 Mexico show. But he didn’t want to settle on that idea just yet. What is he fixated on at the moment? What film, what song, what popular character…

Then it strikes him, causing the blood to rise to the surface of his pale cheeks. Of course. There is you. 

But if he props up a full-blown image of you, just you, maybe from a photoshoot or a candid photograph, would that be too much? Would he be crossing the line?

Last he heard from you, he found out that the supposed relationship you have with Jacob Elordi is but a ruse for the sake of publicity. Thank the gods, as Aegon screamed before Aemond set him ablaze. 

But in this instance, Ewan’s relief is not entirely unfounded. You aren’t with anyone. He knows he should make a move, a proper one, and not just drop hints of his admiration in interviews like the one he just did for Vanity Fair. But what can he do? You’re all the way across the Atlantic, far from his desperate reach. 

As selfish as it sounds, he couldn’t bear the thought of hearing you’re with someone else and knowing it’s true. The confession is yet to stumble out of him, but he knew he was already yours. 

He calls you whenever he can, whenever he misses you, which is quite often, as evidenced by the lengthy log of long-distance calls on his phone, from England to America. 

“What about something House of the Dragon related?” he asks. “Could serve as a nice easter egg for the fans, if they see this.” 

“I don’t see why not? If you can convince us of Martin’s motivation for it, of why he would put that poster on his wall, then we can add it right away.”

He smiles shyly, glancing down at his sneakers. He knows his own motivation for putting your image up on his wall, but what about Martin’s? He tests some ideas out, gauging Luna’s reaction, “What if he’s a sci-fi, fantasy fanatic? If he’s a devout follower of George RR Martin, and so… naturally, he had a look at House of the Dragon as well?”

She purses her lips, tilting her head in thought. “That’s something right there, yeah. But we kind of saw him as being against television, you know? Against popular media in general, and he's a guy with an affinity for obscure dark video games and comic books.”

“Hmm, yeah, yeah,” he does his best to form the proposition in his mind. How does he offer the suggestion without being too obvious? “So what if, you know, he happened to see this one character in the show, and he’s just enamoured with them for some reason? This makes it remarkable, because he does admire her, but as an act of rebellion, he still doesn’t watch the show and only bothers himself with her scenes and the art style to her character, and - ”

“Wait, her?” Luna smiles, her confusion dwindling. She’s heard the rumours. Or fan theories. Or whatever the kids call it nowadays. She hasn’t been living under a rock, and Ewan definitely hasn’t kept mum about his crush either. 

“Yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck, unable to look her directly in the eye, “I was thinking of having a poster for a character from the show.”

“I thought you wanted a poster of a dragon or something,” she jokes. “So, which character? Apologies, I’m not too familiar with a lot of them.” Ewan would recognise the knowing glint in her gaze, if he wasn’t too busy pretending to inspect a scrap of faux moldy wallpaper sticking out of the wall. Set design really outdid themselves in the details, all to give the impression that Martin is a negligent slob.

“Uhhm,” he dithers, a crooked smile breaking out despite him chewing on his bottom lip, “she’s, uhhh, one of the new characters this season.”

“Oh?” she plays along, nodding, “Which one? From what I saw, there’s two camps, right? And your camp is green, is she in that?”

“No, actually,” he shakes his head, “she’s in the opposing team, you could say.”

“That’s interesting,” she nods, slowly, trying to encourage him to simply spit it out. “You know, Ewan, mate, if you don’t actually tell me which character you want to put up, then this poster idea isn’t going to work out.”

His gaze snaps back to her, and he awkwardly titters under his breath. “Right, right. Uhhm, she’s called Alyna… Alyna Rivers.”

Luna’s mouth forms an O, as if she’s enjoying this little gotcha moment. She realises that Ewan, while reserved, wears his heart on his sleeve. What a lucky girl you are. 

“And… why would Martin want her specifically up on his wall?” 

The emphasis on Martin came off as superficial, her tone humorous, leading Ewan to believe that she actually pertains to him and not the character.

“He might see her as some sort of muse, you know… she’s a fighter, she’s got a fire in her…”

“And he’s got a crush on her.”

“Oh… well…”

“He likes her.”

“Uhhh… yeah I guess…”

“You guess?” she raises her eyebrows, grinning, “come on Ewan, what does Martin feel about her?”

“She’s his… his ray of light,” he decides. “His world is a mess. He’s lost. His one release entails getting beat up bloody every other day. But the idea of her is his beacon of hope. Untainted, you know. She’s… she’s perfect. She wouldn’t hurt him like the rest of the world already has.”

Luna nods in understanding, satisfied. She casually slings an arm over his shoulder, then says, “You know something, mate? That sounds a lot more than a crush to me.”

“Mmm,” he smiles, agreeing, the welcome image of you flooding his mind like always, “it sure does.”

The entire cast and crew for In the Modern World have the subsequent three days to accomplish filming.

Ewan sits in the makeup trailer, awaiting his cue, his vision now impaired by the unkempt strands of his long black wig. Spiky grunge cuffs decorate his wrists. He wears an ill-fitting pair of jeans and a t-shirt, the costume for the first scene to be filmed. 

He has already gone through the process of trying to get in Martin’s head, seeing what makes him tick, what drives his actions, priming himself to jump inside his skin. He’s ready. At this point during filming, he has the habit of eliminating any distraction to maintain focus, and his phone is tucked inside his backpack on airplane mode. 

Defying his routine, he retrieves his phone, nervous fingers clicking away until they land on your contact. He hovers over the voice call option, opting at the last second to do a video call instead. 

The front camera turns on, catching him off guard with how messy he appears. Maybe this was not the best idea, he falters, what am I doing? I’m gonna scare her off.

“Ewan?” It’s too late to change his mind when your cheerful voice answers, your expression curious and inviting. His ray of light. “Is that you?”

He timidly brushes his hair - his wig - away from his face. “Hello, darling. I thought I’d ring you for a second.”

You laugh openly, drawing your face closer to your phone to get a better look at him, “Are you shooting the music video right now? Oh my god, look at you!”

He smiles sheepishly, teeth clamping over his bottom lip. “What do you think?”

“Wow,” you shake your head, the sunlight reflecting on your face from wherever you are. Likely walking around outside the studio, as he spots the white buildings in the background. “You look so… cool. This is like Aemond in the modern world, rebelling against his mother with the help of cheap hair dye.”

He appreciates your clever assessment, feeling much better about himself. “Don’t I look shabby?”

“Ewan,” you click your tongue, “judging by what you told me about your character, I think you’re supposed to look shabby.”

You’re right. He shakes his head, mostly at himself, for being so concerned if you still find him attractive even in this get-up.

“I feel like Kirk Hammett. Very rock n’ roll.”

You smirk, “I’d say this is your hottest look yet.”

He blushes profusely. You think he looks hot. It may just be a passing quip, a casual thing to say, but it has him in a grip. His reaction would nearly rival that of Martin’s, who would probably jump right on to making a mini-figurine of Alyna. After just a single interaction with you, Martin would probably spend the next few weeks occupied with objectionable fantasies. You and him, rolling around in the car. Only, car jitsu wouldn’t be the physical activity at play. 

Ewan shifts in his seat, adjusting his trousers. In the end, he’s no better than Martin after all. 

“Ewan?”

“Oh sorry, darling, I was just - ”

“I said that I have to go back inside,” you say, “I do appreciate your call, though.”

His face falls, despite the fact that he has to be on set soon anyway. “Of course, darling, go ahead.”

“Kick some ass for me?”

For you? Anything. “You got it, baby.” The name jumps out of him before he can stop himself, and he justifies it as a ‘Martin’ reaction. He’s in character, isn’t he?

You roll your eyes. It is your turn to blush and fail at hiding it, and you do. “Okay, rockstar. Talk to you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, then adds, “Wait!”

You raise your phone again. “Oh, what is it?”

“I, uhhh, I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you smile, and he commits the image to memory. This moment is his, just his; Martin can bloody wait. 

Martin

Martin throws himself down on his bed, limbs limp and flailing about. It must have been the hundredth time for that afternoon -  getting up, rolling back on the mattress, prodding his pets, jumping around the room to incoherent punk music, cigarettes burning out between his chapped lips. 

He has nothing to do today, not until it’s time. Just like every other day, every other week, in this drudgery of an existence. Everything means nothing, and the twisted truth of it is that he thinks himself free. 

Free of the cycle. Free of meaningless friendships. Free of love. Free of her.

The ghost of his ex-lover still haunts him, golden haired and rosy-cheeked, bundled up in her puffy coat like some cheap caricature of an angel. But she was no angel. Angels would not abandon someone they claim to love, with a mere snap of their manicured fingers. 

But she haunts him. What they had, and what they could have had. Was it even his? Would it have come out with a thin sprig of dark curls? He did not care to know now. 

She was his everything once. But isn’t that overrated? Falling in love is so overrated. 

His fingers clumsily mess with the controls for his toy helicopter as he lays down. The apparatus hovers above head, filling the room with a buzzing noise. His lit cigarette stumbles from his lips, and the noise is joined with his frantic, fuck, fuck, fuck, as he tries to shake it out of his hair. He succeeds, but the helicopter teeters in the air, until it slams against the poster of Alyna Rivers displayed over his headboard.

He lets it fall, becoming distracted with her image. It’s a promotional still of her in her complete hunting attire - a fitted leather jerkin over a dark red tunic, tight breeches tucked into knee-high boots, a dagger sheathed in her belt. But his favourite addition is the longbow she grips in her hand, her fierce expression making it known that she is prepared to draw it back at a moment’s notice. 

Martin gets on his knees on the bed. He kisses two fingers, then gently touches them to her poster in a gesture of reverence. 

If only…

“Good morrow, my lady,” he says in a sing-song voice, “always a pleasure to come upon your visage.”

He leans closer, tracing her figure with precision, “I bet you can fix me. I bet you can make me feel alive.” 

He chases after euphoria that night, over and over, fucked up and depraved and empty. But it hits different this time. It’s better.

As white spots flicker and dance in his vision, and the fog in his mind threatens to swallow everything, it’s not the vision of his ex that flashes before him - it’s Alyna he sees. 

Her face is sharp and real, cutting through the haze like a beacon. She holds him together as exhaustion takes over him and the oxygen is slowly cut off from his windpipe. She anchors him, even on the precipice of oblivion.

The opponent is alarmed by Martin’s eyes rolling back revealing the whites of his eyes. He loosens his hold, letting go even if Martin refuses to tap out. 

“Fuck, you alright?” he rasps. 

Martin doesn’t hear him. His bloodstained, cracked lips curl into a ghost of a smile as his hand trembles, reaching out to press against the fogged-up windshield. 

With a fragile sense of peace, he murmurs, “You fixed me.”

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @onlyrealjoy @hotdismylife @thepurplecrown @just-fics-station @clarkysblog @urmomsgirlfriend1 @misfitbimbosblog (continued in comments ... )

Some notes in the margins...

I know I said I would include the reader's reaction to the music video, but I decided to use the time to work on part eight... I still might get to writing this idea as a drabble though 🤷🏻‍♀️

Not Ewan having beef with his own character HAHAHA this lad I swear

Part eight out very, very soon! It'll be a wild ride. Oh, I'm not even kidding :)

[pome-seed]

❀Like a Dream, Like a Memory❀

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky/Winter Soldier!Bucky x 1940s!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: Like a memory, he sees you in a dream.

Warnings: Longing. Lots of heavy longing.

SONG NECESSARRY: I Only Have Eyes for You by The Flamingos (1959)

Authors Note: This is one of my favorite little pieces. Its like a hazy memory, distant and close and oh so desperately wanted. Please listen to the song when reading (it makes the picture come together perfectly.)

Music floated through the air, soft and gentle. 

Auburn light spilled from the lamps and candles flickering atop tables. 

It smelled of grass and plums.

And there you were, like a dream. Like a memory.

Soft curls cascading down your shoulders. Lips painted cherry red. Delicate nails glossed with a matching color, complimenting the dress that hugged your waist.

Eyes bright like gems. 

You were smiling, welcoming him in like a warm hug.

“Hi, Bucky,” your voice raced shivers down his spine. 

“Y/n?”

“Care to dance?” Your fingers outstretched towards him. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to dance,” you giggled, the sound floating through the air to mix with the music. “You owe me one, remember?”

“Right…” Everything felt fuzzy, far away. You looked so familiar and welcoming, he wanted nothing more than to stay there, suspended in that moment. 

“So, take my hand,” you wiggled your fingers at him. “Don’t tell me you forgot how.” You snickered.

He slid his hand in yours, soft skin brushing callouses. You felt warm under his touch. You felt real. “It’s been so long,” he muttered, letting you pull him in.

“All the more reason to do it,” you whispered, pulling him close. You rested your spare hand on his chest, over the heart of his dress uniform. He glanced between you, when was he wearing that?

You hummed softly to the music, swaying to the beat. He could hear your heels click with each slow step. You closed your eyes, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. He watched you, drinking in the sight of you so close. 

“I miss you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your soft hair.

“How can you miss me when I’m right here, silly?” You chuckled, pulling back enough to smile up at him. From this close, he could count your freckles. 

“I’ll always miss you.”

“Oh Bucky, always so dramatic.” You rubbed your hand gently across his chest. You stepped back, letting him lead you into a twirl. Everything moved slowly, strands of hair catching in the warm glow of the lamp light. 

“I remember this place,” he muttered, bringing you back into his arms. 

“Of course you do, we came here every Thursday night.” You hummed, sliding your hand back up his shoulder. 

Strings of lights illuminated the dance floor. White tablecloths sat untouched, dinner plates clean atop them. There was a stage for a band, empty, waiting for someone to grace it with song. 

“I used to ask you out dancing with a rose, every Wednesday.” He muttered, observing the familiar space.

“You always were needy,” you giggled. “I saved every rose, you know?” Your fingertips brushed the collar of his neck. 

He glanced down at you, feeling home under your touch. “I know,” he muttered softly. “You hung them in your window for the sun to dry.”

“You remember,” you sighed, batting your pretty lashes at him.

“Of course I remember, I could never forget anything about you…” the words felt cold on his tongue. He missed a step, almost stubbing your toe. 

“Shh,” you hushed him, your palm slipping over his cheek as you guided you both back into rhythm. “Don’t think about it.” You whispered into the space between you, like it was your own little secret.  You tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Don’t you love this song?” His lashes fluttered closed, pressing his cheek into your touch. You were so gentle in the way you handled him. You cooed softly at him, brushing your thumb along his cheek bone.  “This song-”

“Always made me think of you,” he interrupted you, turning into your hand to press his lips to your palm. 

“You always knew how to flirt,” you giggled. “I only have eyes for you,” you sang, staring up at him with a tired smile. 

His heart slowed in his chest, like if it took its last beat in that moment, everything would be okay. He could fall into your loving arms, letting you lead him into a dance as his eyes drifted closed. 

“Close your eyes, sweetheart,” you whispered, sliding your hand around his neck to pull him close. you guided his head to your shoulder, your fingers gently scratching his scalp. He took a shuddering breath, leaning his weight against you as you swayed. You hummed quietly to the song that seemed to go on forever, your touch slow. 

You felt so warm, so close, so real. Better than a memory. Better than a dream. His fingers held your hips a little tighter, suddenly afraid you might slip away.

“But they all disappear from view,” you sang softly.

Suspended in that moment, he could pretend nothing had changed. Nothing felt different inside him. It was just any other Thursday, soft music guiding you into serene peace. In his mind, he could pretend you were surrounded by couples your age, laughter filling the tent. 

But maybe he wanted to be alone with you, enjoy the vulnerable way you held him.

“I don’t want to leave,” he whispered, his voice muffled by the skin of your shoulder.

“You have to,” you replied, tracing your nails along the back of his neck. “You know you do.”

“I don’t want to be without you,” he protested, sounding weak. “I can’t do it anymore.”

“Oh, Bucky,” you cooed, pressing your lips to his head in a soft kiss. “You’re never without me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his arms circling your waist. “I’m scared.”

You petted his hair softly, allowing your slow sway to still for a moment. It was quiet, the sound of the music filling the air around you. “There’s nothing to be scared of, honey. Just dance,” you whispered.

He let out a shaky breath, slowly swaying with you once more. He felt heavier with each second he spent in your embrace, weakened, or tired, he didn’t know. He’d let the weight drag him right through the floor if it meant being there with you. 

He pulled back enough to rest his forehead against yours. Long black hair now framed his face, falling from its place tucked behind his ears. He could see you, feel you, but the arm on your waist felt numb, heavy. 

“Don’t look,” you interrupted his thoughts. “Just keep dancing.” you slid your hands to rest against his chest. 

He squeezed his eyes closed, nervous that his time with you was coming to an end. “I miss those thursdays.”

“Me too, my love, me too.” 

“I feel so alone without you,” he admitted, his voice weak.

“You’re not alone, Bucky. You never will be.”

“But I’m different. Things are different.” He lifted his head, gazing at you with sad eyes. 

You cupped his face in your hands, that soft smile gracing your lips. “You’re still my Bucky.” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “You’ll always be my Bucky,” your voice drew far, fading with the music.

When he opened his eyes, he was alone, standing on the dancefloor, his skin tingling from your touch. 

When he opened his eyes, he was cold. 

Everything was different.

A/N: If you didn't listen to the song while reading this, you missed out. Anyways, I really hope you liked this. I love writing this version of the reader. I've always thought there's a specific type of vulnerability that Bucky would only have for his lover from the past.

Please comment and be kind!

[sgtpeppers]

"A dark shadow on an otherwise beautiful record": PR, McCartney and The Beatles' Split.

“No, I wasn’t angry – shit, he’s a good P.R. man, that’s all. He’s about the best in the world, probably. He really does a job. I wasn’t angry. We were all hurt that he didn’t tell us that was what he was going to do.”

(John Lennon in Rolling Stone, 21 Jan 1971)

To cut to the chase, I want to explain why this statement from John, claiming Paul is a good PR man is wrong. Largely thanks to quotes like this from John, Paul gets painted as the Beatle with a good media strategy, the insinuation being of course, that he is disingenuous and inauthentic. I don’t believe this is true in general, but what I really want to focus on, and what John is referencing in that quote, is the publicity around Paul’s 1970 album McCartney, which got all tied up with the news of The Beatles split, and how actually, mistake after mistake was made, rather than it being what John claims - a purposeful move to get more publicity for his album. 

This isn’t a moral judgment on either John or Paul, or me saying Paul is stupid for not doing more. In fact, I think it playing out this way is far more interesting and we can gain a lot of insight about his mindset and relationships from his press activities around this time. 

I’m going to do this chronologically as much as possible, but before we dive in it will be helpful for us to keep a few basic PR strategies and tools in mind to help us understand what’s (or perhaps more importantly, what’s not) happening. So what are some things that make for good public relations? 

A clear, cohesive message. What's the story of the album? There should be key phrases that are repeated throughout press activities, and also allow an easy fall back when faced with questions that haven’t been prepared for. Broadly speaking, you want to highlight the good and ignore the bad, without lying or appearing to hide anything.

A good relationship with the press. Having even a couple of journalists on side can be a huge benefit, it makes for friendlier interviews and more forgiving assessments (which isn’t to say journalists are being fake or can be incentivised, but it’s just human nature that if you make friends, you’re going to have an easier time.) Furthermore, you want a reputation in the industry as someone that’s nice to interview, because journalists can and will talk, and if they’re going to come in with a preconception about you, you want it to be positive. 

Reactive messaging. If something comes out that you don’t want to be out, be prepared. Ideally potential problems have already been planned for. Know which journalists to reach out to, know what the story is, then be prepared to go quiet and leave things alone.

Pre-prepared Q&As or FAQs should answer more questions than they generate. They also shouldn’t require in depth answers - save that for conversations where there’s time for explanations. 

So, let’s start back in 1969. The Paul is dead rumours are in full force and Paul, Linda, Heather and Mary are living up in Scotland, trying to escape the goings-on back in London. 

On 24 October, Paul gives an interview to the BBC dispelling the rumours about his death, which goes out on 26-27 October in two parts. A few days later, Dorothy Bacon and Terrence Spencer from Life Magazine make the trip up to his farm to try and get another interview with him, for a piece they’re also doing about the rumours. 

Paul throws a bucket of dirty water at them, they get pictures, and then realising how this will look if published, Paul gives them an interview and promises to have Linda send them some family shots for the articles. In exchange they get rid of the photos they took earlier in the day.

So the first point here, that hopefully I don't need to spell out, is that you don’t wanna go throwing buckets of water at journalists. Thankfully, Paul did realise this and course corrected, but I can only imagine what the fall out would have been had he hadn’t gone after them. But what’s important for this story is that Paul is fed up with journalists and having to share his private life, he's emotional, and his instinct is to lash out.

The other thing that’s interesting here is a line that goes completely unnoticed. At this point, The Beatles split is not public knowledge. 

The Beatle thing is over. It has been exploded, partly by what we have done, and partly by other people. We are individuals, all different. John married Yoko, I married Linda. We didn’t marry the same girl.

(Paul McCartney in Life Magazine, November, 1969)

This is huge, and it doesn’t get picked up by anyone else. It’s not made a big deal of in the Life article, it’s perhaps the clearest statement we get about the state of The Beatles, and yet it flies under the radar. I’d love to know exactly what the deal is here, but there’s not much we can do about that, but what we should start keeping in mind in this: there is no plan in place around The Beatles split. There is just an agreement to not make it public yet. 

The McCartneys go back to London and Paul starts recording music with his new equipment at home. Later he books studio time when he decides he can make an album out of the songs he’s been working on. 

Some key dates: 

Paul finishes the album on 25 February.

The album is set to release on 17 April.

Ringo’s album get rushed to release two weeks early on 27 March and Let It Be is also supposed to be released in April.

On 31 March John and George send a letter, delivered by Ringo, asking Paul to delay the release of McCartney. Paul refuses and Let It Be gets moved instead. 

Which brings us to April. Prior this, Paul realised that if he’s going to be putting an album out he’s going to have to do some publicity, but the problem is… well, there’s a few; he’s never had to do publicity for a solo album and simply doesn’t have the knowledge, his relationship with Apple has completely deteriorated which includes the people who have been handling this stuff for him in the past, and lastly, he doesn’t want to be dealing with press. Refer back to him and the bucket. 

Thankfully, Peter Brown and Derek Taylor from Apple’s press office, tell him he does need to do something and to an extent, he listens. They select a handful of papers he’ll do interviews with, and Peter Brown puts together a Q&A for Paul to answer, which will go out to journalists in the press kit with their early copy of the album (x).

What I would love to do here is a question by question breakdown of that press kit Q&A but I’m conscious of how long this is already so I won’t… but before we get into that, here are a few more key events: 

7 April: The Eastmans issue a press release with news about Paul’s solo album and his acquisition of the film rights for Rupert The Bear. This is covered mostly by American press on 8 April who speculate that this could mean the end of The Beatles. (An important note here is the lack of communication between the Eastmans and Apple, not knowing what materials each other are providing is not helpful).

9 April: McCartney press kits are sent to journalists. 

9 April: Before Don Short at the Daily Mirror clocks off for the night, he is called by an Apple employee who tells him Paul has definitely quit. 

10 April: The Daily Mirror breaks the news with the headline ‘Paul Is Quitting The Beatles’. 

10 April: After doing interviews all day, Derek Taylor issues a statement regarding The Beatles. It doesn’t say much, which he acknowledges, because there’s not much he can say at this point. Another important note here, is that not even the head of publicity of Apple knew what was going on with The Beatles. There is no communication, and with no communication there can be no plan.

(Paul McCartney Project page that covers all this)

So what happened that made The Beatles split go from speculation to a certainty? It’s all to do with that Q&A. Of course, with the Eastman’s press release people were going to start connecting the dots, but that call Short got from his source isn’t presented as a rumour. 

Now, there’s a lot to say about this Q&A because Paul's answer are so unhelpful and you can feel his attitude. I think the fact this was allowed to go out is a fundamental piece of evidence of Paul’s relationship with Apple at the time. No one wanted to tell him no, and he certainly wasn’t going to give them more than the bare minimum. 

And lets be really clear here. This is a Q&A for his new album. Obviously the state of the Beatles was going to be brought up which is why Peter Brown included the questions, but the number of the questions on that topic and then Paul’s answers, make it really confusing and it’s no wonder this is what press picked up on, rather than just talking about Paul’s album. There are 41 questions in total, and 13 of them are asking him about his relationship to the other Beatles, Apple and Klein. That’s just over a third of the Q&A talking about things that he doesn’t want to be talking about. The fact he didn’t just tell Apple that he wasn’t going to answer some of the questions shows how little forethought went into this on his part. There was a much more concise way to do this, and I do not believe for a second Paul wanted further questions about the state of the Beatles when he’s trying to promote his first solo album. 

And remember what I said at the top, about how if you’re gonna be promoting something in the press you want clear messaging around it? That’s already going be difficult now this Q&A has tied so much of the Beatles split into their messaging, despite Paul actually having a pretty clear idea of what the album’s story is aside from that, but the answers Paul gives to those questions just add further confusion. 

Link to full Q&A.

Q: Were you influenced by John’s adventures with the Plastic Ono Band, and Ringo’s solo LP? A: Sort of, but not really. Q: Will they be so credited: McCartney? A: It’s a bit daft for them to be Lennon-McCartney-credited, so ‘McCartney’ it is. Q: Will the other Beatles receive the first copies? A: Wait and see. Q: Is it true that neither Allen Klein nor ABKCO have been nor will be in any way involved with the production, manufacturing, distribution or promotion of this new album? A: Not if I can help it. Q: Did you miss the other Beatles and George Martin? Was there a moment eg, when you thought ‘wish Ringo was here for this break?” A: No. Q: Are you planning a new album or single with the Beatles? A: No. Q: Is this album a rest away from the Beatles or the start of a solo career? A: Time will tell. Being a solo album means it’s the start of a solo career… and not being done with the Beatles means it’s a rest. So it’s both. Q: Is your break from the Beatles temporary or permanent, due to personal difference or musical ones? A: Personal differences, business differences, musical differences, but most of all because I have a better time with my family. Temporary or permanent? I don’t know. Q: Do you see a time when Lennon-McCartney becomes an active songwriting partnership again? A: No. Q: What is your relationship with Klein: A: It isn’t – I am not in contact with him, and he does not represent me in any way. Q: What is your relationship with apple? A: It is the office of a company which I part-own with the other three Beatles. I don’t go there because I don’t like the offices or business, especially when I’m on holiday.

So what can we get from this? It’s the start of a solo career for Paul, he doesn’t know if The Beatles break is permanent or temporary, he’s not in contact with Klein and Klein doesn’t represent him, he owns part of Apple but he doesn’t like going there, and he seems very certain that the Lennon-McCartney partnership is over, despite not being sure if The Beatles will play together again or not. 

It’s a mess. It raises further questions. The only reason I can think of for it being so long is Peter Brown trying to cover absolutely everything he could think a journalist would ask, but it’s given Paul far too much scope for muddled answers, and in some cases, factually incorrect ones. He is tied up with Klein whether he likes it or not, because Klein’s tied up with Apple and Paul still has a contract with them. 

It’s no wonder that this becomes the focus of the media narrative, and it makes Paul panic. 

So on 16 April, the day before McCartney was released, Paul sits down with journalist Ray Connolly. And we move from story making, into reactive messaging. There is some thought behind this - Connolly is friendly with The Beatles and had actually already been aware of the split thanks to an off the record chat with John, so he was a good choice. The interview was published in the Evening Standard, a few days after the album had come out. 

And here’s why you want a friendly journalist to talk to, because as the world rushed to say that Paul had broken up the band, Connolly led his article with this: 

Paul McCartney didn’t kill the Beatles. If the group is dead, McCartney might be seen as the last survivor. If he has quit, and he still hasn’t confirmed it, he was the last to go.

(Paul McCartney in the Evening Standard, 21-22 April 1970)

However, the interview is also extremely telling about where Paul’s at emotionally in this moment. 

A few days ago Paul McCartney decided to break his year-long silence and be interviewed. He wanted to clear up the confusion about his relations with the other Beatles and Allen Klein, and to kill the rumours that he was now ‘a hermit living in a cave somewhere with a ten-foot beard’. He wanted to show that he really was a happily married man with ‘a nice family and a good life’. But most of all he wanted to talk, to work things out in conversation, as much, I suspect, for his own benefit as anything.

This is not what you want to be doing with a journalist, you want to have this worked out before the conversation. 

We met for lunch in a Soho businessman’s restaurant. With hardly moments for the hellos, he’d launched into his theme, talking rapidly and intently, and only occasionally allowing Linda to come in as support and verification. He wanted to put it all straight, to show that no one was to blame for what had happened, and when after two and a half hours’ non-stop talking he had cleared up his mind and mine too, he laughed, said he felt better now, got into his car and went home.

This demonstrates the lack of media training he had. It’s a stark difference to the confidence he had doing press with the other Beatles, on his own and with a particular idea to get across he appears nervous and controlling. Long form interviews like this are a marathon, not a sprint, and had he had an advisor or representative that was willing to push back against him, he would have known how to handle this better.

Moreover, an interview of this sort should have been done and published prior to the album coming out, or at least on the day of. Yes, there were always going to be questions about The Beatles tied up with this release, but one long interview like this, that had been properly prepared for, could have gone a long way to keeping the story straight. He also, despite his steamroller-ing of the conversation to begin with, comes across much more balanced about the situation than he does in those Q&A answers, so leading with something like this would have put him on much better footing.

So let's just pause here. What have we got so far? We've got Paul wanting to do as little press as possible, and with a breakdown of communication with his press team resulting in minimal planning and advice. This goes completely against the picture John is trying to paint.

And I’m not done yet. Because now we need to talk about the response to the album which wasn’t what I imagine Paul had wanted. There are two reviews I’m going to focus on here, firstly from Disc & Music Echo, written by Penny Valentine. 

I don’t know what he was thinking when he planned this album. Perhaps he is laughing at us all. That’s fine, but it’s a pretty cruel way of doing it… almost a betrayal of all the things we’ve come to expect.

(Disc & Music Echo review, 18 April 1970)

It’s really harsh, but also this is within her right as a journalist. And what should someone do if they’re getting bad reviews? Ignore them. Thank the fans. Thank the people who say nice things. Don’t highlight negative attention, and certainly don’t lash out. 

And look, there’s a lot to be said about Paul, Linda, John and Yoko’s press communications over the 70s, the Melody Maker letters spring to mind, and I’m very aware that I’m looking at this from 2025 when PR is much bigger and better oiled machine, almost to the point of it being quite boring and predictable. I do, however, also think that ‘don’t lash out at journalists who don’t like your work’ is common sense. 

So Paul and Linda writing to Disc & Music Echo is a bit much to my eyes: 

Dear Penny hold your hand out you silly girl I am not being cruel or laughing at you. I am merely enjoying myself. You are wrong about the McCartney album. It is an attempt at something slightly different, it is simple, it is good and even at this moment it is growing on you, love. – Paul and Linda McCartney.

(Paul and Linda's telegram to Disc & Music Echo, 25 April 1970)

It’s condescending, and if you want to plant the seeds of what your album is meant to be, there are much better places and ways to do it. Again this is reactive, showing little to no planning earlier in the year. 

But here’s the thing that actually, completely baffles me. On the same day, in the same paper, another article gets published, this time by Derek Taylor, with the by line reading ‘Derek Taylor, Beatles Press Officer’. This just shouldn't happen. I can’t think of another case where someone’s PR is coming to their rescue in print. That’s not their job, and yes, Taylor used to be a journalist but he’s not anymore. I think this is way more to do with the way the people that have been with the Beatles since the early days are so emotionally wrapped up in this, they weren’t the people that should have been handling this.

(x)

It also shows though, that however much Paul was distancing himself from Apple, there were people still there who loved him. It’s an emotional, beautifully written piece calling for people to leave Paul alone, but also not a good PR move, especially when he’s highlighting a specific journalist. Whether Paul asked Derek to do this, or Derek did it of his own accord, I don’t know, but it looks defensive and if I was a journalist, I’d be rolling my eyes. 

Which brings us to the final part of this, the Rolling Stone review, published on 14 May 1970, nearly a month after the album came out, and largely not about the album at all, but a lot of  focus on Paul’s handling of the situation. 

The review of the actual songs is pretty complimentary, but this is also a personal attack on Paul. 

(Full review)

Unfortunately, there is more to this album than just music. Accompanying the release of McCartney was a mass of external information — all of it coming directly from Paul himself — which casts real doubt on the beautiful picture which the songs create. 

The sheets contain even more assertions about how happy and peaceful Paul and Linda are these days, and some interview statement from Paul concerning his relationship to the Beatles — statements which drip a kind of unsavory vindictiveness.

My problem is that all of the publicity surrounding the record makes it difficult for me to believe that McCartney is what it appears to be. In the special package of information which Paul wanted to include with the album we find startlingly harsh statements.

The lasting effect of this publicity campaign is to cast a dark shadow on an otherwise beautiful record. Listening to it now I cannot help but ask if Paul is really as together as the music indicates, how could he have sunk to such bizarre tactics?

I don't think this needs much commentary. You know something’s gone wrong with your PR when that becomes the focus, rather than the thing you’re actually trying to promote. 

If we return to the four things I listed above, I think we can pretty resolutely lay out what I wanted to do. 

Was there a clear, cohesive message? Around the album itself, sort of, Paul knew what it was. But it got tied up with the news of The Beatles split, the messaging around which was confusing with no one sticking to the same story. He also didn't do enough before the album came out, to get that messaging about his album stuck in people's heads. So overall, no. 

Did he build good relationships with press? No. He threw a bucket at one. He provided confusing press kit material, even to journalists he was friendly with he came across in a manner that was worth noting in an article, he sent a bitchy telegram to a journalist who wrote a bad review, and this all culminated in Rolling Stone spending more time talking about his publicity than his album.  

Did Paul have reactive messaging prepared? Evidently not, and then given the chance to provide some, he came across as panicked to the journalist he was speaking to. 

Did his Q&A provide clear, simple answers to common questions he was likely to get asked? No, it was overly long, asking the same questions in multiple ways and no editing was done to his short, snappy, confusing, and incorrect answers. 

I don’t want to give the idea that Paul, overall, is just shit at PR. (I mean, there's a difference between being a good spokesperson and good at PR but I won't get into that). He’s a highly successful musician who by all accounts, is now extremely good at interviews and making journalists feel at ease. He’s Paul fucking McCartney. But John saying this, in direct reference to this period of press activities is just not true. The album did well for Paul in the charts and sales, yes, but I’d argue that’s despite all this, rather than because of it. 

And it’s also important to reiterate, that Paul simply wasn’t interested in doing a lot of publicity. He wasn’t even sure this was going to be an album when he started writing the songs. He didn’t want people coming to his farm, invading his new family life (and rightly so), he didn’t want to be on TV or the radio every day. That’s why his Q&A is so terse and why he hadn’t put any thought in how he was going to talk about The Beatles. And whilst how he felt is understandable, what he needed were a team around him willing to push back, steer him, and were separate from Apple. That’s the only way, I think, this could have gone differently.

Even then, he probably wouldn’t have listened to them anyway: 

I don’t think I need a manager in the old sense that Brian Epstein was our manager. All I want are paid advisers, who will do what I want them to do. And that’s what I’ve got.

(Paul McCartney in the Evening Standard, 21-22 April 1970)

And that’s really the crux of it all, because you can’t do good with PR with someone who doesn’t want to take advice and thinks they know best. And I love him for it. 

[dearly-somber]

body art | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. f2l, slow burn, eventual romance, eventual smut, mutual pining, fluff, university!au

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 2598

-> warnings. lots of touching (not inappropriate); sexual tension 🤡

-> a/n. Listened to Pictures by ECÂF for the entirety of this one and whoOo bOy 😮‍💨. The brain-juices were Flowing

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Mar. 4th, 2023 @ 20:07

-> fin. Sun., Jun. 23rd, 2024 @ 03:32

-> edited. Mon., Jun. 24th, 2024 @ 02:35

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn, @saradika-graphics

Sometimes, Jungkook feels like the biggest idiot on planet earth. Forgetting about a very important, fast-approaching project deadline happens to be one of those moments.

What sucks more than that is that he was tasked to do something in a medium far from what he usually does (oil pastel), but now that he has very little time to prepare, he also needs something that won’t take him more than 24 hours to complete.

He bites on his lip, pacing around the empty art studio with his hands on his hips. His buddy Eunwoo does a lot of body art, he thinks… he’s always said that it’s pretty snappy. Not that Eunwoo doesn’t spend time on his craft, just that the simpler pieces take significantly less time to do than anything else Jungkook’s tried (with the added benefit of being in a medium wholly different to his go-to).

If he can pull this off, Jungkook will be one step closer to passing his midterm.

“Aish, fuck it,” he mutters, striding across the room to the dirty white plastic table stacked with his art supplies, picking up his phone with a concentrated furrow in his brow as he dials Y/N’s number from his Favorites list before bringing his phone up to his ear, anxiously chewing on his thumb.

She picks up on the fourth ring. “Kook-ah?”

“Y/N.” He automatically smiles at the sound of her voice. “Hey,” he sighs, “sorry for calling you so late—“

“Not at all, Kook. What’s up?”

“Are you busy right now?”

“No…?” She pauses a moment. “Why? Did you need something?”

Jungkook sighs into the other line, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah... Can you come to the studio?”

“The one on-campus?”

“어…”

“Sure. I’ll be there in five.”

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

“What haven’t you done?” Y/N asks as soon as she steps through the threshold, a teasing smile on her lips.

She throws a plastic bag filled with snacks beneath the table, the plastic inside crinkling on impact as she takes a seat on top.

“A project,” Jungkook laughs, hoping she doesn’t hear its nervous crack.

“How much’s it worth?”

“Like… half my grade.”

“Jungkook—“

“I know. I know, I’m sorry.”

She laughs, not unkindly. “What’re you apologizing to me for? It’s your grade.”

“I know,” he mumbles, running his palm over his face with a sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t like disappointing people.”

He looks at her with a pitiful smile. “You especially…”

Y/N’s brows furrow as she hops off the table to hold his hands, coaxing his gaze up with an encouraging tug. “I’m not disappointed, Kook.”

He nods noncommittally, tonguing at his lip ring while staring at their intertwined hands instead of her soft smile.

“What can I do to help?” she asks then, running her thumb over the back of his tattooed hand.

“Actually,” he sighs, “that’s why I called you.”

“Oh?” she asks, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Jungkook clears his throat and lets go of Y/N’s hands to show her the large tubes of acrylic paint he stole from Eunwoo’s work station. “I was hoping you’d model for me.”

Y/N’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, her lips parting in a surprised o-shape that makes Jungkook’s heart flutter. “M-model? For you?”

He smiles. “Yeah,” he says, “for me. You know how Eunwoo does body art?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I needed to do something different for this project, and body art seemed like it’d be the fastest and most efficient option, so…” He laughs awkwardly, tapping the tube of yellow paint against his thigh. “Here we are.”

“Doesn’t Eunwoo usually hire models?” Y/N asks.

“Well, yeah, but…” Jungkook shrugs. “I figured you’d be willing to help a guy out.”

Y/N snorts, rolling her eyes with a growing smirk that makes Jungkook’s stomach twist. “You’re lucky you’re right, Wolfie.”

He scrunches his nose at the nickname, nevertheless feeling a massive weight lift off his shoulders when Y/N giggles and punches him in the arm, walking to the centre of the room with a happy smile.

“How do we do this?” she asks.

Jungkook hums thoughtfully, imagining how he’ll transfer the rough sketch he came up with while waiting for Y/N to arrive from the scrappy piece of paper he’d had lying around onto her skin.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he mumbles distractedly, sucking air in through his teeth as he finally settles on going greyscale, lining up the handful of paint tubes from lightest to darkest, turning to the side to grab different sized brushes and a plastic cup of water. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Obviously,” Y/N says, smiling at him when he turns around to give her a deadpan look. “Can I help?” she then asks, standing over his shoulder.

“Uhh…” He turns to her, suppressing his urge to scent her and instead wracks his brain for something for her to do. “Oh! Why don’t you get some of that plastic covering there against the wall and lay it down on the floor for me?”

“Where?” She eagerly grabs a clean roll and struts determinedly to the middle of Jungkook’s work area. “In the middle?”

“Yeah, there’s fine.”

“Why on the floor though? Also, does it matter? The floor’s just as paint-ridden as every other surface in this room.” Y/N laughs as she smooths the plastic crinkles out, ensuring it’s flat against the floor.

“It’s so you don’t get dirty,” Jungkook mutters, squeezing small amounts of paint onto his palette before grabbing his brushes and making his way over to where Y/N is now standing confused in the middle of the room.

“What do you mean?” she asks suspiciously, watching as Jungkook slowly crouches to put down the brushes and palette before going back to the desk to grab his water and set it down alongside his other tools.

“You’ll have to lay down on your stomach,” he says, laughing at the deadpan look she gives him. “What can I say? Your back is the perfect substitute for a canvas.”

Y/N sighs dramatically, getting down on her hands and knees with an old-man groan that makes Jungkook grin.

When Y/N sits back on her haunches and turns to look at him with a slight furrow in her brow, his grin dilutes only a little bit. “What is it?”

“I need to take my shirt off, don’t I?”

Well, shit.

“Uh…” Jungkook, also on his haunches, feels like an idiot as he gapes at her, trying to wrap his head around his current situation. “Well, yeah.”

He has to internally yell at his wolf to shut the fuck up. “You’ll have to take off your bra, too.”

Y/N’s eyes widen, and Jungkook hastily backtracks. “The strap’s gonna get in the way of the painting,” he explains, “so unless you’re fine with me painting over it…”

She bites down on her lip, nervously fiddling with her fingers in a way that makes Jungkook frown. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Y/N. If you’re uncomfortable I can just paint over your shirt—“

She pulls a scandalized face. “No! This is my, like” —she tugs at the hem of her shirt, looking down at the Harley Quinn illustration with a furrow in her brow— “second favorite shirt.”

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asks, a little confused.

“The one with your face on it,” Y/N says with an evil grin, cackling when Jungkook deadpans at her.

Of course she’d like that one.

“Seriously though. You don’t have to,” Jungkook reassures her again, his palms flat against his thighs.

Y/N searches his face for a second before shaking her head. “It’s okay,” she says. “I can do it.”

Jungkook checks her face for any sign of hesitation before he nods and turns his head to the side, last-minute turning back to stop her. “Here.”

He tugs his shirt off and lays it down in front of her, spreading it a little before sitting back again. He clears his throat at the way Y/N’s eyes roam over his body, heat crawling up his back at the sensation.

“So you can lay down on it,” he explains hoarsely, clearing his throat again as he turns away, squeezing his eyes shut.

She whispers a thank you under her breath, the room turning dead-silent as Jungkook’s ears hone in on the sound of rustling fabric and a bra-clip being unhooked.

“‘M done, Kook-ah.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, praying to whatever god is out there to help him be normal about this in ways he knows he’d be otherwise incapable of.

The moment he opens his eyes, all thought of normality flies out his brain like someone opened it up, called it empty and yeeted it across the room.

Y/N’s back is strangely ethereal.

Prominent shoulder blades guide his eyes down her spine, his eyes drinking in the valley of smooth skin like a starved animal.

The only thing that snaps him out of it is the sudden and very intense urge to lick her. (He blames his wolf and refuses to take accountability.)

Shaking his head on right, Jungkook hurries to shuffle closer, his legs tingling from disuse.

“So…” Y/N starts, clearly trying to fill the silence. “What are you painting?”

Jungkook laughs a little, grabbing the thickest brush he has and lathering it in titanium white, shifting close enough for his knees to touch Y/N’s sides. “I dunno if I should tell you.”

“What?” she whines. “Why?”

“Because you’ll make fun of me,” he says pettily, whispering a warning under his breath before setting the tip of his brush to her skin.

Y/N gasps at the sudden cold. Jungkook watches her with a tiny smile, waiting for her to relax her shoulders before he continues lathering paint on in the faint shape of a box.

“Just tell me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Jungkook~” she whines, pulling a laugh from his throat with barely any effort at all.

He snickers as he shakes his head, finishing up the background before swirling the brush around in his water, grabbing a separate, thinner brush and dipping it in a blob of wet concrete-grey paint. “I’m drawing us.”

“Aww,” she squeals, giggling when Jungkook over dramatically sighs at her antics. “That’s super cute and all, Kook, but aren’t you supposed to be doing something different? You draw portraits of us all the time.”

“I know,” he says, tongue sticking concentratedly out the corner of his mouth. “That’s why I’m drawing us as animals.”

She gasps loudly. “Really!? Are you finally doing another Wolf-Y/N drawing?”

“I should keep that in mind for next time,” he chuckles. “But no, I’m making you a rabbit.”

“Of course you are,” she whispers, though Jungkook can’t help but think he hears a note of fondness in her voice. “So, what? You’re the big bad wolf, then?”

“Since when was I bad?” Jungkook scoffs.

“I dunno. Since you started slacking on your school work.”

“It’s one time!”

“It’s worth half your grade!”

Jungkook pouts, humphing. “Whatever. It’s a cute painting.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. My wolf’s tail’s all curled up ‘round you… you’re all sleepy, ‘n’ stuff,” he mumbles.

Jungkook swears he hears a smile in Y/N’s voice as she says, “That is pretty cute.”

“Yeah…”

Their conversation trails off as Jungkook focuses on his work, gradually laying out the groundwork for the line art.

When he finally starts working on it, though, he mumbles a short apology before swinging a leg over Y/N’s ass, straddling her lower back so he’s centered.

“You okay?” he asks, trying to keep his weight off her back.

“Yeah, ‘m fine.”

“Don’t need a break?”

“I’m fine, Kook. You can keep going.”

Jungkook clears his throat, mentally swatting the dirty thoughts away as he leans down to start on the line art, using his wrist to keep his hand steady as he uses his arm to keep his lines smooth and at an even thickness level.

“Would you have gotten someone else?”

“What?” Jungkook asks, leaning back to get a better view of his piece, but also to try and shake off the feeling of your skin on his palm.

“If I said I couldn’t make it, would you have gotten someone else to model for you?” Y/N asks, trying (and failing) to keep her voice neutral and nonchalant.

“No,” he says. “I don’t think I would have.”

“Why not?” she whispers, her heart beating a little louder in her chest.

Jungkook shrugs even though she can’t see. “I dunno. This feels too… intimate, to do with anyone else,” he admits, leaning back down to finish up the bunny’s line work so he can move on to the smaller details.

She hums softly, the vibration tangible against Jungkook’s hand. He’s been so hyper-focused on every little feel, he barely has time to register what he’s doing before he finds himself with his nose pressed to the back of Y/N’s neck.

“Kook-ah?” she whispers, a shiver running down her spine as Jungkook huffs out against her skin, hot all over and a little dizzy.

“Sorry, bunny,” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut. “You smell nice.”

She giggles, and Jungkook relishes in the wave of oxytocin that blasts him right in the face.

“You know, sometimes it’s like you can’t go thirty minutes without doing something to remind me you’re part dog.”

“I’m not a dog,” Jungkook grumbles, unaware of the slight growl in his voice as he takes another whiff of Y/N’s scent, letting it wash over him.

She shivers again, and that seems to be adequate enough for his wolf to let Jungkook pull away again. He mumbles an apology as he brushes her hair over her shoulder, sitting up straight and taking a moment to breathe deeply.

“You smell nice too, by the way.”

Jungkook laughs a little, wiping off a small smudge of paint as he finally stands to grab the digital camera he keeps for the moments when he wants to capture something he’s made for later review, wiping his paint-stained hands down on his pants.

“Is that so?” he teases lightly, telling Y/N to stay still as he stands over her, lining up the shot and taking a couple before he finally gives her the okay.

“You have a really nice smell,” she explains almost defensively, pulling her shirt back on while Jungkook’s back is to her. “You smell like… like rain, and that vanilla laundry detergent you like so much.”

She bends to grab and then throw Jungkook’s shirt at him, smiling as he leans back against the table with a smile of his own.

“I’m glad you think it’s nice,” he says, not bothering to hide the smugness to his tone but hoping she can’t tell with some kind of best friend magic that her liking the way he smells can also be interpreted as a (as she would call it,) “wolfy” thing.

Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, he drills to himself.

“Whatever. You took pictures?” She stands next to him.

“Mm. I’ll give you a copy once I get them printed.”

She smiles. “Thanks.”

“‘Course, bunny.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N stands on the tips of her toes to wrap an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, guiding him out the door with a strength and determination that surprises him.

“Now,” she says, “let’s get fucked. I know a great place like, down the road from here.”

<- prev | next ->

[danosrosegarden]

HIIII ELIII !!! firstly THANK YOU for all the work you do for danonation… you are our strongest soldier !!! 🙏🙏💕💕💕 secondly, i’d like to put in a request for the anniversary celebration !!! <3 if i could may i get glitz + edward nashton? i love that lil freak … maybe something with creepy mutual obsession? i need him to know i’m just as obsessed with him as he would be with me …. THANK YOU SO MUCH AAAH !!! ^_^

it's hot and we rot - edward nashton x gn!reader headcanons (NSFW)

elijah's anniversary celebration: post three!

✨ glitz prompt: give me a character, and i will write a nsfw piece for them. ✨

{contains: male masturbation, public masturbation, underwear thievery, sub edward, and general mutual creepiness and obsession.}

♡ Sharp, grimy talons of guilt pierce through his heart and spill the thick, gushing blood all over each time he finds himself back in the bathroom next to his cubicle. Edward Nashton knows that there's nothing good in what he's doing. There never is.

♡ But God, does it feel right. Sorry. He really shouldn't tell you that, it might make you uncomfortable, he knows. But he thinks it's something you should know. An inky black secret too revolting and shameful to keep to himself. A slowly swirling python of perverse glee wraps itself around Edward's sweat-slicked body as he pulls your underwear out of his pocket: the carnival prize he'd won for himself last time he was over at your apartment.

♡ He hears your voice swimming around in his head as he wraps it around his cock, already slick with precum and throbbing a harsh, blushing pink. That's disgusting, Edward! I trusted you, I let you into my home, and that's what you do when I'm not looking? You're a fucking freak, you know that?

♡ Jesus. He's already biting down hard on his cracked lips so as to not alert his coworkers. It's all a rolling ball of sharpened knives, a blazing firecracker of intensity...the thought of your horrified look and cruel, venom-laced words spat into his face. The idea that somebody in the office could walk in at any moment and accidentally catch sight of him through the spaces in the stall doors, crimson-cheeked and leaking all over his tightly-gripped hand.

♡ His mind runs chaotically wild as he pumps himself, the fluorescent light above his head humming a low, growling buzz. You. He wants you. He doesn't give a fuck what he has to do. He'll beg for scraps. He'll whine and plead. He'll get on his knees and pray. God, he just wants you.

♡ Heat. It rushes through his body, injects itself straight into his bloodstream. He feels the white-hot warmth tingling deep in his gut as a high whine slips from the slits in his clenched teeth. It feels dirty, what he's doing, but that's part of the charm. He feels appalling, painting his hand with thick dribbles of cum in his workplace bathroom while thinking of your acidic, outraged insults, but he cannot stop himself.

♡ Maybe it's for the better that Edward doesn't know how deeply you want him, too. He's hardly able to be around you as is without the sickening thoughts infecting his brain...if he knew you reciprocated, he would never be able to calm himself down.

♡ For sure, Edward would explode if he knew about the picture of him you kept in your bedside drawer. You took it on your Polaroid while he was over one evening, destressing from work. His smile is crooked and his hair is ratty, but that was the picture. The picture you held tight in your hand when you masturbated and whispered his name into the hot, blanketing air of your bedroom. The picture you stared longingly at when the aftershocks subsided. My precious boy. Sweet angel. I wish I could ruin you.

♡ Edward stuffs his prize back into his pocket and washes his hands with a sheen of light sweat dusted across his forehead and a heavy coat of shame wrapped around his shoulders. He knows deep down in the depths of his heart that you're far too good for him. He'd actually much rather be the loser moaning and writhing to the thought of you than risk the friendship he'd somehow managed to obtain. At least he'd gotten away with his gross thievery. Nothing more, he promised himself. There is no going further.

♡ He also knows deep down in the depths of his heart that there was no stopping the enormity of his depraved desire. It was famished and on the hunt for any fragment of you it could find. And if only he knew the same hunger lived within you, chronically clawing at your gut, demanding more, more, more. God, if only he knew.

[rootedinrevisions]

Painted Him Perfect

SUMMARY: Inspired by Alexandra Kay’s song "Painted Him Perfect." Tyler and his soon-to-be ex-wife grapple with the stark reality of their crumbling marriage as she makes her way to Oklahoma to finalize their divorce. Despite the façade of a perfect relationship portrayed to their fans, her heartfelt video revealing their separation exposes the cracks hidden beneath the surface.

WARNINGS: ANGST. DIVORCE.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

She stared into the camera, her finger hovering over the record button. It felt strange—foreign, even—to sit in front of the camera like this, alone. The space next to her on the couch seemed too big, too empty. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

With a shaky breath, she pressed record.

“Hey guys,” she started, her voice soft but clear, “I know you’ve all been wondering... asking where my ring is, and why I haven’t been around much lately.” Her throat tightened, but she pushed forward. “It’s hard to say this, and I’m a little embarrassed, but... I guess it’s time I be honest.”

The camera was unforgiving, capturing every flicker of pain in her eyes, the quiver in her voice that she tried so hard to hide. 

She paused, swallowing hard. Just say it, she told herself. Rip the Band-Aid off.

“Tyler and I... we’re in the process of separating.” The words were out now, floating in the space between her and the camera, no longer just a thought she could bury deep inside. “I... we gave it everything we had. But sometimes, even when you love someone, it’s not enough to fix what's broken.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She had to stay strong, for them, for herself. “The truth is, I painted him perfect. I painted our relationship perfect. I wanted to believe that what we had was flawless, but... it wasn’t. And it’s time we both move on.”

With trembling fingers, she reached out and stopped the recording. The silence in the room felt deafening. She stared at the dark screen for a moment, letting the gravity of what she’d just said sink in. It was done. The video was out there, and soon, everyone would know the truth.

Hours later, the rhythmic sound of the tires on the road was the only thing keeping her tethered to the present as she drove. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, the divorce papers lying in the seat beside her like an unspoken weight. The highway stretched endlessly in front of her, but her thoughts were stuck on the video she’d recorded earlier.

I guess it’s time I be honest...

She’d replayed those words a dozen times since pressing upload, still second-guessing if she’d said too much, or too little. Had she painted herself too much as the victim? Had she been too hard on Tyler? Or maybe, she’d gone too easy on him. After all, he’d let her do all the talking. He hadn’t been the one sitting there in front of the camera, baring his soul. That had been her.

I painted pink skies at sunrise to cover all the blue... she thought bitterly. For years, she’d made excuses, drawn pretty pictures over the cracks in their marriage so no one would see.

Seven years. It felt like a lifetime, but also like it had gone by in a blur. High school sweethearts, everyone had called them the perfect couple. She’d believed it too, for a long time. She’d even convinced herself that love was supposed to hurt sometimes, that the sleepless nights spent waiting for him to come home, the tears shed quietly so no one else would hear—that was what real commitment looked like.

The reality, though, had been far different. The long-distance stretches while Tyler was off filming for the channel, the pressure to always be “on” for their audience, the way they’d smile through the tension in front of the camera, and then barely speak off it... It had eaten away at them, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to salvage.

A sharp pang of regret twisted in her chest as the road signs blurred past. She didn’t know if she was more upset about the end of their marriage or the fact that she had to drive all the way to Oklahoma to finalize it. Just his signature, she thought, glancing at the divorce papers again. Then it's done.

But why did it feel so unfinished? Why did a part of her still ache to see him? To talk to him one last time? Would this be the closure she needed, or just another painful reminder of how far they’d fallen?

She sighed heavily, turning up the music on the radio, trying to drown out her thoughts. The fans would know by now. The comments had probably started pouring in—shocked, confused, supportive, heartbroken. She hadn’t checked yet. She wasn’t ready to face it. What she’d told the camera had been the truth, but somehow, it still felt like a betrayal.

“Tyler and I... we’re in the process of separating.”

The phrase echoed in her mind. Even saying it aloud had felt surreal. How had they gotten here? The perfect couple. The YouTube sensation. The high school sweethearts that everyone thought had it all. We painted it perfect—a lie they both were complicit in.

She gripped the wheel tighter as she neared Oklahoma, her heart pounding in her chest. Would he fight it? Would he avoid signing the papers like he had been doing for weeks? So much so that she was now driving to where he was because he refused to come home. Would he try to stop her from walking away? Or would he finally just sign the papers, let her go, and close this chapter of their lives?

The thought of seeing him again stirred up something painful and raw. She wasn’t sure what was worse—the idea that he’d try to convince her to stay one last time or the fear that he wouldn’t.

The neon motel sign flickered dimly in the distance, casting a dull, orange glow on the cracked pavement. As she pulled into the parking lot, her heart sank further into the pit of her stomach. This was it—the place where everything was about to end. The place where she'd officially close the chapter on a love she'd clung to for too long.

She parked and sat there for a moment, staring blankly at the dashboard, trying to steady her nerves. Tyler and his crew hadn’t arrived yet. The thought brought a small wave of relief, but it didn’t last long. He’d be here soon enough. She’d have to face him, and there’d be no more hiding behind a screen or carefully crafted words. No more painted pink skies.

With a deep breath, she grabbed her overnight bag and made her way to the office, the cool night air doing little to ease the tension winding through her body. The clerk handed her a room key without much fanfare, barely making eye contact as he rattled off the directions. She thanked him quietly before heading to her room.

Once inside, she dropped her bag on the floor and sank onto the edge of the bed. She texted Tyler that she was there and what room she was in. Then she looked around. The room was small, plain—just a bed, a TV, and a small table near the window. It was far from the kind of places she and Tyler used to stay when they traveled together for his channel, but maybe that was fitting. Their relationship wasn’t anything like it used to be either.

She kicked off her shoes, curling her legs up under her as she sat on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. The silence was suffocating, the weight of her decision pressing down on her more than she had anticipated. She needed a distraction, something to fill the space, so without thinking, she reached for her phone.

She hesitated for a moment, her finger hovering over the YouTube app. She hadn’t looked at the comments since posting the video. A part of her didn’t want to. But the other part—the part that had shared her life with these people for years—needed to know how they were reacting. Did they hate her? Did they blame her? Or maybe they were just as confused as she was.

Opening the app, her video was the first thing to pop up on her feed. The thumbnail image was a still of her sitting on the couch, her eyes downcast, hands folded in her lap. She clicked on it and scrolled down to the comments, bracing herself for whatever she might find.

The messages were already flooding in. Thousands of them. Some were supportive:

"We love you, and we’re here for you, no matter what. 💖"

"I can’t believe this... You and Tyler were my favorite couple, but I respect your decision. It must have been so hard."

"I always looked up to you two. My heart’s breaking, but I understand."

She blinked back tears as she read through more of them. Some were shocked:

"What? I never saw this coming!"

"Please tell me this isn’t real... you two seemed so perfect together."

And then there were the ones that cut deep, even though she knew they didn’t mean to:

"I thought you guys were the real deal. It’s hard to believe all those vlogs were just a lie."

"I don’t know how to feel about this. I feel like I’ve been watching a fake relationship this whole time."

She bit her lip, scrolling faster, her chest tightening with every message. It wasn’t a lie. She and Tyler had loved each other. Maybe they still did, in a way. But what they had wasn’t enough anymore. They had grown apart, and pretending otherwise would’ve been cruel—to themselves and to the people who’d supported them for so long.

Her finger paused over a comment that stopped her in her tracks.

"Why didn’t you fight harder to save it? Real love is worth fighting for."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, and she quickly wiped away the tears that had begun to spill. She had fought. She had given it everything she had—four-hour drives one way just to see him for a night. She had sat through numerous sessions of couple’s therapy with tears in her eyes, hoping, praying that they could fix what was broken. But in the end, it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

She threw the phone down on the bed, her hands trembling as she ran them through her hair. Why did she look at the comments? What had she expected? Closure? Validation? She didn’t know. But now, sitting in this dim motel room, alone with her thoughts, all she felt was regret. Maybe not for the video, but for the way things had turned out.

The truth was, she had to be honest with them. She owed it to the fans who had supported them, who had cheered for their relationship, even when things were far from perfect behind the scenes. They deserved to know why she wouldn’t be around anymore. They deserved the truth.

But it didn’t make it any easier.

She leaned back against the headboard, pulling the thin motel blanket over her legs as she closed her eyes. Her mind wandered back to the good times, the times before everything had gone wrong. The road trips, the late-night filming sessions, the moments that felt so real, so genuine. She had painted those moments perfect in her mind, just like she had in the videos.

But now the paint was peeling, and all that was left underneath was the raw truth. They had fallen apart, and there was no covering it up anymore.

The sound of tires crunching gravel outside made her sit up straight, her heart jumping in her chest. She stood and moved to the window, peeking through the thin curtain. Tyler’s truck had just pulled into the lot.

He was here.

Her heart raced as she watched him get out of the truck, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he was dreading this meeting just as much as she was. His crew began unloading their gear from the back, but her eyes stayed locked on Tyler.

This was it. The moment of truth.

She stepped away from the window, her body tense as she moved back to the bed, her thoughts spinning. In a few minutes, she’d face him again. The man she’d spent nearly a decade of her life with. The man who, despite everything, still held a part of her heart.

And all she had to do was get him to sign the papers.

A soft knock echoed through the small motel room, pulling her from her spiraling thoughts. Her heart stuttered as she stood, wiping her clammy hands on her jeans before making her way to the door. She hesitated for a second, hand hovering over the knob. She wasn’t ready for this—for the finality of it all. But it had to be done.

With a deep breath, she turned the handle and pulled the door open.

There he was, standing just outside her door, looking as worn and exhausted as she felt. Tyler’s eyes met hers for only a split second before darting away, his jaw tense, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and something about the sight of him made her chest tighten.

"Hey," she said softly, stepping aside to let him in.

"Hey." His voice was low, hoarse even, as he walked past her into the room. He paused in the middle of the small space, turning slightly as she closed the door behind them, sealing them off from the rest of the world.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence between them was thick, suffocating, weighed down by everything left unsaid. She stood by the door, leaning against it, her arms crossed over her chest. Tyler shifted on his feet, his eyes glued to the floor, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her.

Finally, he broke the silence. “So... the video.”

She swallowed hard, the guilt already gnawing at her. “Yeah.”

Tyler lifted his head slightly, meeting her gaze for the first time since he walked in. There was a tightness around his eyes, a frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “You didn’t tell me you were going to post it.”

Her stomach twisted at the hurt in his voice. "I thought we talked about—"

“We talked about saying something, but we didn’t agree to this,” he interrupted, his voice sharp but not angry. Just... tired. “You went ahead and posted it without even running it by me.”

She exhaled, pressing her back harder against the door. “I know. I’m sorry. I just... I felt like I had to do it. People were starting to ask questions, and it didn’t feel right to leave them in the dark.”

“And it felt right to tell the whole world before we even finished this?” he asked, his voice quiet but laced with emotion. “Before we talked about this in person? Before we even signed the damn papers?”

His words hit harder than she expected. She had told herself she was doing the right thing, that she owed it to their fans to be honest. But she hadn’t considered how Tyler would feel, how he might see it as another layer of their relationship unraveling without him being able to stop it.

She dropped her gaze to the floor, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just... I needed to be honest with them.”

There was a long pause, the air between them thick with unsaid words. Tyler rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a breath like he was trying to gather his thoughts.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Are you really sure you want to do this? End it like this?”

Her heart clenched painfully at the question. She had known this moment would come, that he’d ask. And yet, standing here, face-to-face with him, she still wasn’t sure how to answer. She felt like she’d been unraveling for years, trying to hold onto a marriage that was slipping through her fingers. But now, standing in front of the man she’d loved for more than a decade, she wasn’t sure if letting go was the right thing anymore.

Tyler took a step closer, his eyes pleading. “We can fix this. We can try again—go to a different therapist, take some time away from everything, whatever it takes. Just... don’t throw it all away. Not like this.”

Her chest ached at the vulnerability in his voice, the desperation that was so unlike him. This was Tyler—confident, easygoing Tyler who had always been the strong one, the steady one. But now, here he was, asking her to give them one more shot, to believe in what they once had, even though she wasn’t sure she could anymore.

“I don’t want to give up on us,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I still love you. I know things haven’t been perfect, but that doesn’t mean we can’t fix it. We’ve been through so much together. Don’t you think we owe it to ourselves to try one more time?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. She had wanted to believe that for so long—that if they just worked harder, they could fix what was broken. She had made excuses for their distance, for the growing cracks in their relationship, because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. But now, after everything, she didn’t know if they could go back to the way things were.

“I don’t know if I have anything left to give,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Tyler’s face fell, and for a moment, she thought he might walk out right then. But instead, he took another step toward her, his hand reaching out to touch her arm gently. “We don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just... let’s not make any decisions tonight. Let’s take some time. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

Her resolve wavered, and she hated herself for it. She had been so sure, so certain that this was the right thing. But now, standing here in the same room with him, she could feel her walls crumbling. A part of her still wanted to believe that they could make it, that they could find their way back to each other.

But another part of her knew that they were too far gone.

She stepped back slightly, creating space between them even though it hurt to do so. “Talking tomorrow isn’t going to change anything.”

“I’m not ready to give up,” he said, his voice thick. “But if you are… I guess I don’t have a choice.”

His hand fell to his side, and for a long moment, they just stood there in silence, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Tyler’s jaw clenched, his expression hardening even as the hurt shone through his eyes. Slowly, his gaze drifted to the small table by the window where the divorce papers lay, neatly stacked, the pen resting on top of them.

The silence stretched between them, oppressive, until finally, Tyler moved. He walked toward the table, his movements slow and deliberate. She watched as he picked up the pen, holding it in his hand like it weighed a thousand pounds.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring down at the papers. She saw his shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath, and her heart ached at the sight. This was it—the moment they both had been avoiding for so long.

Without looking at her, Tyler leaned down. The pen hovered above the line where his signature was supposed to go, and for a second, she thought he might not do it. But then, in one swift motion, he pressed the pen to the paper and signed his name. The scratch of the pen was deafening in the quiet room, each stroke feeling like a nail in the coffin of their marriage.

When he finished, he dropped the pen on the table, the clatter sounding final. He kept a copy for himself, rolling it up and putting it into his back pocket. He then pushed the other copy of the papers back across the table toward her, but still, he didn’t look up.

“Let me know,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you change your mind.”

She stared at the papers, her heart heavy as she realized that it was really over. He had signed, but the weight of the decision still hung in the air between them, unresolved and agonizing.

She watched as he turned toward the door, every step he took feeling like a knife twisting deeper into her chest. Just before he reached for the handle, he paused, his hand resting on the knob.

“Whether it’s me or someone else…I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for,” he said softly, not turning around. “I really do.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, alone once again.

[smolstarthief]

I gotta be frank, I think both interpretations of Hexcore!Sky are interesting in their own right ("official" statement from the crew aside but at this point, with how many times the apparent official statements from CL or anyone else has caused me to raise eyebrows (I don't mind the cast inputs since they're usually pretty respectful in tone as far as I know), I feel like we shouldn't fully rely on those in terms of what's considered canon at this point due to the occasional contradictions the show presented but don't take my word for it really. Up to you on that one).

Like the idea that it actually was the real her just adds more layers of tragedy since 1) It definitely showcases what could have been with her and Viktor's dynamic had she not died and 2) Her symbolizing his remaining humanity just makes her essentially dying a second time a bigger gut punch. It's just sad all around for both parties as well as Viktor being unable to let her go and even properly move on or even grieve her death and when he does... It's not for the better due to him proceeding to throw his humanity, morals, and emotions away in favor of evolving into the Machine Herald to continue his "Glorious Evolution." So her saying "No... You won't (miss our talks)" can be read as possible sadness and disappointment with the path he's now taking and he's not the same Viktor she admired and even had romantic feelings for anymore. Obviously, from Viktor's side of it, he was no doubt sincere in his goodbye and even sounded like he was about to cry but... Well you know the rest with that overall tragedy with him and his character (not trying to paint him in a bad light btw since I fully understand his position there).

Meanwhile the idea that it wasn't really her but the Hexcore using her image to isolate him and guide/push him to his "Evolution" path is also interesting but also paints a very messed up picture of the situation (basing more on my experiences with toxic people and yes some those people have been labeled as being, "too nice to be terrible" before so yeah take it with a pinch of salt if you wish but that is an actual thing with some manipulative folks. And this is NOT towards Sky herself but the Hexcore just to make it clear). That would basically be like, a hypothetical example in another piece of media (P5R), Azathoth conjuring up an image of Rumi for Maruki to keep him from straying from his goal of "saving" people even though that (like Viktor) his methods are considered questionable/wrong (again, hypothetical since it thankfully doesn't happen in the game but imagine if it did though). Especially if it's done at the expense of free will and thinking. Even before then in S1 where it seems to showcase signs of sentience over time. Most notably when it seems to lash out in response to Viktor trying to destroy it himself after Sky's death (NSFW jokes aside, it clearly caused quite a pained reaction from him and even has the implication (someone on Twitter pointed it out) that it took away the mobility it gave to his leg in response to his action there. I could be wrong though) which yeah... Not a good sign at the start.

Back to what I was talking about initially, the idea of it never being her but the Hexcore itself is just kinda scary and messed up and it does have decent evidence and occasional red flags to back it up a bit (ex: Her appearance looking a little different, even a couple of her lines can seem off and even out of character for her). Again, primarily based on my own experiences which is no doubt different from everyone else's so make what you will. So with that in mind, it can definitely have "her" final words take a different and even darker direction with Viktor showing a small bit of vulnerability and the response saying he won't miss their talks together can give the feeling of almost mocking or twisting the knife further with his already messed up state of mind. Especially with how cold the tone of voice can come off as. I guess the only issue would be that it kinda takes away some form of responsibility in regards to Viktor's decisions and actions (especially when the show keeps beating that over the head a bit) but I guess at the same time with all the discussions I've seen regarding how he's had own autonomy taken away more than once and it adds to the tragedy of him as a whole I think it can still work since the most the Hexcore did was give him nudges at best but still showcase that he was capable of making decisions. The nudges are subtle enough to be messed up but still have Viktor have some form of responsibility for his own choices (crossing The Line of you will... I'm so sorry for that I'll see myself out. The song does also hint at his thought processes though to be fair so chances are he does have some level of awareness of his decision).

But yeah, I think both ideas are super interesting and can maybe co-exist a bit? Or not and it's just wishful thinking. Eh, you get what I mean. I love Sky to bits along with the overall tragedy her death brought on Viktor's end (despite the flaws of the execution but then again I do sense a small bit of nuance with it but idk for sure) so these discussions intrigue me a bit!

[delphi-shield]

ᴀ ɴᴏɴ-ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏꜱꜱ & ɢʀɪᴇꜰ // claire redfield

Claire Redfield x Reader hurt/comfort, fluff wc: 1.4k read on ao3 we always talk abt leon's raccoon city trauma but claire was there toooo she had hopes and dreams and her aspirations were ripped away from her in one night!!!

summary: Raccoon City took parts of Claire that she can never get back. She suffers prettily most days, a poster-child for how to handle survivor's guilt. Others, she torments herself with what could have been.

Or;

Claire decides to go back to finish her interrupted undergraduate degree.

content: hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, reader's pov

Claire keeps washing the same damn coffee mug.

It's been like this for the past five minutes. Claire half-heartedly scrubs at the cup, her mind somewhere far away, eyes glazed over.

That's what you picture, at least. From where you're seated, you can only see her back, her profile carved from the warm light of your apartment. It would be idyllic if you didn't know better. Stress suspends her at the kitchen sink, a string wound between her limbs that pulls her taut.

“You're gonna scrub the design off,” you warn. It takes a moment for your voice to penetrate her stupor. You picture her blinking, shaking her head slightly. Her ponytail swings gently, the image of her in your mind transposed into your kitchen.

Claire shuts the water off. She grabs a cloth to dry her mug. A new fixation. She's rubbing the damn thing hard enough that the ceramic squeals under her grip.

This is the part that takes patience.

Claire's been hemming and hawing like this for weeks now. It's never shaky hands and uncertain words with her - it's furrowed brow and loud huffs, a tumultuous battle within herself that leaves you in her wake. Dinners alone, late nights spent peering around the corner of her office, asking her if she's coming to bed. She returns your texts late, disjointed thoughts spilling into midday messages. You piece her meaning together from the shrapnel. Collateral damage.

As much as you'd love to light the spark in her eyes again, to smooth the worried creases from her forehead and ply what bothers her from pursed lips, you know it's futile. She needs the time and the space to tell you on her own, when she's ready. Push too hard and you'll get burned.

It's not work that's troubling her - you had checked. She presents at a conference next month, but in typical Claire fashion, she’ll do all her worrying about that the week before.

Chris is fine, too. That's the other big one that sets her teeth on edge. You'd checked in with him the other night. (Though you always suspected he alerted Claire of your calls. He wasn't good at keeping secrets where Claire was concerned. You're similar that way, you suppose.)

The cup stops squeaking. You lift your head up, dare to peer out of your foxhole. Claire's back is still turned to you. You duck back down, scroll on your phone to paint the illusion of casualty. Casualness, you correct yourself.

“I'm thinking about going back to school.”

You don't even pick your head up. “Oh, like for your master’s?”

Claire’s silence raises your eyes. Her shoulders are still drawn up high in her cream button-up.

“No,” she manages. Jesus, you've never heard her sound so small. “For my bachelor’s.”

You set your phone to the side and nod to the seat across from you. Your cheek squishes against your fist and you carefully curate your expression. A vulnerable Claire is a volatile Claire.

“So, like, a different major, or..?"

“I don't know.” Frustration sets her brow in a harsh crag. She huffs, swatting the question away with a hand.

Just gotta let her work this out, you remind yourself, biting your tongue. Something about this has her flayed open in her own home. She folds her arms across her chest, hands slotting against her ribs to stem the bleeding.

Claire's eyes flit to your phone. When you don't pick it back up, refuse to scroll aimlessly until the conversation is forgotten, she scowls.

“You know I never graduated, right?”

“Really?” You blink, shrug, anything to stay nonchalant. “I guess I just figured you had.”

“I finished my freshman year. Then Raccoon City happened.”

Your heart dips. It always comes back to Raccoon City eventually. You wonder if she spends more time in that burned out shell of a city than anywhere else, if her far-off looks always lead her back to the decimation and the rot.

You reach across to squeeze her hand. “You wanna go back?”

Claire nods. Her eyes filter past you, over your shoulder.

“I don't like leaving unfinished business.”

“I know.”

“God, it would be expensive. Like, a total waste of money.”

“Weren't you just bragging about TerraSave's tuition reimbursement plan like, a couple weeks ago?”

“Yeah, but…” The argument dies on her tongue, her words splattering on the table between you. You trace idle shapes against the back of her hand, waiting for her to disarm herself.

You can think of any number of reasons to tell her not to. You're sure they're the same ones that spin in her head now. Realistically, she doesn't need the degree. Not having it isn't preventing her from progressing in her career. She's been more than successful without it. But this isn't about her future. It's about her past.

Finally, she takes her finger off the trigger. Her shoulders round. Whether it's in defeat or acceptance, it doesn't make much of a difference.

“I don't know, I just – I'm almost 40.” She rolls her eyes, trying to cover up the way her voice had softened. “It's kind of weird to go back and sit in Comp 101 with a bunch of eighteen year olds.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Claire snorts, but the set of her shoulders doesn't round like you'd hoped. You reach across the table, fingers loosely encircling her wrist. “I'm serious, baby. Who cares? You'd tell me the same thing.”

“You don't think it's a waste of time?”

I don't think anything that helps you bury Raccoon City is a waste of time, you want to say. You weave around the landmine instead.

“No way. What major are you going to pick?”

“I was a psych major before everything…” She gestures nebulously in the air between you. A soft tap-tap-tap stirs from beneath the table, her heel clicking against the floor anxiously. “You know.”

You hum and squeeze her hand a little tighter, try to drag her off the streets of Raccoon City. You bounce ideas off of each other, both serious and silly.

This is nothing that will be decided over The course of one night, but she ends up leaning away from psychology. It's more practical to study business, she says. More useful for her work.

You've long devolved into talking nonsense. Claire had asked about your college experience, and you'd picked the stupidest stories possible, trying to see her smile, to see her throw her head back with laughter.

You pause mid-sentence, gasp, eyes sparking bright. “Oh my god, you're gonna be a non-trad. Let's get you one of those backpacks with wheels.”

“Stop,” she laughs, swatting your arm.

“I'm serious. You gotta have the full experience.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“You have to walk down the middle of the sidewalk no matter what.”

“I'm probably just going to do online classes.”

“And you only have two speeds - really fast, or the slowest walker on campus.”

“I'm definitely doing online classes.”

You shake your head. You're definitely ordering her that bag, even if she won't use it. As much as she travels, she might actually get some use out of it, even if she isn't physically attending classes.

You rise from the table and fill her sparkling clean mug with a layer of honey (local, the farmer's market last Saturday, her hand in your back pocket and fresh banana bread dangling from from the bag in the crook of her arm) and switch the kettle on. While you rifle through the cabinet for her favorite tea, you drum up your courage to ask something that could sour the peace.

“How come you never went back to school before now?”

For a moment, you worry you've ruined things. You peer over your shoulder at her, evaluating the thoughtful look on her face carefully.

“I had a lot going on. There was this whole thing with Chris, and–” Claire looks over at you, mischief burning in her eyes. “Hey. Did I ever tell you I'm not allowed back into France?”

“What.”

“Yeah. Not kidding. Hope you didn't want to honeymoon in Paris.”

The kettle clicks off. You nearly spill the water on yourself trying to pour her tea. Bustling back over, you carefully place it in front of her and then careen into your seat. Your chin drops into your hand.

“Tell me everything.”

Claire laughs. Her limbs loosen, both hands curled around her favorite mug. She leans in close and starts her tale. Paris, Antarctica - you wouldn't believe her if she were anyone else.

But she isn't. She's Claire Redfield, and she's finally back in your apartment, hand curled around your thigh. There's no Raccoon City in her eyes anymore. It will be back - she will always be there, in part. You aren't naîve enough to think otherwise. Tonight is proof, though, that she won't be stuck there.

[rustedleopard]

okay so I hadn't seen your tumblr until this so the whole being a follower thing is new but your stuff about the Ketsukane mansion (and other recent posting) is the Good Shit so i'm going here now. Anyway!

The home gym feels like a very realistic choice because it's something that Chujin should definitely have been able to tell Ceroba would use, but there's not really much *personalization* to it. You don't really need to engage with the idea that someone enjoys exercise to work off it. You add a room, you get a few pieces of exercise equipment like a treadmill and an elliptical, you have a hanging bag to punch on one side, you have somewhere to get water. Maybe you paint it in red and white. That's a good gesture towards someone you love! But in your grand architectural vision you don't really need to interrogate your knowledge of their interests.

Something less immediately likely but that I think could still happen with a BIT more thought without even diving *too* hard into headcanon territory: ...some sort of art studio.

One thing that we do see very solidly about Ceroba is that she enjoys the creative work of the people she cares about. She loves Chujin's artistry in his robotics and even if there are OBVIOUSLY ISSUES with it she loved seeing him creating the estate and his garden. Kanako's art is displayed all over the place and the photo of her holding up her finished mask is kept very specially. Her implements in the pacifist final boss fight are Chujin's gently adorned staff and Kanako's mask. She may find Starlo's hardcore sheriff larp stuff a bit silly, but she still thought it was fun regardless until he pushed it too far.

I think a space for a few different potential kinds of artistic expression could be a really nice gesture. Like, hey, you enjoy art a lot, but you don't seem to have made much of it yourself, maybe you could try things out and see if something clicks with you and *we* can love *your* work. She's buff and lived in the area back before it got totally desertfied; maybe she'd get a kick out of sculpting wood if she had the chance. Maybe she could learn how to paint. Maybe she might not click with any one thing in particular but can still try and share it with the people she cares about.

Diving more into hc stuff on what she might *actually* enjoy having her own space for that can go in a Rich Person House: ...I think she'd like a bowling alley. I know that's random but it's got some fitness elements while being more of a game that you can play against others *or* solo, can work off some anger by throwing a heavy object at some stupid things to make them scatter. Can be real fun in decorations, and it'd be fitting to have a couple TVs in there for watching movies or the like when they're not being scoreboards. It's something you generally dress down for (nobody looks fancy in bowling shoes). I dunno, I think it'd actually be pretty fun for her.

Hey, no worries about being new here. It's nice to have you!

(in relation to this post) *points very intensely at your idea of Ceroba having a room dedicated to some sort of artistic endeavor* I love that idea a lot!

I think a gym would be the most realistic option for Ceroba from what we see out of Ceroba and Chujin's relationship, since she's so damn self-effacing and thinks that maturity means slotting herself into the role of a housewife that she doesn't really let herself have fun. The only thing she really mentions about herself in the Steamworks is that she used to go to the gym until she quit about a year before canon (which, considering that she had to pick up work at Cafe Dune to support the family financially and how Chujin passed away fairly recently, really paints quite the picture for why this happened). A gym would be the most likely option since it was like... the one thing she brought up about herself. But as you brought up it isn't exactly personal.

Having a home gym for her would have been the bare minimum though. Even if it's not as personal as programming a videogame for Kanako, it would've at least shown that Chujin is paying attention to Ceroba's wants. I headcanon that Chujin at least tried to make the kitchen as nice as he could for Ceroba, but that doesn't erase the fact that a kitchen is heavily tied to the domestic duties of a housewife. Unintentional as I imagine it to be, slotting your wife into the role of a housewife while your kid gets to be a kid in her space and you get to be yourself in both of yours? That's pretty Cringe-jin 😬. Ceroba didn't express a strong interest in cooking that would have justified this either.

But if Ceroba and Chujin did have a healthy relationship with each other, I could definitely see the art studio idea playing out, since as you said, both Kanako and Chujin express themselves creatively in their own ways and it would be great if she was encouraged to as well. Maybe it's the amount of pottery videos I've watched recently speaking through me, but I love the idea of Ceroba getting into ceramic art. She doesn't strike me as the sort to mind getting dirty, I can just see her at the end of a rough day tying back her kimono sleeves with tasuki, slapping a slab of clay onto the pottery wheel, and just going at it, even if nothing good comes out of it. Letting Starlo shoot at her rejected projects because the glaze didn't come out of the kiln well so eh. go nuts breaking them, I don't care. Her gifting the Sunnyside family a homemade vase or bowl. Maybe experimenting with kintsugi. Letting Kanako work alongside her making coil pots and pinch pots. Or your wood working idea that you brought up! Something more hands-on!

(Also, it's funny that you brought up the bowling idea since someone who does seem to like bowling in canon is Martlet, considering that she has an attack where she drops bowling balls. Maybe if Chujin were closer with her, he would have invited her over and they would've bowled together. Ah well, c'est la vie...)