#this is not meant to be a personal affront to anyone who was posting about her/saying negative things about her

[yaz-the-spaz]

rant time

so i’m seeing quite a few ppl bash liam’s stylist for supposedly forcing him to dress a certain way and i’m sorry but i just have to say something because it seems like there’s a startling lack of understanding of what a stylist’s job actually entails...

SO!

ready? ok!

first off, pretty much all (or most) major celebrities have stylists. the main point of their job is to help a celeb present an image that’s “on brand” with whatever that celebrity is trying to sell/promote at the time. case in point, to use the example i saw her and some in the fandom bring up, if liam’s constantly going around dressing like a rapper but trying to sell romantic/happy pop songs (esp as a british white boy) there’s a high chance it’s gonna ring disingenuous and *turn ppl off who might be less likely to wanna pay more attention to him/follow him/become fans of him, etc. - particularly if you’re trying to break the american market (where race tends to be highly associated with certain styles of dress and image/how you're perceived).

it doesn’t mean she thinks liam can’t dress himself or that she’s trying to control him/what he wears or keep him from wearing what he wants, she’s just trying to keep him on brand so that the way he looks fits what he’s trying to sell (and therefore actually helps sell the thing he’s trying to sell). he can wear whatever he wants in his free time or for other events and things she may not necessarily be involved in, but it’s her job to make sure that when he’s in front of cameras, whether that’s for pap pics, major events, performances or whatever the case may be, he looks on brand.

caroline watson literally did the same thing for 1d back in the active band days and the fandom still loves her. you can probably still find the video where she talks about what brand she was going for for each of the boys when she picked their outfits for tours and things - i don’t remember specifically what she said for the others boys but i do remember her making a comment about niall being the “sporty boy.” and given what niall has said more recently about how much he’s always loved to dress up (and that we often see him in more dressy things like slacks and button downs these days), i think it’s pretty safe to say that niall did not necessarily wanna be in sporty things all the time and what he wore in the band was not always on par with what he necessarily always wanted to be wearing. but he had an image to sell while on tour/doing press events so that's what he did. this is the case for most celebrities, not just liam. 

and as for her promoting the beards - stylists are typically part of a pr team so that’s literally her job. it may be a shitty part of her job but that’s her livelihood and she still has bills to pay (and probably work contracts to adhere to) just like everyone else. and the same is true of the rest of liam’s team. i can’t speak to whether those things make her (or the others) a good or bad person since i obviously don’t know her (or any of them) personally and i/we can’t know all the ways they may or may not help or hurt liam behind the scenes, but ffs let ppl do their jobs without jumping down their throat all the time. sometimes other ppl have to promote the stunts or have to do or say certain things to help a celebrity sell something or stay in line with the contracts they may be beholden to and that’s just the (shitty) way the entertainment industry works. a job is a job is a job.

in conclusion, i’m just tired of seeing the fandom get mad at ppl for literally just doing their jobs. almost everyone has parts of their job they hate, but you probably still paste on a smile and do that thing anyway because you know if you don’t you’re likely gonna be out of a paycheck. the same is true of ppl who work in pr/entertainment. they’re still people, try not to forget that please.

(*speaking from personal experience this actually almost happened to me too when liam first started his solo debut in 2016 because as an american black girl watching this british white boy pop singer suddenly start dressing like a rapper it just felt kinda weird like he was putting on a front to seem “cool” or something and almost turned me off/made me not wanna pay attention to him even though I wanted to support his career, so I actually relate to/understand what his stylist was saying in that regard and I'm a little glad she/liam refined his style a little more because how he dresses now definitely feels like it's more fitting to his image and what he's selling, at least to me)

(oh and p.s. this little rant goes for connor and other folks on liam's pr team too)

ok, that will be all - thanks for coming to my tedtalk! ✌🏽

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

I'd like to discuss with my fellow (18+) writers, specifically in regards to AO3s tagging system, proshipping, and the handling of serious topics in fanfic/writing

CW: discussions of potentially triggering topics including rape, csa, and the romanticization/eroticization thereof, particularly how it pertains to handling these topics in writing

So has anyone else encountered this problem? I personally am open to reading works that contain reference to or depictions of extremely distressing content, such as rape or SA, because these things happen in real life and to ban them from literature would be censorship at best and trauma erasure at worst. HOWEVER, what I don't appreciate is there is no difference in the AO3 warning tag for rape/SA that is portrayed rightfully as an awful and traumatic thing, to tell a story or show a character's backstory/trauma, and rape being portrayed as oh-so-sexy hot and awesome. The latter is extremely upsetting and triggering for me, the former can lead to interesting, cathartic and insightful reading. But it's a gamble, and 9 times out of 10 the rape portrayed is something the reader is meant to whack off to. I hate it. The worst is when you see something tagged "Blorbo/Scrimbly" with the rape/SA warning tag, and like a fool you think "oh it's a shipping fic that dives into Scrimbly's past trauma" only to be affronted with your beloved comfort ship RAPING EACH OTHER

It's at the point where even though I want to write stories that address sexual trauma, I don't post it because I don't want to use a tag that is populated primarily with rape fetishists, but I don't want to fail to trigger tag the content either. I don't want people to visit my works on AO3, see a fic with that tag, and reasonably assume based on 90% of other fics with that tag that I'm a sick freak who thinks rape is sexy. I really feel like there should be different tags, one for "depictions of traumatic SA" and one for "Disgusting jerk off material for rape fetishists" (I guess it could be worded less crass, I don't care. I just wish the distinction exists because the difference is so large)

Furthermore while I am not an anti because antis are fucking annoying ("NoOoO your fictional ship does not stand up to strict moral real life standards because Shitto said something mean to Blorbo in chapter 6, therefore you're a terrible person" type ass) I am very tired of proshipper discourse on my dash because it has the same reek as those Internet Muskrat fascists who are always going on about "muh free speech!!!!." While usually on completely different sides of the political spectrum, both of these groups fail to understand that freedom of speech does not equal freedom from social consequence, it only means freedom from LEGAL consequences. It does not mean that nobody is ever allowed to rightfully spit at you and call you a disgusting freak because you are. You have a right to be a disgusting freak, nobody should question that, and I think antis who actively try to get content creators punished or reported for real crimes are in the wrong, but I am still going to judge you. I'm still going to criticize you and explain how and why I believe what you create is harmful, and that doesn't actually make me a fascist without media literacy. I would argue that the person who is a fascist without media literacy is a person who thinks that nobody should be allowed to judge or criticize anything they do, and that media has absolutely zero effect on the real world (which is a fucking insane thing to believe. You only need to read like one book to understand that)

Anyway, has anyone else encountered these issues and how do you deal with it? I'm at a loss. It makes it feel impossible to discuss dark topics in a serious and respectful way, which I want to do, because I DON'T want all the representation of these issues to be nasty fet content, but I don't know the safest or best way to do it.

[horizon-verizon]

What makes Criston’s behavior unsettling is the way he channels such intense hatred and moral condemnation toward Rhaenyra’s sons. His scorn for Laenor also feeds into this, implying that the boys will grow into immoral men like their "father" and corrupt the realm. The fact that these are children doesn’t matter to Criston; their existence fuels his hatred. Jace, Luke, and Joffrey are still young, yet Criston doesn’t see them as innocent. Instead, he projects adult guilt, corruption, and malice onto them. This projection is deeply disturbing to me.

following this post.

In case others don't know what anon's talking about with the part about Laenor, they're specifically talking about bk!Criston in the green council ("The Blacks and the Greens"):

In the show, in S1E7, he chuckles at Alicent's comment abt Laenor "entertaining" squires instead of being next to his own wife and kids. And in S1E6, he pulls Jace or Luke around, doesn't bother to really invest in teaching them until Harwin points it out, and encourages/yells at Aegon to go even harder and harder in beating I think Jace in the training yard until, again Harwin stops it. So in both/either version he's projecting his own feelings and hatred onto them. He's much too obesessed with Laenor, another sexual deviant and "diobedient" both because he doesn't like women that way ANd/and yet he doesn't "allow" Rhaenyra to face "punishment" as her "jilted" husband and instead protects her and her sons. Even claims her "bastards" as his own, an affront to masculinity itself twice, thrice over.

Like Alicent, Cole had much more room to act out his rage using the more vulnerable persons at their most vulnerable and when they are under his direct authority when he can't get to the target he claims. He can't get to Rhaenyra so he goes in on her sons, and he's very willing and waiting to use Rhaenyra's sexual "diaobedience" through innuendos against any of who protests his behavior...as he did w/Harwin in that scene. which is both meant to bait and also reduce Rhaenyra's or anyone else's ability to call him out for it.

Thus, it is because they are children--the perfect channel--that he goes after them. They are also not innocent to him precisely because they are the products of the sexual disobedience AND open and accepted reminders of his own weaknesses when Rhaenyra denied him his way out and highlighted the willful oath-breaking he himself performed and is ashamed of. That, and, he's possibly still very attracted and desires her and hates himself for it, but emotionally depends on it to feel justified so he can stay in this affirming cycle of purity principles.

It's all meant to be unsettling because it indicates a twisted person's strong desire to destroy and distort reality in order to do so. Willfulness hiding and deluding itself as rightfulness; an inherent hypocrisy to have the excuse to dominate and indulge in violence for self gratification.

[burr-ell]

I decided to look up the incident with Brian W Foster because of your post and uh. The man really did just put anyone on blast for even the mildest of critiques huh.

It's certainly a mess. For those not in the know, the post in question is here, and a lengthy write-up on BWF (from September 2022) can be found here.

The thing is, I can kind of understand how he got to be that way. CR1 fandom had pretty notorious incidents where people harassed the cast for various reasons—Broomgate, Raishan Shot First, Anytime Marisha Ray Breathes Incorrectly is an Affront to God and Mankind, etc—and if what I understand is true, Matt and Marisha actually had to take legal action about some of it. There's traces of it in the comments sections of VM episodes on YouTube, where none but the bravest or the dumbest dare to tread, but the general culture was very reactionary, largely toward Marisha, Liam, Laura, and Taliesin, roughly in that order. (Take a few guesses why.)

Then there was Campaign 2, which is where the show started to find an even bigger and louder audience among people who were a bit more in tune with the changing winds of what was acceptable in fandom. Take this with a grain of salt because I haven't watched CR2, but this appears to be where CR fandom started to be populated by the kinds of people who wouldn't openly denigrate a female cast member, but who would be perfectly happy to, say, harass other cast members or come up with conspiracy theories centered around the show being homophobic for making one wlw ship happen and not another. CR2 fandom would and will tear the show and each other apart over the littlest things, and frankly the only thing that differentiates them from the former CR1 fandom is their politics. And the cast had, to one degree or another, been active on social media and made it known they were active on social media, which meant they saw a lot of this, some of it aimed personally at them.

So like...I get it. I get why BWF might have started to respond that way. When all you have is a hammer and you're in a room full of nails, it can be difficult and tiring to check and see if they're actually screws before hammering them. But when you have over 100,000 twitter followers who are perfectly happy to swarm people at your direction, perhaps you ought to put down the hammer entirely.

[theangryjikooker]

Hi, I came across your blog in the tags. I'm queer myself and my ask is truly genuine: If you don't believe Jikook are necessarily a couple, why do you have a blog named after them, and based on a 50-50 chance they are? If you don't think a celebrity couple are dating, why not simply keep it moving? Judging from the last few posts that came up in the tag, you seem to put a lot of effort into discounting certain exchanges between Jungkook and Jimin (thirst trap vid, etc), and even their consistent dynamics over the years as -not- meaning they're a couple. It's just strange to me that someone who's -not- queer chooses to blog about a perceived lack of coupledom between two men, whether they're actually together or queer or not. Of course in theory, it's your blog and you can do whatever you want with it. I'm just taken aback by a cishet person providing their opinion on people (most likely) within a community (LGBT+) they don't belong to.

I'm not sure when shipping (in regards to RPS) became synonymous with believing two people are dating. Shipping, as I have long understood it (at least from a fictional standpoint), was always meant to be a show of support for two individuals who you would think would look and/or be good together for whatever reasons deemed. Now, maybe in the RPS space this is completely different, but I'm not going to mold my participation into whatever anyone says it should be. Shipping should be maintained as a hobby. That people take it so seriously as to question anyone else's motives that don't align with the majority is utterly ridiculous.

I named it after Jikook because, in my mind, I am a Jkkr. I like them and the way they interact with one another. I don't have to think they're dating to consider myself someone who enjoys their dynamic and who wouldn't mind if they became official. But because this involves real life people, there are obvious boundaries I refuse to cross that many others probably clearly don't care too much about. To each their own.

Thanks for assuming my sexuality, which I find incredibly rude and almost hypocritical, considering I've encountered many like you in the Jkkr space who act quite defensive about assuming sexualities but will clearly do so with others (namely, perceived cishets). This whole thing is laughable, really. Honestly, maybe I would've been kinder in response, but this is so insulting and, quite frankly, disgusting of you. I've had people question me on this before, of which I've stated that I personally identify as bisexual but that it might be more accurate to state that I'm pan. To a far lesser degree, I think it's odd that RPS can be gatekept from others solely based on their sexuality. People like you are the reason why the hypocrisy of shipping communities makes me sick.

Screw being nice. Don't drop into my asks with fake goodwill, just don't. I respect other people who are just aggressively confrontational because at least they're showing who they are. Not this bullshit of being "genuine" but then acting like it's an affront to your fandom activities that a perceived cishet is interested in the same thing as you are–and then being entirely wrong about it.

You're embarrassing.

Edited to add: Don’t be an asshole and assume people’s sexual identities. Consider the implications of this, by the way, and this is something I shouldn’t have to say at all to anyone who identifies as queer. Why the fuck would you put someone in a position to have to identify themselves? It’s a good thing it’s just me because I don’t give a shit, but imagine if you did this to someone who wasn’t ready to be so public about it? Fucking unbelievable.

[thornbushrose]

How about another excerpt from my fiction? It's already 22,000 words, and I think I'm only a quarter of the way through. I would start posting the chapters, but what I have isn't 100% chronological. Anyway, here's one of my favorite scenes so far. I love making sympathetic characters yell at each other.

==============================

Two days later, Sister Maggie stepped out of her office as Birdie passed and said, “Miss Garrett? A word, please.”

Birdie jumped, because any conversation with Sister Maggie made her feel like she’d been sent to the principal’s office, and turned. “Yes, Sister?”

Maggie came closer and used a low voice. “I understand you went to visit our unusual patient in the infirmary?”

“Oh—yes. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about him.”

“Good, let’s talk in here.” She ushered Birdie into her office. It was worn but tidy and reminded Birdie of the little desk in a closet that her grandmother had used as an office. Maggie did not invite her to sit down. “The lunch sisters said they asked you to feed him.”

“Yes,” Birdie said. “I didn’t have anything better to do, and they seemed to be afraid of him.”

“And you?”

Birdie shrugged. “He isn’t as mean as he thinks he is.”

“I see. And why did you help him sit up?”

Birdie raised an eyebrow and reminded herself that it was unkind to sass a nun, even if she was asking stupid questions. Unfortunately, her mouth, as was so often the case, didn’t get the memo. “So he could eat?”

“Do you realize it isn’t safe to lift something heavy while leaning over a low bed like that?”

“I used my legs. And he’s not a something, he's a person.” Birdie scoffed. “Are you seriously mad that I let him feed himself instead of spoon-feeding him?”

“I know you meant well,” Maggie said. “But now he won’t eat unless we sit him up.”

“Good for him.”

“I appreciate all you do around here, Miss Garrett,” Maggie said, with a tone that suggested she was reminding herself that it would be unkind to sass Birdie, “But look at the situation you’ve put us in. Neither Sister Teesha nor Sister Hattie is strong enough to lift him, and it isn’t safe anyway.”

“Are you going to let OSHA regulations keep you from respecting the dignity of an invalid?” Birdie felt her temper rising, struggled to keep her voice even. “Making him eat on his back is an affront to compassion. Didn’t we sign a Resident Bill of Rights a couple of years ago?”

“He’s hardly a resident. And since you mentioned OSHA, what am I supposed to tell them if one of the sisters hurts her back lifting a 30-year-old man who isn’t supposed to be here?”

“Then raise his bed! Or get someone stronger to do it. The thing about rights is that there are no exceptions. Even if he IS the Devil!”

Most people didn’t talk back to Sister Maggie like this, but Birdie didn’t expect the little nun to rock her head back like she’d been slapped. Shock, then fury rolled across her face. “Who told you he was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?” She slapped her fist on her palm. “I made all of those women swear on the blood of Christ!”

“He told me himself,” Birdie said, then her jaw dropped. “Wait—what? He’s Daredevil?”

Sister Maggie fell still, except for a barely perceptible quiver. Birdie wasn’t sure if Maggie was about to explode in anger or sink into the floorboards and disappear forever. “You didn’t—what did he tell you?”

“He said the lunch sisters were afraid of him because he was the Devil. That’s all. I thought—I mean, he obviously has some psychological issues, after whatever happened to him….” Birdie’s brain was racing. “Daredevil hasn’t been heard from since that building fell. That’s what happened to him.” She looked up at Maggie. “He does all that ninja stuff and he’s blind?”

Sister Maggie lunged at her with a wagging finger. “If you tell ANYONE his secret, I swear I’ll… I’ll…!”

Birdie jumped back, but then she snapped, “You’ll what? Make me do Hail Marys? Sic the Saints on me? I’m not one of your nuns.”

Maggie drew herself up as tall as she could, which was still a couple of inches below Birdie’s eye level. “I’ll make sure that the rest of your time working for St. Agnes is excruciating. And short.”

Birdie scowled. That was something Maggie was probably capable of doing. “So my job is what his secret is worth, huh?” She forced the anger down. “All right, calm down. I’m not going to tell anyone. It’s my job to help people in situations like his. And… I kind of like him.”

“Good.” Sister Maggie turned around, wringing her hands, and breathed a Hail Mary under her voice. When she returned to Birdie, she was calm again, except for the light of an evil idea in her eyes. “All right then. Since you are apparently strong enough to lift him, and not afraid of the Devil, whether of Hell’s Kitchen or otherwise, you may serve him all his meals from now on. And clean his dishes.”

“You’re putting me on KP duty?”

“He won’t be here much longer. A couple of weeks, at most.”

“I leave at five. What about his supper?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out. It would violate his rights not to serve him an evening meal.” Sister Maggie swept around to her desk, and waved Birdie toward the door. “Go now. It’s eleven thirty. I’m sure he’ll be hungry.”

-------------------------------------------------------

The lunch sisters happily gave her the tray and promised that she didn’t have to do any dishes, though Birdie knew perfectly well that they would do whatever Sister Maggie told them to do if she came to them directly. Birdie grumbled all the way to the infirmary.

As soon as she entered Matt’s room, he turned his head toward her and said, “So you ARE real. Sister Maggie acted like she’d never heard of you.”

“Oh, she knows who I am, all right.” Birdie set the tray down on the little table by his bed and dragged a chair over to sit by him. She sighed and forced the bitterness out of her voice. “How have you been? You sound like you’re feeling better.”

“I feel like a chewed-up piece of gristle,” he said.

“Nice. How long did it take you to come up with that?”

“How should I know? I can’t read the clock.”

Birdie chuckled and fetched the backrest pillow from under his bed. They went through the procedure of propping him up again, and again he gritted his teeth in pain, panting when they were done.

“Got any advice for how to make that less painful?” Birdie asked him.

“I’m not complaining,” he rasped. “The nuns have to make two or three tries.”

Birdie winced. He spent all day alone with caregivers who were barely competent. Maybe she could spare some time for the poor man with the ruined heart.

[abra-ka-dammit]

When i get pissed off real bad in person (at people i dont know) i sometimes accidentally slip into my moms new yorker behavior and my tone and word choice suggest a sort of threatening presence which people take affront to and cast me away as irrational and violent

And its funny when that happens bc i am the weakest, meekest, most non-confrontational person ever. If im getting that way at someone its because of something THEY did or said (so its like a irl "u mad lol" play on their part, classy) and then makes me look in the wrong bc having borderline my entire rememberable life makes it hard for me to properly manage even justified anger

But mostly the idea that anyone could be intimidated by me is hilarious. Im a fat girl in nerd glasses who has never so much as thrown a punch in her life, but oooooh if i say "we're gonna have a problem" while noticeably near tears, suddenly im the scariest....because nobody wants to own up to being the asshole. So its always me. Im always wrong for getting angry.

Like its not even just my parents that trained me to bottle negative emotions, it was the whole damn world, bc women arent allowed to get mad. If we are we're PMSing and being dramatic. If i were a man they would ACTUALLY be intimidated and i would probably win more conflicts wherein i was not in the wrong.

Idk what this post was meant to be about but im mad rn and trying to figire out how to express that to my male next door neighbor without him reporting me for being ~crazy~ bc i knocked on his door to tell him he needs to seriously start bringing his trash bin in bc im not gonna be happy if i lose MY trash pickup service bc he doesnt follow the rules and then leaves it closer to my door

[omgkalyppso]

the hug you didn’t know you needed for claurenz or any other pairing you want? :D

(eyes emoji) OH! Thank you. I think this counts as canon compliant. Post timeskip. Wahoo.

.

"And I suppose the death threats don't concern you?" Lorenz added.

He drank some more from his cup. He seemed to think they were drinking together, and Claude put up as much of the illusion as he needed to. It was dark, except for the fire and the stars. Claude wasn't comfortable enough to drink, but it was because of the threat of battle and the promise of command (even with Seteth insisting he take a break) that he wasn't drinking, and not because of the death threats.

They weren't meant for him this time anyway. They were reserved for Adrestians: allies and captives who the threats called traitors to the Empire.

.

"They're from Hubert," Claude said plainly, stretching his hands back behind his head, winking at Lorenz. "His way of asking if we've executed them."

"Will you?" asked Lorenz.

"No!" Claude laughed once in affront. "When have you known me to be a fair weather friend? And the ones in chains only need to be confined for a few more weeks at most."

The end of the war was coming. After the Millennium Festival, everything had quickly started falling back into place. So many years of struggling to hold Leicester's nobility together, and placing his dreams on hold, had culminated in handful of significant victories. Peace here was in reach, and between his two homelands, it was in sight.

There was a time when Claude would have believed he'd been successful in holding himself apart; in using his friends for the realization of his purpose. He wasn't so sure anymore.

"That's a relief," Lorenz said, quietly lounging by the fire, throwing a fur upon the ground as he shifted closer to the glow. "I would hate to have to advocate the value of life, of our Adrestian friends, of the foolishness of killing anyone sought dead by the Emperor—" he yawned, the back of one hand covering his mouth, "—while the hour is so late."

"Is your noble disposition really going to allow you to sleep in the dirt?" Claude teased, drinking water that passed for wine.

"I am not sleeping," Lorenz said with closed eyes. "I am enjoying—" he snorted a laugh, and Claude giggled too, "—your company. Such as it is."

Claude furrowed his brow. "Are you watching me?"

"No one asked me to," Lorenz said softly, "but I figured ... if you were suffering my conversation, then you weren't sneaking back to look at maps and agreements. There's little to be done until the next battle."

He opened his eyes and Claude looked away, feeling flush in his face as Lorenz confessed, "It feels like some of the least that I can do, considering how you spared my father. I fear the time for fighting him has passed, which is good. It's a good thing. Although, now we will both have to navigate him when the war has ended, and he is a man who ever nurses a grudge..."

"Stubborn," Claude suggested.

"Mm, and what is a nobleman other than stubborn," Lorenz agreed.

"In my experience?" Claude teased. "Grating, repetitive, shrewd and..." Claude trailed off, having started by choosing words he felt could describe either himself or Lorenz, and then worried he risked saying too much.

Lorenz wrinkled his nose. "That was either a lazy barb or a wanting compliment. Neither your kindest, nor cruelest words said to me."

"Blame the wine," Claude lied, pulling himself to his feet. "And don't worry about me. I'm going to bed."

Lorenz stood to be some manner of level with Claude, though they were by the entrance to his tent and there was little need for it. Still, the gesture meant that Claude saw the weakness in his face, the exhaustion and the stress. He imagined he looked much the same.

"Lorenz. Everyone we've been traveling with, the nobles you've fought, the members of our war councils — they've all seen your strength, your forethought, your compassion. Don't let your father steal your voice when the war's over."

A pale hand raised between them; Lorenz shielding his face once more. Claude blinked in surprise as he realized Lorenz was on the verge of tears, and not dismissive pompous laughter like he'd been expecting; likely due to the wine. He hadn't meant to hit a nerve and tangle something so personal with his professional encouragement.

"I—" Lorenz blurted, but then the first tears fell, and he grabbed at the fabric on Claude's shoulders with hands like claws, huffing once in frustration as he pulled Claude into an embrace.

This was what he'd be leaving, the trust he'd be shattering, the hard-won affection he'd be losing. Almyra hadn't loved him in the years of his past and now didn't know him from any other Fodlan noble. The embrace told him that he wasn't in bad company, but it did make him worry that he'd never feel it again.

Lorenz was pulling back — this was obviously a mistake that he sought to rectify and to apologize for, but Claude held fast. Even if the embrace had sobered Lorenz, it had done the opposite for Claude.

Claude squeezed upon Lorenz in a gesture of comfort, since he dared not speak, and Lorenz's hands had relaxed, had carded through his hair, had soothed his sore and tired back. He melted into it, tilting his face to Lorenz's neck and breathing in the scent of fire, wine and floral cologne.

Every second of it was a torture. Claude had seen the way the others celebrated with embraces, the way they'd held hands in moments of despair. He'd grown closer to his friends' physical intimacy, but this just meant that he let Hilda touch his arm, or Leonie ruffle his hair, not that he was used to having a body wrapped around him.

He wished he could stay, in Lorenz's arms and forever, and hated that pulling away felt like practice — though if it was, the blush and amiable roll of the eyes he was met with eased his heart over any future partings.

"I'll expect you to honor that opinion," Lorenz said, still blushing but no longer distressed, and Claude could hardly remember what he was talking about. "And to listen to my apparently useful contributions, from time to time."

[yeojaa]

so maybe another devil in a new suit drabble 👉👈 maybe jk meeting oc parents or like more interactions w oc and jks parents/sister

[ read devil in a new suit ]

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  pg-13.  tags.  mentions of coconut!kook dancing (and the whole reason i wrote this tbh), cute banter, idk.  just a lotta fluff, a lil bit of grinding, y’know.  wc. 2.7k.  beta reader.  none other than @hobi-gif.  i love you always!  author note.  oh look...  it’s me...  posting something...  after sixteen hundred years.  womp womp.  this truthfully didn’t go the way i planned it to but i hope you enjoy regardless!

It really shouldn’t surprise you.  Frankly, it doesn’t.  

But it is a little funny.

There are about six girls gathered in a gaggle around your boyfriend, all desperately vying for his attention as he presents a neatly gathered bouquet to his little sister.  Jisoo’s all smiles, completely over the moon with pride and riding that high as she rightfully should.  (She’d done incredibly well, closed out the showcase with a fluidity you could never even dream of.)  She doesn’t even notice her friends staring at her brother with hearts in their eyes, each one red in the face and not from exertion.

(That, or she doesn’t care.  Maybe she’s grown used to it - the whole having-a-heartthrob-for-a-brother thing.) 

It’s actually quite cute, if only because you know Jungkook doesn’t have eyes for anyone but you.  Can feel it in how he keeps bouncing his gaze back towards you, dimple winking from deep within his cheek each time your eyes meet.  He’s like a child going back to his favourite toy, momentarily distracted by tittering laughter and his sister’s sunny smile but always coming back to you.  The knowledge warms you from the inside out, drags a satisfied smile across your lips.

You wonder whether he notices the attention or if it’s just another part of his life.  (You think he must know.  These college students don’t really hide it well, too handsy for their own good, years of growing up in semi-close proximity instilling a certain confidence in their motions.  That, and because Jungkook is quite possibly the least intimidating person you’ve ever met.)

“Thank you for coming!”  It’s Jisoo, flushed and excitable, round eyes as bright as her brother’s as she crosses to you.  This had been her moment - her time to shine - but you appreciate the effort she makes to include you, finding you within the crowd.  “I was a little nervous but…”  A shrug rolls her narrow shoulders, shakes her dark hair from its loose coil.  

You’d seen her practice before this - watched the long videos she’d regularly send to Jungkook - but seeing her in real life motion was an entire league of its own.  Dancing was her calling, every bit of her made for it.  There was just something lyrical about the way she moved, how her hips rolled, limbs seemingly guided by the rhythm of the music.  A grace you’ve never had, even on your best day.

“You shouldn’t have been.”  You’re beaming right back at her, sisterly reassurance on your tongue.  “You were amazing.” 

Whether she believes you or not - you think she does by how her cheeks grow ten sizes and her eyes are all but swallowed whole by the expression - she’s gracious, accepting the compliment with her blinding smile.  (She really was like Jungkook like that.)  

“You guys should come to a class one day.”  By that, she means a class she helps teach every once in a while.  You’ve heard about it on more than one occasion, seen the choreography posted on Instagram and YouTube.  

Still, you don’t expect that, brows shooting high.  Laughter filters past your teeth, springing off your tongue.  “I am not a dancer and I doubt your brother—”

Now it’s Jisoo’s turn to wear surprise like a neon sign, expression splitting with giggles of her own.  “Wait— have you not seen Kook dance?”  The way she says it is incredulous, Bambi eyes sparkling with what looks like mischief.

“No?”

“Your sister told me something.”

You’ve never seen this particular brand of worry on his face, eyes even more comically wide than usual, whatever words he’d originally meant to speak dying on his tongue.  He looks like a literal deer caught in the headlights, one of his nicknames suddenly very apt.

“What did she say?  She likes to embarrass me.”  True.  Jisoo and Jungkook had a textbook sibling relationship, full of teasing and mockery and copious amounts of love.  “Whatever she said, don’t believe—”

“She said you used to dance.”

“Oh.”  Oh?  You hadn’t expected Jungkook to deflate so easily, relief flooding his features.  “Yeah, I did.  In university.”  He’s utterly unbothered by this knowledge, attention back on the soondubu jjigae he’d been shovelling into his mouth.  “I had some friends who were dancers, so it was good exercise.”

“I want to see.”  

His answer is immediate, despite the heaping bite of rice and stew in his mouth.  “No.”

You whack him across the shoulder, startling him into clattering his spoon on the countertop.  It leaves a messy red streak across marble but you’re dragging his attention back to you with a firm glare, fingers cradled under his jaw.  “I want to see.”

Talent apparently runs in the family, you realise halfway through the third video.  Jungkook moves with the same assured movements his sister does, with power and grace and a confidence that frankly baffles you.  He treats the practice room like a stage, running through the motions so fluidly you almost have trouble believing it’s your man on the screen.  (Not that he’s particularly ungraceful.  It’s just surprising, like watching a dog walk on its hind legs.)

“So, what happened?”  You say it so conversationally, innocently, with eyes that mimic his own.  From the corner of your periphery, your boyfriend shifts, hand flexing over your knee.  There’s the furrow between his brows, the subtle tension in his jaw.  Worry.

“What do you mean?”  

Your own hand waves toward the screen, where the image of Jungkook from over half a decade ago sits paused.  “You were so…”  You’re not sure what you mean.  There are just so many options to describe the literal baby boy on the television.  Young?  Confident?  Round?  (You can’t get over his haircut, though you suppose you can’t hold it against him.) 

Jungkook simply stares at you, waiting for you to find whatever words you want to use.  Despite the uncertainty that swims somewhere in the depths of his eyes, he’s endlessly patient.  Always so soft when it comes to you.

“You had a coconut head.”

Laughter explodes off his tongue, entire face screwing up with amusement.  “Are you serious?”

“You did!”  Admittedly, the cut had somehow worked on him but it’s so reminiscent of grade school haircuts you can’t help but focus on it, too distracted by the glossy sheen to offer much else.  “I guess I get it, though.”

“What do you mean?  Everyone had that haircut—”

“In first grade, maybe.”  He sticks his tongue out at you then;  you scowl in response. 

“What do you get?”  As always, he’s perceptive, immediately aware of your carefully knit brow, the thoughtfulness that fits itself around your teeth like gleaming white veneers and holds his attention hostage.  He’s grown used to it over the months you’ve been together - knows you cling tight to things with an iron grip, turn them over and over until you’ve made sense of it in that brain of yours. 

“The crushes.”  You look affronted, almost appalled at the realisation.  He bursts out laughing, broad palm coming down upon your bare leg in a smack.  (He apologises profusely when you complain.)

“What’re you talking about?”

Your nose is wrinkled, velvet strands dislodged by the shake of your head.  “All your sister’s friends.  They’re in love with you.”  Jisoo had even agreed, laughed about it when you’d commented on it at the recital.  Something about them having grown up with Jungkook, obsessed with the image they’d retained of him since university.  “But you were a coconut.  You wore Timberlands and drop-crotch pants.  You weren’t even that cute.”  An exaggerated shudder slips over your shoulders.  

“I was nineteen.”  As if that makes it better.  Your judgment doesn’t lessen, the lines running the bridge of your nose only deepening.  

“Still.  Embarrassing.”

Your boyfriend truly is the best sport, rolling his eyes at you in the same instance he reaches for you, tugs you closer with broad palms, affection searing into your skin.  “Well, luckily, no more Timbs.  No more bowl cut.”  He nuzzles into the warmth of your neck, spreads your knees wide over his hips.  The sound of his laughter melts into your throat, dresses it in heat deposited by your breath.  “Are you jealous again?”

He doesn’t even get a verbal response to that.  Just a heavy glare and two hands squishing his cheeks.  “Absolutely not.” 

It comes up again in bed, your head on his chest, his hands on your hips.  He asks it quietly, conversationally, with a twinkle in his eye that makes you want to smother him with one of his many pillows. 

“You’re sure you’re not jealous?”

“I’m not,”  you grit, paired with a roll of your eyes and a little snort from your nose.  You really aren’t.  Those girls are inconsequential, irrelevant.  They’ll never amount to what you are to him and that’s just a simple fact.  He’s yours - something he reminds you of day in and day out, both verbally and in action. 

(You love him for it, appreciate it more than you can possibly begin to explain.  There’s a certain bliss to be found in the knowledge that you’re loved.  A warmth that rivals even that of the sun on the summer’s hottest day.) 

“Then why’re you pouting?”  What he really means is why aren’t you smiling.  You don’t pout often - at least not in the same ways he does.  

“I’m not,”  you repeat for what feels like the sixth time. 

“Smile for me.”

You do the opposite - throwing your eyes in an exaggerated circle.  It earns you a pinch to the side, a tender sting blooming beneath ink-strewn fingers. 

“Really—“  When he looks this earnest, it’s hard to deny him,  “you’re sure everything’s okay?”

At most, you can sigh perhaps overdramatically.  Fold your awkward limbs upon his and bury your face into the crook of his neck.  You’re not jealous of those girls, no.   

You’re envious of his talent - the simple fact that Jeon Jungkook is, by all definitions, a golden boy.  God’s favourite, with his heart wrenching smile and easygoing charm and grace that seems almost surreal.  There’s not a single thing wrong with him - okay, except for his bad habit of never answering his phone and always messing up the top sheet and the fact that he absolutely never ever puts the cap back on the toothpaste tube - and it’s absurd.  Utterly, absolutely unfair. 

But you can’t say that.

“Baby,”  he hums, threading the sound of his voice among your hair, tucking the soft syllables behind your ears.  “Talk to me.”

You relent - a little.  “You’re too good.”

“Too good?”  The depth of his laughter rumbles your bones, tickling your insides when it vibrates out of his chest.  “At what?”

A hand gesticulates wildly.  You’re not sure what it looks like, how close it is to hitting Jungkook in the face.  You’ve still got your face pressed to the warmth of his skin, greedily siphoning his sunny radiance with your cheek.   “Everything.”

Despite how he laughs - cackles, really, so adorable and high pitched it’s breathy - you know he knows what you’re talking about.  You’ve given him a hard time about it before.  

“I’m not good at everything, ____.”

He’s somehow even good at making you believe you’re wrong.  That’s a feat in and of itself. 

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

“Whatever!”  Whether he acknowledges it or not, he’s stupidly gifted.  Everyone and their - even his - mom knows it.  “Don’t believe me then.  I don’t care.”

“Then why’re you making that face?”  It’s almost comical that he’s calling you out for your expressions when he’s the king of funny faces, throwing his features into exaggerated (and adorable) masks.  (Maybe he’d just rubbed off on you?)

“I’m not,”  you huff, exasperated but not quite.  Still soft over his skin, velvet on silk. 

“You’re so cute.”  Sometimes, you think he really is just a child - too happy with putting you on a pedestal and praying at your altar.  Devoting himself to you when you’re nothing but a bag of flesh and bone, dressed in designer fashion and wrapped up with a satin ribbon made from sarcasm and candor.  (Not that you mind.  Who would argue if they were offered such love?)  “I still think something’s wrong but…”

It’s a smart tactic.  He doesn’t press you for an answer, opting to let it linger between you.  Settle like bothersome lint until you offer it yourself.  

When you relent - because you always do, unable to shut out the sunshine that practically pours out of him - you’re quieter.  Not shy, but bashful.  Uncertain in a way you very rarely are.  “I’ve always wanted to dance.”  So much so, you’d begged your parents to enroll you when you were younger.  Demanded lessons upon lessons - only to fail at all of them.  Rhythm simply didn’t exist anywhere in your body. 

“Really?”

You’re pulled from your safe haven, shifted until your entire point of view is filled with Jungkook, his starry eyes and his fluffy fluffy hair.  There’s that look he sometimes gets - full of wonder and adoration - when he learns something new about you.  As if just the smallest tidbit of knowledge opens up a whole new world.  

“Yes?”  You’re half regretting the admission.  He looks like he’s up to something, all the cogs in his head turning in perfect tandem. 

“I’ll teach you.”  

“Hard pass.”

Like a hot air balloon, he deflates, mouth rounding sweetly.  (If you didn’t know better, you’d assume the man was made of cotton candy, semi-sweet chocolate heart where the real organ should be.)  “Why not?”

“I do not dance.”  It’s nothing but a statement of fact, firm and unyielding. 

The pout evolves, swings down into a frown that drags his eyebrows with it.  “You could dance.”

“No, baby—“  So you’re a little frustrated, all your childhood memories pricking beneath your skin.  “I do not dance.”

“Why?”  He’s upright now, tugging you with him as if you weigh nothing.  His way of turning the conversation serious, pulling you from the warmth and comfort of the bedsheets to this.  (He’s still holding you, hooking his big broad hands over your hips, so you don’t mind.) 

“No rhythm.”  Unable to keep a beat.  Two left feet.  The list could go on and on, according to your ballet instructor. 

“Not true.”

Your brow quirks, mirrored by his as if in challenge.  You almost swat at him - so close your hand twitches on his shoulder.  “Very true.”

(Why does this conversation feel so familiar?  It’s déjà vu.) 

“Is not.”  Your boyfriend seems insistent, as if he knows better than you.  (He doesn’t.)  Stares up at you with those pretty eyes and has the audacity to grin when you roll your own, ready to rebuff him. 

Because you’re in bed, the one place where you defer to him whether you like it or not. 

(You do like it, though.  Love it, in fact.  Just like you love him.)

“You’re graceful,”  he hums, bridging the gap between you with a forward roll of his shoulders.  “You’ve got rhythm.”  The hand on your hip grows firm, guides your knees to spread wide on either side of him.  With each brush of his lips - tender little brushes, endlessly sweet and reassuring - he pushes and pulls, dragging you across his lap.  “You can do anything you want.”

You’ve almost forgotten the topic of conversation, preoccupied by how he guides you in languid circles.  How the cotton of his boxer briefs feels against the sensitive inside of your thighs.  The weight that grows between your legs and nudges indelicately against the soft fabric of your thong.

All part of his plan, of course.

“Your body’s the most beautiful thing in the world, ____.”  

When he looks at you like this, you think he might be right.  You’d believe it if he kept saying it, sparking desire through your limbs until they’re jellied and loose.  

(How he sees right through you - cuts straight to the core of your insecurity - you’re not sure.  It feels almost like a superpower, something unquantifiable, unbelievable.  He’s too good for you, always.  So kind and loving, pressing his belief in the form of his mouth, the tender edge of his teeth when he kisses you slow slow slow.)

“You’re perfect just the way you are.”

[laniidae-passerine]

okay went back to long post 2.0 and the Pictionary concept so now I’m going to create an insanely long list of Pictionary pair-ups and how they’d work in the cottage on game night

Here are all the people I presume would be allowed in for game night:

Reynie, Sticky, Kate, Constance, Martina, S.Q, Jackson, Jillson, Mr Benedict, Number Two, Rhonda, Milligan, Miss Perumal

Here we go! Reminder: this is crazy long so only about a sentence each unless I’m inspired

Reynie - Sticky: absolutely killing it, definitely come in second if not first because while neither of them can actually draw that well, they’re in tune with what the other person is trying to get across. even if it looks like nonsense to everybody else, they understand

Reynie - Kate: not amazing but pretty good! Half the time she doesn’t know what on earth he’s drawing or her gesturing is just confusing him even more but the other half? really accurate

Reynie - Constance: good but only because she has trained him in the art of Not Losing. Constance does not do the losing thing Reynie and she’s also not bad at drawing so they’re getting by okay

Reynie - Martina: consists mainly of ‘uhhhhhhhh’ noises at each other and then a guess that’s kinda right. Dead bird is kinda a roast chicken right?

Reynie - S.Q: amazing perfect legendary! but not when Reynie is drawing. S.Q hasn’t seen a lot of things so it’s kinda hard for him to guess, especially when it’s all quite wobbly

Reynie - Jackson: fine, weirdly. Jackson is less intense than Jillson during game night so as long as they’re not coming last he can handle it.

Reynie - Jillson: she is yelling loudly and Reynie is a human question mark. He needs to learn that when it looks like a cornflake, it’s meant to be a bird

Reynie - Mr Benedict: really good! Reynie loves reading just like him so they kill it on the literature round and also Reynie and him are just messing about

Reynie - Number Two: eh? No money is being on them winning but they’re not. Appalling

Reynie - Rhonda: fun! Rhonda knows it’s just a game and Reynie is just a kid who wants to enjoy himself.

Reynie - Milligan: slightly stilted but Milligan is freakily accurate at guessing. He gets a massive hug at the end too which makes him feel very safe (you may guess which he I’m talking about)

Reynie - Miss Perumal: oh, fantastic. She’s encouraging of him and even when they mess up they end up giggling about it

Sticky - Kate: Kate has pulled 17 new facial expressions at Sticky’s drawings and he is astounded by the way she keeps guessing bucket. Somehow still in 3rd

Sticky - Constance: oddly good. Constance can be patient with Sticky and she coaxes out that side of him that Needs To Win. All of the adults sort of skipped over mean!Sticky so their faces are priceless when Sticky tells them they can suck it because he’s the goddamn best

Sticky - Martina: average because neither of them are world’s best drawer or guesser but they can muddle by

Sticky - S.Q: great!!! Sticky has encyclopaedic knowledge and S.Q is a fantastic drawer! also terrible because S.Q doesn’t know what many basic things are and Sticky can’t draw for shit

Sticky - Jackson: cordial and calm, doing pretty alright. Two rather formal children with a pen it might feel a bit like a meeting between people trying to come up with new ideas for Pictionary rather than a game of Pictionary but they’re alright!

Sticky - Jillson: she is chasing him around the garden with a harpoon

Sticky - Mr Benedict: rather sweet, they’re failing miserably but at least they’re supporting each other all the way. To the bottom of the scoreboard though

Sticky - Number Two: competent but I feel like Number Two is not that great at Pictionary unless she’s teamed up with specific people

Sticky - Rhonda: let’s just enjoy ourselves :) maybe Sticky needs to give her a few hints though because optimism can only take them so far

Sticky - Milligan: even though Milligan is actually a really good guesser and drawer he takes the blame for every loss to make Sticky feel better because he thinks Sticky is very sweet

Sticky - Miss Perumal: weirdly this works. She knows what he’s trying to convey even if it’s just literal scribbly chaos and there’s even a chance of them doing well!

Kate - Constance: they are yelling violently at each other but if someone else dares insult one of them for being too bossy, prepare for their rage to be turned on you

Kate - Martina: banned from playing together. Pictionary should not be used as a vehicle for flirting and/or fighting about tetherball

Kate - S.Q: doing great!!! he’s amazing at drawing and she’s also pretty good too so they’re in with a high chance of winning

Kate - Jackson: weird dynamic. If she draws and he guesses, they’re doing good. Opposite way around and it’s not terrible but it is. Questionable

Kate - Jillson: two headstrong girls refusing to lose creates a team that is too busy arguing with each other to actually achieve anything. Luckily they admire the other person’s refusal to lose so they don’t stay mad at each other

Kate - Mr Benedict: her wild enthusiasm carries over to him and this is when you catch him actually getting competitive. Prepare to see the very minimal part of his nature that will remind you of his brother

Kate - Number Two: Kate has her head in her hands and Number Two at least has the decency to look a little ashamed

Kate - Rhonda: woooooooh girl power!!! c’mon let’s win this through the power of friendship (and end up in second still vibing)

Kate - Milligan: unified. He draws a line and she guesses it instantly. They’re the perfect father daughter team and he’s so proud of her that nobody can even be mad that they lost

Kate - Miss Perumal: okay! she’s very nice and Kate likes her so they get along well enough to achieve a good ranking

Constance - Martina: oh they understand each other. They’re above everyone else and they will win and they will rub it in S.Q’s face and then one of them will secretively give him a brownie slice if the jeering makes him feel bad

Constance - S.Q: oh she’s so pleased. She demands they win but because she cares about him (shut up) she will compliment all of his drawings in a veiled way. Of course she guessed it, she’s a genius and it’s also so obviously an airplane (translation: S.Q is very good at drawing and I believe in him)

Constance - Jackson: he’s afraid of her. However he will turn that fear into strength, mainly because that walking stick is way too close to Constance for his liking

Constance - Jillson: hell hath no fury like these two trying to win Pictionary. They will kill you and your mum and your dad and they are on the warpath. The only pairing so scary it makes S.Q draw appallingly

Constance - Mr Benedict: he can’t stop falling asleep when she insults him for being unable to guess accurately because he thinks she’s adorable and funny. He loves her so much and she’s secretly too happy about it to be mad

Constance - Number Two: who even knows what’s happening here? They sure don’t but whatever, Constance is willing to take the L, she wasn’t gonna win this one anyway

Constance - Rhonda: Constance has hidden respect for this woman. She will listen and pay serious attention to Rhonda while she is drawing and does her best to make it easy for her when it’s Rhonda’s turn to guess

Constance - Milligan: she’s still got insults left to give. Milligan is perhaps a little taken aback by the tiny child yelling at him but she’s a decent drawer so they’re getting along just fine (also she’s mean to anyone who is mean to him so he actually likes her)

Constance - Miss Perumal: you’d think Miss Perumal would be affronted by the rudeness but she actually just treats Constance with a lot of kindness in return. She apologises for getting things wrong, congratulates her for being a good drawer and so Constance is confused and actually. Stop working your magic on me you witch why am I so fond of you now

Martina - S.Q: hi bitchy S.Q we’ve missed you. They’re getting picky and irritated and being assholes to each other but they will win and they will totally high five when they do it. They have a victory song that Martina composed on a mandolin and it’s fifteen minutes long

Martina - Jackson: neither of them are afraid of the other. Will they use ‘I’M AN EXECUTIVE I’M BETTER THAN YOU!’ as a defence when they’re messing up? Yes. Is it completely useless? Also yes.

Martina - Jillson: you ever met two girls and seen them exchange a look and you know they just nonverbally said something bad about you but you’ve got no clue what it was? Now take that mean girl power and translate it into Pictionary. They’re gonna beat you so badly

Martina - Mr Benedict: something about the way that she’s so self assured and cocky makes him feel so happy that the cataplexy kicks in. He’s slid entirely off the sofa and when someone explains how that’s a good thing to Martina, she’s hiding a smile all night

Martina - Number Two: hand gestures and odd noises abound. Number Two can’t draw for shit but Martina refuses to give in so she will make them practice outside of game night so she can try understand what the hell Number Two is drawing

Martina - Rhonda: actually okay! not fantastic but Rhonda has such amazing vibes that Martina is learning to just relax and have fun

Martina - Milligan: he likes her. She’s occasionally mean and quite cocky, but she’s amiable to him and while she likely was at the start, she isn’t cruel or mocking towards him now. Yes he may be extremely tall and buff but the real matter at hand is if he can draw and thank god for the fact that he can

Martina - Miss Perumal: this child needs actual affection holy shit. C’mere Martina Miss Perumal will tell you that you’re funny and friendly instead of just smart. She ignores the actual game in favour of letting Martina feel cared for

S.Q - Jackson: terror from both of them but they think the other person has power. Jackson was told to leave the headmasters son alone and S.Q just thinks Jackson is scary so they’re playing a weird game of chicken where they both the chicken. Figure it out boys

S.Q - Jillson: when Jillson clocks that he’s a sweetheart she relaxes and then enters Oh We Will Win mode. S.Q is unnerved slightly but also it’s nice to be wanted with a borderline ‘I will be violent to other people if I don’t get him as my Pictionary partner’ intensity

S.Q - Mr Benedict: his nephew. Oh he loves him so much. Perfect boy, wonderful child. However this poses a slight problem because Benedict is talking too much about how amazing S.Q is and how much he loves him to actually guess what the object is. It’s okay though because they’re hugging by the end of it and that’s what matters

S.Q - Number Two: what is happening. Number Two can’t draw and S.Q has not seen most films or read most books or been beyond the island. He’s guessing bird 50% of the time

S.Q - Rhonda: oh they’re gonna win and Rhonda is on point with the positive reinforcement. Prepare to get a sweet chucked at you for every point you score S.Q

S.Q - Milligan: it’s odd because S.Q feels like he should be intimidated but he just feels safe. They’re doing very well together and it’s sweet to see the way that S.Q tentatively smiles when they do well and has the smile softly returned

S.Q - Miss Perumal: oh you want a mother? You want a mum? You want a brand new mum? What’s Pictionary do you need adoption papers? I can be your parent S.Q just sign here I love you

Jackson - Jillson: creepy twins out of the Shining x1000. Constance is not the only telepathic weirdo here. However if they hit a low streak they will start yelling at each other like little children

Jackson - Mr Benedict: uh. An adult being sincerely nice? Oh, yeah it’s fine. He’s fine. It’s cool. Does anyone have a tissue? also they’re doing decently, even if it’s hard for Jackson to see through happy tears

Jackson - Number Two: why are you both yelling at each other. None of this makes sense you’re not even being comprehensible anymore someone take the pen away from them

Jackson - Rhonda: good! Not much different to average people playing Pictionary it’s nice to watch

Jackson - Milligan: this man is TERRIYING. Jackson is afraid of him to the point where he kinda just stays weirdly quiet during rounds. Everyone is just waiting for him to realise that Milligan is an angel (when he does, they’re going to be a surprise powerhouse)

Jackson - Miss Perumal: she’s nice to him and it makes him wanna do well. Even when they do badly she’s still friendly to him and it’s good vibes all arounf

Jillson - Mr Benedict: this girl is insane. And he has a habit for thinking mean teenage girls are intensely funny so he’s not conscious almost every time she’s doing the guessing. On her end she’s just completely thrown by the Curtain clone thinking that she’s funny (…he really thinks that? Oh. That’s… fantastic, actually)

Jillson - Number Two: this works. The freaky teenager and the woman that she will one day be like are on the same wavelength so they’re actually guessing each other’s horrible drawings correctly. They’re so goddamn weird and yet winning. How the hell are they winning

Jillson - Rhonda: Why are you being nice? Stop It Now. No stop being friendly and kind and amusing. Shut up. (no don’t actually shut up you seem like the kind of person I wanna hang out with with)

Jillson - Milligan: this man is a social oddity. However she has spent more time on the Milligan Boat than necessary so she is starting to comprehend him. They’ll do fine

Jillson - Miss Perumal: okay Jillson is maybe one of the few people Miss Perumal just doesn’t get. But when she’s punched in the arm by Martina and told to be nice, they can actually get along fine and do quite well

Mr Benedict - Number Two: this is deranged. Perfection and insanity in one combination. They’re winning and Benedict has passed out but the answer was narcolepsy and technically that counts as correct. Everyone is losing their minds watching this occur

Mr Benedict - Rhonda: yeahhhhhh it’s time for two people who can’t stop giggling at each other. Everything is so funny to them and their positivity is infectious. Everyone can have been having the worst day of their lives but if game night rolls around and these two are a team? You’ll be happy by the end of it

Mr Benedict - Milligan: assured and calm. They know each other very well but their communication is a bit strange. Expect longggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg pauses and extended direct eye contact. It’s… really something however they’ll do well

Mr Benedict - Miss Perumal: the vibes are good with this one. For a man who often supports other, he’s a little thrown and very appreciative to have someone who treats him like he needs the support. She’s very kind to him.

Number Two - Rhonda: mainly Rhonda politely going ‘hmmmmmm. well. maybe…’ to make up for the fact that what Number Two is drawing is nonsense. Very ‘two sisters being unable to communicate and fighting about it’ until they inevitably reconcile

Number Two - Milligan: vibes. Doing well and nodding a lot at each other. He has very poetic ways of describing her awful drawings

Number Two - Miss Perumal: somebody try save Miss Perumal because none of this makes sense. No seriously is she dreaming did she eat cheese before bed

Rhonda - Milligan: actually they can both draw and they’re buddies. So it’s going pretty good and also they share Looks that have secret meaning so have fun figuring those out

Rhonda - Miss Perumal: if they are cheating via sign language that is none of your business. Stop reporting them for it you’re all so annoying god bless <3

Milligan - Miss Perumal: she’s a bit unnerved and then she gets to know him. Pretty good they connect over parenting and they can both draw so. Bisexual rights!

[imagineabrighterworld]

Sunshine in the Night pt. 5

It wasn't often that Tokoyami encountered villains while out on a walk, especially on the rare breaks from school. It was almost ironic that he met more villains because of school than out of it. But it was Sunday night when he was thrown into a fight with several villains fresh from escaping a bank.

"Stay where you are and I will not have to resort to violence!" The Jet-Black hero in training shouts at the trio, Dark Shadow already covering him like an impenetrable armor.

The leader laughs, arms full of bags of cash. “You're scarin’ no one kid! Get outta the way if you don't want to get hurt!” From his skin, small missiles are launched in random directions, aimlessly exploding and causing havoc for the civilians around them.

Dark Shadows arms lengthen and catch the missiles headed toward the people still left in the area, crushing them into itself, not minding the explosion as it detonates in itself. It was nighttime, meaning Dark Shadow had plenty of strength to tank a few small explosions. Maybe it had Bakugou to thank for that.

Tokoyami runs at the leader, evading his missiles and weak kicks with his fluid agility. The criminal grunts and drops the money to free his arms, but he only leaves himself open as the young hero plants a well placed hit to his solar plexus, causing the villain to double over in pain.

With another hit, Tokoyami sends the leader into unconsciousness. Taking no chances, he uses his body weight to hold down the villain, his knee planted on the villains back while binding his arms in a tight hold.

“Shit!”

Tokoyami turns his attention to one of the three villains, his eyes narrowing with anger. The lackey’s fists were covered in blood, and there was no questioning where it came from.

Seeing the look on Tokoyami’s face the two lackeys merge into one, setting their sights on fleeing before any more heroes arrive. “Lets get out of here!” But as they merge and grow to a towering height, their body collides with the electrical post next to them, the wires tangling in their hair and around their neck. With a pained shriek, they flail their body and break the transmission lines, effectively sending the city into darkness.

.

He was calm.

Was.

A familiar thrum of power floods Tokoyami as Dark Shadow roars to life, gathering power from the darkness around them. It lifts the villain underneath their grasp and squeezes him in it's claws. The sound of bones grinding against each other would haunt Tokoyami forever.

“Dark Shadow- Stop this!” Tokoyami struggles to pull himself together as Dark Shadow engulfs him. He felt like he was drowning, and all he could hear were the terrified screams of the civilians he had been protecting.

Now they needed protection from him.

What kind of cruel irony was that?

He didn't know what was going on on the outside. He had no sense of time as he vaguely feels Dark Shadow lumber forward, doing who knows what. Muffled screams of fear were all that he could take count of.

It was his own personal hell being stuck inside Dark Shadow.

He felt monstrous.

Like a villain.

It was only when a flare was shot at Dark Shadow that he understood where the dark being was headed.

The familiar face of Hound Dog pierced through the dark, he could make out a flare gun in the counselors hand.

All he remembered next was how loud Dark Shadow screamed when the lights of U.A. shown upon them both, effectively sending the being reeling back into him. 

-   - -

It was silent the next day, and no one knew how to comfort their classmate. No hello’s got through to him, no invitations to lunch, no jokes or jabs even incited a chuckle. Nothing.

He looked haunted, and they knew if they didn't get through to him soon, he would be in an even worse state.

With hushed whispers, the students leave the classroom to go to lunch, leaving him alone as he stays still in his seat, his fists clenched and shaking.

But they didn't leave to escape him. No, they left to bring in a gentle reinforcement. You.

“Hey.”

Tokoyami opens his bloodshot eyes. Forcing himself to look at you, he couldn’t hide the tiredness he felt. He couldn't force himself to lie to you. But couldn't force himself to speak either.

You take a seat in front of him, sitting backwards in order to face him. The others had informed you of what happened. It was hard to imagine the normally chipper Dark Shadow to be so violent, to both Tokoyami and to a villain, but it only took a look at him to know they were not exaggerating.

“I want you to know, it's okay to be angry.”

Nothing.

“It's okay to feel angry and upset. To feel used- because I know that look. You told me about your training camp. When Dark Shadow got out of control. How you felt used, like your body wasn't your own. I understand.”

A twitch of a hand.

“But what happened wasn't your fault. You didn't cause damage to do damage. You stepped up to be a hero, and something out of your control happened. That doesn't make you a monster Yami.”

“I could have killed him.” His voice is strangled as it comes out, forced and choppy. He hisses. “I could have killed everyone there, and it would be my fault.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. But when he doesn't, you inhale and keep going, trying to find the center of what he was feeling.

“Do you see yourself as a monster?”

“Am I not one?” He looks at you intensely, eyes crazed with anguish. “Am I the cage, or am I the lion?”

There it was, the issue he had been burying since the night of the incident. You found it. His breaking point.

You reach out for his hands, using no force at all in order to open them to hold them in your own. Bloody crescents marred his palms where he had dug his nails into his flesh, but for now you ignored it.

Looking him in the eyes, you affirm to him. “You are no monster. You are a hero. You can choose what you want to be Yami, this doesn't control you.” You squeeze his hands and bring them close, hoping your warmth would warm his cold hands. It was as if his body was refusing him comfort. So you would do it for him.

“Forget about what could have been, and think of what can be. That's what is important. What you can do now.” Again you squeeze his hands. Vaguely, you feel him squeeze back. “You can train harder. You can prepare for blackouts and dark nights. You can do so much, Yami. But don't look at the things out of your control.”

A quivering exhale brings your attention to his face. He looked tired, but more at ease, if that made any sense. He squeezes your hands and brings them to his beak. He couldn't kiss, but the sentiment was there as he closes his eyes and breathes in slowly to steady himself.

“Thank you. For your words. And for being here.”

You smile and close your eyes, shuffling in closer and resting your head against his. “I told you, if I was going to be with you, I would be your anchor. You're a ship Romeo, and I’ll be here when you need to slow down and take it easy.” 

He opens his eyes and smiles at you. “I will remember that.”

You kiss his knuckles. “Good.”

Extra: 

“Im sorry! Im sorry!” Dark Shadow scrambles about, waving its arms as it wails, “Never meant to hurt!”

You pat the shadow’s head, an awkward smile on your lips. It had been apologizing profusely ever since you came to walk with Tokoyami after classes were over. “It’s okay, it’s something we have to practice but we know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Right Romeo?” You look at Tokoyami who was- meters away from you.

“Romeo?” You asks again, unsure of why he was so transfixed on the tree next to him.

He snaps his gaze to you, eyes full of wonder as he utters a simple phrase.

“This is an apple tree.”

You don’t know how to respond.

“How long have we been walking past this tree without me knowing?” He sounds affronted as he once again looks at the tree with admiring eyes. Even moreso than he looks at you.

Was it weird to be envious of a fruit tree?

You sigh and continue on your walk. So much for him being yours.

- - -

Tag List: @evierena , @aradias-crypt , @kisshuggay

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 20

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, slight angst

; Word Count: 5.1k

; Warnings: Mentions of a car accident, character death, depression and anxiety

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: Boy have I struggled to get round to this. I’m working from home and on lockdown so I’m so bored and when I finish work, I just want to go to bed lol I half proof-read this and I’m posting it a little early! So...<33 as a reminder, the UK went forward an hour last night so the times each which have changed! Please reblog and give me some comments and love! I don’t get much interaction nowadays ;-;

; Flower Masterpost

-

“So Hoseok was really the first guy you messaged?” His mom asks, a soft smile on her face as she sits down on the couch, eyeing where you sit on Hoseok’s lap in the armchair with an unreadable look. Your stomach feels full from the delicious meal she’d made earlier to welcome you into her home and you almost whine when Hoseok shifts behind you, jolting you just enough to put pressure on your food baby.

For clarity, he was the one who had pulled you onto his lap once he’d sat down in a plush, leather armchair. Apparently this had always been his chair when he’d been living here and he didn’t want you too far away from him it seemed.

“Yeah. Actually, he was the only guy so...either that makes him really desperate or me very lucky.” You can’t help the teasing tone to your voice, the pitch increasing as you giggle when Hoseok lets out an overly exaggerated affronted gasp before gently tickling your sides. 

“You take that back. I was not desperate. I waited like...a whole half an hour or something to respond to you.” He points out, lower lip pursing out into an adorable pout and you snort in amusement, flicking the metal ring affectionately.

Turning back to his parents, you shrug lightly as you reach out for your water, taking a sip of the cold liquid before placing it back on the coffee table. Thankfully, they hadn’t seemed too weirded out by your request for just water. You’d found that a lot of people found it bizarre that you preferred that over everything else, but they’d just taken it in their stride.

“He’s right in fairness. One of my best friends, Soyeon, signed up for match.com and she hadn’t filled any of her profile out. Only had a picture and her description was something like ‘I’m not as pretty as my filter makes me look’. Which is a complete by the way, she’s actually way prettier. But in like...fifteen minutes, she had over 100 likes and 30 messages. I know online dating works for some of us,” You give Hoseok a fond smile at that. “But honestly, some of them were just...desperate. I mean...how can you match with someone when all you have is their photo and nothing else?!”

That gets a laugh from his parents and you feel warm relief bloom in your chest; the knowledge that they were laughing with you and not at you was good. It meant they found you funny, which hopefully meant you were making a great impression on them.

“I gotta admit you’re right. I, personally, was never one to go by just looks. My friends can attest to the fact that just because someone looks nice, it doesn’t always mean they’ve got anything nice going on underneath. And by friends I mean me, unfortunately.” Hoseok’s face twists into a grimace and you wriggle in place slightly as you laugh, oblivious to the way he stiffens ever so slightly beneath you or the way his expression tightens for a moment.

His dad notices though, and the loud guffaw he lets out causes both Hoseok’s mom and you to stare at him in confusion. It makes Hoseok’s cheek’s colour though when he realises that his dad’s obviously figured out the reason for his discomfort.

“I hope that’s not referring to me.” Teasingly, you poke at his cheek and smirk when he tilts his head away, whining quietly before reaching up to grasp your finger. His chocolate brown eyes focus on you firmly before he’s waving the index finger of his free hand in your direction.

“Stop fishing lady. You know it’s not you,” You pout at that, eyes going big as you give him a wounded look and he can’t help but laugh at your antics, letting go of your hand to instead place his arms around your waist once more. “I’ve made a lot of really bad life choices, I’ll admit to that. But answering your message was definitely not one of them.”

That has you cooing at him, cupping his cheeks and squishing hard. He says something to you, but his lips are so smooshed together that it just comes out garbled, causing you to baby talk him for a few seconds as you feel the warmth of his cheeks heating beneath your palms.

It’s unbearably cheesy, and if you’d seen anyone else doing this then you’d have been embarrassed on their behalf. But you don’t really realise because something about him makes you be cheesy in a way you’d always cringed at before.

You’re both so involved with each other that neither of you notice the way his parents turn from watching you both to looking at each other. The emotion on their faces isn’t one you would recognise, given you’re not a parent yourself.

But for them, it’s a soul deep relief that paints itself on their face while burrowing into their very being. Their son, their only remaining child, their little boy whom they loved more than anything else in this world and had been lost to them for so long, was happy. His flushed cheeks might indicate his embarrassment but they recognised the happiness he radiated towards you as you played around with him.

And that was to say nothing of the pure love he seemed to positively glow with in your presence. Like you’d hit an internal switch inside him that had been flipped off many years ago. Hoseok had turned a corner in college with therapy but it felt like only now were they really getting to see the little boy that had disappeared so many years ago with the death of his sister.

It made his mom a little too emotional, and she stood up abruptly before leaving the room. The movement was so sudden that it distracted you both from each other, Hoseok’s brows immediately furrowing in concern while you watched after her in bewilderment.

Glancing back at him, you saw that Hoseok had seen the glassy tears in her eyes too. There was a brief pause between you before Hoseok shifted, getting ready to move you off his lap and evidently go after his mom.

But then his dad’s voice spoke up.

“Don’t Hoseok, it’s okay. She’ll be okay. How about Y/N go instead? It might be nice for you both to bond a little or something.” He gives a meaningful look to Hoseok and you get the sudden feeling that whatever had upset his mom was going to be explained to him by his dad. Leaving you to deal with Hoseok’s mom.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Don’t feel forced or anything.” Hoseok says firmly, glancing at his dad for a few seconds before looking back at you. You get the feeling that he’d just mentally reprimanded his dad for being so forceful and expectant but you gave him a slightly tense smile, shaking your head.

Nerves flared in your stomach immediately though, the anxiety rolling around and you shook ever so slightly at the thought of being alone with his mom. She’d been perfectly nice all evening to you, but there was the knowledge still that Hoseok loved her deeply and you’d seen tonight just how much she loved him too.

What if she was angry about what Hoseok had said? What if she didn’t approve of you? What if she was crying because she was upset Hoseok loved you or something?

A brief glance in Hoseok’s direction has him immediately scoping you out, squeezing his arms around you tightly and pushing his head into your neck. At this angle, he can kiss your cheek easily and he does so, freely giving his affection to you as his hands gently soothe.

“It’s okay, she’s not gonna bite. I swear. I promise. Please. If you’re okay with it then...talk to her, get to know her. And make sure she’s okay, please?” His eyes are wide and endearing in their innocence, causing you to give a slight smile as you run your fingers through his hair. “I love you, you’ll be okay.”

He whispers that bit, almost as if he’s afraid of his dad hearing. But you know it’s probably not that and more out of respect for you and how you feel when it comes to emotions. You’re not exactly someone who goes around shouting your feelings from the rooftops after all, and you feel the same way the other way around.

Swallowing, you take in a deep breath to fortify yourself before nodding. Anyone would think you were off to war, and you can’t help but chuff a laugh at the thought of that. It gets you a strange look from both Jung men, but you simply kiss Hoseok briefly before standing and moving in the direction his mom had gone.

As you reach the door frame though, you pause as your nerves get the better of you once more. Glancing back to Hoseok, you see him watching you with careful eyes, his lips turning into a sweet smile as he gives you his silent reassurance. His complete trust in you to not only handle yourself, but comfort his mom meant a lot and you resolved not to make him regret his faith.

The house Hoseok had grown up in was much larger than the one your parents had, the rooms bigger and the ceilings higher. Not only that, but there was just the sheer number of rooms on top of all that as well. It was one thing to know objectively that Hoseok’s family was well off, but it was another entirely to actually see it.

If anything, apparently Hoseok had been very humble about himself and his family’s money. They weren’t loaded or anything, but their house was big enough and in a nice enough suburb with two cars not even a year old that you’d immediately felt the difference between you both.

He hadn’t said anything about it though. Hadn’t indicated that he was aware of the difference at all. Maybe he didn’t notice or maybe he was just being polite and not mentioning it. It probably wasn’t very good in a relationship to blatantly float your wealth compared to your partner or something.

Either way, you appreciated his tact. 

Once you'd left the room, Hoseok is distracted away from watching where you'd gone by the wry snort from his dad. Glancing over, he furrows his brows in a silent question, wondering what his dad found so funny.

"She's cute." Is all he says, causing Hoseok to nod in response. He doesn't even realise he's looking back until his dad talks again. "Your mom isn't going to kill her, you know, she'll be okay."

That makes him blush, his cheeks heating as he purposefully turns his body until he can't look out the door. Turning his gaze to his dad, he glares at him slightly before pursing his lips.

"I know that. I just...want to make sure she's okay." He didn't tell his dad why he thought that. Your emotions and mental health were yours to share or not, and you'd only shared it with him so far. Hoseok wouldn't betray your trust by blabbing it to everyone.

"Your mom won't do anything to upset her. We know how much she means to you. Which in case you didn't realise, is why your mom left the room."

Hoseok just hums lightly, hoping that will be true.

-

You find Hoseok’s mom in what looks to be a home office, the walls covered in bookcases filled with files and framed pictures while a desk takes pride of place, an iMac sitting atop it with the plush looking desk chair empty in front of it. She’s sat on an equally nice looking leather sofa, backed up against the wall and facing the desk.

For a moment, you stand awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do or what to say. You feel probably even more nervous than you’d expected, your stomach swirling the delicious pot pie and vegetables she’d made for dinner that you’d eaten happily earlier. This was Hoseok’s mom. His mother. The woman who had carried him for nine months, given birth to him and raised him. The woman he adored.

You knew logically that you were psyching yourself out, but you just didn’t really know how to react. What if she was angry at you for some reason? Or disgusting for being so close with her son in front of her? Though Hoseok had been the one who had dragged you into his lap so it was his fault really.

“You can come in sweetheart, it’s okay.” Her tone is gentle and the warmth in it automatically soothes some of your nerves. You can really see where Hoseok got his caring nature from now, and it amuses you to know that he spent years actively pushing his parents away only to have such strong similarities between him and them.

Carefully, you move into the room and sit on the couch next to her, your posture absurdly straight and wooden as you struggle to relax. There’s a moment of silence before she lets out a soft chuckle, her hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder as she squeezes ever so slightly.

“You can relax, I promise I’m not going to be mean.” Looking at her, you see the familiar smile of your boyfriend in an older, feminine form and can’t help but smile back. Taking in her face properly, you realise as you see the way her eyes crinkle warmly that Hoseok has her eyes too. It makes something warm bloom in the midst of your nerves.

“Are you...are you okay? They err, sent me to check on you. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m a girl or something.” Shrugging awkwardly, you pause as you hear the gentle laugh that falls from her lips once more.

“Probably. Neither of them are all that great with emotional women I think,” She muses, looking away from you to one of the bookcases. “But also probably because they want us to talk. They’re not very subtle.”

You can see the amused expression on her face and yet you feel a sudden urge of protectiveness, a desire to defend Hoseok. Which is ridiculous, because this is his own mother. But still.

“Hoseok’s great actually, he’s really good at coping in a crisis. Especially with an emotional woman. I should know because he did it with me the other month.” As the words fall from your mouth, you look away in horror and shock. Yet again, you’d just said something without thinking first and wanted to cringe at the knowledge that you’d just given away something had happened with you. And that you’d also just argued with her.

Instead of getting offended though, she reaches for your hand and squeezes gently, concern written all over her face when you turn to look at her. Genuine concern.

“I won’t poke my nose in, but are you okay yourself?” Glancing at your hands, you consider the last few months carefully before giving her a small smile and a nod.

“I am. On the way there anyway. And Hoseok has been a huge part of that. You should be proud of him.” That causes a smile from you as you remember everything that your boyfriend had done for you over the last few months and that warm fuzzy feeling returns in your chest.

“I am proud of him. We’re both proud of him. Probably more than he ever realises, you know? I know you know about the accident and everything that happened after. Sometimes we didn’t think we’d ever get to see our happy little boy again,” Pausing, she reaches for one of the binders stored into the bookcase close to her and pulls it out. “Have you ever seen a picture? Of his sister?”

Shaking your head, you take what you realise is one of those books that parents keep track of all the important milestones in their child’s first year and rest it on your lap, opening the cover carefully. The front page features a photograph of a tiny newborn baby, swaddled in a pale yellow blanket. 

‘Jung Hyeri, born 28th November…’

The information carries on including her birth weight, the time of her birth, her star sign, her Chinese zodiac sign, her parents' names and more. On the next page was an ink imprint of her tiny foot, while the next page had a small piece of her black hair. Each page continued on, outlining her achievements such as her first word, her first time crawling, her first smile, her first time walking and so forth.

It was sweet, and yet you found yourself feeling so sad as you took in the image of Hoseok’s big sister back when she was so small. She wasn’t here anymore, and you can’t even begin to imagine how much their family still hurts over that.

“She was a sweet baby, laughed so easily and was really quiet. I think we got lucky for our first time.” His mom smiles brightly as she traces her finger along the image of Hyeri at her doljanchi, the Korean tradition of celebrating a child’s first birthday. She’s sat in a tiny hanbok with a table full of objects in front of her and you recognise it as the doljabi custom in which the item a child picked was supposed to dictate how their life would turn out.

“She picked up the book,” You look up at Hoseok’s mom, a small smile on your face. “Supposed to symbolise that they’ll be smart. And she was very smart. I like to think she would have become a scientist or something, because she used to love her science classes so much in school.”

Once you’ve finished looking through the book, his mom places it carefully back before smiling and giving you one that looks identical. Only this time, you get to see a more familiar name above the image of another baby, fast asleep in a pale green blanket this time.

‘Jung Hoseok, born 18th February…’

You can’t help but coo at the sight of how tiny he was, completely unable to reconcile this itty bitty baby with the man you have to look up to today. Each page is turned slower than before as you take in all the information you can, a part of your mind wondering if Hoseok would be embarrassed to know his mom was showing you his baby pictures.

But you can’t bring yourself to really care to be honest, because he looked so cute.

“Oh my god, you can see all of his features just in tiny chubby form.” Laughing quietly, you run your finger along Hoseok’s eye on a photo of him crawling, his smile so bright. He looked like a really happy baby, and even though you’re not fond of kids yourself, you can’t help but enjoy looking through the first year of his life.

Just like Hyeri, the final page was dedicated to Hoseok’s doljanchi celebration with a similar image of him in a cute hanbok in front of a table. Looking at his mom, you raise your brows in a silent question and she smiles.

“He chose money, which definitely pleased his grandparents. We weren’t concerned with pushing him though, you have to let children make their own way in life. Though he is doing quite well for himself isn’t he?” She takes the book from you and closes it carefully, placing it back in its rightful place before grasping a thicker binder.

This one is full of pictures and your eyes widen as you take them in. The pictures start out with Hyeri as a sweet three-year-old, sitting next to her newborn brother in his little bassinet. She’s looking inside, her black hair draping in and curling next to him. Over the next few pages, you observe as they both grow older.

Hoseok starts to be walking after her, and soon running, a bright and happy expression on both of their faces. Hyeri grows taller and taller, remaining firmly above her little brother and you see them building sandcastles on a beach, taking a walk along a forest lined path, climbing the steps of a castle and more.

A few pictures feature his parents, their fashion and hair wildly out of style for today but obviously perfect for the time. They looked like a happy family, one who was close with each other. As the children age through the photos, you note how Hoseok slowly starts to look a tiny bit more like how he does today.

The same occurs for Hyeri, her features losing the baby fat of her younger years as she fast approaches teenagehood. It’s with fondness that you note both siblings have the same eyes, sharing them with their mother in a clear sign of their familial relationship.

And then suddenly, Hyeri isn’t in the photos anymore.

It’s just Hoseok and occasionally his parents. Your heart clenches when you realise the joy that had been so evident in his eyes has vanished and that his smile is empty. It’s even worse when you realise how young was, how unprepared he was to suffer such a tragic incident so early in his life.

Swallowing hard, you look at his mom with a sad expression. “This was after, wasn’t it?”

She nods slowly, the pain in her eyes still as fresh and evident two decades later. “Yes, it was. A split second. That was all it took, and then we lost our daughter. We didn’t realise at the time that we’d lost him too, for such a long time. They were really close and he...he idolised Hyeri. He was convinced that he was the reason she’d died. That it was his fault. We knew it wasn’t, and he knew somewhere in his mind that it wasn’t. But...he was so young. And we just...we lost him to that grief and anger for so long. Therapists couldn’t help him back then because he was too lost in his own head. I think he had to be willing to accept the truth, and he wasn’t when he was younger.”

“Until college.” You murmur, running your finger along the vacant face of a younger Hoseok. It makes your heart hurt when you truly realise just how long he’d gone feeling such anger inside him, such a disconnect from the world. The tattoos on his body were a living memory to Hyeri, but you wondered if part of him had gotten them to start with so he could try and feel the pain he felt he hadn’t been given compared to her.

“Yes, until college. We had no idea until he came home one day, looking...well different I guess. And then he told us what he’d been doing. Apologised for how he’d behaved over the years and just...we talked it all out. All of us cried a lot, which I’m sure he was probably embarrassed about but, it felt like we were getting him back. There was still a part of him that wasn’t there though. A part that still...punished himself.” She sounds a little awkward then and you give an amused smile, knowing what she was getting at.

“You mean he slept around a lot and was still a little wild?” You can’t help the laugh that leaves you at her face at that, focusing back on the photographs as you flick through them. “I’ve met his friends. They were shocked that he was not only properly dating someone but that he was dating me in particular. Apparently I’m not his usual type.”

There must be something in your voice that sounds a little more vulnerable than you realised as his mom takes your hand gently, squeezing reassuringly until you’re looking at her. When you do, she takes a moment to look over your face before speaking.

“I know we’re talking about my son, but he obviously knew this was going to happen so I feel less bad about it. But I just...I need you to know it doesn’t matter what his friends said. What they say. Even what Hoseok says. He has a past, yes, but that means nothing really. He chose to date you, fully aware of his own habits and history, aware of you as well. No, you’re not like what he used to...date. If you can call it that. And that’s probably why it’s working, because you’re someone he has to actually work for, someone who’s made him realise that he wants to put in the effort required to make a relationship work. He wouldn’t be doing this, being with you and bringing you here, if he didn’t think you were worth it and that your relationship was going to work. I can promise you that.” It makes your stomach go all funny when you hear that and you’re not sure why.

Maybe it’s just because you’re finally getting validation that you’re not just some novelty Hoseok found. As much as you like his friends, you often feel distinctly uncomfortable with the knowledge that they found it amusing the fact he’d picked you. Like there was something wrong with you compared to the other girls he’d had in his life.

But hearing from his mom that there was nothing wrong with you and that it was probably just that Hoseok had found you worthy of his time and attention? That made you feel better. You were positive there was nothing wrong with all the other girls he’d been with, but the idea that he’d found you so enticing that he’d decided to commit himself was nice. More than nice really.

Logically, you knew it was stupid to be worried about things like this. After all, you’d both been in a relationship now for a year and he couldn’t change his past. So it should mean nothing. But you found it hard to let some things go.

“I didn’t know why he wanted me either to be honest. I mean...he’s...well him. Handsome, a good job, tattooed and into all that metal stuff. And I’m...me. Introverted, shy, awkward, exceptionally geeky and just...yeah. I mean, i know it’s stupid.” You struggled to explain it to his mom, feeling embarrassed about it but she lets out a soft tutting noise, placing her other hand over yours to capture it between her own.

“Doesn’t matter. None of it matters, okay? He knows all that. He knew all that before getting this involved with you. And he loves you. That’s what matters. And that’s what made me leave earlier. Because I got emotional seeing my little boy was back, the Hoseok who smiled and laughed with such love in his eyes. He’s been gone for so long, but he was there with you. So it doesn’t matter what the differences between you are. It doesn’t matter what his past is or yours. You make him happy, and that’s all I care about.” Now it’s really a struggle to not cry, hearing his mom sound so emotional and thankful to you.

It’s not like you’d done anything. Hoseok has done most of the heavy lifting in this relationship if you were being honest. You owed a lot more to him than he did to you, of that you were positive. But his mom looked so earnest and her words reverberated inside you.

Glancing down at the photobook, you take in the sight of a Hoseok who must have been around fourteen. His hair is just as black as it is today only the styling is completely different. The sides of his head are almost shaved while the hair remaining is gelled to be spikey. It’s not exactly the greatest look, but the anger in his eyes tells you that he probably didn’t care.

And it’s then that you realise that you’ve never seen Hoseok look like in this picture. Maybe it’s because of the therapy he went through in college, or maybe it’s because of you. You don’t know, but you do know that you don’t want to see him look like that again. Because that anger in his eyes was a mask for so much pain beneath.

And you don’t ever want Hoseok to suffer that again. Not while you could make him happy.

“He’s done more for me, I swear. But I’ll try to keep him happy for you. I promise. As long as he wants to be with me, I’ll try.” Your words are solemn, the tone grave and it makes her smile to see you being so serious about it.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m not going to force you at gunpoint to make him happy. There’s two of you in the relationship and he has to make you happy too. But I feel a lot better having met you now. I can see that you’re good for him, and I’m guessing that he’s good for you too. I’m just...I’m protective over him, even though he’s an adult now. We lost one child already and we were afraid that we’d lost our other too, so I want to do everything I can to make sure he stays with us.” Nodding, you give her a hesitant smile before handing back the now finished binder.

She places it back into the bookcase before taking in a deep breath and letting it out in one, long breath. There’s a hesitation before she stands, giving you a bright smile that you instantly recognise before she gestures to the door.

“Now, I think we should probably go back. Given how protective I’ve heard Hobi is over you, I think we should probably go and reduce his blood pressure by returning you to him.” You go hot at that, embarrassment making your hands press to your stomach lightly.

“He’s not that bad.” Murmuring, you follow her out of the room, unable to stop the smile as you hear her light peal of laughter.

“Sweetheart, you should have heard the riot act he gave us before bringing you over. If he thinks we did one thing to make you upset then I’m sure we’ll be made aware of it for the next few months. And as much as I love my son, I do not want to be given the cold shoulder or hear his grumbling over how we’d upset you. Men in love do the strangest things sometimes, so don’t underestimate him.”

[groovygardenfart]

I truly believe that anonymous confession blogs are a mainstay in the roleplay community, and they should not be demonized like they are going out of style.

They give people an opportunity to voice concerns and frustrations, and talk about things in a safe environment, without the need to worry about backlash, or having to publicize everything. They help people find validation and know they are not alone in their problems. They are not “burn blogs” that target people publicly. Indeed, people may believe a confession is about them, or know a confession is about them. But that is not the fault of the person venting. It is the choice of the person who is being referenced to keep quiet, and let it go, or publicize the situation by announcing it was about them. How are we to blame the original confession submitter if they do the latter? They are not responsible for anyone’s decisions but their own. The drama was never begun by the submitter. I have seldom seen a submission that was intentionally meant to incite someone, either, so it cannot even be that! If one feels affronted by a confession, it may also be good for them to see it as an opportunity for self reflection, instead of jumping to the defense.

At the end of the day, withstanding the rare “shit disturber” who decides to cause a ruckus in the comments on their own accord, confession blogs help to prevent drama and vague blogging from showing up on your dashboard (yes, yours!). If you are enjoying a drama free dashboard right now, you may be benefiting from anonymous confession blogs without realizing it! Because they keep the negativity isolated from the parts of the roleplay community you so continue to enjoy.

When you think about that, it is suddenly highly unfair to talk down on people who frequent confessions blogs, and say they are “drama mongerers” or “bitter loners” - when in fact, they are doing their best to prevent drama and vent their negativity in a place where it can be posted, then forgotten about, all with the comfort of anonymity. This is healthy! Next to speaking with someone in-person about it, which for many of us is simply not possible, this is the next best thing, not just for the person, but for the community at large.

If venting like this is no longer a healthy thing in the eyes of the tumblr roleplay community, it must reeducate itself on what the alternative would be. After a few months of it, I am sure people would come around.

[ri-ahhh]

playing games

Hot summer days are meant for playing games  6k, basically all smut lol whoops

Disclaimer: I’ve created a whole OC character for Grayson in the past year or so, just as a creative outlet, and never really intended on posting it anywhere. Like, at all lol, so on the off chance anyone actually reads this, go easy on me please. If something seems like it doesn’t make sense or needs more background, it’s because it’s already written in the deep recesses of my Pages documents lol.

If you do read, thank you so much! Creative writing, especially fanfics, have always been my creative stress relief, so this is all in good fun. I’m definitely not attached to only this character, though, so if you don’t think this is complete dog shit and want to see other concepts, I’d love to do that! :)

***

There are a lot of negatives to be said about LA, as MJ had learned quickly when she moved here a few years ago from her home state of Oklahoma: the stuck-up snobs; the traffic; the dirty streets everywhere you go. One thing not on that list, however, is the weather — nine times out of ten it’s perfectly sunny and warm.

Today is one of those days where it’s borderline hot, but still comfortable to sit outside and bake in the sun for a couple of hours. That’s what she and Grayson are doing as they lounge peacefully by the pool in his backyard, soaking in all the Vitamin D that mother nature can give them.

MJ welcomes the blast of heat from the outside air that contrasts harshly with the AC she leaves behind in the kitchen. She had gone in to grab the two of them glasses of water and, while she was in there, noticed the house was oddly silent.

She plants a peck on her boyfriend’s full lips as he accepts his glass with a thanks. “Where are the E’s?” she asks, referring to Grayson’s brother Ethan and his girlfriend Evie. They were both still home when she and Gray first went outside, but a quick glance at her phone tells her they’ve been out here for over an hour, so that really means nothing now.

“I think they were gonna take a Soul class and then have a beach day,” Grayson answers. He sits up a bit to take a sip of his water, and MJ can’t help but admire the way his abs, slick with tanning oil, contract deliciously at the movement. They’ve been together for nearly a year now, and she still can’t get enough of his physique. Amongst other traits of his too, of course, but in the context of lying in the warm sun surrounded by the sheen of coconut-scented body oil, it’s what comes to mind first.

Not to mention, he’s wearing her favorite swim trunks of his — the ones she had bought him — that not only make his olive skin tone pop because of their bright turquoise color, but the fit hugs his ass (and dick) in all the right ways.

Clearly, she’s doing a piss-poor job at hiding her ogling, though to be fair she isn’t trying all that hard to begin with.

He smirks at her. “Can I help you?” he teases, knowing damn well what’s going through her head.

MJ flushes when she realizes she’s been caught, but quickly decides two can play this game. She bends over him and only lets him steal a quick glance at her ample cleavage in her bikini before taking hold of his face in both hands and kissing him.

“You’re sexy,” she admits simply when they part, smiling and wiping a dab of saliva from his lower lip with her thumb.

He swats the exposed skin of her ass lightly when she turns to walk the couple of feet away to her own lounger. She yelps in surprise, which melts into giggles. “Not as sexy as you.” She rolls her eyes playfully and blushes at this, though he can’t see her doing so behind her oversized black sunglasses and the shade of her baseball cap. “I mean, come on, MJ, they’re just muscles,” he says with smug grin.

He’s so full of shit today. MJ scoffs and settles into the chair, not quite believing her ears but also realizing he’s still teasing her. “Okay, Gray.”

She glances over at him and sees him rubbing his thighs, something he knows always gets her going, under the guise of applying more sunscreen. The audacity. She knows it’s intentional by the way he’s biting back a grin and stealing glimpses at her out of the corner of his eye.

Oh, so he still wants to play this game? Apparently ten months together hasn’t clued him in that she is just as competitive as he is, even in stupid things like ‘who can make the other person hornier.’

She forms a quick plan. MJ pretends like she’s oblivious to his nonverbal taunts and reaches out her hand for the bottle of Sun Bum. “So the E’s will be out for a while?”

Grayson stops his ministrations to hand her the slick brown bottle. “As far as I know. Why?” he asks, lying back in his lounger and pillowing his head on his hands. The way his arms curl send his biceps and shoulders bulging, another one of her physical weaknesses for him.

Douche.

“Just wondering,” she answers casually. MJ reaches behind her to raise the back of the lounger that is almost completely flat, higher up so that it can keep her in a relaxed sitting position.

Using his physical teasing as fuel to gather her nerve, she next twists her arm behind her back and tugs at the tie on the thick straps of her cherry red bikini, then does the same to the one around her neck. Even though they’re on private property, in an enclosed yard where no one can see, it still feels a little odd and uncomfortable to be even partially nude outdoors. But if it gets her points in this game against Gray, she decides it’s totally worth it.

When she tosses the scrap of fabric to the ground, the rustling causes him to look over and do a double take. “What—?”

MJ looks at him innocently, but grins devilishly inside; boys really are too easy, sometimes. “What, what?” she questions, spraying some of the tanning oil into her hands.

Grayson shakes his head at her and she can feel his gaze, hotter than the rays of the sun on her newly exposed skin, bore into her through his Ray Bans. “I see. So it’s like that, huh?”

“I don't know what you’re talking about. They’re just boobs,” she counters, throwing a variation of his own words back in his beautiful, annoyingly perfect face. Grayson scoffs at her incredulously, and MJ doesn’t even attempt to hold back a victorious smirk. She’s definitely won this battle, and she hasn't even brought out all the ammo. Yet. “For real, though, we basically live together; you see these every day.”

Grayson tosses a hand up and shakes his head like she had just said something ridiculous. “You see me shirtless every day and still look like you want to jump me all the time, so how is that any different?”

He has a point and he knows it, but he’s an idiot if he thinks she’ll admit so. MJ shrugs. “Anyways,” she continues, ignoring his comment, “I’m just trying to get rid of tan lines. And it’s only us here, so who cares?”

“What if they come back?” Grayson argues weakly, still trying to appear nonchalant about his half-naked girlfriend gleaming in the summer sun just three feet away from him.

MJ shrugs again. “We can hear them coming up the driveway from here, so I’ll just cover up when we do. Also, it’s not like Ethan’s never encountered boobs before, and I’m pretty sure Evie and I have seen each other naked more times at this point than you and E have each other.”

He looks a little affronted. “I’m not sure if thats weird or kinda hot, actually.”

She rolls her eyes again but fights back a smile at his somewhat predictable response. “Don’t be weird. Girls generally just don’t give a fuck with each other,” she explains.

“Well, I still don't want my brother peeping your goods; they’re mine.”

MJ should be irritated at his possessiveness, but admittedly she finds it a little endearing — not to mention, she loves when she drives him to be dominant, especially when she knows she’s really the one in control here. She thinks back to the couple of times Ethan had barged in on them in the bedroom on accident and how Grayson always made sure his body was completely shielding hers while he screamed at his brother to get the fuck out. Ethan clearly wasn’t a threat, but Grayson always made her feel safe and secure either way.

It also isn’t like she wants E to see her tits either, but it won't be the end of the world if he does, especially if the risk of it gets Grayson so riled up for her that he’ll think twice before teasing her like this again.

MJ’s got him hooked now and she knows it, so really she doesn’t need to take the final step in her plan. But thinking about his deliberate words and touches gets the competitive fire lit inside her again.

Taking the oil in her hands, she massages it into the supple flesh of her breasts that were, indeed, several shades lighter than the surrounding skin. Her tits jiggle enticingly and her nipples harden a bit at the pleasurable stimulation caused by her own touch; his sunglasses are still on, but she knows he can see the effect she’s having on herself.

“Fuck, MJ,” Grayson finally groans in defeat. He sits up in his lounger and plants his left foot to the ground, utilizing his long legs to pivot over to her chair and straddle the end of the cushioned seat in one movement. His large hands stroke the smooth skin of her calves that are bent in front of him, his eyes glued to the way she’s touching herself. “You win, okay? I’m sorry for teasing you.”

MJ smiles at him, her ego at soaring. She can tell his hands are itching to reach for hers and replace them. He hadn’t lied that first time they met — he really is a boob man, to the tee. Even in non-sexual situations, like whenever they spoon while sleeping or watching a movie, his hand automatically goes under her shirt to cup one.

“I really do want to get rid of these tan lines, though,” MJ tells him, feigning innocence while simultaneously trying to ignore the way her body is reacting to him being right in front of her, touching her. Unfortunately, there is no denying the rush of wetness to her bikini bottoms. She finishes rubbing the oil into her skin and cups her breasts as if he’s blind and can’t see what she’s talking about. “This is really not cute, what I’ve got going on here.”

Grayson scoots farther up the lounger and cups his hands under her bent knees to drag her into his lap. MJ gasps in surprise and hooks her elbow around the back of his neck to balance herself after his forcible movement of her body. He ducks his head down and kisses her, tongue meshing with hers perfectly and exploring her mouth just the way she likes.

“How about we do something more fun than just lay here while you work on that, then?” he pants when they separate. She nips distractedly at the juicy center of his full lower lip in reply, eliciting a low, rumbling growl from him. He plants kisses across her jaw, down her neck, and back up to the spot behind her ear that makes her putty in his hands.

MJ bites her lip to hold back any sounds, not wanting to give him the satisfaction just yet of letting him know he can do whatever he wants with her at this point. “You were just giving me shit because your brother might walk out here and see my boobs, but now you wanna actually fuck outside?”

She actually didn't hate that idea at all, to be fair.

“Yeah,” he says simply, like there’s nothing to it. “I’ve never done it outside, now that I think about it. Besides our first time, anyways, but that was still in a tent so technically it wasn't ‘outside.’”

This surprises her. Despite his young age, there aren’t a whole lot of opportunities for ‘firsts’ with Grayson, given his past ways. She isn’t about to let this chance slip because of a relatively minor, albeit highly embarrassing, what-if.

MJ grins. She takes her baseball cap off and puts it on his own head, backwards so she can have full access to his pretty face. Not to mention, she definitely has a kink for it that way. She rolls her hips down against his, pleased to feel him semi-hard already.

“Okay,” she agrees easily, using her grip on his neck to bring his lips down to hers once again.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of kissing Grayson; the man has the act down to a fine art. And as irritated as she had been with him only a few minutes ago, she now feels an overwhelming need to please him as much as he so often does her.

“Sit down,” she whispers directly in his ear, motioning behind her to indicate he should be the one reclining back.

She feels him shudder before obeying. He keeps her securely in his lap by wrapping her legs fully around his waist and stands with her still clinging to him. MJ bites her lip and marvels at the complete lack of effort the shift in position takes for him, and he sits them down where he can rest his back against the lounger.

MJ removes their sunglasses and places them on the ground. “That’s why I love your muscles,” she says, rubbing her covered center along his length and devouring the expression on his face as she does so. Her hands massage delicately across his shoulders and down his biceps as she rocks fluidly on top him. “Forget aesthetics. They’re just evidence that you’re so fucking strong. That you work so hard. That you try to be the best version of you every day.”

She suctions her mouth to the pulse point thumping wildly under his jaw and drags her nails down his pecs, threading her fingers through the patch of hair in the center that he’s allowing to grow. Grayson grabs her ass with one hand to encourage the rocking of her pelvis against his, and squeezes one of her breasts with the other.

“How am I supposed to follow that?” he asks breathlessly and with a huff of laughter, tugging her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

MJ moans softly at the sensation. “Do your best,” she replies with a grin, scraping her teeth along the spot on his jaw before trailing kisses down his throat now.

She feels his hard swallow as he thinks for a second. “Uh, every part of you is so beautiful, and your body is just a reflection of how amazing you are on the inside.”

Wow. MJ laughs incredulously and pulls back to look him in the eye, golden hazel meeting bright green. “I can’t believe you just came up with that romantic ass statement while I’m dry humping you. That’s pretty impressive.”

“I mean, it’s true. And I do aim to please,” he smirks, thrusting up into her.

MJ gasps. Her eyes darken and her tongue subconsciously trails across her lower lip as she stares at her boyfriend heatedly. She cups a tit with her left hand, circling her nipple with her thumb, and grips her fingers into the curls at the back of his neck with her other hand. “I would have been happy with ‘I love your tits because they're the best tits I’ve ever seen, held, or had in my mouth in my entire life.’ But I’ll take your version, too.”

Grayson smiles. “How about, I love you, MJ, every part of you — especially your tits.”

MJ bites back a sappy grin and swears she can feel her heart swelling for him in her chest. “I love you, too,” she sighs, and uses her grasp on his hair to drag him in for a deep kiss.

When she’s had her fill of his mouth, she scoots down his body, trailing her tongue down the indentation dividing his abs and nipping playfully at the taut skin right above the waistband of his trunks. Her mouth waters at the sight of the bulge beneath them, straining against the slick material. “Lift up,” she instructs as she tugs the drawstring and hooks her fingers in the fabric clinging to his hips.

Grayson moans and does as he’s told while MJ pulls his swimsuit down his inked legs until she has to stand up where he can kick them off his foot. She takes a moment to admire the masterpiece that is her boyfriend’s body and uses the advantage of already being stood up to shimmy her bikini bottoms off her hips. She lets them drop to the concrete at her feet before crawling back onto the lounger in-between his thighs.

She can’t resist drawing a ticklish trail down his Adonis belt with her long nails and watching his dick twitch at the playful touch. Grinning, she takes him in her hand and observes with amusement how her simple grasp is already affecting him, spreading the resulting dot of precum around the swollen head. Her palm is still slightly lubricated with the remnants of tanning oil, which creates the perfect amount of friction when she starts to stroke his length up and down slowly, adding a twist of her fist when she reaches the tip.

Grayson throws his head back and moans. MJ utilizes his position as an element of surprise to duck her head and lick a trail on the underside of his cock, base to tip, then wraps her lips around his head.

His chin drops to his chest and his hazy gaze is met with her mischievous one while she stares up at him through her lashes. “Holy fuck, MJ,” he moans, taking hold of her dark locks and fashioning a makeshift ponytail in his fist so he can see her better.

MJ smiles around his length, pulling up and holding the tip against her mouth, kissing it lasciviously. “You want me to suck it?” she asks sweetly.

Predictably, Grayson nods enthusiastically, tugging gently on her hair to guide her down his cock. MJ smirks and gathers saliva between her lips. She purses them slightly and drags the slick moisture all along his shaft, coating him until she decides he’s wet enough for her to take him in her throat. He’s the biggest she’s ever had and hasn’t mastered letting him fuck her face yet, but her lips encircle him and she slides him down into her throat as far as she can with relative ease. She hollows her cheeks as she pulled back up, over and over again.

“Oh my God,” he growls, his blunt nails digging into her scalp; MJ adores the sensation. “Just like that, baby.”

She grins and lets him slip out of her mouth with a light pop, stroking him with her small hand while laving his balls with her tongue. MJ always loves sucking Grayson’s dick, but she can’t believe how much doing it outside is making her even wetter than usual. There’s something incredibly hot about being under the cloudless sky, in the fresh air, and, yes, the danger of potentially getting caught.

With that thought fueling her, MJ’s fingers dip down to her pussy and she lets out a tiny whimper when her slim fingers light upon her swollen clit, more for his benefit than an actual reaction to her touch; she wants him to know how much she’s enjoying having him in her mouth. Something about the situation they’ve gotten themselves into out here is amplifying her desire in every way.

“Should I make you come now with my mouth?” she asks, dribbling more saliva on his dick and sucking him as far as she can a few times in quick succession, eyes trained on his, and she’s earned with wanton moans from Grayson’s plump lips. MJ lifts her head, her chest heaving, and gives him a devious smile as she raises the fingers that had been playing with herself to his mouth, continuing to stroke him steadily with her fist. “Or should I put you inside me, baby? Hmm? Should I put your big dick in my tight little pussy?”

Grayson lets out a guttural growl and sucks her proffered fingers into his warm mouth readily. Before she realizes what’s happening, Gray is reaching behind him to lay the chair flat again, and she practically topples over at the sudden movement.

“C’mere,” he instructs as he lies back, motioning for her to climb up his body. He takes the hat off and throws it across the yard when the bill impedes him from lying flat.

MJ pouts. Despite her teasing questions, she isn’t done sucking him off yet. And she really liked how that cap looked on him. “But—”

“MJ, sit on my fucking face now,” he demands, his voice deep and commanding; it makes her shiver and her head swim. His hazel eyes, which usually turn almost as green as hers in the sun, are now a deep chocolate brown behind the darkness of his pupils, dilated with pure desire.

Well, shit. She doesn’t need to be told twice; when Gray is in this mood, there’s no room for arguing, and she loves it. MJ bites her lip and crawls up his abdomen until her knees are resting above his shoulders and her shins lay alongside his chest in what little room is left on the lounger. He wastes no time in wrapping one arm around her thigh, the other reaching up for her breasts, and attaching his mouth to her throbbing center.

She cries out when his tongue drags through her slit and flicks against her clit a few times before thrusting inside her. One of her hands supports her weight on the top edge of the chair and the other cards roughly through his thick hair, tugging none-too-gently on his dark wavy mop.

Grayson moans and nuzzles his nose against her swollen flesh, grinning up at her and tweaking a nipple with his thumb and forefinger. “Did you get this wet just from sucking my dick, sweetheart?” MJ nods, the game of pretending he has no affect on her flying out the proverbial window. He lets out a little noise of affirmation. “I thought so. That’s why I love eating you out after you blow me; you’re always dripping for me.”

Without warning he sucks harshly on her clit and she shrieks, throwing her head back and moaning uncontrollably despite her best efforts. “Grayson!”

Grayson leaves the little bundle of nerves and dips his tongue down to her entrance once again as if to taste the fruits of his labor, groaning quietly. “So fucking sweet, baby. I love how you taste,” he says before repeating the actions over and over, driving her insane with the unrelenting pleasure of his simple motions.

She doesn’t know how she has the capacity to speak, but she manages to get her vocal cords and brain to coordinate. “I…fuck — I, I wanted to t-taste your cum, too,” she squeaks out, trying not to grind down on his face too hard. Not that he seems to mind.

His big hands restrain her hips anyways, long enough for him to speak. “I know you did,” he says with a smirk, and his voice vibrates sensually against her center. “You can do that next time, but right now you’re gonna come for me, and then I’m gonna fuck you so hard you can’t walk. How’s that sound?”

God, the man knows how to use that mouth — in more ways than one. MJ can only moan and use her vice grip on his hair to tug him back to her pussy as confirmation that yes, that sounds fucking amazing.

All teasing pretenses are dropped as he goes straight for her clit and suckles her with purpose, that purpose being to get her to cum hard and fast. Sure enough, she feels the beginnings of her orgasm in her lower belly, driven by the sight of his eyes gazing adoringly up at her from between her legs.

It doesn’t take much longer once he adds both hands to her breasts, her moans reaching higher and higher pitches the closer she gets. “Ohmygod, yes!” she squeals, her knees squeezing instinctively around his head as he keeps up his ministrations, only gentler so she can ride out the high of her orgasm.

MJ’s moans turn to whimpers, and when she’s relatively back to earth she murmurs an apology as she slinks back down his body. Gray shakes his head in dismissal of her words and sits up, cupping her cheeks in his hands and kissing her deeply. She can taste herself on his mouth, and it gives her little aftershocks.

She settles over his lap and straddles his hips, grinding her dripping wet pussy against his rock hard dick because despite the amazing orgasm he had just given her, she was always ready to go for him; he makes her insatiable, sometimes.

“Fuck me,” she demands against his lips, lifting up so he can take hold of his dick and position himself where she only has to sit back and let him fill her up.

There isn’t much room on the lounger, but the way she’s forced to keep her legs close together just makes the fit extra tight and extra good. He lies on his back again, and MJ moans as she bounces on his cock with her hands planted on his broad chest for support while he grips her ass tightly.

Grayson for his part takes a moment to close his eyes so he can fully experience the warmth of the sun, the sweet wetness of her pussy, and the taste of her still on his lips all at once. He opens his eyes and is greeted by the sight of an angel leaning over him. The sun is right behind her head and creates a halo effect, making his heart skip a beat despite the fact that she’s doing all the work while he lies flat, spoiling him with her body like always.

MJ smiles down at him breathlessly and drags her manicured jet-black nails down his pec. He loves the pain of it, she found out early on in their relationship, and she’s more than happy to inflict it. It turns her on like crazy to watch his eyes roll back and his jaw to drop as he sucks in a harsh breath.

He can sense her tiring when she slows down and starts grinding on him, rubbing her clit into the groomed patch of hair at the base of his dick as she catches her breath and gives her quads a break. She moans and twitches when Grayson digs his thumbs in the sensitive creases of her hips as he sits up. He moves her legs to hook around his waist before wrapping his arms around her sweaty back.

“Hold on to me.”

MJ pants and clutches her arms around his neck, tightening her grip with her legs around his trim hips and digging her heels into his round ass. She buries her face in his shoulder as he stands both of them up. She doesn’t know what his plans are, but she hopes they aren’t going far; she needs him back inside her as soon as possible.

Her back hits the wall in the next moment and she revels in the firm, cool feel of the smooth siding against her skin that’s become heated from the sun and physical exertion. Grayson uses the leverage of the wall to keep her against the solid surface while he switches his hold on her so that her knees are now hooked over his elbows. Even in her somewhat delirious state, MJ can tell this will allow him to use the combined potential of his considerable physical strength and the support from the wall to fuck her senseless.

Their eyes connect as they both take a moment to gather themselves. Gray smiles at her sweetly and plants his palms against the wall as he dips his hips enough to thrust up into her.

MJ whimpers as he stretches her again, reveling in that sense of fullness and completion that she only experiences when he’s inside her. When he bottoms out, she cups his jaw and uses the strength in her core to raise herself up enough to connect their lips together. Her tongue instantly slips into his mouth and slides along his, tasting all of her that’s left in him, until she tucks her head in his neck to suck kisses up and down the thick column of his neck.

“Go, Gray, please.”

Grayson moans and lifts her up as he pulls back with his hips, only to let her sink back down on his dick while simultaneously thrusting up into her swollen pussy. As he continues and picks up the pace, the depth he reaches and the force behind their movements sends her reeling. Her nails dig harshly into the smooth ripples of his back as her eyes look almost unseeingly down over his shoulder at the wide expanse of flexing muscles. The newness of this angle makes her realize that this position is another first for the two of them. They’ve had sex standing up before, but never like this, where he’s almost completely supporting her and letting gravity do half the work for them.

The noises of their mixed moans and the sounds of their hips clashing fills the otherwise silent backyard. MJ leans back against the wall and grips his biceps, using her position to fully take in the power of his body. Every muscle bulges out with exertion, his jaw clenches in pleasure and concentration, his eyes flitting between her bouncing tits and her flushed face as he pants harshly.

Everything about her — mind, body and soul — is overwhelmed. She can’t help it; she’s so turned on by him, so in love with him, the words just pour out, even though she knows they won’t improve his stamina any.

“You’re so fucking strong, baby. I love how you can hold me up and fuck me like this with your big dick. You’re making me feel so good…” On one particularly sharp thrust, he hits the spot, and her eyes instantly roll back in her head while she lets out a purely reactionary shriek of pleasure. “Right there, Gray! Baby, holy shit…”

“Jesus, MJ, you’re so fucking hot,” Gray rasps out behind clenched teeth. From the animalistic noises he’s making and the unhinged expression on his beautiful face, she can tell he’s barely holding on anymore, but he’s getting her there so fast that she hopes he can last just that much longer.

With a surge of strength she didn’t know she had left in her, MJ leans up and wraps her arms around his neck, then hooks her legs over his ass for leverage so that his arms can hold her by the backs of her thighs. She starts thrusting herself and grinding down on his pubic bone, perfectly stimulating both her clit and that deep spot within her. Her body shatters a second later, her limbs quaking with the force of the waves coursing through her.

She knows that normally Grayson would let her ride it out at her own pace, even rub her clit slowly to get her through it, but he’s so riled up at this point that he simply slams her against the wall and pounds into her relentlessly. MJ’s mouth gapes open soundlessly as, to her complete amazement, she feels yet another orgasm right on the heels of the one that has just started abating.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants repeatedly, making direct eye contact with him. She knows what will trigger them both to fall over the edge. “You’re fucking me so good. I want you to come inside me, baby, please!”

A guttural groan rips from his throat, his thrusts falter, and his forehead drops to hers as she feels the first spurts of his cum shoot into her. This is all she needs for her own orgasm to tear through her, radiating warmth and electricity through her whole body with an indescribable intensity.

Masculine, relieved whines escape his open mouth, the sounds alone making her clench inadvertently around his throbbing length inside her. His lower lip is too enticing for her to resist, and she nips it teasingly before drawing him in for a slow, perfectly sloppy kiss. They’re both still distracted by the pleasure coursing through their connected bodies as he finishes inside her.

“Fuck, that was good,” he whispers after a minute of recovery, trailing his mouth down her jaw and nuzzling her neck sweetly. MJ smiles and hugs his sweaty head to her, kissing his temple in return. She’s about to suggest they go cuddle on the daybed under the shade of the awning, but she never gets the chance because…

“What the fuck, dude?!”

“Oh my God, you actual assholes! Gross!”

A scream catches in MJ’s throat as their heads whip to the sliding back door only a few feet away, and there they are; the E’s had apparently gotten home from the beach much earlier than she thought they would. Or maybe she and Gray have just been fucking for that long.

Once the scare of their sudden reappearance has worn off, she can’t stop a smirk from gracing her lips, though she does try to hide it in Gray’s neck in mock mortification. That’s not to say she’s not embarrassed, but what can she do?

“Well, don’t look!” Grayson cries, but she can hear the concealed laughter in his voice, just as her smile grows even wider against his sweaty skin.

“How about you don’t have sex outside against our house where we can look, you bitch ass!” Ethan screams at his brother. MJ peeks a glance at him and sees him standing there with the heels of both hands digging into his eyes, as if he is not only blocking out the image before him but trying to rub it from his memory, too. Evie is just running around the patio, laughing and yelling “No!” at the top of her lungs, which makes MJ giggle too despite her best efforts.

As humorous as this situation is and even though Grayson’s body is pressed against hers completely, it’s still pretty embarrassing considering she’s butt-ass naked with her boyfriend’s softening dick still inside her, in a backyard with two of her best friends right there to see. “I mean, we literally just finished if you want to walk away and let us clean up, then the whole yard is all yours.”

“MJ, can you not just clean up now?” Ethan insists irritatedly. “We’ve already got our shit ready to come lay out.”

She pulls her face out of his neck and looks at Grayson, biting her lip to fight the shit-eating grin threatening to break across her face; she can already picture his brother’s reaction to what she’s about to say. But what the fuck are he and Evie even still doing out here? Why are they not inside? They’re the ones making this weird.

“Well, we need to go grab my swimsuit bottoms, or otherwise there’ll be a, ah, mess, if you know what I mean. Also, I don't think I can walk.”

Just as she predicted, Ethan makes a dramatic retching sound and reaches his hand out for his girlfriend blindly. “Evelina, help me. Let’s go bleach our eyes out before I throw up from these mental images.”

[cavanaghcharactersxreaderfics]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Flash (TV 2014) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: HR Wells/Reader, Earth-19 Harrison Wells/You, Earth-19 Harrison Wells/Reader, HR Wells/You Characters: HR Wells, Earth-19 Harrison Wells, Reader, Caitlin Snow (mentioned), Cisco Ramon (mentioned), Barry Allen (mentioned), Harry Wells (mentioned) Additional Tags: Metahuman Reader, Telekinetic Reader, HR needs more love and so do I so guess what folks here have this, earth two reader Summary:

You'd been working with Team Flash for a while now, but since Barry had started training two new speedsters you hadn't been needed in the field until now. Your skills are a little rusty, you make a mistake, and you're left paying for it. HR decides to lend a helping hand and really, who are you to refuse?

With your ears muffled by the headphones that Cisco had designed for you, you couldn’t hear anyone approach. The padding surrounding your ears made it difficult to hear but they served a greater purpose than just shutting out the sound around you. They’d been designed to help muffle your powers. You could control your metahuman telekinetic abilities now that it had been years with your abilities, but sometimes when you didn’t pay attention things still rose around you, floated up off of the ground or phased into it. Your emotions couldn’t get ahead of you and send expensive equipment (or people) across the room.

               You had a smaller pair of the headphones for the field or when you were out in public, less dampening but still effective. A pair of ear buds that had been modified from the anti-Grodd tech that the team had made the year before. They were uncomfortable though, and not meant for long term use. The older pair that you wore now, while a prototype, were more comfortable despite the fact that they were bulky and kept you from hearing things.

              Things like the other occupant of STAR Labs’ basement approaching your room and knocking at the arch of the doorway.

               You only saw HR standing there when you were half stripped out of your hero costume. Thankfully you wore a tank top under the suit so you weren’t caught indecent, but you still gasped and reflectively pulled the leather jacket back over your shoulders.

               “Wait!” HR spoke loud enough for you to hear, which meant he was probably yelling and just maybe the others upstairs could hear him too. “Hold on I’m sorry-“ he turned his back to you, his eyes shutting tight. It was even harder for you to hear him when his voice was pointed the other way, but he kept going. “I came to see if you needed anything after the fight!”

               Cooling off after being thoroughly spooked by his arrival, you puled the headphones carefully from your head. HR was a good man, you knew he hadn’t been peeping on your purposefully. He had been a strange addition after the gruff nature of the Harrison Wells from your earth, but you were glad he was there, even if no one else was. Having someone so gentle on the team was refreshing.

              “It’s okay, HR, I’m decent,” you laughed, pulling the jacket off again. You were covered, at least. You turned to the table that you set your gear out on, taking your gloves off and setting down the jacket now that you could hear better while turned away from him, you added: “What’s up?”

               “I just thought that since you took one heck of an – oh! Y/N!” HR’s gasp caught your attention and you turned to face him, frowning when you saw his pained expression. The panic he set off made you a little nervous, and your gloves rattled on the table behind you, threatening to lift off into the air. You raised an eyebrow at the novelist but he said nothing more, only darting to your side, his fingers fluttering nervously around you.

               “Y/N,” HR said, softer than you had ever heard him speak before. His hands reached out for you, and you managed not to flinch when they danced over your shoulder. “You’re hurt.”

               You frowned again, looking back as best as you could at where his fingers touched your skin. Spanning across your back was a large, purpling blood bruise, bringing back vague memories from a fight not two hours ago when a sign post came flying at you and caught your shoulder just before Barry Allen could zip in and move you out of the way.

               “Oh,” you muttered, the pain catching up to you with the memory of it. You tried to roll your shoulder to assess the damage but had to stop when the ache pulsed across your back and radiated through your entire body. You shivered with the pain and your gloves stopped rattling on the table and you balled your hand into a fist against the pain. “Ow.”

              You could see the worry spread across HR’s face like the pain spread across your back and you tried to smile at him in an effort to dispel it, but he wasn’t having any of it. HR was more of a caretaker than that, and he huffed at you, taking you gently by the arm and guiding you to the edge of your bed. You still wore your suit pants and boots, muddy from the fight in Central City Park and the creak of leather would have been amusing if you hadn’t wanted to get out of it as quickly as possible once you got home. You offered HR a smile, exasperated though it was.

               “I just want to get to bed, HR, it’s really no big deal, I’ve had worse.” That was a lie, and you knew it. HR hadn’t seen you out in the field before. He was new to the team and you hadn’t really been given the opportunity to work alongside the Flash in a while, now that Barry was training Wally (and Jesse) on top of hero work. You normally weren’t so careless. You normally had a shield, a barrier of telekinetic energy surrounding you that kept you from being badly damaged. Your slip up tonight looked like it was costing you your privacy, but with HR?

               You didn’t really mind. He was sweet, much more so than any other Harrison Wells you had met – though your experience was severely limited to the Harrison Wells of Earth-2, who had been pleasant enough to work with but a pain in your ass when it came to personal matters. HR was good, a ray of sunshine that you hadn’t expected you’d get when you stayed on this Earth instead of going back with Harry and his daughter to your own.

               You would have been lying to yourself if you said that you weren’t even at least mildly attracted to him.

              “Y/N, you have to – just – sit there,” He nodded his head, turning back to the door and striding there confidently. You watched him pause in the archway and turn back to you. “Stay.” Before he was off again.

              You would have listened, too, if you weren’t so hasty to get back into comfortable clothes before something else happened to the city. You moved as quick as possible, waiting only a moment after he left to make sure that HR was truly gone before you went about getting your pajamas, struggling out of your boots and suit pants so that you could slip the flannel bottoms on. You would live with the tank top for now. Something told you that you wouldn’t be able to lift your arms out of it and into another shirt. Just changing your pants had hurt enough to leave you gasping, falling back onto the bed just in time for HR to come back in, holding something in his hand that you couldn’t quite see from your angle.

               “Hey!” He gasped, and though he sounded affronted you could see the forgiving smile on his face. “I told you not to move.”

               “I’m sorry,” You managed, laying down on your bed with your face in the pillow. Your body ached with every movement, but laying like that meant you didn’t have to move much further. “I had to get out of those pants.”

               “I get that,” HR nodded, sitting down on the bed beside you and held his hand in your field of vision. He held an ice-pack and a bottle, one that you were familiar with. Arnica gel. Barry didn’t have much use for it because his bruises were gone in minutes, depending on how bad they were. You and Cisco? Neither of you had the same privilege, but normally you at least had a shield and Cisco had his quick reactions and portals. “So I got you this.”

               You smiled, your cheeks flushing just a little bit at the gesture. Being a part of the team, you’d come to expect little gestures like that but this had a personal touch that you hadn’t considered before.

                “Thank you, HR,” you moved to sit up and take the tube from him but HR was faster than your bruised body could ever dream of being. He placed his hand on the small of your back, pressing you down gently into the mattress of the cot, tutting as he did so.

               “I don’t think so, Y/N.” He objected, and you could just barely see him shake his head. “You’re not going to be able to cover the span of the bruise, you can barely move yourself, let alone lift your arms to do it. Come on,” he tugged at the end of your tank top in question and your entire body lit up warm with a flush when you realized what he was asking. “Let me help.”

               Panic passed through you for a moment. You were skipping a number of steps here, jumping straight to taking your shirt off in front of the man that you had harbored a crush for since he stepped through the interdimensional breach. But you knew that your back was in no state for you to be lifting your arms over your head and you were already laying down and the most logical course of action was for HR to take your shirt off for you, and you were positive you knew why your heart started racing at the thought.

               “Yeah,” you whispered, nodding your head in assent. “I do. I, um… I need your help, HR.”

              There was a moment’s pause before he was moving again, wordlessly, his fingers – and you’d always admired Harrison Wells’ fingers, no matter what Earth they came from – dancing along the hem of your shirt once more before he lifted it up, gently and slowly. You shivered when the cold air of the converted storage room hit the heated bruise on your back, distracted by the sensation only when HR’s breath caught in an audible intake.

               “Y/N,” He breathed your name and the frantic beating of your heart stuttered. “Your back…” Those fingers, again, traced a pattern along your skin and from the tingle, the slightly uncomfortable pressure they caused, you could tell he was outlining the bruise that was already formed. From the way it felt, it extended across most of your back and you wondered only briefly what would have happened if Barry hadn’t gotten you out of there when he did. “Don’t worry,” HR continued, reaching up to set the cold pack down on the bed beside you as you pulled the tank top over your head so he’d be able access the whole of the bruise. “I’ll take care of this.”

              “Thank you, HR,” you muttered, your face buried in the pillow to save yourself from the embarrassment that would inevitably occur when he saw how much redder than your bruise your cheeks were. “You don’t have to do this.”

               There was a moment of silence as you felt HR’s fingers across the span of your back again, cool against the warm of the bruise. When he didn’t speak you started to worry, but after his voice finally hit you there was nothing you could do to hide the shiver that passed down your spine.

               “I want to,” he whispered, voice huskier than you could remember hearing it from him, more similar to Harry’s gruff tones than anything else. And when he spoke again he cleared his throat and added the humorous note that you were more familiar with despite the fact that he still sounded breathless. “After all, I can’t leave a pretty lady in pain.”

              You swallowed once, nervous for whatever was happening when HR pulled his hands away. You could hear him pop open the cap to the Arnica ointment and after a much longer period of quiet in which the only available sound was of HR warming the liquid between his hands you felt them press gently against your back. You tensed, your muscles screaming in objection to the sensation of cool ointment against them, and you hissed into the pillow, stilling HR’s movements.

                You felt his hands against your back, warm now through the gel, and couldn’t help the tiny noise of contentment from leaving you immediately after your hiss of pain. Long, expert fingers moved gently across your back after his moment of hesitation. The fingers of a writer, a musician. They weren’t calloused in the same way you knew Harry’s were and they touched you with the softness of… of a lover. You knew it was because HR didn’t want to cause you pain but at the same time, the intimacy of it had you shivering for a completely different reason than the chill. HR traced along the edges of your bruises again, rubbing carefully into the skin. Any discomfort the ministrations caused you was mitigated by the softness of his touch as he traveled further up your back, towards the spot on your shoulder that had you flinching when he made contact. Once more, he stilled, hands hovering just above your skin. Another shiver, only this time you were desperate for the contact to resume.

               “Are you okay?” HR asked, voice back down to that quiet, discerning whisper. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

              “No,” you replied, afraid to break the quiet intimacy of the moment with anything louder than a whisper. You tried to ignore how breathy you sounded, but it was hard to avoid. “No, please continue.”

              After only a moment more of hesitation HR’s hands were on your back again, kneading gently over the purple bruise. “You know,” he whispered. “You should really talk to Caitlin about this.”

                “She’s got plenty to worry about,” you muttered, burying your face into the pillow and speaking just barely loud enough for him to hear through the fabric. Cait was the last thing that you wanted to talk about while HR’s hands rubbed your back so tenderly. You knew this was just a one-time thing, a strange, unrepeatable moment. Still, you’d rather have it to yourself, unmarred by talk of your coworkers. “Speedsters take more care than I do.”

               HR laughed softly, and you felt his fingers press into the muscles of your back that were tense but not covered in bruise. You couldn’t help the noise of appreciation that bubbles from the back of your throat.

               “I think that’s objectively wrong,” HR replied, fingers faltering a moment before they continued. This was beyond personal care now, and you hummed as he pressed into the unbruised skin of your back. “Speedsters require significantly less care than someone who can’t heal at light speeds.” He was right. But there were three of them now and Cait had her hands full with broken limbs and fractures. She couldn’t be bothered with your bumps and bruises. As he spoke, HR massaged into your muscles, but you could tell he was slowing down.

               You sighed, nuzzling into the pillow. You didn’t want this to be over. Most of the time after a fight like that, everyone was focused on the speedsters. Or Cisco. You didn’t really take offense to it, after all you had protections and well, you weren’t the Flash. And you weren’t the one that could open up interdimensional breaches to travel to and from worlds. You were a team member, and they worried, but you weren’t someone’s kid, either. Barry and Wally were both Joe’s kids, which made them something to lose. Jesse’s dad was a powerhouse of a helicopter parent, and even though Cisco wasn’t… okay with his family, they were still, at least a little bit, a part of his life. You? Your family was on Earth-Two, and even then, most of them were gone. Having HR come to you at all was… a gesture that you weren’t used to receiving. A kindness that you didn’t expect.

               “You okay down there?” HR’s voice was stronger now, up where it normally was. The magic that had been there before had seeped out of it, and you felt his hands still on your back. You allowed him to reach up carefully and pull the tank top back over your skin, managing to only make a face when the fabric hit your sticky, bruised back.

               “Yeah, HR, I’m fine,” you replied, turning your head as much as you could against the pillow to offer him a smile. “Thank you. That was… that was nice.”

              “I aim to please.” He was reaching forward to grab the discarded ice pack. You followed the length of his arm, admiring the muscle that pulled taut just below the sleeve line of his t-shirt. That was another thing you enjoyed about Harrison Wells. On any Earth you had seen him thus far, he was cut. HR just had the additional benefit of always wearing t-shirts. You weren’t able to think about that long, however, before the cold sting of the ice-pack was seeping through your shirt. You hissed at the sensation and HR chuckled. “Relax, Y/N,” he remarked, rolling his eyes. “You’ll only feel better for it later.”

              “Yeah, well it sucks now,” you huffed, looking away from him. You didn’t want to have him think that his efforts were meaningless. You didn’t want him to think that you weren’t grateful for it. The rest of the team did that to him often enough that it left you feeling sick. When you weren’t embarrassed as bad as you had been before you lifted your head up, casting your smile at him, apologetic and grateful. “But thank you again, HR, for all your help.”  

               “Ah, don’t mention it.” HR waved it away like it was a nonissue, but you could see the sparkle in his eyes. There was something different about this. Something different than him getting coffee for everyone or talking the team through some issue they could solve on their own.

              Before you knew what was happening, HR was leaning down again, but this time he didn’t stop just to pick something up. His lips were on your cheek in a display of affection that you were sure he hadn’t used on the team before you. When he pulled away, HR was smirking.

              “After all,” he said, rising from the place he’d taken at the edge of your cot. He winked at you, leaving you breathless, as he moved to the door. “It’s what I’m here for.”

[katsukari]

Falling Chapter 1/Prologue- No Time To Die

~akari aizawa, niece of japanese pro Eraserhead, is a sixteen year old pro in the US via an accelerated program. things have not gone to plan, and she finds herself in a toxic work environment. when her contract comes up, so does a better offer. now all she has to do is make it through her last week of work at the office, right?

pairing: bakugou x akari aizawa (oc)

word count: 3.1k

genre: for this chapter, angst

warnings: swearing (i’m pretty sure??), fighting, so violence, and i think that’s it for ch.1.

Alright, so this is the first chapter of my fic Falling. I posted about any interest earlier, but if you guys don’t know my writing style or anything about the story, how can you be interested? So, I figured I’d post this to give people a feel for the situation. I will say, there are no BNHA characters in this chapter, so I will probably post ch.2 tonight as well so you guys get a feel for them too! This chapter was just to give some background into Akari’s character and situation!

Akari Aizawa

Hero Name: Nocturne 

Age: 16

Quirk: Heightened Senses- In the dark, her senses of smell, hearing, and touch are amplified, allowing her greater speed and strength.

Affiliation: US Pro through an accelerated program.

Birthday: 11/18

Height: 165.1 cm

Likes: Sweets

The mission had not gone to plan, and as it always seemed to be, Akari was the one paying for it. Her face remained respectfully blank as her supervisor yelled at her, while her partner stood by, failing to mention that it was his mistake that had caused the corner of the building to collapse, harming more civilians. It had been this way for months. Any and all mistakes were hers, and the person who once meant so much to her was cold and distant. At first she would fight back, if you could consider telling the truth fighting, but her words fell on deaf ears. It became clear, her higher-ups had an agenda, and she was not a part of it. Thats why, last month, when her contract came up for negotiations, she decided to go elsewhere.

She had to get out, and that is where her mind dwelled as she half listened to her lecture. Her parents told her she wasn’t the same, she was quiet, far off, she struggled to get up and go to work every day. It was difficult to motivate oneself to go where they were certain they weren’t wanted, by anyone, even people once considered friends. When she wasn’t distant, she was irritable, or one wrong interaction away from a breakdown, it wasn’t healthy. 

A hand suddenly grabbed her by the hair, “I asked are you listening Nocturne? When I ask a question I expect an answer!” the hero barked, jostling her. This sudden action startled her companion, Shadow. He opened his mouth to say something, but Akari saw him close it and look away. 

Knowing she only had a week left at the agency gave her courage, that or she was just pissed off. Grabbing the wrist of her captor she dug a nail between its veins and tendons, and dug hard, forcing the hand gripping her hair to come free. “I was not listening.” Her voice was chilly in contrast to the fire that blazed in her stomach. “Nor will I listen to anything else you have to say to me, so if you wish to keep talking to two people who aren’t listening to you, be my guest.”

The hero glared at her, “Fine, you are dismi-” But Akari hadn’t waited for his dismissal. She was halfway to the locker-room when someone caught her by the elbow. “What was that back there?!” Shadow demanded. “You could have gotten written up, striking a superior, insubordination, that’s not like you.”

Suddenly the fire within her spiked, “I’m glad you care all of the sudden! Where have you been the past hour and a half? Or the past six months, as a matter of fact!”  

“I- I don’t have any excuses. But your contract came up last month, they could choose not to keep you here,” he said softly.

“It’s not a matter of whether or not they want to keep me. I had a better offer come up. I’m not staying here one second longer than I have to.”

“But your lawyers will be caught up in releasing you for months- Wait you’re leaving?”

“That’s what I said.” Akari gently pulled her elbow from Shadow’s grasp and resumed her walk towards the locker-room. He hopped sidelong to catch up with her and grabbed her by the shoulder. “You know, I’m getting really tired of people touching me right now. Can’t you tell I just want to go home?”

“I’m sure- but where are you going? Where offered to take you that made them decide to let you go, because we both know they have iron grips on us accelerated kids. Who is it? It can’t be good.” For the first time in months, genuine concern was etched into his dark features. It was enough to make her heart wrench. Couldn’t she stay? Just for him? She could survive here, if only he looked at her with that much care all the time. 

No. No she couldn’t, she couldn’t trust him, he hadn’t been there for her in months. Shadow, her partner, once her closest friend in the world, hadn’t spoken this much to her in ages. “Oh, it's nowhere where I’ll gather fame and notoriety, they made sure of that, I won’t draw much attention, but it's somewhere good. But I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone yet.”

“I know you have no reason to, but, you can trust me,” Shadow said, his voice low and comforting.

She was about to say something, but she never got to finish. There was a loud crash, and the building shook, driving heros, sidekicks and secretaries from their offices into the hallway. Over the PA system a voice called out “Shadow and Nocturne, you’re up…” 

At least she could count on Shadow in the field.

Crouched behind a police car, Akari pulled her goggles over her eyes and gave Shadow the sign for good to go. They slipped into the second burning building they had been in that day, and began to gather people and shepherd them to safety. They worked quickly and quietly, helping civilians out of their apartments and to the safety of the street, they were fortunate that the building only had four floors, but they had found no trace of who or what caused the explosion inside. That was until Akari heard a struggle inside one of the apartments on the fourth floor.

  She listened hard to make sure there was no one else left in the building, and she knew she and Shadow should make their exit soon, the building wasn’t safe, but she had to check this first. Waiting quietly by the door she signed to Shadow, “There’s a person in this apartment, sounds like they’re struggling to do something. I need you to back me up once everyone else is out.”  He nodded, helping the last person down onto the fireman's ladder. Slipping through the shadows, he stood behind her, ready to go. 

As quietly as she could, she eased the door open onto a man in a fireman’s mask, knelt over a safe stuffing a duffle bag full of cash. The explosion had been a diversion to cover up the robbery. 

Glancing over her shoulder she jerked her head forward, and began to slip into the room, Shadow following close behind. Once she was past the door it slammed shut, alerting the crouched man to their presence. Akari almost turned her back on the man in the mask to see what shut the door, but thought better of it, Shadow had her back, he could handle whatever was there. 

“This can end here. Leave the duffle bag and come with us and there won’t be any need to fight,” she bargained.

“Us? I’m afraid you’re mistaken, your friend left as soon as mine showed up.” the man in the mask rasped.

Before she could turn to check, something hard and sharp slammed into the tight muscles between her neck and shoulders, driving her to her knees. Bracing both hands on the floor in front of her, her head began to spin, her stomach cramped, and she broke out in a cold sweat.

 Forcing herself to her feet she shoved her goggles around her neck to see what, or rather who, had forced her to the ground. A tower of a man stood next to the mask, he had to be over six and a half feet tall, well muscled, and dressed for a fight with thick soled combat boots, leather gloves and a belt laden with a number of things that Akari couldn’t recognize. In one large hand he carried a small pouch that he tossed in the air, before fastening it to his belt. Pulling her goggles back up, Akari braced herself, ready for anything.

When the police asked her how the fight started, she couldn’t remember, just that she found herself staggering around the burning apartment, blocking and trading blows with the tower man. The man in the mask tried to slip through the door, and stumbling, slipping between full and normal strength, she landed a kick to the jaw, sending him crumbling to the ground. The tower man then sent her head first into the wall. Using it as a support Akari sent herself barreling at the man, raining punches at different strengths. When one of his blows knocked her off balance she twisted her leg to ground herself, then brought a leg up and out, hitting his stomach, pulling it out of the way before he emptied his dinner onto the ground. 

This made him angry, Akari told the police, only later realizing how dense she sounded. The tower man lunged at her, lowering his center of gravity, allowing Akari to bring an elbow down hard on the back of his neck, sending him down into his mess. Sprawled in vomit, the man growled and stood, wiping his hands on the clean parts of his shirt. 

The lull in activity had not been good for Akari. Her head was spinning faster now, making it difficult to focus and keep her senses from being overwhelmed. The sounds and smells from outside began to creep into her mind, mingling with the crackle of fire and crumbling walls and the acidic smell of bile that affronted her nose. The tower man slammed into her, she hadn’t heard him move, and she went through the door. Standing over her he waited for her to get back up, but she didn’t. He left her, unconscious, among the burning rubble. 

She woke up, she didn’t know how long after, and it felt like her skin was crawling. Lifting her goggles so she could see was the only way she could get out, but her eyes never focused. She clutched one burned arm with a bruised hand and stumbled over to the windows, there was an open one, she knew it, but the windows wouldn’t stay put. The last thing she remembered was the sound of shattering glass and the sound of someone screaming “There she is! Quick, someone catch her!”

XXXX

Akari knew where she was based on smell alone, cleaners, disinfectants, and rubber. But there is also the smell of lavender and vanilla, her mother's perfume and citrus and sandalwood, her father's cologne. She was in the hospital. 

Opening her eyes was harder than she thought it would be, they were dry and heavy, and sleep seemed to seal them shut, but after squeezing them once or twice she was able to force the lids apart. Looking first at her arms she found they were covered in bandages, down to her wrists, and there was an IV in her hand. Shakily she reached for her glasses sitting on the nightstand so she could see the rest of the room.

“Oh! Takashi, look, she’s awake,” her mother said, elbowing her sleeping father. “How are you feeling dear?” 

“Terrible. My head aches, and everything hurts.” Akari sat up, feeling her muscles protest every move she made. 

“I’ll go get the nurse.” Amara placed a warm hand over her daughters and stood, making her way out into the hallway. She returned a few moments later with a young man named Nathan who changed out her IV fluids, which unfortunately did not have something for her pain, and talked with her for a short while, then told her the doctor would be by soon. In the meantime he encouraged her to try and eat something, and take fluids on her own. 

That was no problem, drinking at least, her mouth was stone dry. She was in the middle of the broth her parents ordered for her when the doctor entered and spoke to her about her injuries. A few cracked ribs, a sprained wrist, second degree burns on both arms and one leg, and she had stitches where the tower man first struck her. He had cut her with some sort of blade and left behind an implant that drugged her; the doctors had discovered it on her x-rays. They could have someone with a healing quirk do more for her once they were sure the drugs were out of her system the next day, “The cocktail he gave you was pretty nasty,” the doctor said. “We just want to make sure everything is all clear before we move forward with treatment.”

Akari just nodded, so long as she didn’t stay like this all week, she would be alright. The police were in next to get her story, apparently they caught the two men three blocks from the fire after she fell from the window. Shadow had identified them. She had to admit, that stung. He abandoned her, but stuck around to help make the arrest? Couldn’t he have run all the way away like a true coward would have? Or, at least like a coward without an agenda she thought bitterly. Though, bitter was hardly the word to describe the way Akari really felt about it. Betrayed, was more like it. In the office she knew he wouldn’t be there for her, but he had never, never left her like that before. What was worse was that they had faced worse foes than the tower man together before, but it had always been together. The last piece of Akari’s heart that held onto Shadow was broken.  

She refused to see him, or anyone else from the agency while she was in the hospital. It hurt, every time he called asking to come up, but it would hurt more to see him. That was another two days. Then she had a day off, which she spent ignoring calls and texts from him, and sleeping. Akari from six months earlier would have rejoiced at seeing his name come up on the caller ID, but the Akari of now just watched as the screen faded to black. She couldn’t ignore him the next day though, she had to go back to work, at least for the next three days. After that she would be gone. 

He was waiting for her outside the doors to the agency, scanning the crowds of people, searching for her face. Akari walked past him straight through the sliding doors. She didn’t have the energy to deal with him this early, it took her an hour of convincing just to get out of bed, using up most of the energy she did have. Flashing her badge to the desk she went through the second set of doors and into the office.

Turning left, towards the locker room, Shadow appeared in front of her. Looking at the floor she saw the shadows of the water jug and fake plants and sighed, dropping her shoulders. Shadow’s quirk allows him to travel through shadows, and become part of it, so he becomes invisible. It's very useful, but also very annoying.

“What do you want, Shadow?” 

“I want to know how you’re doing, you didn’t let anyone see you while you were in the hospital.” There it was again. Concern. It made Akari uncomfortable, or, maybe upset, or both? Why was he concerned about her? He was the one who left her all by herself, if he hadn’t left maybe things wouldn’t have been so bad. Maybe she wouldn’t have had to go to the hospital. Akari shook her head, maybe’s would get her nowhere. 

“I’m fine, now, can I go change? We have to go patrol in fifteen minutes.” She brushed past him into the locker room.

It was a quiet day on the streets, so there was nothing exciting to keep them busy, just small talk with passers-by and silence. Not that Shadow didn’t try to fill it, but Akari had no desire to speak to him, and refused to fill the uncomfortable void between them. 

When their patrol was over Akari was, for once, thankful for the paper-shuffling part of her job. It gave her an excuse to shut herself away in her small office and write up her uneventful morning report in peace. Once finished she began to catch up on the small mountain of paperwork that stared her down from the corner of her desk, all things she needed to finish before she left on Saturday. She had barely made a dent when a knock at her door drew her gaze upwards. It was Shadow. Of course it was, she thought tiredly, who else in this God-forsaken place would it be?

“What? I’m busy Shadow,” she sighed, looking back at the paper she had been reading.

“Too busy to take lunch with a friend?”

Akari desperately wanted to say “Maybe I will take lunch with a friend, when one shows up.” but she knew better, and hurting him wasn’t what she wanted to do. It just went to show how tired she was. She decided on a simple “Yes.” and left it at that.

Shadow took the hint.

Her last two days of work went similarly. Painfully boring and awkward patrol, paperwork, and then, to her surprise, on Friday, a going away party. Something the higher ups made sure to impress upon her that she would not be getting. It made her feel sick to her stomach. What was the point of this if none of them liked her anyway? Nina, a secretary, told her they only found out on Wednesday that she was leaving, and they didn’t even know where she was going. Something she still wasn’t able to tell them. She got cards, and to her surprise, her superiors gave her an upgraded costume. All too kind of a gesture from the people who drove her away, but she accepted it with a smile. Shadow gave her a music box with pictures of them around the sides; it played her favorite piano music. That was a sucker punch. 

It filled her with guilt knowing that she fully intended on going to her new location with every fiber of her being geared towards forgetting everything about this place. But why should she feel guilty about wanting to forget people who have made her life such a misery? At least that’s what she told herself, but it never quite set right. The truth of it was that, despite the terrible time she was having now, the first year and a half at the agency was mostly good. She held many fond memories of her time there, and it made her feel even worse about leaving on such a sour note. But come the next morning that's exactly what she did.