#they have ''mistakenly'' made three drinks...

[t4tstarvingdog]

i am a little bit suspicious of these guys..

[astraystayyh]

The alternative

Brother's best friend changbin x reader. Fluff and slight angst. (Han is the brother).

Based on my interpretation of The Alternative by Lyn Lapid (if u can, play it after the •••)

You've diligently chased the idea of being with Changbin out of your mind. That is until he picks you up from a bad date, making your steadfast resolve unravel all around you.

skz song series masterlist

"Yn?" Changbin’s voice echoes clearly through the phone, and you startle, leaning away to check if you mistakenly dialed the wrong person. But there it is- Han's contact name illuminating your screen, confirming your intended call.

"Changbin? Where is Han?" you ask hesitantly, confused as to why your brother did not pick up his phone.

"He left his phone at home. I wasn't going to answer but I saw five missed calls from you, so I figured something might be wrong. Are you okay?" he asks, his voice softening at the last question.

His concern tugs at your heart, causing you to bite your lower lip forcefully. You've been sitting across from your date for the past two hours, and yet Changbin managed to pay more attention to you in the span of five seconds. 

"I'm okay, don't worry about it," you reassure, trying your best to sound composed.

"Did you need something?"

"I just... I'm on a date right now and I wanted Han to come pick me up. But it's okay."

"Did they do something to you?" he asks, his voice carrying an edge to it that hadn't been present moments ago.

"No!" you quickly reassure. "I just... I don't know, it feels off but it's okay. I'm sorry for bothering you." The practiced apology rolls off your tongue effortlessly, without you having to think about uttering it.

You're accustomed to shrinking yourself, trying your hardest not take up space with your feelings. It has become second nature to you to bury your problems in a dusty box at the back of your mind, as soon as they threaten to affect those around you.

"Where are you?" he asks as you hear shuffling from his end, "I'm coming to pick you up."

"You don't have to," you murmur, regret already welling up inside you. You should've stopped calling your brother when he didn't pick up the first time.

"You are uncomfortable. That's reason enough for me."

You attempt to contradict him, but the words dissolve in your mouth, swallowed back down your throat. There's something about Changbin's unwavering voice that makes you pause. You don't have the strength to contradict him.

"Okay, thank you," you exhale a ragged breath in relief. "I'll text you the address."

You hang up, leaving the bathroom you were hiding in and sitting in front of your date once again. They resume talking, but you tune them out, your thoughts solely revolving around Changbin- the way the planets rotate unwaveringly around the sun. His concern made a pleasing warmth seep through your heart, like a sun ray piercing through clouds after a gloomy day.

You dig your fingers into your palm, desperately trying to banish thoughts of him- just as you’ve been doing for the past few months.

You met Changbin before you knew he was your brother’s best friend. In the campus café, where he almost spilled his drink on you. You thought he was adorable, apologizing profusely to you, a faint pink hue tinting his cheeks. And then he bought you a cookie, three to be exact, because he didn’t know which flavor you’d prefer. A token of his remorse as he explained to you. He was a year older, and you found talking to him as natural as being with yourself.

But for some reason, your brain didn’t register that this was the Changbin your brother told you about. Until you’ve visited Han’s dorm for the first time and there he was, opening the door for you. Changbin was never yours to begin with, a reminder you continually admonish yourself with, but you still felt as if you lost him that day.

You knew it wouldn't be wrong, per se, to date him. But the potential confrontations that would unfold from it made you recoil into your hiding. Loving Changbin holds within it numerous uncertainties, and you cannot venture into the unknown, regardless of how much you yearn for it. For him.

“Yn!” a loud voice startles you, and you snap your head towards the entrance of the restaurant where you find Changbin. He’s clad in grey sweatpants and a snug black t-shirt, standing out like a sore thumb in the high-end restaurant. He didn't take the time to change, you realize, his sole focus on reaching you as quickly as possible.

"We have to go!" he says, as soon as he's in front of your table, and your date glances at you curiously.

"You do?" they ask and you chuckle nervously. "We do?" You didn’t think of an excuse as to why you needed to leave so suddenly, and you hoped Changbin did.

"Yes, come on," he urges, outstretching his hand toward you. "There is an emergency… You know, with Han, very urgent."

"Who's this? And who's Han?" 

"I already told you who Han is," you roll your eyes, grabbing Changbin’s hand and rising from your seat. "Maybe if you stopped talking about yourself for a second then you'd remember."

Changbin places a couple of bills on the table, a polite smile on his face. "For the dinner", he says, before pulling you outside with him.

"What was that?" you chuckle as soon as you're out. Changbin doesn't let go of your hand as you walk to his car, and you can't find it in you to drop it. 

"What?" he giggles, "did you not like my acting skills?"

"Did you have to shout my name from across the restaurant?" you playfully punch his shoulder and he feigns a wince.

"I had to be convincing," he nods solemnly, opening the door for you. His hand rests on the top of the car, ensuring you don't bump your head while getting in.

"Here," Changbin hands you a pair of slippers from the backseat, and you furrow your brows in confusion. "I assumed you'd be wearing heels and your feet are probably tired, so I brought you this," he explains, and you are suddenly thankful for the dim lighting in the car that's hiding your crimson blush. 

"So, tell me, what did they do? Do I need to beat them up?" Changbin asks once more and you groan, leaning your head against the car window. 

"They're so... pretentious. The only thing they care about is themselves, their career and their achievements. They even tried to downplay mine so they'd feel better about themselves."

"It's their loss honestly, for wasting a date with someone like you." 

"You're the only one who thinks so," you smile sadly, trailing your fingers across your knee. 

"What do you mean?" he asks, turning his body around to give you his undivided attention. 

"This is my fourth bad date in a row. I think I'm just destined for horrible relationships," you try to joke, but it did weigh heavily on you. Was there something wrong in you that prompted everyone to treat you so lowly?

"You are very smart and witty and interesting. I like talking to you, especially about things you are passionate about. It's their loss for not seeing it. Doesn't mean you are any less incredible," he says, his voice filled with genuine conviction.

A surge of emotion pulses through you, your heart beating wildly in your chest like a bird fluttering its wing to break free from its cage. You've always thought Changbin was all these things as well, but you never knew he held you with the same regard.

"Thank you," you beam at him, "for this and for coming to pick me up."

"Don’t mention it," he responds with a warm smile before sudden mischief dances in his eyes. "You know what? We should go on a date right now."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"A fake date," he clarifies and your heart chips a little more at your foolish hope. "So you'd see how well you deserve to be treated."

"You don't have to do that," you shake your head. 'You shouldn't do that', you wanted to add, 'it’s hard enough to forget about you'.

"I want to," he insists, his assurance evident in his smile. He leans in, reaching over to buckle your seatbelt, bringing his face mere inches from yours. His cologne envelops you, trapping you in a web carefully woven by him. It was unfair- for him to smell this nice and not be yours.

"You look pretty," he compliments, his penetrating gaze locked with yours as the seatbelt finally clicks into place.

"Is this how you start all your dates," you chuckle, in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

"No, I'm just saying the truth," he replies simply, starting the car and resting his hand on the back of your headrest.

"So, what are you craving?" he asks, and you sigh in defeat.

"Can we have fried chicken?" 

"Of course, we can," he replies with a smile, shifting the car into reverse and leaving the parking lot.

•••••••••••

You hoped your time with Changbin would be horrible, you wished you’d feel bored or uncomfortable, just so it’d cement the idea that he wasn’t the one for you. But unsurprisingly, you had an amazing time. Your stomach ached from laughing so hard throughout the night, and there was a new found lightness in your steps as you walked around a picturesque garden.

You knew that you will revisit this night countless times, that you’d sift through every detail- every time your eyes met and every time you made him smile. That it’d keep you warm on cold nights when you’re all alone.

"Here," Changbin says, handing you a plucked rose. "You deserve a bouquet but I didn’t plan on this, I’m sorry," he smiles sheepishly and you giggle, taking it out of his hands.

"Thank you," you grin happily, before taking a step forward toward him. There, you tuck the rose behind his ear, smoothing down his hair in the process.

"I’m blushing, aren’t I?" he chuckles, bringing a hand to his flushed cheeks and you gleefully nod.

"You’re matching the rose," you point out and he shrugs happily. "Pink is my color."

You admired how Changbin didn’t shy away from his emotions, embracing them without reservation. It made you feel secure, in the sense where you’d never have to second guess his words and their truthfulness.

Changbin takes out his phone to play a soft melody, before putting it in his back pocket.

"Let's dance."

"Changbin..." you trail off. It feels bittersweet to get a taste of what you could have, of what you two could be. He'll move on, surely, going on real dates while you'd still be stuck on the way he makes you feel.

"It's part of the date package, come on." 

You sigh, before grabbing his hand in yours. They fit so naturally together, and you think you can easily commit the sensation to memory- the coldness of his palm and the callouses on his finger pads. With a few more holds, you're certain you could recognize his touch among a thousand others.

Changbin raises your free hand and places it on his shoulder, before holding your waist gently, swaying you from left to right.

Being with him felt like pressing on a blueish bruise, a pleasurable pain you would willingly endure to have him by your side. You're already in his arms, you told yourself. Maybe you should tune out the thoughts in your head berating you, and finally follow what your heart wants.

You suck in a deep breath, before tentatively leaning your head on his chest. He immediately brings his hand to your hair, smoothing it down gently. His chest is broad, serving as a shield for the delicate emotions flowing within him. Because Changbin is gentle with everything he does and everyone he meets. And you'd settle for this, for being his fake date if it meant experiencing his gentleness for the rest of your life.

"Can I tell you something?" you say after a while.

"Sure."

"I think this is the nicest date I've ever been on. I wish all of them were like this."

"They could be if you want to."

"What do you mean?"

"I've always liked you, yn. From the moment I’ve met you,” he confesses easily, and his words feel like the hands of an expert violinist, tugging at your vulnerable heartstrings.

He likes you, you aren't alone in this feeling, and for a second, raw happiness courses through you at this thought. But it's fleeting, like the sugar rush you'd get when you eat too much sweets. And so it naturally wears off, as the consequences of his words dawn on you.

"Changbin, we shouldn't," you shake your head vehemently and he frowns. "Why?"

"Because you're my brother's best friend." The excuse streams from your mouth instantly.

"But I'm still Changbin. Your Changbin if you'll have me," he adds softly.

"Han will find it weird, and if we don't work out then your friendship with him will become strained and-"

"Why are you thinking about everyone but yourself?" He interrupts. "Don’t you want this?" 

A few silent beats pass by, and Changbin doesn't stop swaying you around, his gentle place lulling your heart to calmness, clearing the foggy thoughts in your mind.

"I do," you finally admit, and a smile lightens up his face instantly. It's so bright that it makes you second-guess the words you're about to say. "But I don't want to risk our friendship too." 

"Love is a risk, I understand, I agree. But what's the alternative, yn? if it's not having you at all then I'd risk it," he drops your waist, his hands cradling your face tenderly. "You are worth the risk to me." 

You’ve stopped dancing, the music long forgotten by you. "You really think so?"

"I know so." 

"What if we things don't workout?"

"What if they do, hm? we can never really know until we try. And i want to try with you. Please, give us a chance?" he smiles at you, his vulnerability on full display. He's offering you his heart on a silver platter, not caring if you'll safely guard it or pierce it through, as long as it's yours.

You gaze into his warm brown eyes, before glancing at his tousled hair and the rose tucked behind his ear. And your fear doesn't matter anymore, not in the face of the man in front of you.

"You have amazing convincing skills. Have you ever considered being a diplomat?" you tease and his eyes widen slightly. "Is this a yes? are you saying yes?"

"I am," you giggle, an uncontrollable smile drawn on your lips. "And... I've always liked you too. I think Han might've suspected it because whenever I brought you up, he glared at me," you confess with a laugh, as Changbin presses a soft kiss on your wrist. Right where your pulse is. Beating wildly for him. 

"He’ll have to deal with it. Now tell me, is tomorrow at 6 pm good for you?"

"What for?" you giggle, as he waltzes you around once more, a cheeky smile adorning his face.

"Our first real date, of course.”

[romanoffsbish]

The Tournament

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Natasha was never one to shy away from a challenge, and your body paid the ultimate price. | WC: 1,254

Smut: Lengthy (10hrs 😉) | Taped | Mommy (N) | Oral (Both) | Fingering (N) | Spanking (N) | Overstimulation (R) | KO (R) — | — 2nd lil blip - Masturbation (R) | Promises of Oral | Teasing

Natasha was exhausted.

It had been ten hours of this. On and off

Mostly on, and you, well you were not cognizant.

——

The redhead had mistakenly read one of Tony's world record books, it was a gag that he childishly bought. In the section dedicated to fornication she had read that the longest "episode of sex" to have been recorded, with no change in intimacy partners, was five hours long. So of course, Natasha Romanoff, the competitive devil, took the challenge on to double it, ensuring that no one (human-wise) ever beat her record.

You knew when you met her on the battlefield that she was an overachiever. It was the way that she had been graceful the entire time she choked the enemy with her beefy, as well as soft, thighs. To the now, where she fell beside you with an arm that held no functionality. All of the adrenaline faded and she huffed a tired chuckle.

What a night it had been she mused within the hollow confines of her dimming mind. Though sore she was able to get out of bed and work to clean you up. The moment you two had hit hour eight you were snoring. Natasha admired the way your body convulsed with every sleep time orgasm, even if you couldn't feel it, you were having the time of your unconscious life.

The you of the morning will be gobsmacked and in some way turned on. Your vagina that should be in ruins would likely pulse with a sharp, painful need. For now though she settled your core beneath a pair of fresh panties and slipped you up the bed and onto the pillows that were designed for you. Then she cleaned up the room of any evidence. She took the toys down to the small, second kitchen you had and tossed them into the designated dishwasher. Then she finished off the tray of peanut butter sandwiches she'd made for the nights necessary fuel station. She also had vodka, and an assortment of chocolate and fruit to munch on.

The rules of the book stated that breaks that lasted less than three minutes were ebbed into the flow of things.

Natasha was terrified to let you down, and by you she meant her very annoying sense of pride. Which is why the night started off with you in the captains position. Your soft lips painted her skin a lovely blend of maroon and lilac, the blue to forge a galaxy would come later.

The way she mewled for you felt pornographic, and then you remembered she had planned to record this for proof. You shakily agreed so she set up five cameras around the room. At each two hour mark when she stopped to drink some water or bite into a peanut butter sandwich she'd stop the one and start the other when she was back. Each clip got a different angle, each with their own feature and timestamped to the second to further prove the breaks weren't prolonged.

Natasha nearly killed you when her knees locked behind your head; but you didn't mind. You whispered a prayer against her pussy that she'd hopefully find you in paradise one day, then she came with a miracle on the dancing tastebuds of your tongue. Oxygen filled your lungs just as it excavated hers, the both of you spluttered as you choked on her slick, and she forgot how to breathe in place of the dizzying pleasure.

Thirty minutes down, but you were far from tired. It showed in the wild irises Natasha's soft emeralds met. Whenever you looked at her like that she lost all of her sense of authority. You'd flipped her over and fingered her while backhanding and palming at her smooth ass. Natasha grunted at each slap then moaned at the thrusts, it was husky and made your body tremble.

Natasha chased every single high you offered her, and she was near to losing count when you slowed down. You'd made it to hour three, and that's when the need to rest began to set in. Natasha saw it, and flipped you over so she could take over. You'd lasted longer than anytime before in one straight session and she was so incredibly proud, but more importantly turned on.

"Fuck Y/N," she panted against your cheek as her fingers slid through your slick folds. "You made me cum eight times and my pussy is still throbbing as you moan in my ear." Her lips lowered further, hot breath tickled your ear and you giggled breathily. "Keep going my sweet girl, you're in for a long night so keep it up."

You did your best too, entertaining her with answers to her filthy questions, moaning and thrashing as she found a new way to get you to your new best orgasm, but then your lethargy began to set in once again.

At hour six Natasha had sat your limp form up and nourished you back to life within the time constraint. Offering you a bit more enjoyment before the eventual KO took place. Your cries turned into whimpers, then choked moans until the sound of skin slapping and slick sliding was all she could focus on as she thrusted.

There was no time to feel any aches when focusing on keeping your body mindlessly jolting so Natasha built up her mental walls and in the long run gave herself carpal tunnel. In the end she felt it was worth it, as she won the fictitious title of "longest sex (love making) session ever recorded," and then she found you three days later after coming home early (at midnight as opposed to 7am) with your fingers inside you as your eyes were transfixed on her head between your legs.

"Wanna make a new record?" You jumped up and held your slick hand out in front of you to stall her request from happening, but all the redhead did was lunge and take your fingers into her greedy mouth. She moaned at the uniquely tangy taste, but her eyes creased in contradiction as your slivered nail scraped her palate.

"I need to taste you," she grunted and you gasped, "Natasha baby please." She shushed you with a bruising kiss and rubbed your cunt against her latex suit. You choked on her tongue and she chuckled, "It's okay detka, you can admit that you need me, I'm here."

"I'm sensitive," you whimpered and she kissed the bridge of your nose in comfort. "I'll be gentle detka, I just want to spend four hours talking to your pussy. Gonna tell you all the reasons why I love you while your moans convey the same message back to me."

"Please," you were breathless now and this time you were beckoning her closer instead of away. She pecked your lips then pulled away abruptly to keep her focus on a shower, while also making you stumble. "Get on the bed with nothing on detka, keep your hands to yourself and sit pretty while I take my quick shower."

"Be fast mommy," you cried and she cackled as the door shut, showing you her intentions to edge you.

You smirked, excited that your plan had worked, much unlike your legs would come morning; Natasha would now likely spend the entire week at your beck and call.

In the end, everyone wins.

Well, except for Tony, who had to fork out the cash for sound proofing the walls and sending Steve to therapy.

[oleander-nin]

Horrortober Day 11- Mind Games(Yandere Rise Leo x Reader)

A/N, not important: Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: mention of alcohol and drugs, manipulation, hinted emotional abuse, yandere themes, dark themes

Words: 1693

Summary: You broke up with Leo, but he's not ready to give you up.

Your eyes drift across the sea of bodies, stepping back and to the side to avoid touching any of them. Coming here was a mistake, you felt. Sure, you wanted to get your mind off your recent breakup, but this was not the way to go. It was too loud, too bright, and everyone was already high or drunk and the many masks and faces of monsters and witches wasn’t helping. You grimace at the strong smell of the fruit punch in your hand, knowing it had been spiked at some point. If you found a garbage can, you’d throw it away before mistakenly taking a sip. You didn’t want to risk anything. You still had to drive home after all.

You search through the costumed college students for the friends that had insisted you come, promising it would be worth it and you’d have fun. You snort at the thought. It had barely been twenty minutes, and you already had a headache.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, catching your attention. Slipping away from the mass of bodies and giving up on the search, you pull out the vibrating device. Text after text was rolling though, different numbers flashing on your screen. You frown as you read the name rolling though, Leo’s pleading and angry texts blowing up your phone.

You unlock it and go to the conversation between the two of you, blocking his number once more. You were getting your number changed tomorrow, so dealing with him would only be another day. You were free of him, free of the pain and stress he caused, the sense of paranoia and fear he brought on. No more fights, no more of his obsession, no more being a prisoner to your own boyfriend.

You turn off your phone and slip it back into your pocket, doubt and guilt bubbling in your stomach. Part of you felt like you were over reacting. You knew he loved you, it was clear. But that love had gotten too much and you were starting to feel the danger brewing under his skin. The way he looked at you was once filled with love, his dark eyes swimming in happiness and hope for the future, but now they only carried the cold touch of possession and want. He still made his jokes, still treated you like you were his favorite thing in the world, but now it was… Dangerous. Like if you said the wrong thing or did something he didn’t like he would explode. He was a ticking time bomb you forgot how to defuse, and you didn’t want to be there when it finally set off.

You still loved him, the pang in your heart reminding you with every thought that flooded your brain, but being with him has gotten to be too dangerous, your mental health draining. He had started to cost you your friends, started to make you paranoid. You didn’t know how long it would go on before either of you snapped.

You gaze back into the crowd, bright lights attacking your view and making your vision swim. A group of ghosts floated by, the sheets over their heads billowing as they walked. It entertained you to see such a thing, your own costume having about the same effort as theirs. With the party so last minute, you hadn’t had time for a complex costume. You simply woke up this morning and put on a black shirt and sweats, topping the look off with a cat eared headband and three lines on either cheek with a sharpie.

Green skin in the crowd catches your eyes, your heart rate jumping as you tense. You search through the mass of people until you find what you thought you had seen. The ogre’s costume was a duller green than the one that caught your eyes, but you assumed a yellow or green light had been shining rather than the red covering them now. You lean against the wall, swirling your spiked drink. You were really thinking about taking a sip now, at least to get your mind to ease up. This was a party, you were supposed to be having fun, not thinking of Leo.

Pushing off the wall, you merge into the crowd once more to continue looking for your friends. You turn your head as you walk, looking out for the Sesame Street characters your friends said they came as. While scanning faces and masks, your eyes meet familiar ones, the deep onyx oh his eyes shining against the light. Your breath leaves you as you take in the green skin and pink crescents, his mask a stark contrast on his face.

You blink and he’s gone, a costumed student in his wake. You stare at the spot where you saw Leo, your hands shaking slightly. Did you accidentally take a sip of your drink? Were you losing it? In your confused haze, you let the crowd slowly push you back to the edges, your mind still reeling with the sights of your now ex. He couldn’t be here, he wouldn’t even know of this party. You stare at the floor, finally putting your drink down on a small table without a care. It wasn’t like you were going to pick it back up.

The feeling of three-fingered hands drifting over your waist makes your blood run cold and your muscles tense, one settling and the other crossing over to hang onto your wrist. His mouth presses against your ear, his voice a soft whisper full of unsaid fury. “Never thought you’d be in a party like this.”

You stand dumbly in his arms, unable to speak nor move. You gape at the wall in front of you, his strong hands guiding you towards the corner of the room and away from prying eyes. He seemed content with your silence, a smug smile on his face when you glanced back at him. You couldn’t help but feel terrified. Why was he here?

“Dance with me,” He purrs, his eyes flashing dangerously everytime you try to pull away. He never turns you around, keeping your back pressed against his chest. It was surreal, and your brain was stuck in an infinite loop of panic. You couldn’t help but feel unsafe, even in the arms of someone you once, and still do, loved. “It’s the least you could do after the fit you’ve been throwing. I can’t believe you’ve been ignoring me.”

You let him sway you both back and forth with the music, your voice stuck in your throat as you try to not pull away from instinct. His nails dig into your skin, a deadly smile on his lips. He hums along with the music, keeping your body pulled flush with his while he moves. He seemed content despite the circumstances, his hands holding you steady and close.

“Why are you here?” You ask quietly, your heart beating faster than it ever has before. The music was too loud still, the bass drumming the tune in your skull. You felt tired all of a sudden, the safety your brain had found in Leo over the years overriding the clear danger he presented. You wanted to pull away, to run and never look back, but his grip is firm. You weren’t getting out of this one.

“Because I’m your boyfriend, and I got worried when you didn’t answer my texts and calls.” He exaggerates a pout, jutting out his bottom lip as he looks down at you. He had grown over the years you knew him, yet still managed to keep the same jokester personality he claimed was the face of his brothers team. You scowl at his words, finally being knocked out of whatever trance you were in. You try to pull away, thrashing slightly in his grip.

“We broke up.” You remind, glaring at the mutant blending in with the fellow partygoers. Leo drops his pout, rolling his eyes as he adjusts his grip and moves you both closer to the wall.

“No, we didn’t.” He says with the certainty of a monarch sending a traitor to death. “You got upset, and said something you shouldn’t have. But we’re not breaking up.”

"Leonardo Hamato, let me go this instant." You demand, pushing harshly against his chest with your one free hand. His words pushed your brain into overdrive, the fear hitting you like bricks. You needed to leave. Now.

Leo smiles deviously, his eyes flashing as he dares you to do more. "Pulling out my full name now, are we? Looks like someone's getting serious."

His tone is no more than a deep purr, smoothing over the anger and hatred held in his heart. He wanted to slam you against the wall and choke you until you passed out, his steady hands twitching with greed. You were small compared to him now, his size nearly doubling since he was a teen. Not to mention the muscle mass he gained and the reflexes and experience he now had. You were but a lamb to the slaughter, and it was Leo who was the deciding factor on whether you made it out alive. Leo's smile widens. You were so lucky he loved you.

He squeezes your wrist and you can feel the bones start to strain under the pressure, threatening to crack. Your knees buckle at the pain, a small cry leaving your lips. He had never really hurt you before, and especially not while he was grinning. A small kiss is pressed to the back of your head, a quick squeeze being given as a warning.

“Come home with me now, quietly and on your own, or I snap both your legs and kill everyone here.”

He says this lightly, as if it was a small joke between friends. You feel tears well in your eyes. There was no way he wasn’t serious, the glint in his eye showing just how badly he wanted to show you what he was willing to do. You let out a sob, and crumple in his arms. There was nothing you could do but comply.

[kiwisa]

brew-tiful ✩ dr03

Daniel Ricciardo x Fem! Barista! Reader

fluff • 500 words

IN WHICH... daniel should look at what he's ordering instead of making eyes at the pretty barista.

Anyone who happened to cross paths with Daniel every morning at 8:38 sharp, in that little cafe whose name never interested him, thought his caffeine addiction was beyond reason.

Mistakenly, but he could see where they were coming from.

If the black liquid was, indeed, an integral part of his life now, it was only because of the woman behind the counter, who he sacrificed a few dollars to every day. And God knew how much those little coins spent on this drink amounted to a fortune.

Even though money had never been an issue, let alone now ⏤ thanks to Red Bull and his new contract ⏤ he couldn't help but grit his teeth at the receipts piling up in his wallet. He couldn’t even bring himself to think of the sum spent between these four walls. Otherwise, a few tears would paint his face blue. For sure.

He didn't even like coffee... For that demonic liquid — seriously, who could drink this and enjoy it? — to slide on his tongue without making a grimace appear on his face, its bitter taste had to be drowned in milk and at least three sugars.

So why bother? You must wonder, dear reader.

“Ah Danny! I was starting to believe you weren't coming today!”

It was for that voice, full of joy, tenderness, and that laughter whose notes must have been put end to end by angels. It was for you, Y/N L/N, that the Australian man came here daily, even when his wallet was crying in pain, even when coffee was the bane of his entire existence.

“And not see my favourite barista? Impossible.”

There was something about you that made his heart panic, warmed his soul, and made him want to throw up sometimes because of your kindness. A rather interesting mix: some would call it “feelings.” You were the personification of happiness, a ray of sunshine in his life constantly marred by the routine of travel and racing.

Cheeks flushed, mind wandering to fantasies of his hand in yours, his lips against your forehead, he didn't notice the almost loving gaze you placed on him, nor did he feel your fingers brushing against his as you gave him the cup. An espresso. Hell in liquid form.

Not in your eyes, however, who constantly praised it. You had suggested it to him on his first visit ⏤ saying that it was your favourite way to drink coffee ⏤ and since then he had not yet broken this unspoken rule to order one daily.

Thanking you, avoiding your gaze, Daniel hastily left the cafe, like every morning at 8:46.

Like every morning at 8:47, he tried to take a sip of this infamous brew.

Like every morning at 8:51, he dropped the still hot drink in the bottom of the closest trash can.

Like every morning at 8:51, he didn’t notice the number written in a messy way, as if in a hurry, on the cardboard cup.

Better luck tomorrow, you thought.

✩ taglist !

@sad1esgf @muglermami @i0veless @16solace @kenanlotus0 @till1am @itsnotgray @lilsiz @starkwlkr @missflobelova @mehrmonga @fxllfaiiry @crimeshowjunkie @anicega @kosmosgalore @lovemarvel16 @charles-dimple @hiding-behindmy-glasses @exatse @serenityleah @flowerchild-96 @hopiiex @ivegotparticulartaste @jivas0 @screechingtrashkid @gxp30 @lauren--maex

[peachdues]

Phantasmagoria — Extended Teaser

Sanemi x F!Reader (Tell Me to Stop Modern AU)

A/N: omg hi. It’s been a while since I’ve give you all a teaser of the upcoming WIPs, but since you all were so lovely during Bar prep, I thought I would give you a treat.

The teaser below consists of snippets from several scenes from all three parts of Phantasmagoria — including a small NSFW teaser and a POV from Kyojuro. Every divider line represents a time skip; the story mainly takes place over the course of the summer between their junior and senior year of college. Major angst ahead, see the CW for the warnings.

Synopsis: Y/N, Sanemi, and Kyojuro were an unstoppable trio in their youth. But right as they prepare to enter college at Ubayashiki University, tragedy strikes and Y/N mistakenly confesses her love for Sanemi at the worst possible time. Now, a year and a half has passed, and Y/N hasn’t spoken to either of her best friends since, but that’s all about to change as their friend groups converge and Y/N explores an experimental new drug called Wisteria.

TW: drug/alcohol abuse, toxic friends with benefits (later to lovers), grief, trauma, literally everyone needs to go to therapy. Wisteria is supposed to be an analogue to ecstasy.

CW: toxic FWB, sex/drugs/alcohol as a coping mechanism, reader lowkey uses Sanemi because she thinks he’s using her. Brief NSFW snippet (oral F!receiving, penetrative sex). Sanemi pines HEAVILY in this one.

Song inspiration here ; playlist here

I hope you all enjoy!

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But even though the sour drinks made her feel so warm and so vibrant while she was out dancing, there were still moments when clarity hit her and she missed them.

She missed the way Kyojuro’s strong arm would drape around her shoulders, heavy and warm but his embrace felt like home, his deep laugh contagious.

She missed the way Sanemi would pretend to hug her unwillingly, but would leave his hands lingering on her back or her waist after she moved to pull away, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his tantalizing mouth. She missed the smell of his cologne, clean and a little pine-y as he would lean in close to her face to tease her until she blushed.

She missed them so much that the sharp sting of alcohol stopped dulling the pulsing ache in the cavity where her heart once beat. No matter how many shots, no matter how many sticky acid drinks she tossed back, the gnawing in her chest would not cease.

Then, one night, Shinobu pressed a small, lilac pill into her hand and everything changed.

Initially, Y/N was apprehensive, because the pill perfectly matched the hue of the eyes of the person she wanted to forget most. But Shinobu promised her that this pill — Wisteria — would have her feel like she did as a kid on Christmas, and Y/N caved.

At first, she’d felt nothing, no impact beyond the slight buzz provided by the round of shots she’d done upon first arriving at the Kizuki Club. But then, as Mitsuri twirled her beneath flashing lights of pink and yellow, Y/N’s world exploded with a vibrance she’d neither seen nor felt in nearly two years, and suddenly everything seemed magical; effervescent; infinite.

—————————————————————————

(….)

And as his eyes fell upon her, she chanted over and over in her mind for him to not say it, to not let her name fall from his lips, because she could not bear to hear it. It would’ve been easier, so much easier, if he simply pretended like she didn’t exist because then she could go on pretending like she wasn’t walking around without a heart; like he hadn’t been carrying it with him even all these months later.

He smirked, and said her name, in that voice, and it took everything Y/N had not to fold right there.

But she couldn’t, she wouldn’t let him know that he still held any power over her, and so she merely raised an eyebrow at him and smirked back, challenging him.

“Sanemi.”

—————————————————————————

(…)

“And where have you been hiding all this time?” Y/N fought the shiver that threatened to lick up her spine at the sound of that cursed, gravelly voice that had always made her weak at the knees.

But Y/N had not spent the last twenty months learning how to keep off of Sanemi Shinazugawa’s radar for nothing, hadn’t learned to keep her grief and rage and pain locked deep inside the empty cavern of her chest just to crumble under the intensity of that lilac stare.

Y/N threw her head back to swallow the shot to tequila the bartender had placed before her before turning to face him. Sanemi looked every bit the simpering, cocky asshole she’d always known him to be, leaned up against the sticky wood of the bar, one fist resting idly under his cheek as he watched her.

She met his gaze evenly, shoulders loose with a relaxedness that she didn’t feel. “I’ve been right here,” she replied smoothly.

Sanemi shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at her. “Nah, you haven’t,” he downed his own shot of vodka, before returning his eyes to her, looking her over in consideration. “Though, I guess it would’ve been hard to know it was you anyways.”

Y/N felt herself stiffen slightly, but she kept her voice light. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Sanemi watched her carefully for a moment, though his eyebrows furrowed, as though he was struggling to choose his words.

“I just wouldn’t have ever expected to see you in a place like this.” He decided, after a moment, a frown tugging at the corners of his sinful mouth.

It was Y/N’s turn to smirk. “That would assume you knew me at all to begin with,” she challenged, motioning the bartender for another shot.

Something tightened in Sanemi’s eyes as he held her gaze, and it tightened the knot of unease Y/N had tried all night to ignore in her stomach. “I did, once.”

Y/N kept her face impassive. “Maybe, as a girl.” She accepted her second shot from the bartender and brought it to her lips, biting down on a wince as the sharp burn of the cheap liquid slid down her throat. “But not as a woman.”

Though she did not show it, his words struck a wound deep within her that she’d not realized still festered; because, as hard as she tried to pretend that the man beside her was a mere stranger, his words reminded her of the harsh truth.

She was still in love with him; had been, ever since she’d learned what love meant.

A shadow flashed across his face before disappearing, that insufferable smirk sliding onto his face once more. “I guess you’re right; a girl doesn’t wear a dress like that.” Sanemi purred.

—————————————————————————

(…)

Sanemi’s lips met the band of her thong and he growled, deep and guttural as he pressed his nose against her, inhaling deeply as his tongue flicked out once more to lap at her wet cunt over the rough lace obscuring her from view.

Y/N was nearly sobbing from overstimulation, and she knew she needed him to fill her, and to do it now.

“Sanemi,” she whined, and his eyes flicked back up to hers, dark with want. “Please, I need you.”

Her words had an instantaneous effect on the heaving man between her legs, because suddenly his body was covering her own, and his pants were gone, and he was slamming into her with a force that left her breathless and writhing against his soft sheets

He pulled her legs over his forearms and braced his hands on her inner thighs to spread her wide as he pounded into her, leaning down into her face to make her blush, just like he used to do. Only now instead of teasing her, he was whispering filth that had her turning scarlet and begging for more.

—————————————————————————

(…)

Y/N leaned against the counter of the bar, nursing her beer as she watched her pink friend giggle and murmur sweetly to the black haired boy dancing with her, the latter’s hands hesitantly gripping her friend’s waist.

“You don’t approve?” A familiar voice rose over the pounding bass of the club music from her side. Y/N didn’t have to turn her head to know who’d sidled up next to her — she would know his blistering heat anywhere.

She tapped her fingers against the sweaty side of her glass. “I just don’t understand why he won’t make a move.” Y/N said after a long moment, a frown pulling at the corners of her red-painted lips.

Sanemi followed her line of sight and his mouth pressed into a hard line. “Maybe he wants to, but he thinks it’ll just make things worse.” He replied after a moment, voice quiet.

Y/N hummed in disagreement. “He’s making it worse by not doing anything at all - he’s made her think it’s her fault things arent working out between them.”

“He does care about her, though. More than she realizes.” Sanemi offered, watching as Obanai delicately brushed a strand of Mitsuri’s pink hair from her eyes.

Y/N finally rolled her head to the side to look at him, and idly she wondered if her eyes looked as numb as she felt. “If he did, he wouldn’t keep hurting her; wouldn’t have hurt her to begin with.”

Sanemi stared back at her, and it made her heart squeeze to see that there is the faintest trace of pain in his gaze, even in spite of his small smile. “‘S not that simple, though.”

She looked away. “It could’ve been,” Y/N took a long sip of her drink, part of her hoping that he couldn’t hear the jaded edge that crept into her voice. “And now all they know how to do is use one another.”

—————————————————————————

(Kyojuro’s flashback)

Where’s your date, Shinazugawa?” Rengoku chuckled, reaching for a beer though disheartened to see that only one was left, Sanemi having finished at least three since arriving back home.

“Called off,” Sanemi said thickly, his words slightly garbled as he tried to fake his own sobriety — the surest sign he was already drunk off his ass.

Kyojuro clapped his shoulder sympathetically. “You or her?”

Sanemi took another swig of his drink. “Me.” He looked up at his best friend and Kyojuro was shocked to see how forlorn and sad the hothead looked. “None of ‘em are her.”

It was rare that Sanemi brought her up, especially in the wake of everything that had happened after Genya’s death — but Kyojuro hadn’t been foolish enough to think that a substantial part of the chip on Sanemi’s shoulder hadn’t stemmed from his complicated feelings about her — Y/N.

Their best friend, at least, once upon a time.

Though, Kyojuro supposed, it wasn’t as if Sanemi’s feelings about their friend were really all that complicated — he’d known the abrasive loudmouth had longed for the trio’s only girl since any of them had understood what it meant to long for someone.

Kyojuro had seen his friend’s feelings on display countless times since they were teenagers — he saw it in the way his eyes softened every time she smiled at him, or the way Sanemi seemed to always lean into her touch whenever she brushed something from his hair.

Then, there had been that time after Y/N had her braces put in — they’d been around thirteen or so — and she’d refused to smile with her teeth, until Sanemi had snapped at her and said she’d looked constipated.

Y/N’s eyes had filled with tears, and her cheeks had burned with her embarrassment, until he’d squatted down in front of her.

“Why’d’ya wanna hide your smile anyways — it’s too pretty.” He’d said, very matter-of-factly, leaning in close to her face as he always did when he teased her. “C’mon, show me! I wanna see your smile.”

Shyly, Y/N had smiled at him, braces and all, and Sanemi had grinned back, nodding in satisfaction. “See? What’d I tell ya? Pretty as a picture.”

Then, there had been their senior prom, when Sanemi had gotten wind of another boy’s plan to ask her to be his date. Though the big dance had still been more than six months away, Sanemi had stormed into the cafeteria, plopped down across from her as she ate with the Koyuki girl, and demanded she attend with him.

When the night of their prom arrived, Kyojuro thought Sanemi was going to pass out the moment he saw Y/N descend the stairs at her mother’s house, dressed in that floor-length emerald dress. Throughout the whole night, Sanemi had treated their best friend as though she were made of glass, his hands for once hesitant and uncertain as he’d found her waist during a slow dance. Kyojuro’d truly thought his friends would finally, finally kiss and admit their poorly-concealed feelings for one another. But Sanemi had returned Y/N to her mother, the latter only parting with a soft kiss against the flustered boy’s crimson cheek before disappearing inside.

How could they have known, that night, just how far they’d all fall? How could they have known how Genya’s death would shatter more than his brother, but indelibly fracture their life-long bond and transform them into total strangers?

(….)

“Look, I love and worry after Y/N too, but she’s using you-“

“So what if she is?” Sanemi croaked, taking a harsh drag of his cigarette. “She can use me as much as she wants. I don’t mind.”

Kyojuro’s eyes softened. “Sanemi —“

“At least it means I can keep an eye on her.” Sanemi flicked the dying butt to the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his boot. He began to walk away, holding his hand up to wave over his shoulder as he set off back across the lively street.

————————————————————————-

(Y/N’s POV)

“Why won’t you let me care for you?” He asked quietly, and Y/N felt her stomach twist because she’d known this conversation was coming, but that didn’t mean she wanted to have it.

“Why do you want to?” She sighed, running an anxious hand through her hair as she slumped against the kitchen counter.

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[imeternallylove]

Secret - S.Holmes; Prologue

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Genre: purely angst, upcoming age and some smut

Warning: none

Word: approx 700

main mastetlist  | request & ask | prompts | theme song

Chapters index

prologue | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part night | part ten | part eleven | part twelve | part thirteen | epilogue

You should never have had slept with Sherlock Holmes.

From the moment you mistakenly kissed after a long night of drinking, it was a downhill spiral of secret meetings in the private study room – not studying – and late hours in the lab room – not practising. All of your friends warned you that it would only end in a heap of tears over a destroyed friendship.

But you couldn't help yourself. Sherlock left you wanting more: a junkie infatuated with the pleasure.

Because the way that his thighs bumped against you and his strict tremulous voice empowered you to give him every part of yourself., twice. So far, you both have been quite thirsty.

Everything had been wonderful in your life. You were ready to graduate from high school, you had your entire summer planned out, and when autumn arrived, you were going to pack your paints and go to Liverpool to pursue a career as an artist. And suddenly it was all collapsing around you, one fantasy after another turning to dust and vanish in the blink of an eye. 

"Do you have any trophies?" You stuttered in astonishment, your legs giving way from beneath you and allowing your body to fall to the bench.

It was a chilly Tuesday evening, and you were sitting in the park midway between your house and Sherlock, exactly as he had requested. He seemed anxious on the phone, but Sherlock was always like that, like the time he called you at 3 a.m. and forced you to come over just to be sure he didn't have a third nipple. Even so, you hastened to get ready and see him since he was your best friend and you needed him by your side.

And he was about to leave you.

You understood how important this was to him. Even you and everyone else who knows him would agree that the lab is his second home. You knew how hard he had worked for an opportunity like this, and you wanted to be happy for him, but hearing him tell you about the best news of his life made you sick. If Sherlock was accepted into Boston University, he'd leave you behind to cope with your mess of a life.

Sherlock sat down beside you, knees brushing up against yours as he moved as close to you as possible. “Yeah, isn’t it amazing? I was just scolded Mycroft that I hate government jobs when someone from the uni called I should come to Boston and you know, start to prepare myself there. It’s what I’ve always wanted!” He was beaming with so much excitement and happiness.

You didn't want to be the one who got in the way of his dreams, as much as you didn't want to go through it alone. You tried to grin as you drank past the lump in your throat. "That's fantastic news, literally. Sherl!" You cried, attempting to fake enthusiasm. You were still sick to your stomach on the inside. 

"I still can't believe it," he said, shaking his head in bewilderment before wrapping his arms over your shoulders and pulling you against his chest. His scent enveloped you in an instant as you buried your face in his coat, holding back the tears that begged to fall. "Thank you for never letting me give up," he muttered quietly, gently cradling the back of your head and running his fingers through your hair.

You were on the point of tears, feeling the salty sting as they gathered in the corner of your eyes, but you swallowed hard to keep them in. "This calls for some celebrations," you burst into tears leaning out of Sherlock and bringing your scarf closer to your face. "How about you go get us some tea from the corner café?"

Sherlock smiled brightly at you and rose to his feet, oblivious to your pain. "I like the way you ponder," he said while directing attention to his nose and then at you. "One green tea for my best friend, coming right up!" He responded, backing away and kissing you.

You finally allowed the tears fall down your cheeks as you watched his figure walk out of the park, sobbing breaking out of your chest. The last shred of hope you had clutched to, the possibility of having him at your side through it all, had slipped from your grasp and broken on the ground. You couldn't be the one to derail his hopes as well. 

"I guess it's just me and you," you said to yourself, cradling your stomach with your hands. Inside was a swarm of cells that were rapidly multiplying into something that was totally your responsibility.

The secret you could never tell Sherlock.

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: I Have Made A Huge Mistake, And Here's How You Can Make It Your Problem, Too I have made a mistake. Without going too deeply into the details, as I do not want this mistake to go viral or get out among people I know, I can say here: my best friends are getting married in less than three weeks, and their guest list has mistakenly listed me as bringing a plus one. I do not have a plus one. This is where you come in, reader: I need to find someone, preferably in their mid-20s to early-30s, to come with me on a week-long wedding vacation and pretend to be my partner. I do not care what you do for a job. I do not care what you look like. We'll dance, we'll drink, we'll probably call an ambulance when all my friends fall down a mountain. It'll be great. Do not fuck with me on this. Please. - or: kei would rather die than go to hinata and kageyama's wedding alone. what’s a man to do but hire a hapless fool to be his boyfriend for a week?

Author: @thefledglingdm

[skelavender]

“You okay, Scully?” Mulder asks, concerned. She just grunts in response. “Do you want to get ready for bed first?” She sighs into the ugly bedspread. “Yes, thank you.” She grabs her duffle, and mere moments after closing the door, lets out a loud “FUCK.” “Scully?” Mulder knocks on the bathroom door, immediately concerned. “I’m fine.” She insists through the closed door. “My damn period started.”

read chapter three of you are in love on ao3, or below the cut!

You can hear it in the silence, silence, you

You can feel it on the way home, way home, you

You can see it with the lights out, lights out

You are in love, true love

***

December 1996

Fox Mulder is not a goddamn idiot. He knows when his wife’s period is. Even if he wasn’t astute enough to notice the slight changes in her behavior, or what she packs when they travel, or when the bathroom trash gets changed, she puts little black circles in her datebook which eventually get filled with little red dots when the day comes. Since they moved in together, it’s become their datebook. He would have to be pretty damn stupid to ignore that. 

So when they’re gearing up to head out of town two days before the little black circles would normally appear in the datebook and Mulder notices the heating pad hasn’t moved from its spot in the bathroom cupboard, he shoves it into his duffle at the last minute. 

Scully’s a bit snippy in the car, which he could attribute to hunger, since they haven’t eaten yet. But when she orders a mocha instead of her usual black coffee with one cream, it’s locked in for him. That is a bona fide Dana Scully PMS drink. 

When they make it to the motel, Scully flops facedown onto the queen bed as Mulder sets their bags down on the dresser.

“You okay, Scully?” Mulder asks, concerned. She just grunts in response. “Do you want to get ready for bed first?”

She sighs into the ugly bedspread. “Yes, thank you.” She grabs her duffle, and mere moments after closing the door, lets out a loud “FUCK.”

“Scully?” Mulder knocks on the bathroom door, immediately concerned.

“I’m fine.” She insists through the closed door. “My damn period started.”

Okay. Mulder had known this was coming, but apparently Scully hadn’t.

“Do you need me to run out for anything?”

“Tampons and Midol?” She requests, exasperated. “Thank you, Mulder.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

He lays the heating pad on the bed before slipping out the door. When he returns, Scully is in his sweatpants, which he honestly can’t remember if he packed himself or if she had stolen when getting her own bag together, and has the heating pad clutched to her abdomen.

“How did you know?” She asks.

Mulder shrugs, “Usually happens around the middle of the month, doesn’t it? I saw it in the bathroom when I was packing and figured it was better to be safe than sorry.”

“I think I forgot to mark ahead in my calendar when it ended last month.”

He shrugs, “Blame it on the holidays. It happens.”

He hands her the box of tampons and she retreats to the bathroom to, er, take care of that bit. When she returns, she contemplates the heating pad. 

Scully sighs. “I can’t decide if my back or my front needs it more.”

“Here,” Mulder sits against the headboard, legs spread and arms open wide, “I run warm. I’ll be your heating pad for your back.”

She smiles and crawls into place between her partner’s legs. She settles the heating pad into place, and he wraps his arms around her abdomen to press it into her aching body for good measure. Mulder clicks the TV on for background noise and Scully snuggles into his body, her head falling back on his shoulder with her nose nestled into his neck. 

They’re asleep within minutes. 

*** 

Though he won’t admit it, Mulder can not see for shit. He had mistakenly grabbed Scully’s glasses this morning, and hadn’t noticed until he got to the office that his blurry vision was due to that instead of the general morning bleariness he had blamed it on. He had made it through most of the day dodging Scully’s notice, but somehow, the porch stairs of his own home are what do him in.

He steps too far back, and his toes send him slipping forward, nearly face planting into the brick. Luckily, he catches himself on the railing. Unluckily, the railing had only been put in when they moved in, and has yet to be stained or sealed. He’s been meaning to call someone to do it, but hasn’t gotten around to it. So instead of smashing his nose in on the hard step, the palm of his hand stings, and when he lifts it to inspect the damage he sees a small red welt with something stuck under his skin.

“Mulder!” Scully steps forward to catch him, and places a hand on his arm. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Ouch,” he says belatedly, punching at the wound, “Ouch.”

“What is it?” Scully, now in doctor mode, takes his hand in hers to evaluate his injury. She runs a thumb over the welt, and Mulder flinches. “Oh, God, Mulder, I thought you were actually hurt!”

“I am!” he protests, pointing to the tiny red welt, “I got a splinter.”

“All that over a splinter? Really?”

“Don’t make fun!” He pouts, “It hurts!”

She rolls her eyes fondly. “C’mon, let's get inside and I’ll tweeze it out.”

Scully sets her things down in the entryway before washing her hands and retrieving the first aid kit. The small, standard one, not the one specifically stockpiled for their frequent injuries from work.

She sits next to him at the kitchen table and lays out an alcohol wipe, antibiotic ointment, tweezers, and a bandaid on a tissue in the same organized manner she would a surgical tray. She holds her hand out between them, and he lays his own on it for her examination.

She dabs at Mulder’s hand with an alcohol wipe, then brushes a finger along the lesion to determine the direction. Mulder flinches. “Scully, has anyone told you recently that your bedside manner could use some work?”

“My patients don’t tend to complain, being dead and all.” She points out.

“If you don’t ease up, I might become one of them.”

“Mulder, it’s a splinter.”

“It’s ouchie.” Mulder gives an exaggerated pout, and Scully takes the chance to go for the splinter again, this time successfully catching it with the tweezers and getting it out.

“Aha!” Mulder exclaims as if the victory were his own. Scully shakes her head with fond exasperation and places the sliver of wood on the tissue. She dabs some ointment on the bandaid and adheres it to Mulder’s palm. It’s overkill, but if Mulder’s going to demand medical care for such a small injury, then he’s going to get it.

Mulder inspects the bandage on his palm. It’s adorned with stars, planets, and a little UFO. “Aw, alien bandaid? You shouldn’t have.”

“They were on sale,” she explains, standing and putting away the contents of the first aid kit. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Thanks for kissing it better, Scully.”

She takes his hand in her own again and bends her head to press her lips to the cartoon UFO in the center of the bandage. “Of course.” She moves her hand to run through his hair and pulls him close to press a kiss to his hairline. She turns away to put the kit away quickly, and misses the expression of wonder on Mulder’s face. 

***

Scully is, quite literally, elbows deep in the corpse of Laura Gillyberg. Mulder is across the room, far enough away to avoid the worst of the stench. He had meant to be productive and had brought a stack of potentially relevant X-files to review, but instead he’s bouncing a ball against the wall and contemplating the tip they had gotten connecting the victim to an organization called the Excelium Medical Group. Scully has long since learned to tune the routine thwap, thwap, thwap out. He does this all the time at home.

Then suddenly, there’s a different thwap sound and Scully’s hair falls around her face. Shit, her hair tie must have snapped. 

“Mulder?”

“Hmm?” The bouncing of the ball stops.

“Can you give me a hand? My hair tie broke, there should be a spare in the office.” She tilts her head to motion towards the door behind her.

Instead of going where Scully instructs, Mulder approaches her directly, sticking two fingers under his, miraculously still cuffed, sleeve. He slides it under the hair tie that rests there, and pulls it out. Gently, he brushes Scully’s hair into the middle of her occipital bone, where her ponytail usually lays. He gathers it into his fist, and wraps the hair tie around it, careful not to get any tangled up. Scully gets grumpy when her hair gets tangled. 

When the band is securely in place, Scully lifts her head to look at him. “Where’d that come from?”

“That’s the one you gave me in the hospital.” He says simply, like that explains everything.

“The hospital? I don’t remember giving you a hair tie last time–” Then it hits her. “Oh. You mean–”

“Yeah,” his voice is quiet, shy. “When I got hit by that car.”

“I didn’t realize you kept that.”

“Of course I did. You proposed to me with it.” Mulder steps back, the moment a little too full, a little too revealing. “And look at that, it came in handy.” He forces half a laugh, and retreats to his seat across the room. This time, he opens the file on top of his stack, and pretends to read it. Scully’s eyes don't leave him. 

He kept it. 

***

Scully doesn’t even realize what she’s doing when she plucks the tissue from the dispenser behind the couch and holds it out towards Mulder. She isn’t even conscious of it until he reaches for it a moment later, and sneezes. 

He grunts into it after he blows. “How did you know I had to sneeze?” He asks, voice stuffy.

“I don’t know,” She replies, surprised herself, “I just did.” 

“Careful, Scully, if you keep up like that I’m going to have no choice but to put you in another X-file, this one on your psychic abilities, woooooo.” He teases. 

She closes the book she’s reading around her finger and hits his shoulder with it playfully. He laughs, and removes her feet from his lap to stand up and toss the tissue in the trash. When he returns, he sits a couple inches closer, and Scully’s knees end up bent over his lap.

This contact is growing increasingly common. At home, mostly, but it’s leaked into the office more than a few times. Not where anyone can see them, just in the basement. In their own space. 

He’s always been more likely to initiate physical contact than she is, but she’s growing more comfortable with being the one to touch him. She knows he can read her tolerance for touch well, and he lets her decide their level of contact without even talking about it. She’s usually the one to settle onto the couch first, and he will find a place around her, exactly where she wants him. He can always just… tell. It astounds her. The odd time that he ends up in the middle of the couch before she can find a spot, she either curls into her armchair, or directly into his side. There’s variety. 

Except at night. They always hold each other at night, even if it’s just his hand in hers.

Therefore, when Mulder is tossing and turning and coughing and sneezing while Scully is trying to sleep, it keeps her up as well. 

Just past midnight, she finally sits up on her elbow and looks down at him. “You’re sick.”

“No I’m not.” He insists through a very, very stuffy nose. 

Scully places a hand on his head. “Yes, you are. You’re burning up.” She peels the covers back and slides out of bed. “I’m going to get you some medicine.”

“I don’t need medicine,” Mulder tries to say, but it comes out as “I done neet medithine.”

“Shut up, Mulder.” 

When she returns with a bottle of Nyquil a minute later, Mulder accepts defeat and swallows it down. She places it on his nightstand and settles her head on his chest.

In the morning, Scully rouses as usual. Mulder is still sleeping soundly thanks to the medication, and snores as Scully bustles around the bedroom getting dressed and ready for the day.

When she has everything together, she returns to the bedroom to write a note instructing him when to take more meds and not to try and come into work, but when she sees him curled onto her side of the bed, shivering and seeking her warmth… she just can’t do it. She can’t leave him alone here, sniffling and miserable. Even if she did, it seems unlikely that he would stay home when he rose, and even less likely that Scully would be able to get anything done at the office anyways.

Scully drops her briefcase back in its place and changes into casual clothes. She calls Skinner, informing him that neither of them will be in the office today, and promptly crawls back in bed.

This time, her movement does rouse Mulder. “Wha’ timzit?” He asks. He blinks blearily at the alarm clock and when he realizes it’s past 7:30, he scrambles, which makes him cough. “Thcully, we’re gonna be late!”

She puts a hand on his arm to stop him. “You’re not going in. Neither am I. Get back in bed, Mulder.”

“I’m fine. I’m not sick.” He protests. Scully reaches for the tissue box on her nightstand instinctually, and Mulder sneezes a moment later. “How do you do that?”

“That’s the X-file we’ll investigate today, Mulder. How do I know when you’re about to sneeze? I guess we’ll have to study it to find out.” Scully rolls her eyes, and tries not to think about just how attuned to Mulder’s presence she’s gotten, or what it might mean. 

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

[xreaderbooks]

The Shadows of Our Love |6|

Chapter 6 | In the Shadow of Rumors

Pair: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary: Group date at the three broomsticks, Sirona gives Y/n some advice

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 1.2k

a/n: picture not mine, all credit to the creator

Links: Playlist - Wattpad - AO3

Chapter 5 - Series Masterlist - Navigation - Chapter 7

"Have you heard all the fourth-year girls talk about the new sixth year?" The sweet tune of your designated Hufflepuff sings as she sits in the chair beside you.

"New sixth year?"

Imelda groans, "Insufferable the lot of them, honestly."

"He's quite-" Poppy hesitates, thinking a little too much before she speaks, "attractive. I can see the appeal."

"Do you fancy him?" You never heard the girl compliment a member of the male species before.

She stutters, "No! Of course not, simply pointing out what everyone else sees."

You try to recall a memory of meeting the new sixth-year boy, "I haven't seen him."

"L/n, he is literally in our Ancient Runes class," Imelda looks up from picking her nails in boredom.

"Who is?" Garreth pulls a chair from a table nearby and seats himself between you and Poppy after setting the drinks he brought with him. Leander followed in tow with three more and a pumpkin pasty served on a plate.

Garreth slid a butterbeer to Poppy first and kept his to himself, Leander then distributed the rest of the drinks to you and Imelda. He mistakenly handed you the pumpkin pasty to which you scrunched your nose and set it in front of Imelda.

Imelda narrows her eyes, "Why are you looking at my desert like that?"

"She hates pumpkin," Garreth answers for you.

"Blasphemy!" She picks up the fork and cuts into it. "Almost as blasphemous as you not trying out for quidditch."

After a full month of attempting to persuade you to try out for the Quidditch team, Imelda had given up.

"If we lose because of your inconsideration, I will hold a grudge." Imelda points her fork at you threateningly.

"Boy, does she," Leander who had been uncharacteristically quiet had spoken only to be immediately glared at by her.

"I didn't need your confirmation, Prewitt."

Your eyes widen in amusement at the pair, they were always at each other's throat, increasingly so because of the upcoming season. Leander was a part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and Imelda was a part of the opposing team, She was as competitive as it got and he was a smart ass, and not in a clever way... It made for an interesting pair.

Very 'diverse' from the words of Sirona who was surprised at the large groups you came with on the Fridays you all agreed to. It was always you, Garreth, and Poppy. Until the Quidditch season officially started; Imelda joined, Natty (whenever her mom allowed her), Nellie, Leander (who Garreth felt guilty if he didn't invite him), Amit, Everett, and Samatha.

You invited Ominis, but he had chosen to 'detach himself from the tomfoolery' as he said. You knew it was partly an excuse not to leave Sebastian alone.

It was always whoever was available to come that week and it was always a different kind of fun that you enjoyed, it helped keep your mind off of the heavy things on your mind.

Poppy gasped and stared at the door, glancing at you and at the person who walked through the doors of The Three Broomsticks. "That's him."

A boy who appeared to be around your age, with blond hair that was smoothed down and away from his face, he wore a dark waistcoat- no jacket- accentuating his build, with his white blouse tucked neatly into his breeches. You had to admit there was something striking about him, it could be his eyes, stormy blue.

He met your gaze and winked, you looked down at your butterbeer that had hardly been touched and lifted it to take a sip, distracting yourself from the heat that rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment.

"Merlin, he's a bit full of himself isn't he?" Garreth leans back in his chair. Imelda lets out a 'ha', and you give her a questioning look.

"If you'd bothered to stop complaining in Runes class for two seconds, you would realize that he's had his eye on you for a while now."

You pout, "Not my fault that class is bloody impossible."

"Not the point," She glances to the side and back at you in an annoyed manner. "Everyone's been talking about it."

That couldn't have been true, you would have heard about it by now. At least, you would think so, the students at Hogwarts did not know how to keep the whispering to themselves, it was easy to hear all the hot gossip when the people talking about it thought you couldn't hear them.

"She's right," Poppy pipes in and flushes, "It's kind of why I brought him up in the first place. Sorry, I just wanted to know what you thought of him, but as you can see now- It was true about what I said earlier."

That he was attractive- he sure was, you wouldn't say blonds are your type, but there was something alluring about him.

"Perhaps you should introduce yourself- officially," Imelda teased at the end.

You thought about it but you didn't know what to say, perhaps you could mention that you were both in the same class? You didn't even know he was in any of your classes. You wouldn't be able to play it off because you don't even know his name.

You were saved from having the interact with him as he had been handed a wrapped pastry, he paid and left.

Imelda tilted her head as if to say 'There you go, missed your chance.'

In the time you were debating what to do, you finished your mug, instead of staying at the table and listening to the teasing- you went to get a refill.

"How's it going, my young friend?" Sirona takes the mug you set on the counter and fills it from a barrel not so far from you.

"I'm well, Sirona, it's been a while since we've talked." You mention, feeling slightly guilty that in all the times you've come here, you've barely chatted with her. "How have you been?"

She returns the mug- now filled and wipes her hands on her apron before leaning her forearms on the wooden surface. "A bit worried, if I'm honest."

Your expression was puzzled as you asked her, "What's wrong?"

"It's the Hamlets, people going missing or being attacked, some are even saying poachers are staying out of areas they normally love to hunt." A solemn look on her face, "It's beginning to feel like last year."

At those words, you feel the hairs stand from your arms, and a shudder ran down your spine that you had suppressed. "Could it be?"

"Can't be sure, Lodgok was the one who had warned me about how rough things were going to be last time."

Your heart clenched, and guilt and sorrow bubbled in your chest, "I'm so sorry-"

"It is not your fault, Y/n," She moved out from behind the bar. "I'm just trying to warn you to be careful, something is brewing- they wear masks and they are following a pattern of the people they attack. Officer Singer claims they don't know what it is yet but I'm not so sure that is true."

Masks. Masks, masks, masks.

Following a pattern, the group who fought you relentlessly last time had killed a specific two or three from the pack of Ashwinders.

These were the same people who attacked you not so long ago, they had drained you, their fighting style was intricate and precise and with motive. What it was- you had no idea but you would find out.

"Now, don't go getting any ideas now- I know you've been quite helpful to wizarding kind but you are still just a child, Y/n- live." She squeezed your arm before giving it a pat and going back to work. 

~~~

a/n: sebastian content will be coming don't worry

Chapter 7

Taglist:

@vanivivs - @aqueennia - @wt-fxck - @therealppboy

[desertfangs]

#wipwednesday - writer positivity edition

Hello! It's Wednesday, which means it's a good day to share your WIP. And this week, inspired by @apoptoses, in addition to sharing a snippet of what you're working on, feel free to say what you like about it or what part you're excited to write next!

This is a snippet from a fic I started months and months go about Daniel coming out of his madness. I got stalled because I need to decide how much contact I think Armand and Daniel had during this period. I don't think it was none but it wasn't as revelatory of as their reunion in Prince Lestat, either. So I need to work that out and figure out at what point I want to end this.

But what I love about this is his realization that maybe he doesn't need the crutch of his models anymore and that he's feeling better (and that I got a cocktail metaphor in there.) I love his back and forth with Marius, and the memory of Armand cutting him through him, too. He's feeling better but he's still raw, you know? He did think Armand was dead and while he knows that's not true, there are a lot of pent up emotions he'll need to deal with now that the madness has cleared out.

Tagging: @uncivilcivilservice @calipsan @rainbowcarousels @cup-of-lixx @fangsinclay - But look, you don't need to be tagged to participate! And if you do, feel free to tag me in your post so I can find it, read it, and share it!

-------

Several nights later, Daniel awoke in his bed. He’d made it back to his bedroom three nights in a row. He put on fresh clothes and then went to his work room. 

Daniel swelled with pride when he looked over the large table filled with model cities and landscapes. Little model trains ran on a loop, passing through every section of the world he’d built. And this one was only one of them. Marius’ house had several rooms like this, filled with these model worlds Daniel had constructed.

He looked at the unfinished section in front of him, a mountain scape with snowy ridges and a winding river surrounding what was to become a small mountain town. He had no desire to complete it. He had all the kits and pieces, all of the little pine trees, but felt no need to put them together. 

As the realization struck, he was hit by a whole cocktail of emotions: one part regret, one part relief, and a dash of uncertainty. He swallowed and ran his long fingers through his soft blond hair. 

If he didn’t want to work on the models that had kept him occupied for years, what did he want? A damn good question. He didn’t know. 

He left his work room and found Marius out back in clearing behind the house that backed up to the jungle. He stood before an easel, painting. He had etched out a scene on his canvas, a street in Rio with several night clubs where he often took Daniel to hunt, particularly to utilize the little drink when Daniel was well enough to endure the chaos. Daniel watched him paint, the deft way he moved the brush over the canvas, the image crystalizing in paint as if by magic. 

“Daniel,” Marius said, turning to look at him. His expression was wary, a slight frown on his lips as he looked Daniel over in a clinical fashion. Daniel put his hands in his pockets as he endured the soft pressure of Marius in his mind. The frown tilted upwards. “You seem well.” 

“I’m on a hell of a good streak,” Daniel said, smiling. He felt… happy? Content? No, nothing so clear as that. He was just empty. There was no storm whirling in his mind, no fog he was struggling to see through, no strange gnawing at the pit of his stomach. 

“It’s encouraging,” Marius said. “I’m not seeing the shadows in your mind anymore.”

“Shadows?” Daniel asked. But that made sense. He’d felt a strange darkness around him sometimes, a dimming of the world. 

“Whatever darkness had gripped you seems to have lifted. For now.” He hastily added that last part. Doubt crowded Daniel’s mind. For the first time, this reprieve from his state didn’t feel temporary. 

But then, he’d mistakenly believed himself to be better before and had almost gotten himself fried by the sun. So he couldn’t be sure. 

Daniel pulled one of the old plastic chairs from the porch and brought it over, planting it near Marius, who was dipping his brush in a splotch of blue paint. He turned and looked at Daniel quizzically. “I always appreciate your company, Daniel, but wouldn’t you prefer to work on your models?” 

He wouldn’t. And that was strange and new and freeing and scary as hell. 

“I think maybe I’m done with them.” He paused. “For now.” 

Marius quirked a eyebrow. “Are you? That’s quite the development.” 

Daniel shrugged. 

“Well, they’ll be there should you wish to return to them. Would you like to try painting?” 

Daniel flashed back to a night in London, not long after he and Armand had come together. They were at an art museum and Armand was studying the brushstrokes of some work of art, criticizing them. Daniel had sarcastically asked what made Armand an expert. Armand had clammed up, refusing to say more and Daniel had felt guilty for prodding at what was clearly a sore spot. The memory cut through him like a razor, slashing at his innards. 

“Wait here,” Marius said. He set down his brush and disappeared in the house. Daniel waited patiently, tapping his fingers gently against the arm of the chair. Marius returned with another easel, a canvas shoved under his arm. He set it up beside his and then move his table of paints and brushes so it sat between the easels. 

Daniel stood and went to the easel. “What do I do?” he asked. 

Marius gestured to the brush. “Paint something.” 

“Like what?” He’d painted thousands of models over the past decade, but a shapeless blank canvas gave no indication of what it should be. 

“Whatever you wish. A person, a place… whatever speaks to you.” 

Daniel glanced over at the half-finished but hyper-real rendition the neighborhood on Marius’ canvas. “Why does that particular city block speak to you?” 

Marius had lifted a paint brush but paused, holding it aloft. “I enjoy going there. It’s always lively.” 

Daniel snorted. “‘Lively,’” he repeated. “You sound like an old man.” 

Marius laughed. “So I do, and so I am.”

[laurenairay]

Maybe a blurb about forehead kisses with Roope? Please 💜. Congrats!

Thank you for requesting Roope! Feels like I haven’t written for him in ages hah. I hope you enjoy this because I got a little carried away!

*

The first time Roope Hintz kissed your forehead, he was drunk out of his head and stumbling to the front door, leaning most of his body weight on poor Esa. The party tonight had been a little wilder than you’d expected, drinks flowing, shots poured left right and centre, and the music pounding throughout the house – and clearly Roope had indulged pretty heavily by the way his head was flopped onto Esa’s shoulder.

“Do you want me to open the door for you?” you mused, tugging on your own jacket.

“Thanks, yes, that would be great. It’s hard enough carrying this idiot,” Esa laughed.

“I’m not an idiot. I’m fine,” Roope grumbled, slurring as he lifted his head.

Oh wow. He really was three sheets to the wind.

“Looking good Roope,” you teased.

Esa just laughed harder as Roope pouted.

“I always look good,” Roope insisted.

Sadly, that was incredible true – but that wasn’t something you were going to admit out loud. Instead you just rolled your eyes fondly and opened the front door for them, Esa gripping onto Roope a bit tighter as he started to move them out the house.

“Wait!” Roope said suddenly.

“Wait for what?” Esa said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Before Esa could stop him, Roope leaned dangerously over to you and grabbed your face between both hands, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead. The noise you made was barely human, your body frozen as your cheeks flooded with heat, Esa just cursing loudly.

“Thank you for opening the door for us!” Roope grinned, words barely audible with the slurring.

“Um, it’s okay?” you said hesitantly.

“I am so sorry,” Esa groaned.

You just waved him off, Roope mistakenly thinking it was for him and waving back at you. Bless his drunken heart. As Esa dragged him away, hissing about how drunkenly kissing girls wasn’t okay, you just smiled to yourself, still feeling the touch of his lips on your forehead.

*

The second time Roope Hintz kissed your forehead, you sit sitting on top of Miro’s kitchen counter. Today was just a casual lunch – Miro had thrown the get-together for a few friends, having called in catering for the meal so no-one had to cook, and it had been the most chilled afternoon, just hanging out with the people you loved most in Dallas. Of course, Esa had been keeping a wary eye on Roope since they got here, but Roope was mostly behaving himself today, matching the energy of the group. Esa was too protective for his own good.

But eventually the time came where people started drifting out, the evening calling them back to their own homes, and you were finishing off your bottle of water before making a move home yourself. It just happened to be that you were sitting by yourself when Roope walked into the kitchen.

“It was good to see you today, kulta,” Roope grinned, “Sorry I was so drunk last time I saw you.”

You tried to ignore how the term of endearment made you feel, and just smiled back at him.

“No harm done, everyone had fun right?” you shrugged.

“Still, I wouldn’t want to make an ass of myself in front of you – we’re good yeah?”

Bless him.

“We’re good, Roope,” you nodded.

His relieved smile made you laugh, earning another wide grin in return.

“Good,” he said, dramatically wiping his hand across his forehead as you laughed again, “I’ll see you soon yeah?”

At the next gathering? Sure, you’d be there. Why did he phrase it like that though?

But then Roope leaned forward, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head as he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, leaving you sitting stunned as he stepped away again, a light blush on his pale cheeks. You watched in silence as he left the house, forehead tingling with his kiss just like before.

“Do I want to know?”

Shit. You flinched at the sound of Miro’s voice, turning your head to see him leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, arms folded with a smirk on his face. Brilliant. Just what you needed.

“It’s nothing,” you said simply, hoping the heat on your cheeks had faded enough by now.

“Uh huh,” Miro said, raising an eyebrow, “ESA!”

You scrambled to follow after him as he walked away.

*

The third time Roope Hintz kissed your forehead, you were waking up in his bed, his arms wrapped around your bare body. Everything had changed since that lunch at Miro’s, Roope acting so sweet and almost shy around you, to the point where Esa had taken pity on him and asked you out to dinner on Roope’s behalf. The embarrassed squawk Roope had let out was worth how flustered you felt yourself, but you had agreed to go out with Roope anyway, leaving your group of friends cheering and Roope looking like his birthday and Christmas had all come at once.

One thing led to another, and now here you were, blinking your eyes open to the weak morning light, smiling to yourself at the feeling of Roope’s bare chest pressing up against your back.

“Good morning kulta,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, making you shiver.

“Good morning to you too,” you said softly, rolling over in his arms with a smile.

Roope smiled down at you, a fleeting glimpse of nerves melting away from his expression, making you relax into his arms. This intimacy, this private sweetness, was clearly just as new to him as it was to you, which made you feel a lot more on even footing with him, for once.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

You bit your bottom lip to hide your silly smile as his fingers tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. He really was so sweet.

“Funny enough, I slept really well,” you teased, “It was probably something to do with the 6ft3 Finnish guy wrapped around me like an octopus.”

Roope just laughed, shrugging his acknowledgement, making you smile for real this time.

“Alright, I’ll give you that. Coffee?” he mused.

“I’d love some,” you nodded.

He grinned, ducking his head to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, before he let you go, standing up out the bed. You watched shamelessly as he walked naked out of his bedroom, Roope just sending you a wink over his shoulder as he shut the door behind himself, leaving you grinning to yourself in the comfort of his sheets.

[inserviceto]

A small basket is left before Harken’s door, covered in thin paper and a paper with some handwriting-like scribbles on it. Deciphering the script reveals Harken, I hope you enjoy these teas! I always like to drink them in the evenings. - Mark

In the basket are a selection of three teas - a lemongrass, a rose, and a fruit blend. A second card nestled among the tea containers contains brewing instructions, and is luckily in a steadier hand than Mark’s. 

It's more than a little surprising to find something outside his door. A little basket, its contents covered by paper, and a scribbled note -- from a name he doesn't outright recognize. If it weren't for the fact that they'd named him specifically in the note, he would have thought it had been mistakenly left.

Though he's still a touch confused, it's clearly a gift, so Harken brings it back into the room with him.

He carefully shifts the paper to see what's actually inside the basket, setting the paper aside in a neat fold. It was tea -- three varieties, to be exact. Their scents blended slightly in the confined space of his quarters, but it was nice. He'd hardly done anything to make the space his own -- he'd brought nothing with him to Garreg Mach but his gear and the clothes on his back. It was an empty space still, but the simple smell of the teas made it feel just a bit less so.

Harken sets the basket down on the table pushed up against one side of the room, pulling out both notes and scrutinizing them closely. One was instructions, a neater script than the other.

He would have to track down this Mark and find a suitable form of gratitude for such an unexpected gift.

[nwbeerguide]

Safe to say Elysian Brewing's Juice Dust India Pale Ale can step out of Space Dust's shadow.

Ever since the style known as New England-style IPA was introduced, there has been some confusion around these two terms - hazy and juicy. Afterall, one can make a beer that’s unclarified yet invokes thoughts of orange, grapefruit, or pineapple juice. Meanwhile, one produces an india pale ale that is clarified and inspires those same thoughts. Meanwhile, Elysian Brewing Company has taken the term juicy to a literal level with the release of their latest seasonal Juice Dust Juicy IPA. 

Made with orange juice and zest on top of utilizing hops, Juice Dust Juicy IPA is both a hazy (looking) and juicy (tasting) India Pale Ale. Oh, and except for the change up in malt recipe, the beer is essentially Space Dust with some juice added. Mind you, that’s not what it tastes like. 

Inspired after a research and development session at the brewery, Elysian Brewing’s brewery team experimented with different enhancements to their IPA lineup. Before one brewer mentioned TANG, the brewery team bounced around many ingredients and formulations. 

That’s right, TANG, the then futuristic instant (dehydrated) orange juice made for astronauts. If you’re not familiar, then don’t worry. But they seriously considered the suggestion of including TANG in a beer. In fact, the brewer took the time to combine their flagship IPA, Space Dust, with some TANG and voilà, a recipe was developed. 

From there, the brewery avoided the actual use of tang in a beer and instead looked to sourcing real citrus juice. Making use of both the zest and juice of oranges, the brewery produced 2 or 3 versions with different malt and hops, before settling on malts pale, rolled oats, acidulated, and honey malt. The hops? Well, they stuck with the tried and true Space Dust formula of Chinook, Citra, and Amarillo. 

Having taste tested at their pubs, the brewery felt they had a winning formula before mass producing their newest Juicy IPA - Juice Dust.

But how does it taste?

Out of the can, Juice Dust produces a hefty amount of off-white head, resting on a semi-hazy pool of orange. Receding, there remains a wreath of lacing inside the glass.

Swirling and sniffing, we recover notes of orange zest, tropical pineapple, and some stone fruit.

Sipping, we recover notes of grapefruit, orange zest and juice, some pine resin, tropical citrus, along with honey and caramel sweetness.

Overall, Juice Dust has a strong mouthfeel, a noticeable alcoholic warmth, and a lingering bitterness accented by some juiciness.

When compared with their year-round product, Space Dust, Juice Dust definitely comes across as something you’d mistakenly drink a couple of. We say mistakenly, because at 8.2% alcohol by volume, you’d better make sure you have a ride home, if you suck down a few of these in one sitting!

During a live stream product introduction and interview session, we posed the question to the brewery, asking if Juice Dust could be promoted as a year-round product or if it was another season, similar to Dank Dust in 2023. The response was optimistic Juice Dust could be promoted to year-round availability. But that’s really up to the public’s overall support of the release. As the initial launch, back in late Q1 (e.g. January - March), responsiveness has been pretty high. 

Final Thoughts. 

With the addition of real fruit juice, modifications of their malt recipe, while keeping the hops the same, Juice Dust is different enough to stand outside of Space Dust’s shadow. Whether it will be available in 2025 is up to the brewery. And, it will be up to you, the imbiber who loves juicy, slightly hazy, india pale ales. Until then, consider picking up a six-pack of Juice Dust, shared with three or four of your friends, hopefully outside in the day's warmth. 

[hanjsquokka]

lee know × fem!reader , fluff , angst , comfort , non-sexual nudity , 0.7K words

this is all over the place but i wrote this when i was feeling down and it just screamed minho for me. also i recommended listening to those eyes by new west. i immediately thought of minho when i heard that. maybe i might write a fic based on it, but for now have this comfy drabble <3

sometimes, it felt like the world was out to get you. like it was just showing you reasons for why you weren't supposed to be there. maybe to other people, a simple act of mistakenly ignoring a hello was nothing. but when a cascade of tiny things happened like this, it was enough to put a dent in your armor.

maybe you were overreacting when minho didn't kiss you goodbye that morning like he always did. but you couldn't help but let your thoughts spiral into chaos. was he mad at you for something? you racked your brain but you couldn't come up with a single incident that could've caused him to get upset.

his cats sprung off of you when you tried to put them in your lap.

why was the whole world against you?

the coffee shop you went to gave you the completely wrong drink and you were too disheartened to correct it.

work was tedious and by the time you came home, you felt so beaten down, so through with everything, you didn't even notice your boyfriend in the living room, idly scrolling through his phone. his call for you went through one ear and came out the other.

you went for the bathroom and turned the tap on, entering the pool of warm water after taking off your clothes. knees pulled to your chest, you hoped the running water would drown out your sobs.

unfortunately, minho had the ears of a cat — maybe he picked it up after having his three cats for so long. he hesitated in front of the door, hearing your sobs made his heart break. was there something he missed? he nudged the wood open, stepping inside slowly and once again calling your name out.

“hey…” he crossed over to the bathtub and sat on the edge, “what's wrong?” he placed a hand over your head, stroking the damp hair.

you sniffled and paused your sobs long enough to speak. “do you hate me?”

he froze. he was baffled. shocked. “of course not… why would you think that?”

your ears turned red, he could see that much as you hid your face in your knees. you mumbled something but he could only hear incoherent babbles. “you didn't leave in the morning like you usually do.”

he was confused. his mind rewinded to that morning. chan had texted to come early for practice, so he rushed and —

a light bulb went off in his head, followed by a teasing smile. “ah, i forgot to kiss you goodbye?” your flushed face only gave it away. he chuckled, stepping into the tub with his clothes, not caring if they got wet. to your weak protest, he only said, “i've seen you like this plenty of times. there's nothing more to hide,” to which you whined. sitting in front of you, he uncovered your face and cupped your jaw. a smile was plastered over his face. a rare, beautiful smile that made his big eyes sparkle. a look he knew you'd never be able to deny. “let me make up for that.” he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, relishing the taste of you for a few moments before pulling away. “now tell me what's wrong princess.”

an hour later, the two of you were tangled together in bed, the cats snuggled into the blankets. he stroked your hair, singing softly, arms wrapped around you protectively as if he was shielding you from the harsh world that was previously kicking you to the ground again and again.

“when you feel like the whole world is against you, remember that you have me, okay?” he said quietly, when he thought you were asleep, nestled into his side under the warm blankets when you were very much awake. those words were enough to soothe your wounds, a calming balm to all your aches. you didn't reply, letting silence fill the room until he began to sing softly again.

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[isaiahbie]

The Resurrection Appearances

Scholars today do not dispute that Jesus’ disciples had real experiences with one whom they believed was the risen Christ. However, just because the disciples think they saw Jesus doesn’t automatically mean that they really did. There are three possible alternatives:

1. They were lying. 2. They hallucinated. 3. They really saw the risen Christ.

Which of these is most likely? Were they lying? On this view, the disciples knew that Jesus had not really risen, but they made up this story about the resurrection. But then why did ten of the disciples willingly die as martyrs for their belief in the resurrection? People will often die for a lie that they believe is the truth. But if Jesus did not rise, the disciples knew it. Thus, they wouldn’t have just been dying for a lie that they mistakenly believed was true. They would have been dying for a lie that they knew was a lie. Ten people would not all give their lives for something they know to be a lie.

Because of the absurdity of the theory that the disciples were lying, we can see why almost all scholars today admit that, if nothing else, the disciples at least believed that Jesus appeared to them. But we know that just believing something to be true doesn’t make it true. Perhaps the disciples were wrong and had been deceived by a hallucination?

The hallucination theory is also untenable because it cannot explain the physical nature of the appearances. The disciples record eating and drinking with Jesus, as well as touching Him. This cannot be done with hallucinations. Second, it is highly unlikely that they would all have had the same hallucination. Hallucinations are highly individual, and not group projections. Imagine if I came to you and said, “Wasn’t that a great dream I had last night?” Hallucinations, like dreams, generally don’t transfer like that. Further, the hallucination theory cannot explain the conversion of Paul, three years later. Was Paul, the persecutor of Christians, so hoping to see the resurrected Jesus that his mind invented an appearance as well? And perhaps most significantly, the hallucination theory cannot even deal with the evidence for the empty tomb.

Conclusion

Since the disciples could not have been lying or hallucinating, we have only one possible explanation left: the disciples believed that they had seen the risen Jesus because they really had seen the risen Jesus. Therefore, the resurrection appearances alone demonstrate the resurrection.